#post-nogitsune

[droppedstitches72]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: Post-Nogitsune, Angst, Friends With Benefits, (sort of/kind of implied), Alternate Universe - Future, Nogitsune Trauma Summary:

“I’m starving,” he croaks, words whispered and cracking at the edges.

“You were gone for a long time,” Derek replies in what sounds like agreement. Like he knows that Stiles is hungry. It feels like everyone knows.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

“Please.”

Stiles stands there, chewing on his pretty crimson lips, pleading.

Derek isn't fully clued in yet, but honestly, the kid is kind of vaguely breaking his heart.

“Please, Derek, I'm really sorry about this, but please just—just don't say anything, okay? And just—let me?”

Stiles had texted Derek earlier, at 3.17am, presumably just before he’d set off from his house to drive his jeep to the loft.

Derek had been lying awake in bed, unable to sleep.

His messages had read:

> dude, i rlly need to come over. that ok?

And:

> ill let myself in if thats cool?

And after a few moments, in quick succession one after the other and before Derek had a chance to respond:

> and i rlly need u to just like. not get out of bed. presuming yr already in bed

> all shall be revealed

> lol i don't know why i put that

> and obvs tell me if any of this is not ok. ok?

> as if you wouldn't lol

> #sourwolf

> and yeah i know im being a weirdo but thats why you like me

And then, a few seconds later:

> right?

Derek had stared at the flurry of messages for a minute or so, then texted back:

Okay, weirdo <

About ten minutes later, Stiles had let himself into the building. Derek listened to the kid muttering away to himself as he rode the old service elevator—except it wasn't really himself he was talking to.

“God, I hope I'm not wrong about this. Like, I think we're close enough now for it not to be weird. I mean, at least I hope we are. I'm just so fucking tired, man, and have got to get me some sleep. Anyways, just—don't get up, okay? Or, like, can you get into bed if you're not already in bed? Sorry, I know I texted you this already, I just really need you to trust me. You do know you can trust me… Right, big guy?”

Derek's trust of Stiles was implicit.

When the steel door had unlocked and slid open, Derek smelled fresh, mostly unscented shower gel over the base notes of Stiles's own cinnamon scent, mixed with the very definite chemo-signals that indicated fear, restlessness, apprehension—and also, the strongest of them all; hope.

Let me.

Here, now, Derek still doesn't know what the kid needs.

Let him what?

Derek doesn't have any more time to wonder, though, because Stiles is taking off his sneakers and pants and is slowly, very slowly—as if giving Derek the chance to protest—climbing into bed next to him.

Stiles is now in Derek's loft in the small hours, in Derek's bed, fully under Derek's covers, with Derek wearing only his grey tank and black boxer-briefs and a probably terrified look on his face.

He silently thanks the universe for the cover of night.

“Like, you should obviously say something if this is completely heinous or whatever, but otherwise just—let me do this?”

And all Derek can think is shit, he's freezing, at the same time he is going into a some sort of dumbstruck shock because Stiles is now wrapping his entire sinewy, beautiful body around the entirety of Derek's.

“This okay?” Stiles asks, the air around them spiking with the smell of his anxiety as he Big-Spoons Derek like some human-shaped octopus, skinny but strong limbs astonishingly everywhere.

And he sounds so unsure, and so small, and Derek can't bear it.

Not giving the stoic part of his brain any opportunity to talk him out of doing this, Derek takes ahold of Stiles's wrist from where the kid had draped one of his long arms around Derek's midriff, and hangs on as firmly but gently as he can, manoeuvring them both around in the bed so that Stiles is now the Little Spoon.

“This okay?” he asks gingerly, mirroring Stiles because his own words are failing him.

Stiles says, “Yeah. Even better,” and his anxiety is melting away into something much more pleasing; something like relief.

Derek breathes out the word, “Good,” and feels a little dizzy and a lot amazed, and kind of like his heart is beating wildly in his throat.

The only reason he knows it isn't, is because Stiles says, “I can feel your heart thumping away in your chest, man. But, uh, I don't have wolfy senses, so… I can't tell if it's good thumping or bad thumping.”

Then he promptly stops breathing.

Derek resists the desperate, learnt urge to run away from this. He mentally shakes himself and figures: After so many years fighting monsters together, maybe he and Stiles can fight this one together, too?

He gives himself a moment to ride out the panic, then screws his eyes shut and, praying to nobody in particular, whispers, “Good thumping,” into the shell of Stiles's ear.

Stiles shivers and breathes again, but doesn't say anything else. For once, he doesn't need to. He just needs to sleep.

As the kid settles into Derek's bed and Derek's embrace and, hopefully, Derek's life, he smells like a mix of serene and content and promise—and also, wonderfully, of Derek, now.

Derek is a strange combination of relaxed and freaking-the-fuck-out because that's just the way he's made. His brain won't stop whirring at a speed of a million miles an hour, worrying about everything and nothing, all at once, and before he can bite into his lip to stop himself, he blurts out, “Cora says I sometimes dream-talk about Cajun Gumbo recipes.”

Stiles's only sighs, then hums quietly, his breathing already evening out almost to the point of sleep.

Just when Derek thinks he's not going to get any sort of real answer, Stiles mumbles, “Okay, weirdo,” on an exhale, and then he's drifting off into unconsciousness.

Derek settles then, and smiles into the nighttime thinking that maybe, finally, he might get a good night's sleep, too.

.

for @shealynn88, the bestest of friends. i love you and miss you always... <3 (unedited btw—forgive me!)

[christinesficrecs]

do you have any recs for fics post 3B or post season 4? Thank you!! Love your blog 💜💞

I'm so glad you asked! 🩷 This is my "omg, this was so good" list. 😊

Written in the Scars by dr_girlfriend | 15.3K | Explicit

Stiles stared into eyes that were just a little lighter than even the day before, looking almost beta-gold in the harsh lighting. His nose was just a little less uptilted, the moles on his face not quite where they used to be. The scar on the bottom of his chin from when he fell off the swings in third grade was just gone. He seemed a little bit taller, his shoulders a little bit wider.

With trembling fingers Stiles folded his left ear forward, craning his neck. A wheezing breath escaped him, his legs suddenly feeling weak with relief.

The mark of the Oni was still there, the one that meant self.

Stiles was still himself. For now.

The Walls Are Breathing In by secondstar | 41.8K | Explicit

Nothing could go wrong. It was just supposed to be a safe trip to the Nemeton. But this is Beacon Hills and things are rarely that simple. Welcome to the life of Stiles Stilinski.

Or, that time that Stiles accidentally became a sorcerer against his will.

Someone Else’s Dream by theroguesgambit | 36.6K

Post-3B. Derek has gone missing, and Stiles’ dreams might be the only way to save him.

out of the nightmare, into your arms by  tryslora | 6.4K

Stiles wakes up in the bathtub. It’s the third time sleepwalking this week, and at least this time he’s in the house. Ever since the Nogitsune, he’s had nightmares and nothing, and no one seems to be able to stop them. Until Derek.

Full On Rainstorm by BarlowGirl | 10.5K | Explicit

He catches Derek by the arm and Derek lets himself be turned, surprised when Stiles shoves a small box into his hands. “I don’t know if you still celebrate it or what but… I wanted you to know someone was thinking about you. Happy birthday.”

Then he squeezes Derek’s arm and bolts, gone before Derek can think to stop him.

He opens the box standing there, only to find one singular, misshapen, sloppily-frosted, cupcake, with a candle in the box next to it. It’s kind of squished despite the paper towel all around it to keep it from banging around in the box.

If You’re Going Through Hell (Keep Going) | 48.5K

Stiles thought everything leading up to Allison’s death was hell, but he was wrong. Spending senior year dealing with the pack’s dismissal of him while secretly training to be Deaton’s replacement was hell. Feeling guilty and hating himself for what the Nogitsune did was hell. Being in love with someone who would never love him back was hell. Well, if you’re going through hell, keep going.

Not Quite Lost (Not Quite Found) by alocalband | 25K | Explicit

A year after the nogitsune is defeated, Derek is living a quiet life in the mountains above a small town in Colorado.

Then Stiles shows up.

The One You Choose by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions) | 13.4K | Mature

Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours.

Saturday Night At The Movies by aussiebee | 7.3K | Explicit

After running into Stiles at the late night movies, Derek realises just how badly Stiles is handling the post-nogitsune fallout. He knows the feeling.

Sense of Home by siny | 53K | Explicit

Home can be a place, but it can also be a person.

After the events with the Nemeton, Stiles starts suffering the consequences of their sacrifice. A journey he attempts to make on his own, but only becomes worse with every step he takes. In the process he seeks comfort in an unexpected place and it draws him toward an unexpected person.

Illuminated by ZainClaw | 5K 

“Because I’m falling in love with you and it’s scaring the hell out of me.”

Start Small, Like Oak Trees by SmallBirds | 24.2K

The months following Allison’s death have passed Stiles by in a haze of monotony. He sleepwalks through days that seem to lose their color, an unwilling passenger in a body he no longer trusts. Eventually, he thinks, he’ll just fade away. He isn’t sure anyone would notice. Then, during a spur of the moment grocery run, he stumbles upon Derek Hale attempting to console a lost child, and for the first time in recent memory the world doesn’t seem so awful. He’s not sure what he’d been expecting when he eventually convinces Derek to move into the Stilinski’s spare bedroom, but a newfound passion for weeding and topsoil certainly isn’t it.

Nitesky by  thepsychicclam | 7K

Stiles has trouble dealing with the after effects of the nogitsune, and Derek finds him sitting on his roof.

Honey, Can’t you See (The Bloodstains on my Teeth) by  Loup_Aigre, TroubleIWant | 44.9K

“Mr Stilinski.” Deaton’s usually impassive face betrays a hint of surprise today, maybe even disappointment. “You haven’t changed your mind.”

Stiles tips his chin up, smiling against his irritation. “Nope,” he confirms, so cheerily it bites. They had arranged this weeks ago, yet Deaton was apparently betting Stiles wouldn’t go through with it in the end. Fuck that. He doesn’t know what it’s like out there, not really. He can afford to hold himself aloof and uninvolved, knowing his druid power is enough to keep him safe in this little office. Stiles can’t. Scott’s pack has got to protect this whole town, and Stiles’ spark isn’t enough to protect all of them while they do it.

^^^technically not post-3B but soooo good!

[stetervault]

Title: Oathbound

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Character/Pairing: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale

Rating: T

Word Count: 4,160

Summary: Stiles leaves when it becomes clear he’ll never really be trusted again, when he can admit to himself that maybe he was never even welcomed to begin with. It’s a more freeing acceptance than he’d once thought it would be.

Four years down the road and three years into a war that spans the globe, the supernatural has been exposed, the Beast of Gévaudan and its servants roam free, and Beacon Hills is an active warzone. In a fit of desperation, Kira attempts the same summoning ritual her mother had performed almost a century prior and what comes through is… not something any of them expects.

Tags: Canon Divergence AU, Creature Stiles, Post-Nogitsune Stiles, Nogitsune Stiles, Scott is a Bad Friend, Scott is a Bad Alpha, Slow Burn, Stiles Leaves Beacon Hills

@kitsunegeddon Have my disaster of a wip hec.

[beacon-hills]

you think you can kill me?

[shitpostingiris]

Don’t get me wrong I love teenwolf. But!

Stiles’s trauma was so fucking over looked. I feel like the show moved on from the nogitsune and the side affects it had on stiles.

Like they could’ve done such a good job with the strain on stiles psyche. Bc I loved the way they showed the panic attacks.

Like sure they touched on the panic attacks and the insomnia. But I would’ve loved to see stiles like actually break in the series. Maybe I just love angst too much.

Also loved the parallels in the two scenes where stiles has a gun pointed to his head. It’s definitely a good parallel where the watcher can see the strain on stiless mental as the show progressed.

Or when Theo is antagonizing stiles about “void stiles”. I wanted to see stiles tap into that side of him so bad throughout the series after that confrontation.

[teenwolf-incorrectquotes]

Scott: Hey Stiles, do you have a moment?

Stiles: Yep! I just finished making an entry in my dream journal. This time, the giant spider got caught... in my web. [laughs in relief] Progress!

[the-liminal-place]

[stilesdemonbaby]

Count to Ten by Anonymous

Summary:

After dealing with a witch that was specialized in illusions, Stiles can't tell what is real and what isn't, which becomes a bit of a problem given he is alone at night, in the middle of the woods, possibly being followed. Peter tries to help, which would be great, except Stiles is not sure if the man is real or not. “You reek of anxiety and fear.” “We did just kill a witch; I really do not know what you expected.” “No.” Peter says. “That's not it.” He furrows his brows. “You're not hurt.” He half states, half questions. He makes it sound so casual, and yet, if Stiles did not know better, he would have thought Peter seemed to be bordering on what may be concern.

Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski has Trauma from the Nogitsune, Protective Peter Hale, Dreams vs. Reality, as in Stiles cannot tell for the life of him what is real and what isn't, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Relationship, Panic Attacks, Stiles may be going through it but he will always be a sarcastic little shit, Angst with a Happy Ending, We are diving into the Nogitsune trauma like the show should've, Stiles figures out Peter cares and promptly ignores that revelation for later

Published: 2023-10-02

Words: 3,043

Chapters: 1/1

Rating: T

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Thank you for creating A-town it is really funny and I am actually invested now.

Thank you! Further headcanons about A-Town, the shitty decade-postwar sitcom inspired by Jake Berenson's life:

Brandon A., the main character, is easily the least popular one on the show. He's usually the straight guy to his friends' antics, he constantly cheats on his girlfriend Crystal (including with his cousin Trina), and he's underbaked compared to all the wacky side characters. (Jake, if asked, doesn't care that everyone hates Brandon.) (Jake's a liar.)

The most popular fan ship is Gina/Trina, also called Team Gets Shit Done. Not that anyone ever really gets much alien-fighting done ever on the show, but at least those two are marginally less incompetent than the rest of the cast.

Far and away the most disturbing fan theory (from Jake's point of view) is the one around Trina and Brandon's cousin Zeke who gets killed off in an episode with a million jokes about everyone only pretending to be sad he's gone... only to have that same actor appear in a different minor role two seasons later. There are all kinds of elaborate Epileptic Trees-type explanations for this mistake, including that there's a secret seventh morpher who took on Zeke's identity to get close to Trina.

Jeremy Jason McCole makes a Special Guest appearance, of course — guy was the public face of The Sharing for 0.03 seconds, after all. His character (at JJM's insistence) is a heroic civilian who gives aid to the fauximorphs while they're on the run from The Gathering, and sacrifices himself to get captured by the aliens so the kids can escape. In theory this should have consequences for the plot — he knows the identities of the entire resistance movement — but in true sitcom fashion, it... doesn't.

Speaking of The Gathering, Ash Lewis, who plays Daisy A./ Zeptron 420 (Brandon's older sister), is the breakout star of A-Town. Much like Alfie Allen in Game of Thrones or Dylan O'Brien in Teen Wolf, it isn't clear how much of this is down to talent and how much is down to her just being given more to work with than most of her costars. Either way, she's the blonde bombshell who builds her way into Hollywood heartthrob fame.

...with a little help from costar Marco Alvarez. Because the whisper network is what it is, and Ashleigh "Ash Lewis" Lewandowska would never make it to the A List if anyone knew about the steady girlfriend she has at home. Despite playing a teenager, she's within a year of Marco's age, and she initially suggests the two of them get seen on a few date. Marco does one better, finding her half a dozen "boyfriends" to keep the vultures happy long enough for her to start getting blockbuster roles. By far her most attention-getting "fling" is the single date she goes on with the very inspiration for her A-Town character: she and Tom Berenson (with their respective girlfriends' permission) get exactly one dinner together at the most tabloid-trafficked restaurant on Sunset Boulevard, a headline too good to pass up and a highly effective murder to the next decade's worth of rumors about her orientation.

More A-Town headcanons here and here.

[wontletyouundermyskin]

Holy shit, I've been reading Teen Wolf time travel fanfics and I just realized something. There's one where Peter, Chris, and Stiles go back in time but while Peter and Chris go into their younger bodies, Stiles stays an adult, separate from his child self.

SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3B OF TEEN WOLF

What if Stiles comes back separate from his younger body because he technically isn't in his original body? The Nogitsune possessed him then spat him out in a new body, then the original was destroyed.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

Eye Of The Storm

written for @sterekdrabbles using the 14/06/23 prompt words: SPELL, AWAKE and NAUSEATING. tags: POV stiles, post-nogitsune!stiles, flashbacks, pre-relationship, cuddling.

.

After a spell of nauseating flashbacks, Stiles can't stop shivering—despite the temperature in the loft surpassing one-hundred degrees. He's awake, ten digits say so (as sure as he gets). He knows he should eat but has zero hunger.

Horizontal on the Chesterfield, he watches Derek's broad back in the makeshift kitchen. What will his PB&J be? The Sourwolf seems like a grape dude.

Derek comes, stares, takes the plate to the fridge and Stiles to bed, and wraps himself around every defective part until there's sleep.

(Derek can read Stiles like a book; one they seem to be writing together.)

.

[softranswolves]

Multiamory May (with ships from a generator):

The boys who carry guilt and love equally

[jocollins]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf) Additional Tags: Idiots in Love, Eventual Smut, Eventual Happy Ending, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Minor Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Flashbacks, Post-Nogitsune Arc (Teen Wolf), Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Nightmares, mention of past Void Stiles, Implied/Referenced Torture, Not Stiles he did it whole being Void, getting better, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Working Through Problems, Happy Ending Series: Part 2 of Honeycake Summary:

Stiles and Derek still have a lot to navigate through in their fresh relationship, but both are ready for the hard work. aka Babies getting their happily ever after. Part two of “ One Drop Of Darkness, Please”

[raksh-writes]

Late night devil (put your hands on me)

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Nogitsune/Stiles Stilinski

Words: ~5,5k

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: sorta sickfic, shameless smut, dom/sub, praise kink, and the likes -- for more info and tags check the work over on AO3!

I've had a pretty tough week, but somehow managed to produce this one-shot while 100% self-projecting onto Stiles soooo, hope it's gonna be an enjoyable read! ^^ It definitely feels good to finally have something to post for my favorite bbies 💗🥰 Title from "Teeth" by 5SOS because I Love the song (or rather this one specific slowed down, deeper version ^^) and the chorus is just SO Voiles 😩💗 Also, big thanks to my lovely beta and best friend ever @flowers-for-stiles for giving this one a read through 💗💗

And, as always, hope this one’s gonna be a lovely read to y’all ^^ 💗

.

Overstimulation was never a word Stiles thought would apply to him. In fact, he’d say that for most of his life he’s rather been on the quite opposite spectrum — understimulated and always looking for something new to occupy himself with, to give his hyperactive brain to munch on and chase away all the nervous jitters that came with not enough stimuli, his attention drifting too easily. Then his magic happened, always abuzz under his skin, always seeking new ways for release and always, always craving more, which — he never really minded much. It was exciting and perfectly suited for his inquisitive nature; figuring out how to exist in harmony with his new powers, how to keep them satisfied and calmly flowing right alongside his blood. And— well…

Since he finally gave in to Void, since their connection turned into an infinite mating bond, it’s been all the easier to fulfill all his different cravings — the demon always more than happy to wring any last drop of sensation out of Stiles, leaving him completely spent and satisfied. And it’s been perfect, thus far. Void has also been the one to truly introduce the term into his life, relentless and hungry for anything and everything Stiles would give him, never backing down until he has it all and more. But Stiles loves it, the way the demon can bring him right to the sharpest edge of the purest pain-pleasure and keep him there until he’s a crying, begging mess — guiding him to the brink of overstimulation and past it, playing on his senses as if he’s been made for it, made for every whim and wish of the fox demon, more than happy to bend each and every way Void asks of him. But that’s the fun part, the part Stiles loves and cherishes and could never turn away from, what’s happening now, though…

Rubbing over his aching eyes, Stiles battles with the urge to throw it all to hell and just go lay down — the arguably most important exam this semester is three days away and he should be studying his ass off but instead can barely focus on the notes right in front of him. And it’s not the usual mind-drifting he’s been used to his whole life too — no, that one he already knows how to deal with, but this— This is a whole other beast.

The past few days he could barely sit through his lectures, every tone shift of his professors’ voices, every scrape of a chair over the floor so aggravating to his ears he flinched every time, shoulders drawn up high as if to help mute the world around him. God, he doesn’t even want to think how it’d feel if his senses were stronger than they are; just the whispers of his fellow students too much at any given moment. The bright lights overhead never helped either, making him squint so much his eyes would water and ache in a matter of hours — he'd been so beat at the end of the day he could just about only go to sleep. None of the notes he tried writing down make any sense now and Stiles has no recollection of what’s been discussed too — normally, he could get most of the material memorized just by listening, but these days it feels like he hasn’t retained anything from his classes. The exam’s quickly approaching and it looks more and more as if his mind is just not going to cooperate, bruised and aching inside his head.

With a sigh, Stiles braces his forehead on his palm and looks down on the pages upon pages of material, trying to read the words that refuse to make sense in his tender brain. A constant pressure keeps pushing at his skull from inside out, blunt and insistent, centered at the forefront of his head but also so widely spread it seems like no corner of his mind is unaffected, all and any thoughts scrambled like the eggs he ate this morning — without much appetite too, nausea rolling against the walls of his stomach like waves over the shore; not strong, but notable enough to make eating more of a chore than anything else. Even the amazing chicken noodle soup Void brought him didn’t seem to taste quite as it should on his tongue — and Stiles has a niggling suspicion the demon went all the way to Poland to get him some proper rosół. Just why he did remains a mystery, but the week’s been weird enough already and with how constantly Void has been bringing him meals — comfort ones, nonetheless — he’d guess the demon was just bored and looking for entertainment. It’s not like Stiles had the time or mind for anything this week — between the finals season in full swing, his unresponsive brain and the part-time job eating away at his free time, it felt like he barely even managed to get some evening cuddles and few kisses here and there from his mate. It’s really been… fucking hell, it’s really been a week.

Halfway through reading the same sentence for the third time in a row without comprehending any of what it conveys, Stiles swears under his nose and puts down the pen in his hand — it clunks on the wood, making him flinch.

“Well, that’s fucking it,” he mutters, hands roughly rubbing down his face before he finally pushes himself away from the desk.

The sunlight pouring inside through the window is already muted with the oncoming dusk, but soon enough it’ll be overcome by the lights of the neighborhood — they might live in a calm district on the outskirts of the city, but the nights are still much more awake than they were back at home in Beacon Hills, so even now it’s bright enough to make him squint. Shading his eyes as he comes up to their bedroom’s large window, Stiles pulls down the dark blinds they installed and closes the heavy curtains over them, just for a good measure — it makes the room almost completely dark, and Stiles can finally breathe out in relief. Tapping the wall to activate all the different soundproofing sigils he put in place — cutting all the noises from both outside and inside from getting in or out — he takes off his clothes exactly where he stands, uncaring of where they land, and — at last — crawls into bed.

Groaning low in his chest, Stiles curls up under the soft sheets, bunching up the duvet around his half-naked body as tightly as possible — and as much as he likes to grouse at Void for constantly bringing in new, expensive sets when they really don’t need them, he can’t deny they feel absolutely amazing on his skin, especially with how over-sensitive to everything he seems to be. Finally settling down, Stiles pushes his face into the pillows as he cuddles another one close to his chest, a small whine caught inside his lungs — the only thing he’s missing right now in his cocoon of warmth and comfort is the demon himself, and oh, does Stiles miss the bastard something fierce. Where even is his mate when Stiles needs him here so much [so] it hurts?

Okay, most of it is the weird sensory overload he’s been having for the large part of this week, but now — finally alone in their bed, cuddled up in their sheets with the room completely blacked out and silenced — his instincts call out for his missing partner, the one that always brings him relief whenever he needs it, whatever it might be. And his magic continues to buzz under his skin, unsettled and somewhat irate, as if angry with him for reasons Stiles can’t begin to understand; his mind too overwhelmed with the pressure pushing at his skull, his head both too heavy and too airy-light on his shoulders, and senses too fried and sensitive to the smallest stimuli, yet still — his magic continues to hum a frustrated tune, as aggravating as chalk on a board.

Stiles frowns, rubbing his face into the pillow. Come to think of it, in all the messiness of the ongoing week, he hasn’t let his magic burn its course even once — it needs release just as much as he does, if not more, and it’s become normal to find ways for it to do so. Which, more so than not, Void has always helped him out with — especially since his magic seemed content to flow with the ebb of their shared pleasure, maybe finding in it the life essence and energy it thrived on, then settled right alongside Stiles whenever his mate took his loving time with him. Although.. that might’ve been also partly because of how spent he always is after.

Something tight and aching takes hold of Stiles’ chest as the absence of his mate grows, empty and echoing in the pure silence around him, in the lack of Void’s cool touch, his deep, rumbling voice, his hot, soft lips. Stiles chokes down a whine, a small little thing in his throat, as his fingers reach up to gently graze over the black rune on his pec, right above his heart. It probably won’t do anything if Void’s absorbed in whatever he’s doing on the other end of the world and their bond — possibly feeding, but it’s hard to glimpse when they’re so far apart and Stiles can barely focus on functioning just by himself — but still, Stiles tries to look down their connection; tries to send the smallest little trickle of a request, a plea, hoping it’ll catch his mate’s attention. Then he retreats, already exhausted beyond what should be normal, yet too keyed up with magic abuzz in his veins and his mind scrambled inside his skull to rest, to fall asleep and maybe wake up to strong arms at his waist and a sharp smile at his nape.

He’s not sure how much time has passed — could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours, maybe he even nodded off at some point — but finally, the covers rustle. Cool air slips under the duvet, making his shiver, but before he can voice his protest, Void curls around his mostly naked body, flush against his back and strong arm around his middle as their sheets are safely tucked back, and Stiles exhales a wavering breath, the relief so strong and airy in his chest it brings a thin veil of tears to his eyes.

Weak mewl on his lips, Stiles pushes away the pillow he’s been hugging in favor of embracing back his mate’s arm, so sure and perfect on his waist.

“Hush, sweetheart,” the demon murmurs, mouth gentle on the back of his neck, muffling his voice in Stiles’ skin as if to avoid aggravating his ears — words more felt than heard as Stiles shudders.

He tries pushing back closer to his mate, encouraged by how readily Void pulls him in; the demon slides one arm under his pillow too, so Stiles can rest on it, cuddling him up as perfectly as ever. By now, they’re completely flush against each other and yet — it somehow doesn’t seem like enough. The demon’s presence is soothing as it always it, part of Stiles’ still unsettled magic calming down as their bond widens and thrums between them so it can flow through easily, but Stiles’ head stays unbelievably heavy, no thoughts formed that would make any sense — and still, he craves.

Void pushes his knee between Stiles’ legs, the silky material of his sleeping pants cool and slippery against his skin, fingers spreading out on his belly as Void trails his nose over the back of Stiles’ neck — then he makes a frustrated sound, barely-heard as it sticks to the back of his throat as if he didn’t quite mean to let it out.

“What is it?” Stiles asks in a whisper, so low it’s almost inaudible, but with Void’s sharp senses and their connection, the volume scarcely matters. The arm around his middle tightens, hand reaching higher over his stomach, and he moves his own palm to cover it, threading fingers between Void’s.

“You’re hurting,” the demon answers, almost a growl the way his voice rumbles, the vibration all kinds of lovely against Stiles’ back like a purr, but there’s frustration in his voice too, accusation even — though not directed at Stiles, “but I can’t take it. And I don’t know why.” Brows furrowed, Void brushes his face against Stiles’ neck, scenting him so thoroughly as if the mere gesture could wipe away the hurt he’s not able to absorb.

Stiles’ heart squeezes tight in his chest as he swallows thickly, all at once remembering all the little moments throughout the week, when his mate would touch and scent him with a bit more insistence than normally; Void must’ve been furious at his usual tricks being rendered basically useless. And the thought fills Stiles with both gratitude and an astute ache for his mate.

“It’s not painful,” he assures, shifting just slightly so he can look back at Void — not that he can see much in the pitch blackness, but his demon gets the hint, nudging their noses together. “It’s just… extremely uncomfortable.” If only that made it better, not just different…

Void moves his arm, bringing his fingers down to trail lightly over Stiles’ cheek, under his chin — and Stiles curls his hand around Void’s forearm, just under the elbow, comforted by being able to hold onto his mate.

“What do you need of me then, little fox?” the demon asks, oh so softly, as gentle and soothing as Stiles ever heard him. “Tell me.”

Stiles licks his lips, mind still in jumbles as he tries to come up with something, anything, to tell his mate, to assure there’s a way he could help, could bring him comfort. His magic buzzes, pins and needles swimming through his veins, demanding and irate at being ignored.

Squirming in place, Stiles grimaces — and can almost see the frown rising to Void’s face.

“Stiles?”

He reaches up, somehow able to find Void’s neck and curl his fingers around the back, the move pressing him even more flush against his mate. Tugging at his demon, Stiles leans up for a kiss, a weak little sound slipping out when Void readily complies, mouth soft and hot as he opens him up, slowly lapping between his parted lips as if drinking in the droplets of his pleasure right from his tongue. It’s deep and unhurried and as intense as everything always is with Void, working more perfectly than he could’ve anticipated at pushing away the insistent pressure in his skull to the back of his mind — the sweet, sweet fog of arousal swimming to the forefront instead.

Their breaths are heavy and quick as they part, and Stiles grinds his hips back, just the slightest of moves, biting down on his lips at the barely-audible growl behind him.

“You could try and distract me,” he offers, voice scarcely more than a breathy whisper, fingers twinning with the short hair at his demon’s nape.

“Try?” Void repeats, a purr rising in his chest that’s so deep and low it’s all but a lovely massage on Stiles’ back. “You really should know better than to tease me, kitten, or have you forgotten just who you belong to? Maybe I should give you a reminder.”

Stiles shivers, acutely aware of the leg pushed between his own and the hand slowly trailing up his belly, up his chest — Void brushes a claw against his nipple and the moan slips unbidden, his spine curving up into the touch.

“Or maybe you’re just so desperate for it, huh? How long has it been, sweetheart? A week? Even more?” Void’s teasing him, that’s clear enough, but the words curl tightly around Stiles’ heart all the same — because it surely has been and Stiles hasn't even realized he’s been neglecting his mate so much. Then Void tweaks his nipple sharply and a spark of pain shoots straight down to his hips so hot and electric Stiles forgets everything else on a small, breathy moan. “It’s really been too long, I see. Already getting so hot and needy for me when I've barely done anything yet, aren’t you?” And Stiles really, really is, delicious heat spreading in his hips as his erection begins to strain against his underwear. Void chuckles, tugging at his nipple sharp and hard enough he gasps, whole body jolting back into the demon. “Seems I have to take good care of you tonight, kitten. What do you say?”

“Please…” Stiles curves back into his mate, desperation slowly rising way down in his core to climb higher and higher the longer Void continues his teasing.

“Hush, sweetheart,” Void shushes him, rubbing his nose and cheek on Stiles’ neck. “I’ll give you what you need.”

A small whine sticks to the back of his throat, but then Void’s nibbling at his collarbone, teeth sharp and mouth purposeful, hand trailing back down over his belly, his hip — and, finally, to his erection, hot and throbbing under the thin material of his boxers. But Void doesn’t make a move to slide them off, no — instead, he brushes his fingers against Stiles’ dick over the briefs, waking an almost violent shudder in return.

“Void—” Stiles moans, begs really, but Void shushes him again, a sharp bite left at the back of his ear — just as much a reminder as an order. Stiles whines low in his chest, but surrenders to the sweet torture just the same.

Void curls his fingers around Stiles’ dick, rubbing at the head through the soaked cloth with his thumb, seemingly indifferent to all the little mewls spilling from his mate’s lips as he continues to bite and nibble bruises into Stiles’ neck. Pressing back against the demon, Stiles shudders at the feeling of Void’s cock slowly filling up, thickening so long and perfect against his ass — then something soft and ethereal brushes against his stomach, rising up his chest, and catches on his nipple, almost like a feather. Shivering, Stiles curves up and into the new sensation, even just the thought of what it truly is stocking up the fierce heat in his hips.

“That’s it, kitten,” the demon praises, voice honey-thick and sweet like molasses, “so good for me.”

Stiles whines, long and low in his throat, rutting back into his mate in a silent plea — Void chuckles but, finally, slips his hand under Stiles’ boxers and takes his throbbing erection, starting up a rhythm so slow and just tight enough it’s all but ramping up the needy thing in Stiles’ core into pure, physical desperation that has him squirming and moaning for more. A handjob isn’t exactly what Stiles had in mind, not with that perfect cock rubbing against his ass with every little move he makes, but he’s not about to complain — and for all he knows, Void might have his own plans for the night. Which— The moment another soft, light as a feather sensation brushes over the back of his thigh, right where it meets the curve of his butt, it becomes clear he does — Stiles shivers, anticipation flaring so hot and bright in his core it makes him dizzy.

“Easy, little fox,” Void soothes, keeping his strokes so infuriatingly light and unhurried Stiles would’ve been ready to strangle him if he wasn’t already so desperate and into this whole game they’ve been playing. “Be good and you can come whenever you want to.”

Another moan sticks to his tongue — it’s so rare that he gets permission so quickly, so easily, but it also makes him want to hold out for as long as possible, just to prove how good he can be for his mate. And—

“How—” A violent shudder cuts through his words as that soft, ethereal touch climbs up under his boxers, over the curve of his ass and in-between his cheeks, teasing at his rim with little, kitten licks. “How many?” His voice is no more than a breathy moan, hips shamelessly rutting into that sensation that doesn’t budge even an inch, moving right with him.

Void’s smile against his neck is as sharp as his teeth. “As many as you’ll have strength for.”

There’s probably no more than two in him, but Stiles still whines high in his throat, whole-body shiver rocking him against Void as that ethereal sensation pushes in, so smooth and silky it slips inside without resistance, spreading him as deliciously as Void’s fingers would — and Stiles is so used to taking his mate, to opening up for him whenever and however the demon wants him, it only flares with more heated pleasure in his hips, so sharp and acute he mewls, already dancing on the edge but too far away to fall.

“Please!” he begs, mind scrambled and unable to decide if he should rut back into Void or up into the hand moving so agonizingly slow on his dick.

“Hush, kitten, hush,” Void shushes him yet again, finally — finally — grinding his long, thick cock into Stiles’ ass, against that sensation spreading him open and rubbing that perfect, shivery-sweet spot over and over and over again. “I told you — whenever you want to.” Stiles whines, begs, really, desperately trying to press back into the touch that doesn’t change, as relentless as Void always is, grazing his prostate in the sweetest pressure calculated to bring him higher and higher and higher until it feels like he’s gonna burst but he can’t— can’t— “Oh,” Void smirks, sharp and almost cruel under his ear, “you need me to tell you, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Stiles calls out, voice thin, as if he could manage anything more but a breathy half-whisper, half-moan, “yes, please!—”

“Hush,” Void murmurs, hand tightening around Stiles’ dick as the ethereal touch solidifies, quickens, “such a perfect mate,” he praises, so low and sweet and soft as his hand is anything but, hard and sure and demanding — Stiles jolts, mewls— “you can come for me now, kitten.”

And he does — squirming and shuddering and little moans spilling out his parted lips. The touch doesn’t ease off, rubbing against his prostate all shivery and sweet as the pleasure pulses through his whole body, muscles clenching and unclenching and the heat burning so high it wipes away everything else. Void keeps stroking him through his orgasm with a slow, measured pace, nose pressed into Stiles’ neck and breathing in with his whole chest; as he finally starts to come down, Void’s hand gentles and that ethereal pressure slowly retreats, leaving him empty and gaping, twitching around nothing where there should be a knot to keep him all spread and full.

With tremors still rocking through his whole body, Stiles reaches back for his mate — tugs at Void as he leans up and whines into the kiss that follows, slow and messy and as intense as ever. When they part, Stiles can’t help but steal a few more — the magic settled down in his blood with the perfect release his mate provided but a part of him left bereft, still longing for what he should’ve gotten.

Slowly, a little hesitantly, he nudges his hips back, shuddering as Void’s cock fits perfectly against his ass — before the demon can say anything, he pushes up into another kiss, catching his lips in a far filthier, deeper one that Void immediately returns, a low growl vibrating in his chest. And as he licks into his open mouth so hot and hungry, Stiles takes back his hand and reaches down, slipping it under Void’s silky sleeping pants until he can curl his fingers around that mouth-watering cock. They both groan then, breaths mixed between their joined lips, and Stiles strokes his palm down the impressive length, a whine catching in his throat when he can feel the slight swelling at the base. It wouldn’t last long but fuck, does Stiles need it.

“Void, please…” he begs quietly, eyes already slightly wet from the intensity of his previous orgasm — his magic renders his refractory period almost nonexistent, but the slight edge of oversensitivity seems to linger now, and it will only make it more delicious.

Void rolls his hips into Stiles’ strokes, a growl vibrating low and deep in his chest. “Still haven’t had enough, kitten?” he asks, a slightly mocking edge to his words, but Stiles only nods, steals the shortest kiss he can manage — and that growl turns into something more like a purr. “Aren’t you a desperate, needy little thing,” he muses, but Stiles can recognize that amused, delighted tinge to it that makes a sweet shiver roll down his spine.

“Please, I need it,” Stiles squirms in his mate’s hold, acutely aware Void’s hand is still resting on his half-hard dick, under the soiled cloth of his boxers, “I need your knot, please—”

“Well, kitten… if you ask so nicely.”

Retrieving his hand, Void hooks his fingers in the boxer’s band before sliding it down under Stiles’ butt — but otherwise leaves them on, forcing Stiles to curl up a bit so the cloths’ pressure on his throbbing erection isn’t too stinging yet still very much present; and it flares the heat in his core all the higher for it, something about just his boxers staying on as Void fucks and knots him right here and now making all his senses absolutely thrill under his skin. And he doesn’t waste any more time, angling his hips and stroking down Void’s cock until the head catches against his rim, already so hot and throbbing he just about goes into a frenzy even before pushing himself down on it, pressing back until the head slips in — his breath hitches and Stiles stills, just for a second, yet Void only brushes his palm over his hip and doesn’t move further. Swallowing down, Stiles brings his hand forward to hold onto the sheets, and presses back again, moaning high in his throat as he continues to sink down on Void’s cock; as it spreads and opens him up as deliciously as ever and yet somehow always feeling completely new. When his ass finally rests flush against Void’s hips, the barely-there swelling just that more of a perfect stretch, a shuddery breath escapes his lungs — and the demon smirks sharply against his nape.

“Good kitten,” the praise slips like liquid honey down his tongue, flaring the heat deep inside Stiles back into that desperate need, voiced only in a whine. But Void’s sure hand curls around Stiles’ hip in a tight grip, unmistakable in its intent, and Stiles trembles, spin melting all pliant and malleable for his mate. “Very well, sweetheart, just like that,” the demon soothes, bending his other arm to place a palm on Stiles’ throat, tip his head back so it rests on his shoulder in perfect submission. “Be good and let me fuck you the way you need it, kitten,” his voice rumbles on the edge of a growl and Stiles bites down a moan, shuddering as that soft, silky touch comes back again — curling around his thigh, wide and almost fluffy in texture, then narrowing down his knee until it coils around his ankle, spreading him out over the leg Void already pushed between his. “Then — you can come on my knot. Sounds good, little fox?”

“Yes, pleeease—” He tries turning his head back, doesn’t really know what for, but Void meets him halfway — thumb tipping Stiles’ chin just the right way so he can catch his lips in a soft kiss, gentle and unhurried and slowly licking into his open mouth as he pulls away his hips, then pushes forward into Stiles, drinking in the mewl that slips from his mouth.

Void sets a pace that’s just as unhurried as his kiss, thrusts long and deep and angled perfectly right to rub against Stiles’ prostate, keeping almost constant pressure on that shivery-sweet spot that pulses and throbs in time with his dick, steadily leaking into the already soaked material of his underwear. The pleasure builds higher and higher and higher with every stroke, with every slide of Void’s cock inside Stiles, all hot and thick and just big enough to make him sore in the most dizzyingly wonderful way — the moans and whines slipping from his lips are constant now, so Void moves down his neck, kissing and nipping deep, bright bruises into his neck. In a bout of bravery or desperation — or maybe both at once — Stiles reaches back, gripping at Void’s hip as the demon quickens his pace, just slightly, and the knot at the base of his cock swells some more, spreading Stiles wider and wider every time its pushed in.

“Voooiid—” It’s a one, long whine more than his mate’s name, but the heat is getting so strong and burning Stiles is about ready to claw out of his own skin, he needs it so fucking much.

“Hush,” Void orders, an edge of steel to his voice — he moves his palm up Stiles’ throat, up his chin, until he can slip two fingers inside his mouth, pressing down on his tongue. “Be good, I said. Or I’ll change my mind — and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Stiles whines, shaking his head fervently as fresh saliva fills up his mouth — Void smirks, fingers working into Stiles’ mouth as if facefucking him like he normally would; and it’s so, so much hotter than Stiles could’ve ever imagined he trembles, images of all those times flashing through his mind bright and burning low in his hips.

“Good kitten,” Void murmurs, more of a purr than anything else, and he speeds up his thrusts — shorter, but still as deep as he can make them, the swelling knot pushing through and spreading Stiles’ more and more open but never enough to slide in and catch. A whine builds in his lungs, Stiles’ palm flexing on Void’s hip as he tries to hold on, sucks on those fingers in his mouth as he would on Void’s cock. “Very good, sweetheart, keep at it. You’ll come on my knot, and on my knot alone. I know you can, isn’t that right, kitten?”

Stiles moans his assent, a whole-hearted agreement, the desperate need that’s burning so hot it’s unbearable, and trembles down to his very bones as his muscles start to clench, the pleasure spreading and building and so, so, so fucking close. Yes, yes, fuck, he needs— needs, please!—

“Such a perfect mate for me,” Void murmurs — and thrusts sharply, sliding all the way inside Stiles so the knot catches in his ass and swells, spreading and stretching and filling him up so perfectly his whine is almost a scream as he tumbles into his own orgasm, shaking so badly the demon needs to hug him close, hold him still as the pleasure swims between them both, bright and hot and pulsing like life’s very heartbeat.

Trembling and jolting as it crests anew every time he can feel his mate’s release as acutely as his own, Stiles can’t help but push back against Void one more time; relish the feel of his thick, throbbing cock and swollen knot deep and perfectly snug inside his ass, lazy spurts of come against his hot flesh flaring the heat in most delicious ways. Long moments later, when it slowly ebbs away into just a lovely echo spreading through his hips once in a while, Stiles has no more strength left and, finally, melts into his demon’s embrace, warm and content.

“Stay,” is the only thing he manages to say, mind a mushy fluff inside his skull and muscles all loose and pliant throughout his whole body.

“Not going anywhere, sweetheart,” the demon assures, pulling him close as the soiled boxers are slowly slid down his legs and off, the soft, silky touch still in place around his leg and middle even with Void’s arm and hand hugged close over his stomach.

The clean-up is short and quick and passes Stiles by before he can notice much of it, but even then Void makes no move to detach them, hips still flush against his ass and knot well and snug inside Stiles, keeping him perfectly filled and open.

Good, his magic is satisfied for the moment, but nothing’s there to say he won’t need some more in the morning. And— well. Falling asleep on Void’s cock only to wake up slowly rocked on it, already hot and throbbing with pleasure deep in his core, is probably one of, if not the favorite way for Stiles to wake up, so he definitely wouldn’t mind that, not one bit. And going by the low chuckle at his nape, Void must agree.

“Rest, little fox,” he murmurs, nose trailing down Stiles’ neck as he cuddles him up a little tighter, the lowest of purrs vibrating into Stiles’ back, as soothing as only his mate’s presence could ever be.

With a content sigh, Stiles places his arm over Void’s and laces their fingers together, hugging it closer to his chest as he drifts off — finally able to rest.

[j-nightingalesb1tch]

teen wolf as text posts (4/?)