When Stiles is twelve his father dies during an armed robbery, so the boy decides to make a deal with a crossroad demon to bring him back. Ten years later the demon sends a hellhound to take him into hell but things don't go exactly as planned. Somehow in the middle of this situation, the hellhound fell for the human and he can't just let him go to hell.
[[ claw your way through the earth ]] → a hellhound!Derek fanmix
florence + the machine howl // jen titus o death // fever ray the wolf // the brothers bright blood on my name // a perfect circle counting bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums // the chemical brothers container park // florence + the machine seven devils // brian reitzell & alex heffes dead sister // three days grace animal i have become
Relationship: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale (but not really at this point, let’s be honest)
Word Count: ~2400
Summary: Continuation of this, based off of this. Derek's transformation into a hell hound.
The demon lifted his foot enough to relieve the pressure on Derek's head before slamming it down on the alpha's head with as much force as he could muster. It grinded his foot on Derek's head, drilling it into the hard floor. “And that,” it chuckled, clearly giddy at the prospect of having Derek as his own hell hound, “that, is exactly what I want hear.”
Derek had to keep his thoughts to himself, pushing himself up despite the pain lacing through his body. He could feel that his nose was broken, and he had bitten a chunk of his gum off, so the taste of copper filled his mouth. His fists clenched under him as he pushed himself off the ground. Derek kept a wary eye on the demon that seemed to almost be dancing in its glee. And yet, despite that careless action, Derek could tell his guard was up and ready to strike should he make any actions against him.
When Derek finally got to his feet, he could feel the vertigo of the head trauma caused by the demon, but he fought the lightheaded feeling. His eyes did not leave the demon; he would show defiance even in his beaten state. This thing would not tame him.
“Aw, Derek, look at you,” the demon practically sang, approaching the alpha. It was holding something in his hand, but Derek couldn't tell what it was. The thing was clearly metal, but the demon moved as if it wasn't there. It cupped his face tenderly, as if Derek was someone incredibly important to him. Then, the demon crashed his lips into Derek's, his fingers scratching behind the alpha's ear while doing so. The act brought about a whine from Derek, and the demon's tongue licked his bottom lip. His other hand trailed down his side, following the contours of muscle and bone, stopping at the end of Derek's shirt.
Derek was startled, not expecting the sudden kiss. He froze, not wanting it, not wanting what the thing in Stiles' body was forcing on the both of them. When he felt the tickling behind his ear, he had to repress a whine. The tongue that trailed on his lip was warm and loving, but he could not get around the wrongness of the whole situation. Derek felt the demon trail fingers down his side, his muscles jumping at the ghosting touches. He could tell where this was going, hating every second of it. This was worse than Kate.
The cold of the metal object in the demon's hand brought about the instinct to back away, his body trying to jump away without conscience thought. However, the demon's other hand wrapped around the back of his neck, a firm grip causing just enough pause in his movements for it to flick the metal thing, and a cold blade whispered along Derek's ribs. Throughout the quick actions of Derek jumping back and the demon clasping his throat, it managed to continue the assault of one-sided kisses.
It traced the blade of the knife along Derek's ribs, as if carefully, blindly selecting a rib while still focused on molesting Derek's face. The knife blade rested between the tenth and eleventh rib, the tip forcing a light pressure on the skin. Derek could feel the smirk on the demon's lips, and, with a light nip on his lip, it plunged the knife between his ribs.
Derek roared, feeling his flesh burn with what he could now clearly tell was a wolfsbane-soaked blade. The demon tightened its grip on the back of his neck, blunt nails sinking into his skin, a dull ache in comparison. It dragged the blade towards it, working up the xiphoid, taking the cutting at a slow pace. When it was just below the cartilage, Derek felt the demon shift its grip on the knife, its black eyes staring at him in jovial madness.
With a punch, the demon forced his blade and fist deeper into the alpha and dragged downwards. The knife sliced through muscle, tissue, and flesh, stopping just below Derek's hip. Blood soaked into his shirt, his eyes glowing red in pain, and fangs and nails elongated. Derek's body was trying to fight the poison of the wolfsbane while trying to heal from the damage his torso was taking. And the demon didn't stop there, continuing its work. The blade was pulled back up, connecting with the initial entry point of the blade. Derek could feel the demon close the blade under his skin and then its fingers slowly remove the shape of flesh recently separated from the rest. It was disturbing, feeling Stiles' nimble fingers brush his organs and muscles from the inside. He roared when the separated skin and muscle was literally torn from him, his shirt keeping both his flesh and the demon's hand trapped.
The demon's other hand still kept a tight grip on the back of Derek's neck, forcing the trembling alpha to stay still while it withdrew its hand. What came out from under his shirt was a bloody mess of flesh, the blood sliding down Stiles' arm and staining the red jacket hoodie. It smirked at him, human teeth presented in one of the most threatening ways Derek has ever seen. The demon tossed the mound of flesh onto the small table near the couch and went in for another forceful kiss. The kiss was chaste, punctuated with teeth. Derek's attention was turned back to the thing violating his mouth, and he missed its hand go back under his shirt.
Fingers tangled in intestines, massaging them as if the action was a tender squeeze from a lover. Blunt nails followed the organ to the stomach and then jumped to the ribs. The demon felt the exposed bones, feeling each one as if they were fruit at the supermarket. After about a minute of fiddling with Derek's ribs, the demon laced his fingers around the tenth rib, gripping tightly before pulling. Hard.
The sound of bone snapping and breaking and separating pulled another roar from Derek's mouth. Tears trailed down his face unbidden, his lip bleeding from a particularly harsh bite from the demon. When the demon pulled away, it walked to the table and placed the rib next to the lump of flesh leaking blood on the wood.
It turned back to Derek, whose skin was sickly pale and covered in sweat. His gray shirt was black in the areas where his abdomen was ripped open. Derek's body was wracked with tremors, his body still fighting the wolfsbane and failing to heal. His breaths were coming out raspy and short, his arms loosely curling around himself in some pathetic attempt at protecting the rest of himself.
The demon grinned, mimicking the smile common to Stiles when he had a bad idea that would ultimately end up with whatever big bad losing and the pack coming out on top. It came back into Derek's space, fingers prancing along the rim of Derek's shirt. “This might hurt a little,” it whispered right before it pulled the shirt up to the alpha's arm pits and revealed the exposed organs precariously sitting in Derek's body. “Arms up, big boy,” the demon chuckled, tugging the shirt up and bringing friction to Derek's underarms.
He reluctantly raised his arms, biting his lip to keep his pain silent. His shirt was pulled off his head and thrown somewhere behind the demon, who was raking his eyes over Derek's bloody body in lust filled appreciation. Then suddenly, both his hands were tangled in Derek's organs.
When the demon pulled its hands out, they were dripping blood. It took a few steps away from Derek and crouched down. Using the blood, it started drawing circles, about six or so inches in diameter. There were five of them, equidistant. These smaller circles were connected, chained along in a larger circle like beads on a necklace. Two laps around, and the demon had to go back into Derek's body for more blood. At this point, Derek was on his knees, hands keeping his organs in his body. The demon ignored the bleeding alpha, writing words in a language that Derek wouldn't be able to understand even if his vision wasn't blurry from blood loss.
The demon completed the circle of blood, going back to the table and retrieving the rib and flesh. Its fingers picked at the ligaments still clinging to the rib, stripping the bone bare. It sat just outside the circle, focused on its actions. The demon pulled out plastic pouches of various powders—one was a reddish-orange, another a mixture of orange and blue, a third indigo, a fourth pale violet, and finally two pouches with different shades of green.
Then the demon took the blade back out, flicking it open. It pushed the blade under one of Stiles' fingernails and ripped it up and out. The demon placed the fingernail near the other pieces of bloody body parts and got up. “Now, Derek, I need you to stay in the circle,” it said, as if talking to a dog or young child. “I'll be right back.”
It walked to the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit Derek kept in his house because of the humans that ran with his wolves. The sound of running water echoed in the quiet apartment, and, after five minutes, the demon was back, its hands clean and finger bandaged. It then sat down outside the circle again, this time putting the four pieces of body into separate pouches. Three were left without the addition of body parts.
The demon opened the pouch filled with an indigo powder, and the smell of aconite and monkshood hit Derek like a freight train. His body recoiled at the smell, but he forced himself to remain in the circle. It's for Stiles. I have to get that thing out of him. The mixed powder was poured into one of the five circles, the smell threatening to overwhelm the alpha.
Next was the skin. The demon dropped that into another circle, rubbing the orange and blue powder into the bloody meat. Then the ligaments, which were buried in the brighter green powder. Continuing counter clockwise, the demon placed the rib in the fourth circle and covered it in the pale violet powder. And finally, the fingernail in the darker green powder.
All that was left was the pouch of red powder, and it was saved last for a reason. The demon stood at the top of the circle, feet resting inches from the indigo powder. It started mumbling and threw a pinch of the powder at Derek. Seconds later, it starting walking around the circle counter-clockwise, leaving an even trail of the red powder as it kept moving. When it returned to the top of the circle, in an over-the-top-motion, he threw the rest of the red powder into the large circle and onto Derek. He sneezed when some drifted up his nose.
The demon continued to mumble and chant as it sat down crossing its legs. Its arms were outstretched, as if waiting for Derek to come over for a hug or something. And it was then that Derek felt something stir from the depths of his mind. It was a dark feeling, one of forced submission and despondency. He weakly clutched at his innards with one hand while the other kept his balance, curling into a fist. Derek could feel a change happening, but this was unlike any of the shifts his body had ever made. It was painful, wrong, and everything felt like it was burning cold and hot at the same time.
And then the demon stopped. It looked at Derek straight in the eyes and, for the first time, entered the circle. Stiles' face was centimeters from Derek's, looking as if it was going in for one more kiss. Seconds later, pain blossomed from Derek's throat, the knife coated in fresh blood as it spilled from his throat. Derek gulped, trying to suck in air and breath. Trying to survive the ordeal. The demon grabbed a small handful of the orange and blue powder to right and coated the deep cut with it. It kissed the alpha's forehead before retreating from the circle.
The pain Derek felt before seemed to double, intense enough to rob him of his voice. He could feel his skin prickling as fur grew over his body. He could feel burning as the skin on his face started to pull back, revealing bone. He could feel the shift in his anatomy, and he looked up at the demon, glaring to the best of his abilities.
Suddenly, the pain plateaued, a disturbing numb spreading in his mind. Derek felt the need to obey and submit himself to the thing in front of him. The thing that made him. He could feel that his alpha rank was gone, and it was replaced with this deep-seated need to serve the demon before him. Derek hated it, loathed what he knew he now was. If the demon wanted, Derek would do anything commanded. He wanted to vomit, but he doubted there was anything to purge at this point. He felt a sort of emptiness no amount of purging would solve.
Derek could feel the injuries he sustained healing, fur matted with blood and gore. He let out a whine, trying to pull himself forward. The hound that sat in his mind was desperate to get to its master. The newness of the hound overrode Derek's will to stay away and completely crushed the need to rebel. He dragged himself out of the circle and collapsed. His head was resting in the demon's lap.
The demon smirked and ran its fingers through the coarse fur. It chuckled when it felt Derek lean into the petting and leaned in to kiss his forehead again. It rested its head on Derek's, smirk growing as time went on.
“I've never done that to an alpha before,” it whispered. The demon scratched the area where bone met fur, and the hellhound leaned into the physical attention he was receiving. “I think this is going to be the start of a new friendship, don't you think, Derek?”
Derek huffed out a reply, nuzzling into Stiles' leg. His thoughts were filled with the need to please, blanketing the embarrassed rage that was previously prominent in his head.
[/part 2; End.]
Author's Note: I totally BS'd that ritual demon!Stiles did. And for more detail about the powders and what-not, starting at the “top” and moving counter-clockwise;
[1] monkshood and aconite mix (yes, they are two different flowers), because werewolf;
[2] skin (which can spiritually represent “inadequateness/unworthiness”) and pimpernel (which in the language of flowers means “change”), where the demon is changing Derek's body and mind – which are inadequate for being a hell hound – into something usable;
[3] ligaments (which can spiritually represent “control”) and grass (language of flowers: “submission”), where Derek's control is stripped and given to the demon;
[4] rib/bone (“resentment”) and major convolvulus (“lost hope/despondency”), where Derek's hatred and rebelliousness for/against the demon is repressed and eventually/hopefully erased after an extended period of being with the demon;
[5] fingernail (a “gateway for evil”) and palm (“victory”), where the demon has gained victory over Derek in every way, and Derek is corrupted completely;
[6] the red powder is a mixture of red catchfly (“trapped”) and scarlet zinnia (“constancy”).
Disconnected Teen Wolf Demon!Stiles Hellhound!Derek RP
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You and the stranger both like Sterek.
Stranger: [Hey, do you have a prompt?]
You: ((Not so much, do you?))
Stranger: [Demon!Stiles and Hellhound!Derek?]
You: ((Hells yes. I'm not really sure how that would happen? Like were-hellhound!Derek? And also, Evil!Stiles? or just Stiles who also happens to be a demon/?))
Stranger: [A bit of both! More of an AU sorta thing. Evil Stiles with the same sarcastic, bitching personality. Who happens to be a demon~]
You: ((Who'd you want to be?))
Stranger: [I have a prompt for Stiles?]
You: ((Go for it!))
Stranger: Stiles' pale, bony fingers raked through his hellhound's hair idly as they sprawled against the trunk of a tree. His eyes burned, and glowed a deep red colour, a faint smile twitching the corners of his mouth. His hand moved from Derek's hair to his own, and then beneath his hood to grace lightly over his horns. "How shall we spend the evening, how shall we spend the evening…" he murmured quietly to the creature, fingertips reaching beneath a leather collar around Derek's neck. "And get in Lucifer's good books at the same time." Stiles hummed. He breathed a loud, theatrical sigh and stretched out against the tree, draping his legs over his pet, red hood riding up his stomach. "I feel like arson tonight!"
You: ((He's wearing a red hood!! Hahaha, okay was that on purpose?))
Stranger: [Yesss. <:]
You: Derek cracked his eyes open, irritated that his relaxing doze had been ruined, and rose to his feet. He waited a moment for his master to get settled across his body, and then took off through the trees, heading towards Beacon Hills, the town just outside of the trees.
You: ((Sorry, I couldn't think of more yet :( ))
Stranger: Stiles grinned widely, his hands winding through Derek's thick fur. He leaned down over him to bite his ear lightly, already trying to plan what he could set ablaze. "It looks like you'll have dinner this evening too!"
You: Derek shook his head lightly, but at this point he was mostly used to his master's oral fixation. He perked up at the mention of dinner, letting out an inquisitive whine.
You: ((my grammar checker wanted to change that to "he was mostly used IN his master's oral fixation"....Hmmm)
Stranger: [HAHA]
Stranger: The demon tugged his hood up a little more, hands clutching tightly onto his pet's fur as they raced through the forest and towards Beacon Hills. No doubt they wouldn't be staying here forever. But it was still a decent enough place to haunt. So to speak.
You: Derek jerked to a deliberately hard stop at the edge of the forest, hoping to send his master tumbling. He didn't Stiles not paying attention to him in this form, communicating was hard enough when he couldn't use syllables. Though, he might have done it anyway, just to mess with his master a little.
Stranger: Stiles did indeed go tumbling across the edge of the forest floor, soon getting up and backhanding the wolf across the face, hand gripping hold of his muzzle. "Be. Good. Or I'll replace you." he told him quietly.
Stranger: [Brb breakfast!]
You: Derek jerked and whined, lowering his body as his ears went back and his tail tucked. Tentatively, he licked his master's chin.
You: ((Will that be terribly long because I may or may not have pulled an all-nighter and actually need sleep soon :( ))
Stranger: [Back!]
Stranger: Stiles reached up and pulled on the others ears, nudging their foreheads together. He pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose and sighed. "Don't give me those eyes, sourwolf."
