Note: Season 4 doesn't happen - Isaac doesn't leave. Derek's not kidnapped (so the whole dream thing with Stiles at the end of season 3 doesn't happen either), so they didn't go to Mexico, nor was he de-aged. Kate isn't back and the whole dead-pool thing hasn't happened. Satomi's pack doesn't exist and Braeden isn't around.

This fic is un-beta'd and I'm dyslexic so sorry about the mistakes. I'm also not from the US, so sorry if I muck things up there too. If bad spelling/grammar really ruins a story for you then I suggest you wait until I can get it beta'd.

If you're interested in betaing this for me and have a good grasp of British spelling and grammar please message me. Thanks!

Stiles might seem pretty OOC, but I'm basing his responses on real examples (not anyone in particular, just the consistent symptoms seen more often than not) of PTSD, depression, panic disorders, and people in abusive relationships. If this fic moves you I'd love it if you'd consider giving a little money to any group of your choice that helps both men and women in domestic abuse situations – men trapped in domestic abuse is never talked about enough. Also, my dad's a psychologist and has extensive books on abusive relationships (most of which I've read), and I've also volunteered for a local domestic abuse shelter so I'm sure you can understand why the 'romantic' portrayal of Stiles and Malia's relationship makes me so angry.

The others might seem pretty OOC as well, or you might be confused over why they don't seem to realise something is wrong/be annoyed by how they treat Stiles, but the important thing is that they are all trying to overcome severe trauma in their own way and that they're all struggling.

Warnings/triggers: this fic will deal with domestic abuse and rape with a man as the victim and a woman as the assaulter. It also covers suicidal thoughts/impulses/attempts, self-harm, PTSD, panic attacks, and (none-intentional) unhealthy weight loss. If any of these affect you please avoid this fic and I hope you're getting support. Lastly, there will be some graphic sexual-gore in the depiction of a nightmare involving Allison/Stiles (sorry!)

Please, if you really love Malia, or Stalia, I would recommend you either don't read this or read it with an open mind. Malia in this is in many ways just as much of a victim as Stiles, and that's kind of the whole point.

xXx

Stiles looked at the words projected on the wall and felt his gut clench.

For his social studies class a spokesperson for RAINN had come in to give a short presentation on the sobering facts of domestic abuse, starting extensively with the shameful statistics and facts of rampant female domestic violence.

Stiles, growing up the way he had with his father in law enforcement along with his own innate curiosity, had already known most of what the nice lady 'call me, Shelly' had said. Now though, just as she was starting to wind to a close, she had moved on to statistics on male domestic violence.

It had caused the unsurprising clamour of a few of the more jockish guys in the back, who laughed, loudly proclaiming that all men who were assaulted by a woman were pansies and other such endearing terms.

Shelly had become a bit flustered over the disturbance (she was so new to the job it hurt) and had paused the slide show while she tried to calm them down leaving the words on the screen to stare accusingly down at Stiles as he couldn't quite bring himself to look away.

'1 in 33 men will experience an attempted or completed rape in their lifetime.'

The words seemed to grow; stretching out towards him accusingly in an attempt to engulf him.

"Stiles!"

Stiles jerked, almost fell out of his seat, and was caught by a familiar hand. He looked up into concerned brown eyes.

"Are you okay, dude?" Scott asked worriedly. "Your heart rate was going crazy and I called you, like, five times."

Kira was leaning over her table behind Scott, apprehension etched into her pretty face, and Isaac and Lydia one row further over were watching him carefully. He could even see Danny looking over, slightly confused. Malia though, who was seated behind Stiles, was doodling on her notepad; just as she had been since the start of the lesson.

"Yeah," Stiles croaked and then winced internally at how bad his voice sounded. "Yeah, I just spaced out for a sec."

It wasn't really a lie but Scott still sent him a doubtful frown as Stiles settled back into his seat.

Shelly was apparently done with arguing with the jocks and stalked back to the front.

"I find it horrifying that you boys can joke over such a thing, since this is no laughing matter," she snapped as she whirled to face the room, face set in indignant outrage. "Given the statistics it is more than likely that a boy in this very class will at some point in his life be sexually assaulted. Someone you boys know. How would you feel about it if it happened to one of your friends?"

Stiles wanted to melt into the floor as she tilted her chin up triumphantly when the jocks quieted. She was just turning back to continue on with her slid show when one of the boys stage-whispered that he wouldn't be friends with someone who 'wasn't even man enough to stand up for himself against a chick'.

Shelly had apparently given up as she didn't look at them again and continued on with her back ramrod straight, ending on the depressing fact that over two and a half million men in the US were victims of sexual assault.

The bell rang for lunch and Stiles couldn't get out of there fast enough. He ignored Scott's startled cry behind him and dashed to the nearest bathroom.

After locking himself in a stall and slumping down on the toilet, Stiles spent the next five minutes fighting off a panic attack as it tried to claw its way out of his chest.

Scott didn't come looking for him, but with how tense their relationship had been recently Stiles didn't blame him. He had heard his phone buzz a couple of times though, yet it just wasn't in him to reach for it.

Once he felt like he wouldn't fold like a paper bag the next time someone looked at him he cautiously made his way out of the stall and over to the sinks.

He still looked like a walking corpse.

It had been two weeks since the Nogistune had been stopped and it had been one week since Malia had turned up, both at the school and in Stiles' home.

As Stiles reached for the tap he noticed that his hands were shaking, but they did that so much these days that he had had to adapt and try to function with them. He just had to be a little more careful when he picked things up and not to hold anything fragile. Everyone just dismissed it as his clumsiness rearing its head again anyway.

The Nogitsune while it was in control of him hadn't bothered to eat any 'human' food. All it had needed was pain, suffering, chaos and it was stuffed while Stiles' body had withered away. While it had drunk water (presumably because it hadn't wanted Stiles' body to die quite that quickly), Stiles dreaded to think how much worse off he might be if not for the few times he's been in control enough to eat a little.

Lacrosse season was fast approaching again, but Stiles knew he probably wouldn't be able to run a hundred feel without his legs turning to wet noodles with the way he was right now and he was seriously considering not playing this year. Scott as team captain would understand, Coach however wouldn't and the man hated to lose any players on the team, no matter how useless he perceived them to be.

All of the strength and stamina he'd gained after a year of running for his life had been taken from him in a month.

With a suppressed growl Stiles yanked on the tap, causing the water to come out too fast and splash across his t-shirt but he didn't care as he scooped handfuls of it to rinse across his face.

He turned off the tap and stared at his dripping reflection, mercilessly taking in the bags under the eyes, the jutting cheekbones, and the hollow expression.

"Get it together, Stilinski," he snapped before turning away.

A small poster stuck on the back of the door caught his eye and he couldn't help the small whine that came out of his mouth. It was like a punch to the chest all over again.

Allison's memorial was taking place later that day after school had let out.

The photo of her on the poster was one he knew Lydia had taken on an evening when a meeting about the alpha pack at Derek's loft had turned into a pizza and movie/embarrassing stories session. Lydia had captured the image of Allison laughing as Stiles had been finishing up the story over how Scott had got that scar shaped like a dolphin on his ass. It was a lovely picture that had encapsulated everything that had made Allison so beautiful both inside and out. And now that beautiful, smart, funny, deadly girl would never grow into the woman she had been blossoming into and it was all Stiles' fault.

He barely got back into the toilet before what little he'd had for breakfast came back up.

When he finally left the bathroom, eyes lowered to avoid Allison's smiling face, he walked straight into Malia outside who raised an eyebrow at him.

"You reek," was all she said before grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him along to where everyone was seated outside. Just looking at their food made Stiles' stomach turn over.

"Er, you know my stomach isn't feeling so good, so maybe-"

"Sit," Malia snapped and pushed him down before plonking herself between his legs. Isaac let out a low whistle and smirked at Stiles.

"She's got you totally whipped," he sniggered, but the bravado was obviously forced and everyone except Malia, who was chowing down on a thick sandwich, picked at their food and avoided each other's eyes.

"You feeling better?" Scott cut through the awkward silence and Stiles tried to send him a reassuring smile but didn't think he succeeded. Malia's body was heavy on his chest and he didn't feel like he could breathe properly.

"Yeah, I was just feeling a little sick."

Scott looked as though Stiles had just announced that he'd been vomiting blood.

"What? Do you want me to take you home? Or we could drop in on mom in the hospital."

Scott's grief over losing Allison seemed to be manifesting itself into an intense fear of anyone else he cared for getting hurt to an alarming degree, Stiles included on the days Scott could bring himself to look at him, today being one of those days.

"No, dude, I'm sure I'll be fine."

Scott did not look happy.

"If you're sure. But promise me that if you're still feeling bad tomorrow that you'll stay home."

An ache spread through Stiles' chest at the care being show towards him; care he didn't deserve. Scott truly was one of the best people he knew.

"I promise."

xXx

Stiles hadn't been able to bring himself to go to Allison's memorial. Scott and the others had been so accepting about it that Stiles had wanted to beg them to just blame him already. Be angry, be hateful, just don't give me gentle, supportive understanding, he'd wanted to scream at them but he knew it was useless.

He'd driven out to a lookout point in the Preserve and had just sat there, blankly staring at the view but taking in none of it as the seconds of Allison's memorial had ticked past. Finally he hadn't been able to take it any longer and had headed home. Malia was waiting for him, spread out on his bed as if she belonged there while flicking through one of the photo albums that contained the years before his mother died.

He felt a flare of cold fury. She had no right to touch that. He was about to do… something when the rational side of his brain finally managed to worm its way through all the mind-blanketing rage and inform him that she had no way of knowing that that wasn't to be touched.

"Malia," he said carefully, his voice cracking under the strain to keep it even. "Why aren't you at Allison's memorial with the others?"

She glanced up at him and sent him one of her blank little smiles before her eyes dropped back to the album and she turned to another page.

"Couldn't be bothered. It's not like I knew her."

All of the anger drains out of Stiles and he folded in on himself at her words.

"It's not about whether you knew her or not, Malia. It's about the fact that I knew her, Scott knew her, the whole pack which you are now part of knew her. It's about going with them to support them."

She looks up at him again, nonplussed.

"But you didn't go."

It wasn't even an accusation, Malia was just stating the facts like she always did, but it still felt like one.

"The-the pack understand why I couldn't go, but you should have still gone with them to show some support. Allison was important to all of us, especially Scott and Lydia. They could have really done with you there."

Malia titled her head, a faint frown on her face, as though she was really trying to comprehend what he was saying. Then she tossed the album to one side where it slid off the bed and thumped on to the floor, pushed herself up and was in front of Stiles before he had taken his eyes off of the album and the now loose photos that were poking out. He could see his mother's smiling face.

"Stiles," Malia spoke as though he were two years old. "I've already told you I don't care about them. You're all that's important."

"And I've already told you that they're important to me."

Any conception of understanding failed to flash across Malia's face and Stiles let out a bone-weary sigh before dropping him bag by his desk and moving over to the bed. He crouched and carefully wrapped his hands around the soft green album, ensuring that the photos didn't fall out any further, and picked it up. Suddenly a hand appeared in his vision and carelessly pulled the album from his hands before dumping it on the bedside table. A photo spun gently to the floor, his mother's form visible for a second, but before Stiles could reach for it he was pushed onto the bed and Malia was straddling his hips.

"You're upset," she announced. "Let's do something to take your mind off things."

With a smile that Stiles was starting to see as more teeth-baring than anything else, her hands were suddenly at the waist of his jeans, sliding the button out and going for the zip.

Stiles wasn't even aware of his hands moving, but they were suddenly gripping hers, trying to draw them away from his jeans.

Did she seriously expect him to have sex with her while Allison's memorial was going on? While Scott and the others would be standing there, trying to figure out how they're meant to go on without her, and he was tearing himself apart inside over the Allison shaped void in all of their lives that was his fault hisfaulthisfault.

Malia's frown was deepening and she was beginning to look angry as he fumbled for words. He knew that she wouldn't understand if he tried to explain that to her.

"Er, er, homework! We gotta do our homework! C'mon, you know that if you don't keep up with the classes that you won't be able to stay in them with us."

He knew his heartbeat wouldn't give its tell-tale jump that she was hopefully listening for and there was a long, frozen moment as Malia stared down at him, every inch a predator, before she groaned, rolled her eyes and slid off him. Stiles let out a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding.

"Fine, but we're continuing this after."

The sick feeling returned.

xXx

As Stiles lay in bed that night with Malia tightly wrapped around him, his traitorous thoughts started to drift back over his interactions with her, trying to figure out what had given her the impression that he had wanted to be her 'one and only'.

He had only seen her the one time before Eichen House in which he'd said a total of zero words to her, and their first actual interaction, where Stiles had been so relieved to find someone that he knew, had resulted in her punching him.

After that he'd tried to get Malia to help him, putting everything his exhausted, petrified mind and failing body had into finding whatever might help stop the Nogitsune since Morrell had told him that she'd kill him the next time it took over.

He'd been without sleep by that point for more than forty-eight hours, he knew that medically he'd be classed as mentally in a similar state to a drunk; everything hurt, he was constantly cold, thoughts were hard to gather, clues that he normally would have picked up on right away kept slipping past him, he couldn't stand straight, and everything was clouded in a fog of terror of not being able to tell if anything was even real.

He remembered the next time he'd talked to Malia she had been in the shower in the men's bathroom. Even in all his fuzziness and his conviction throughout that their conversation probably wasn't real, Stiles could recall pointedly trying to respect her privacy as she had talked about how cold she was as a human. Then had come her reveal of how Scott and Stiles had essentially destroyed her life and her ultimatum: that she's help them if they helped her find out how to change back. Stiles, out of desperation, had agreed and had privately thought that from what he's seen of her so far that she was more suited to be a coyote than a human, so it was no great loss.

She's helped him get the keys from the power-mad Brunski, but that plan had quickly fallen through (something that Stiles would have likely been able to avoid if he'd been firing on all cylinders,) resulting in Stiles being sedated, to his absolute terror; convinced that he'd never wake up again because either Morrell would find him and kill him or the Nogitsune would take the reins again.

When Malia had managed to wake him, the sedatives still coursing through his system combined with intense fear and exhaustion made everything feel like a dream and far away. Sound came to him as though he were underwater. He couldn't remember much as the sedatives continued to try to do their job and had to content himself with short flashes of memory: the both of them slipping through the closed unit, Stiles tottering and stumbling with every step, the Japanese symbol for 'self' on the wall and a vague sense of puzzlement over when they'd managed to get into the basement. There had been old papers, lots of old papers with terrible, outdated medical techniques complete with overly-detailed pictures. Then the next thing he knows they're on an old bed? Couch? Kissing. Malia's top is gone and he's so confused but so grateful for the closeness because he's so lost and scared and he thinks he's either going to kill someone he cares about or die himself. He doesn't think they have sex; he was so sedated there should have been no medical possibility that he could have got an erection. He can remember burying his head in her neck and he thinks he might have been kissing it, more out of a sort of 'thank you for being here' than anything else, but then the next thing he knew Malia was back over by the wall, knocking on it, resulting in a hollow sound. Then there was the corpse, pain, Oliver, trapped, Malia unconscious and her head about to be drilled open, fear, fear, fear, surrender, then no more until he woke up in Scott's living room, the memories of what the Nogitsune had done while in charge leaking into his head like drips from a faulty faucet.

After that he hadn't seen Malia again, and with Allison and everything else he honestly hadn't given her another thought. Then it had happened:

Stiles had been caught up in another nightmare.

The Nogisune had shown him everything it had been doing while it had been in control of Stiles, but after it had 'died' all of its memories from after it had separated from Stiles flowed into him, causing him to black out as their connection (agonisingly) severed.

Those memories would run through his head every night, sometimes twisting into something fabricated, other times just playing out word for word over and over again. That night had been strange though:

It had started out with memories, specifically the memories of Allison's death. Over and over he watched her fighting so fiercely, then she would turn and the look of shock on her face as the blade stabbed through her was one Stiles would never forget. However, the fourth or fifth time everything changed.

The Oni still stabbed her, but instead of falling after it withdrew the blade she turned towards Stiles, smiled and then walked over as though she wasn't leaving pools of blood in here wake in the place of footprints. As soon as she was in front of him she snaked her hands into his pants, wrapping her long fingers around his cock and tugged it free.

Stiles gaped at her as she grinned at him, blood running from the side of her mouth and staining her teeth.

"You only had to ask, Stiles," she laughed as she began to jerk him off and Stiles felt as if all of his limbs were trapped in molasses, too heavy to move, as blood filled his cock. It was horrible, horrible, horrible, but the smooth hand, smaller and so different from his own, was forcing a reaction of the most primal type that made him want to scream as the stimulation igniting his body warred with the horror of his mind.

"Please stop," he whispered, but Allison laughed and just sped up a little.

Pre come was dripping off the tip of his erection and still Stiles couldn't move. It felt like his lungs couldn't draw in enough breath and when he tried to speak again nothing came out. Scott and the others were just standing there, watching and emotionless.

"I know something that'll feel even better," Allison teased, and the blood was pouring down her chin now, all over their fronts and Stiles' erection.

Stiles tried to shake his head, but he couldn't. Then she was sliding down his body a little, blood filled mouth still smiling up at him as her eyes started to sink in their sockets and her hair became limper and started to fall out.

"Relax," she crooned as she slid Stiles' cock into the gaping wound the Oni had left in her. It was hot, wet, and pulsed around him but all Stiles wanted to do was vomit and scream hysterically over she sheer insanity of it all.

She started to move, swaying backwards and forwards with increasing strength while Stiles' mind felt like it was starting to crumble. Everything around them was fading away and he wasn't breathing but he didn't want to anyway.

Allison glanced down in apparent satisfaction at where he was joined to her before looking up; her face now that of a long-dead corpse.

"So how did it feel to kill me?"

With a gasp Stiles had jolted awake only to be pushed back down onto the bed a second later. Tears had filled his vision, there was bile in his mouth, and his head was swirling and ringing and something was wrong.

"Took you long enough. Now you can join in."

"I'm still dreaming," he'd croaked out as his vision cleared because there was no way that Malia Tate would be in his room and fucking herself up and down on his cock with a smug expression in reality.

"Then want me to wake you up?" Malia had purred in a way that might be construed as sexy if she wasn't currently raping him.

Before he could answer she leaned forward and sunk her teeth into his shoulder. In response to the pain his hands flew up and tried to push her off, but she caught them and pinned them down, claws digging in with the promise of what would happen if he did it again as a growl rumbled through her naked chest and into his clothed one, rattling his ribcage and making his heart stutter.

He surrendered.

After that it had been a blur of muffled cries on Stiles' part as his hand was clamped over his mouth, because he'd damn well shoot himself if his dad walked in on this humiliation, more blood and pain as she bit him again, a physical sense of growing pleasure as she worked herself on him combined in a nauseating mix with disgust and fear as her eyes started to glow blue and her claws started to rake over his chest, catching on the still healing wound across his stomach in bright flares of agony. Then shame, deeper than he'd ever felt – even more than him losing his dads job, even more than killing Allison - as he climaxed. He slung an arm over his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at her as a hysterical part of his brain reminded him that he couldn't make jokes about being a virgin anymore.

He wasn't wearing a condom either and in a detached way wondered how freaked out he should be about that on top of everything else.

She'd pulled herself off him with a sound that made him cringe and cuddled up to his side, running blunt, human fingers over the bloody bite marks.

"I like these," she'd murmured sleepily as she started to drift off. "They show everyone that you're mine, my mate, even to the humans."

Stiles had lain awake for the rest of the night, mind reeling over what she'd said, too scared to even move in case he woke her up, besides the twitching of his hands as he counted his fingers over and over again. Every time he reached ten and no more he re-started, trying to convince himself he was wrong.

The next morning Stiles had valiantly gathered his shredded dignity and tried to get rid of her; throwing every excuse he could think of at her – your dad must be worried. Did you check out of Eichen House? Don't you want to settle back into your own home? Scott will need to know that you're around. You need to see Deaton because you didn't use a condom and regular birth control might not work on you - while also trying to do it in a way that wasn't too antagonistic in case she lashed out again. The bite and claw marks she'd left on him throbbed in a dull yet persistent way, just sharp enough for him to be unable to forget about them, making him want to scratch them off and call for his mom at the same time. Self-harm and regression, never a good sign, but then again he'd just been… assaulted. He couldn't say the other word because that would finish him.

While she agreed to go and see Deaton later that day, Malia in return had seemed genuinely perplexed at his questions and had explained to him that her dad could barely look at her as her inability to comprehend even basic human interactions apparently made him feel like he'd failed her and that she was too broken to fix. (Or rather she'd said "dad said that I'm broken and he can't fix me when I tried to attack the postman. I don't see why I shouldn't have, he was invading my territory.")

She'd drawn in on herself a little and Stiles saw for the first time how small she was in comparison to him as she'd mumbled out that she didn't understand why people kept telling her she was doing something wrong. To her the things she did made perfect sense. She must have been feeling really lost and Stiles was apparently for some reason the only thing making things a little better for her.

Stiles had caved, reasoning that Malia wasn't a bad person; she just didn't understand human constructs of right and wrong.

While that reasoning hadn't made his experience that night any less horrific – Stiles could still almost feel his sanity crumbling if he dwelled on it for too long – it made it a little more bearable. He was sure that Malia could be taught these things and that it would just require a bit of patience, but if the whole pack got behind it she'd start picking it up in no time. He was sure. He had to be.

(He wasn't.)

xXx

In the following week Stiles learned quite a few important facts about Malia:

She had a very animalistic understanding of sex and mates; while it made sense given that she'd been a coyote during her initial pubescent years.

The human understanding she had of it that she had barely started to gain before it was cut off when she was nine was so thin on the ground that it was pretty much non-existent – she vaguely remembered some Disney films and talking with girls in her class over what her wedding dress would be like, which was probably the reason why after their kiss she assumed that he wanted to be together with her for the rest of his life, aka 'mates'. Fucking Disney.

In contrast, while she was a coyote and coming into her sexual maturity she had seen many animals mating and since turning back she'd simply never stopped to consider that humans might do it differently. Stiles had tried to explain, but it had gone over her head.

The fact that she couldn't understand something as simple as consent meant it was impossible for her to comprehend something as complex as PTSD (something which Stiles would have to be a fool not to recognise in himself after a lifetime of living with a cop and ex-military father.)

She would get annoyed when he would drift off in the middle of a conversation, frustrated when he wouldn't be able to go in to certain places, like Deaton's practice (just standing outside made him feet the distinctive grip of the katana hilt in his hand again, the grating, resistant feel thrumming up the blade as he had twisted it, and the horrible gasps, yelps, and pleas Scott had made echoed in his ears.)

One day at school, during a free period, they had turned down an empty corridor and when Stiles had realised that it was the corridor he'd been sucked into a flashback so vivid it was as though he was there again, backing away with Lydia down the hall as the Nogitsune had strode towards them. He'd apparently started making some pretty strange noises and had freaked Malia out, who had responded to it by punching him so hard it not only knocked him out of the flashback, but also knocked one of his back teeth out. (He'd told his dad he'd been hit by a particularly hard lacrosse ball that night as he sat in the kitchen with a bag of frozen peas pressed against the swelling.)

She also got infuriated by his nightmares. Her dreams were apparently very primal – hunting prey in the woods and similar things – so she couldn't really understand what was causing him so much trouble. For the most part she just left him to them, but if he started thrashing too much she would wake him by kicking him out of the bed, or something equally gentle, then tell him to shut up and then go back to sleep.

After a particularly bad night he'd stumbled across a photo of Allison on his computer while he was trying to avoid sleep and the coyote in his bed and started having a panic attack. Malia woke up and dealt with it the way she'd been dealing with whatever she found irritating/alarming about him: she punched him. He passed the black eye off as him being clumsy again. No one questioned him even though the bruise on his jaw was still vivid.

When he'd talked to her about maybe using a gentler approach to snapping him out of his panic attacks/flashbacks, she'd arched her eyebrow at him and said bluntly "but it works; it's satisfying for me when you're being that annoying and it's funny to watch your reaction."

And that was how Stiles learned that she thought his body coped with pain the same way hers did: that it could be bad, but that it was always very brief.

She always prodded the injuries she inflicted on him with a strange fascination when they didn't heal right away, "weird," she'd say and if pushed she'd respond that she was pleased that everyone could see her 'claims' on him, then go back to whatever she was doing.

Stiles had tried to explain it to her, but her mind-set was stubbornly set on 'I heal fast, so you must heal fast too. Maybe you're just a freak.'

By the time the third week rolled around Stiles had all but given up and reasoned that this was probably karma or something after what he'd done.

It didn't stop him from feeling trapped when she was around him though.

In a fit of desperation he'd shown Scott that marks that she'd left on his back the night before. Scott had seemed rather startled by it, but caught up in his own significant problems he hadn't spoken about it any further. Stiles was too ashamed to openly say to him 'I'm being abused by Malia, please help me.' Scott had enough on his plate already.

Next he'd tried to get his dad's opinion over the fact that Malia had basically moved into their house. It turned out that the Sheriff thought it was 'sweet' that Malia wanted to 'look after him', and that he was relieved that Stiles had someone around when he couldn't be after everything Stiles had gone through. He was starting to draw away from Stiles again, and Stiles couldn't bring himself to beg him to stay.

So Stiles gave up on that side of things too. It had gone on too long for him to be able to justify why he'd let it continue, so he'd just have to wait and hope that as Malia started to learn that she'd ease up.

She didn't. Like when it came to sex:

Sex with Malia was a very one-sided thing. If she wanted to have sex there was very little he could do to persuade her otherwise. She would always pin him down, jerk him off until he got hard, and then ride him until she was satisfied. Other than his cock he never touched her, he was rather revolted by the thought actually, and he would usually lie there with his arms thrown over his face so he wouldn't be able to see her.

He always cried when he came, hating that he was being betrayed by his own body, and he'd been relieved that Malia had never thought anything of it until the day the pack (now including Danny since his whole 'I know you guys are werewolves, duh' deal) had been sitting on the lacrosse bleachers at lunch. Danny, to try to lighten everyone's spirits, had started talking about a humours one night stand he's had at the weekend and it had all been going well until he'd said "-and then he burst into tears as he came. I didn't know what to do. I was all 'okay, the sex was good, but not that good,' y'know?"

Everyone had found it amusing except Stiles, who had been getting a sinking feeling in his stomach as he'd watched the frown spread over Malia's face, and then-

"Stiles cries when he comes."

Silence.

"Really?" Isaac had choked out. Malia looked even more nonplussed.

"Yeah, every time."

Kira had almost buried her head in her lunch in desperation not to see Stiles' face, Lydia was looking unimpressed, Danny was trying to hide a small smile, Isaac wasn't even bothering to attempt to hide the smirk spreading across his face, and Scott just looked adorably confused.

Stiles hadn't thought his humiliation could go any deeper. Surprise, surprise, it could.

They hadn't stopped teasing him yet, (perhaps out of a desperation for normalcy as their laughter seemed more manic than amused and their eyes a little glazed,) even during their weekly pack meeting at Derek's loft that had left Derek looking utterly baffled. Stiles couldn't bring himself to go to another pack meeting after that, and while no one bothered him about it the jokes did finally stop.

The only small mercy to come out of the increase in his degradation was that he was now so disgusted by his own body's reactions that his mind was starting to overpower his bodily responses and there were an increasing number of times when she was unable to get him hard at all. It usually resulted in a few new claw marks as she'd get frustrated over it, but he was more than happy to have those instead.

Hand in hand with the unwanted sex was that he couldn't bring himself to masturbate any more. The last time he had had been before the whole Nogitsune mess, but whenever he'd been gifted with some precious alone time in the shower (more often than not Malia joined him, even when he asked her not to,) the mere idea of touching himself had made him feel sick.

He kept forgetting to take his Adderall too; making his ADHD much worse and Malia would often retaliate to his failure to focus on one thing for more than a minute, or his rambling, or his inability to keep still, with a snarl and claws.

However, if Stiles had to choose the worst thing was her casual indifference towards his friends and family: she made it clear multiple times that she wouldn't give a damn if anything happened to them. She'd even said she wouldn't care if they died and that broke Stiles in a way nothing else she's done to him had. The pack, his dad and Melissa were the only things keeping him going right now, she had to know how important they were to him since he'd told her enough times, and for her to say that she wouldn't care if anything happened to them told Stiles how little she really thought of him.

So, slowly, and without any sadistic intentions, Malia was dismantling what little remained of his life and sanity.

Stiles finds himself beginning to hate her. (When he isn't too busy being terrified of her.)