#void stiles one shot

[theemporium]

[REQUESTS OPEN]

[3.1k] or, void understands you. he can help you. he isn’t scared of you or what you are. you just have to let him set you free. (smut)

.

“Look at you,” he cooed softly, his hands running over your exposed skin with a feather-like touch. “So pretty when you listen, little dove.”

“Please,” you whimpered out, your voice was breathy and soft and he loved it. He loved the way your glossy eyes stared up at him, the way your cheeks were flushed and your lips raw and the way your whole body responded to him.

“Good girl using her manners now, hm?” he murmured with an amused huff as his fingers trailed over the plain of your stomach, smirking a little when your body twitched under his touch. “What would they say if they saw you right now?”

“I—” you gasped when you felt his hand grip your thigh, keeping your legs open and spread just for him.

“They’re scared of you,” he told her as his eyes caught hers. His stare was intense and deep and made her squirm beneath him. “They don’t understand you and they never will, little dove. They don’t understand people like you and me.”

And despite your better judgement, the snide remark slipped past your lips. “And you do?”

There was a pause. The hands exploring your body stopped, the soft creaking of the pipes were the only sound that could be heard as the seconds dragged on and you couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head up.

But Void had no problem solving that for you.

You felt his fingers roughly grab your chin, forcefully tilting your head back until his dark eyes met yours.

“I know you better than you know yourself, baby,” he gritted through clenched teeth as his leg slid between your own. “I know what makes you happy…what makes you sad,” he dipped down so his lips were brushing your own. “I know what makes you scream.”

Your eyes fluttered closed but quickly snapped back open when his grip tightened.

“They will never understand you like I do,” he whispered softly, almost like he cared. Almost like a lover’s words. “They will never give you what you need like I would.”

And a part of you knew what he said was true. They would never understand what you were or what you could do. It scared them. It scared them so much they locked you up in Eichen House without a second thought. They locked you away when they could no longer control you. 

“Pretty little dove trapped in a pretty little cage,” Void whispered as his hand slipped between your thighs, your legs practically shaking in anticipation. “I can set you free.”

“Please,” you breathed out, desperate and needy and so beyond caring what it meant now. It had been weeks now. Weeks of the lingering gazes and teasing touches, whispered words and late night talks. You found yourself intrigued by the hyperactive brunette, wanting—no, needing to know more about him.

Then something changed.

Something snapped in him.

Something darker.

But you, being the foolish and hopeful fool you were, you still blindly followed him because he wasn’t scared. He didn’t treat you like a freak of nature or a monster. He looked at you like you meant something, that you were worth something.

You followed him down to the basement because you craved it more than anything else. You craved him more than anything else.

It was a blur of emotions and pleasure. The way his hands gripped your hips, the way he led you back towards the couch and trapped you beneath him. The way his lips were on yours, his kisses as addictive as his words and the little sounds he made making you want to whatever he asked. Just as long as he kept touching you. 

He was pulling the scratchy material of your shirt off with your sweatpants following quickly after until you were tucked beneath him, dressed in only a pair of flimsy panties and your body burning up as you desperately chased your high over and over again.

But he would never let you reach it.

“You want that, baby?” Void hummed, his thumb brushing along the soaked material, drawing out a small whine from you when he circled your clit. “I can you make you feel so good.”

You nodded, hands gripping his wrist as you helplessly tried to grind against his palm. But Void was two steps ahead, pulling away from you completely as he tsked mockingly.  You let out a pathetic whine, every instinct in your body wanting to reach out for him, for the warmth of his body.

“Use your words, little dove.”

You stared up at him as he sat there, kneeled on the couch above you. Your eyes glanced down at his hands, following up his arms to the shirt that practically stuck to his body. Your gaze dropped to the front of his sweatpants, your throat going dry when you saw how hard he was, when you saw how badly he wanted you to.

“I want you to set me free,” you spoke so softly, looking like the semblance of innocence as your shaking hands rested on your stomach. Your pinkie darted down to trace the hem of your panties and he was seconds away from ripping the material off with his teeth.

“Yeah?”

You nodded, gulping a little. It made him hard to know he still scared you a little.

“You understand me.”

“That’s right, baby,” he praised as he leaned down to press a long, hard kiss against your lips. You moaned into his mouth, hands instantly reaching to grip his shirt as you tried to pull him closer. “I fucking understand you. I am the only one who can help you.”

“You’re the only one who can help me,” you repeated breathlessly.

The movements were quick and fast, almost invisible to the human eye but then again, Void wasn’t human. He sat back against the couch, with you now prettily straddling his lap. He could feel the goosebumps on your skin as he ran his hands up and down your arms. He could feel the way your body leaned into his. 

“If I’m gonna set you free, baby, I need you to listen to me, okay?” Void spoke, his voice low and gravelly and it sent shivers down your spine.

You nodded.

“Words, little dove.”

“Yes.”

His lips twitched. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ll obey you,” you said, your voice shaking a little.

“Atta girl,” Void murmured happily as his hands rested on your cheek, his thumb brushing against your swollen lips. He watched with eager eyes as you wrapped your lips around his thumb, sucking the digit as happily as you’d suck his cock if he let you.

You whined as he pulled his hand away, slumping back in his seat as he took in the sight in front of him. Your hands tucked behind your back, chest rising and falling with little pants and your eyes glued to him, waiting for him to touch you again. Waiting for him to allow you to touch him.

“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you, little dove?” The mocking tone in his voice wasn’t lost on you, wanting to press your thighs together but your position prevented you from doing so. “So wet and needy for me. Bet you are just desperate to come, hm?”

You gulped, nodding your head frantically. “Wanna come so bad.”

“Yeah? My little dove wants to come?” his voice sounded so soothing, so fucking patronising but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel an ounce of shame. “Go ahead then, baby.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as he relaxed in his seat, head laying against the back of the couch. “What?”

“Make yourself come,” he repeated again, his lips twitching into something quite vindictive and yet you couldn’t help but think how pretty he looked. “Use me, baby. Use me to set yourself free.”

“I-I don’t get what you—” you babbled, your cheeks burning under his watchful gaze as he cooed mockingly.

“Don’t get shy on me now, little dove, thought you were my good girl,” Void spoke as he ran his hands up and down your bare thighs. “What was that silly little fantasy you had? You…my thighs…yeah, you liked that one, didn’t you?”

Your breath hitched as he let out a small laugh. You don’t know how he knew, you weren’t even sure if you wanted to know how. The nights were you were unable to sleep, the covers were stuffy and your body felt warm and the only thing that made it bearable was slipping your hand beneath the hem of your panties and letting the pillow muffle your moans so you don’t get caught.

For him to know, to hear the little whispers and fantasies you thought you shared in the privacy of the dark rooms at night…

It shouldn’t have excited you as much as it did to know there was a possibility he was watching you, listening to you…that he was right there with you.

“Go on,” Void’s lips twitched upwards as he slowly guided you to straddle one of his thighs. “Put on a show for me.”

Deep down a part of you knew this was a bad idea. That you shouldn’t be here with him, alone and in this position. That following him down was your first mistake and everything else that followed only added to the mess. Deep down you knew that he was bad.

But you just truly couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Your hands moved to grip his shoulders, lip nervously tucked between your teeth as you began to rock your hips back and forth. Slow, deliberate movies as your clit brushed against the material of his sweatpants, and it felt good but it was not enough. 

“C’mon, baby, use me,” Void urged, his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Thought you wanted to come, hm?”

“I do,” you whispered.

“Then stop acting like a fucking brat and do as you’re told,” he growled as his fingers twisted around the material of your panties and ripped them with ease, letting the ruined material drop to the floor.

Your hips stuttered against his thigh, your hands gripping his shirt as you tried to get the words out of your mouth but no sound came out. You stared down at him, helpless and dazed and god, you didn’t think you had ever seen something so fucking hot.

“Can’t do anything yourself, can you?” Void commented, shaking his head slowly and something in your stomach twisted. “Need my help for everything, don’t you, little dove? Can’t even come yourself.”

“I…I can,” you argued but it fell limp when he gripped your hips, guiding them along his thigh.

“Can you?” he mocked, head tilted to the side as your hips began to move more frantically. Moans began to spill from your lips, desperate and shameless and sounding so pretty so his ears. “You want me to stop?”

“No!” you cried out, shaking your head as he bounced his leg beneath you.

“You look so pretty like this,” Void praised as you clutched onto him like a lifeline. “Nobody can make you feel like this. Nobody can make you feel like this but me.”

“Just you,” you whined out, tears welling in your eyes and your thighs burning but you couldn’t stop, not even if you wanted to.

“Just me, baby,” he growled, lifting his hand to roughly grip his cheeks so he could watch the dazed look on your face as you reached your high. “You only need me.”

“I only need you,” you whimpered, lips parting when you felt the muscles in your body tensing up. “Please.”

“Say it.”

“Please,” you moaned out, eyes fluttering closed. “Please, let me come. I-I need to, just please, please, please—”

Words escaped you in a desperate plea, like a mantra he could have listened to over and over again. Your body clinging to him, hair sticking to the back of your neck and your whole body shaking as you shamelessly fucked yourself on his thigh as he sat there, fully clothed and amused. 

“Come for me, little dove.”

The words barely processed in your head as your orgasm washed over you, a bright white light shining behind your closed eyes. Your head tilted back, his name and moans mixed together deliciously with sobs as your body let the pleasure wash over you. You were exhausted and sore and barely fucking coherent.

But he wasn’t done.

He ignored the whimpers that left your mouth as his grip on your hips remained, your cunt pressed against his thigh. He guided your face to his, unable to help himself as he kissed along your wet cheeks, the salty taste of your tears making him groan.

“Look how good I’m helping you,” Void murmured, lips brushing against yours but he never quite let you lean closer to kiss him. “You’re gonna help me too, hm?”

You let out a shuddered breath.

“Gonna be my good girl and help me, yeah?”

“I wanna be your good girl,” you whined softly, squirming in your spot and letting out a small moan as your clit brushed against his thigh again. “I wanna help.”

“So good for me,” Void praised as you leaned into his touch. He had you wrapped around his finger and he knew that. He knew that you were so fucked out and so fucking out of it that you would have done whatever he said, would have done whatever he pleased. And he would be lying if he said that thought alone didn’t make him unbearably hard.

You barely had time to respond before he had flipped you over, your stomach pressing into the edge as he bent you over the back of the couch. You could feel him behind you, his hands gliding along your back and down to your ass, squeezing and groping it. You jumped a little when he landed a quick slap on your cheek, the sound echoing through the basement along with your soft whimpers. 

You wanted to turn your head back, to look at him over your shoulder and see his face as he enters you but something told you to do otherwise. Instead you laid there, hands clenching the fabric of the couch as he spread your legs and let the cool air hit your soaking cunt.

“So wet for me,” he mused with a laugh, his fingers sliding along your slit and pressing slow, deliberate circles against your swollen clit. He lightly shushed you as you whined, his fingers moving to slowly push one inside you, enamoured by the way your cunt instantly clenched around him.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” Void muttered as he fucked you at a torturous pace, sliding in another finger to tease you that little bit more. “I don’t think you’ll be able to take me, little dove.”

“I can,” you gasped out, nodding your head helplessly. “I can take it. I promise I can take it.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to help you.”

Void groaned under his breath, the words sounding so desperate and innocent from your lips that he couldn’t resist any longer. He shrugged off the clothing with little care, his hand wrapped around his hard cock as he pumped it a few times, spreading the bead of precum along his tip.

You could feel the heat of his body behind you, his arms caging you in against the couch as he ran the head of his cock along your cunt, tapping your clit as you wriggled and squirmed beneath him. Breathless pleas escaped your lips as you urged him to fuck you, to finally be inside you and who was he to deny you when you sounded so pretty.

A broken moan let your lips as he thrusted inside you, little care about being gentle or tender with you. The groans that escaped his lips didn’t sound human as he entered you, feeling your tight cunt clench around him with such neediness.

“You wanted this, little dove, you wanted me to fuck you like this,” he growled as he bottomed out inside of you. “Such a desperate little thing, so needy for attention, aren’t you?”

“Void,” you moaned out, one hand reaching back to grab or hold some part of him as he mercilessly fucked you, your body bouncing with each thrust but it felt so good you couldn’t even care. “Please, please, please.”

“So fucking cockdrunk you can’t even answer me,” he said with a laugh that sounded so patronising it shouldn’t have made you clench around him the way you did. “Do I do your fantasies justice, hm? Can he make you feel like I can?”

You let out a high-pitched whine. “Stiles—”

“Don’t fucking say his name when I’m inside you,” he growled, his hand finding it’s place around your throat as he pulled you back until you were pressed against his chest. “He wouldn’t even know what to do with a desperate little thing like you.”

Your brain felt fuzzy as you approached your second high of the night, so close to the last and yet your body crazed it. You crazed the release—you craved him—like an addiction, a shot of pure fucking adrenaline and dopamine straight to your brain. You craved him like you craved air.

“Please,” you cried out, your legs shaking as you reached closer and closer to that edge.

“Come around my cock,” It sounded more like an order over anything else, but you were happy to comply. “Come around my cock and scream my name. You sound so pretty when you scream my name, when you tell everybody in this fucking prison who makes you feel like this.”

Everything passed in a blur. The tidal wave of exhaustion and pleasure as your second orgasm wracked through your body, the way Void groaned your name as he quickly followed you through your high a few thrusts later, coming inside you as he did. The way your eyes fluttered closed because it took too much effort to keep them open. It took too much effort to do anything at that moment.

But you could still feel him. His warm, heavy body behind you as he slowly pulled out, a soft whine leaving your lips when you felt his fingers graze over your leaking cunt, slowly fucking his cum back into you with two fingers. Your body felt buzzed and tired and sore, and yet you didn’t have the energy to tell him to stop.

Not as he fucked you through another orgasm.

Not as he held your shaking body as you cried out his name.

Not as he pressed his lips against your jugular, whispering “you’re mine” over and over again until it was the last thing you remembered as you passed out.

Because he was right.

He was the only one who understood and he was the only one who could help you.  

You were his.

.

[freedomfireflies]

Masterlist!

Series:

~ Teach Me* | BestFriend!Harry

Harry needs a little practice in the art of Eating Pussy, and who better to ask for help than his best friend? You.

~ Mine* | MafiaBoss!Harry

Your mafia boss boyfriend, Harry, has been a little neglectful of his most prized possession. But he's found the perfect way to make it right.

~ One for the Money* | CEO!Harry

Working as an assistant for the CEO of a large corporation doesn't always pay the bills. So, you've turned to OnlyFans in an attempt to rake in a little extra cash. Unbeknownst to you...your boss, Harry Styles, is an avid subscriber.

~ 404* | Nerd!Harry

The one where you and Harry are software engineers on a project for Juno Inc. And you can’t fucking stand each other.

~ Knockout* | Boxer!Harry

The one where Harry is a handsome stranger who always comes to your diner covered in bruises.

~ Infinite You* | Open Relationship!Harry

The one where Harry is in an open relationship with your best friend, and maybe you have more in common than you realized. 

~ iFall for Harry* | Famous!Harry

You text an unknown number, hoping it to be the guy you met at the bar. The man that answers instead seems to be quite the upgrade.

~ Mr. & Mrs. Hey Soul Sister* | Famous!Harry

You and Harry wake up after a wild, drunken night to find out you’re more than strangers. You’re married.

~ Rumours* | Harry Styles x Reader

One-Shots inspired by Harry Styles and Fleetwood Mac songs. A story about a couple finding their way through a devastating break-up.

One-Shots:

~ Jack Shit* (Pt. 2* | Pt. 3*)

In which Jack Chambers is not a selfish, egotistical man-child with raging control issues that apparently wants to climb into Alice's womb like she's his mommy, but instead just a regular guy with a different set of control issues.

~ The Angel and the Fae | (angel!harry)

The one where Harry is an angel that falls in love with a garden fairy. And even the heavens can't keep you apart.

~ Stuck with You* | (enemies!harry)

You and Harry have been assigned to a case halfway across the country. And getting stuck for over twelve hours in a car with him is nothing short of excruciating. But having to share a bed with him? A fate worse than death. (aka: enemies to lovers + one bed trope!)

~ Bite Me* | (vampire!harry)

The one where your boyfriend, Harry, is a vampire.  And you wish you could feel what he felt.

~ Overdrive* | (street racer!harry)

The one where it’s 1969 and Harry likes to drive really, really fast.

~ Teenage Dirtbag* | (frat!harry)

The one where Harry's popular, cool, and everything you aren't. And maybe you want to keep him your dirty, little secret.

~ Pillow Talk* | (ex!harry)

The one where you and Harry both have insomnia, and decide to spend one very strange night together.

Blurbs:

~ Blurb Masterlist

Collection of blurbs and drabbles for Harry Styles, Dylan O'Brien, and Chris Evans

Credit for the amazing dividers to @firefly-graphics

[loonylupinblack3]

Pairing: Void/Stiles x reader

Warnings: surprisingly not many, unrequited love??, scary void??, mentions of murder/killing/death threats???

Summary: void corners you in the empty school and gives some insightful advice

Word count: 1.9k

“Void?” you breathed into the darkness.

Silence answered you, unsettling you more than you’d care to admit. You looked around the dim classroom, feeling your nerves dance in your stomach. The school was dark when the power was off. So dark that you could barely see to the other end of the room.

“Is anyone there?” you asked again, feeling panic claw at your throat as you waited for a response, every muscle in your body tensed.

Yet when you still didn’t get an answer, you started breathing a little easier. Maybe he wasn’t here. Maybe you could go home to your friends and forget about ever hearing that voicemail on your phone, threatening your family if you didn’t come to the school to meet up with him. To meet up with Void.

You let out another breath, letting your shoulders relax slightly as you turned towards the door. Void wasn’t here, and though that could mean you were here as a distraction, you couldn’t help but feel relieved that you didn’t have to see him. The Nogistune was truly terrifying, a supernatural creature you had no want to get to know.

“Going so soon?”

You froze, feeling like you’d just been dowsed in cold water. The hairs on your neck stood up as a wave of nausea hit you. Even still you didn’t turn around. You just stood there, rooted to the spot with your eyes squeezed shut, begging for this all to be a dream.

You heard Void’s soft footsteps as he walked up behind you, barely breathing. You waited with bated breath for him to say something, do something, but he just stood there behind you, enjoying the sight of your fear.

Suddenly you felt a finger trace your jaw and your eyes flew open to find Void standing right in front of you, a small smirk curled onto his face. You glanced behind you, but no one was there. When had he moved in front of you? Why hadn’t you heard him? You felt queasy as you thought of how silent Void had been, how he had purposely let you hear his footsteps, all to see you tremble before him. It was sick. He was sick.

You stared up at him, at the face that was once so familiar, now distorted and wrong, trying to find some shred of dignity inside of you. You didn’t want to seem afraid, but how could you hide your fear when he could smell it? When he feasted upon the very terror you were trying to hide from him?

Void stared right back at you, the smirk on his face slowly growing. He had bags under his eyes and he was very pale. You could only imagine Stiles was looking even worse, which made your stomach lurch.

“I’m glad you came,” Void finally spoke, the hairs on your arms rising just at the sound of his voice.

You swallowed thickly, trying to calm your heartbeat as he took a step forward, trailing his finger down to your throat, resting on your racing pulse. He smiled, his eyes flicking up to your face where he could no doubt see the terror written all over you, no matter your attempts to hide it away.

He grinned, the sight making your stomach drop. “Are you glad you came?”

Not really, you thought wryly, still able to keep your sarcastic demeanour even in serious situations. It was one of the reasons you and Stiles became friends so quickly; you were both too sarcastic for your own good. You knew in this moment though, where you were alone in an empty school with a Nogistune, that sarcasm would not help you.

So instead you just stayed silent, hoping Void would get to the point of why you were here. His hand was still on your pulse, which was unnerving you nearly as much as how close the Nogistune was to you, barely a breath away.

Void raised an eyebrow at your silence. “Not in a talking mood?”

Mutely, you shook your head. Void stared at you, cocking his head to the side as he raised his hand to lightly brush along your cheek. You did your best not to flinch, standing as rigid as a statue as you waited for him to be done with whatever he was doing. It was pathetic, you knew, but you didn’t have much of an option. You weren’t powerful like Scott or smart like Lydia. You couldn’t grow claws or punch with enough force to break walls. You were just an average human, one that Void could toy with however he wanted, because you certainly wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop him.

“Do you know why I asked you to come here?” Void asked, finally taking a step back.

Immediately you felt some weight on your lungs lift. You no longer felt like you were suffocating, because now you actually had space to breathe. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, but they were back open and alert as soon as he continued speaking.

“I asked you to come here because I have a theory.”

Curious, you couldn’t help but ask, “what theory?”

Void grinned, beckoning you closer with his hand. Reluctantly, you took a small step closer, but that didn’t seem to be enough for Void because he grabbed on your wrist and tugged you closer until you were flush against his chest.

Void looked down at you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear as an unreadable expression took over his face. “Stiles Stilinski is in love with you.”

You stared at Void, momentarily caught off guard. Stiles, in love with you? You’d been helplessly in love with him for years, yet you’d always believed it was unrequited, what with Stiles’ infatuation with Lydia, but now here Void was, telling you he was in love with you, and he’d know better than anyone wouldn’t he, having possessed him and all.

Even so you couldn’t bring yourself to completely believe him. There was the doubt that had followed you around for years holding you back, the doubt that came in the form of Stiles staring longingly at Lydia, or the smile she’d put on his face that you’d never managed to do.

“How do you know?” you asked quietly, relieved that your voice didn’t waver like you’d feared it might.

Void looked at you pityingly. “Oh don’t worry, he loves Lydia more, if that’s what you were wondering.”

It felt like a kick to the stomach. You knew he preferred Lydia over you, knew he loved her more, but to actually here it be said, be confirmed, was worse than you could have ever imagined. It felt like all your dreams were being crushed, like your heart was being squeezed as hard as possible, like someone had taken a sledgehammer to your chest.

After everything you’d done for him. Every night spent doing his homework for him because he had gotton side tracked with helping Scott. Every time you picked him up after he fell, not Lydia. Every time you comforted when he was upset, letting him cry on your shoulder while Lydia was who knows where. It was you who had helped him all those times, you who had been there for him through everything, you who loved him endlessly, yet he’d choose Lydia over you in a heartbeat.

It wasn’t fair, and it angered you beyond measure. Instead of focusing on your grief, you focused on the rage, knowing it would help you in this situation more than sadness ever could. Anger was a weapon, something Derek had taught you early on, and you intended to use it as such.

“That’s not what I asked,” you eventually said. “I asked how you knew.”

Void raised his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised at your change of attitude. “Well, it ties in with my theory, you see. I split myself from Stiles, but in doing so I seemed to take a bit of him with me, as he took a bit of me with him. Now, I’m not sure what that part of me might have manifested into. It could be aggression, distrust, or anything, really, but I think I’ve figured out what his part manifested into.”

You couldn’t help but cross your arms, irritated at his monologue. You had just gotton your heart torn in two, yet he didn’t seem to care as he talked riddles at you. You’d asked him a simple question; you wanted a simple answer in return. “Which is?”

Void’s lips curved into a smirk as he stared at you. “I thought it would be obvious.” At your silence he continued. “It manifested into his love for you.”

You couldn’t help the “oh” that tumbled out of your mouth at his words. This whole confrontation was starting to make a bit more sense, now that you had all the information. This meant, though, that Void was in love with you. Void, a Nogistune that had killed countless people, was in love with you. What were you supposed to do with that?

“Why are you telling me this?” you finally managed to say.

He cupped your face in his hands, his eyes hungry as he stared you. “Because I want you to join me, Y/n. Stiles doesn’t deserve you, he never will. All these people you call friends will sacrifice you without a second thought if it meant saving someone else. You will always be a second choice if you stay there.”

You stared at him, a million thoughts racing through your mind at his request. Join Void? Could you really stand against your friends? Fight against them? The people who you’d known for years, who had always stuck by your side?

Not always, a vicious voice spoke in your mind. Void is right. You’re always a second choice to them. Always second best, when you deserve to be first. He had spoken all your doubts aloud, cementing them in truth. You’d always ignored them, but now that Void had acknowledged them you weren’t sure you could anymore.

Didn’t you want to be someone’s first choice? Didn’t you deserve it? After everything you’ve done for all of them, and they couldn’t even care enough to put you first. The familiar feeling of anger returned, and you remembered your goal to use it as a weapon. You hadn’t thought you’d use it against your friends, but then again, aren’t they the reason you were angry in the first place? Don’t they deserve to feel your anger, to know what pain you’d gone through?

You looked up at Void, searching his face for any hint of doubt, any hint that he didn’t actually want this. He only stared back at you hungrily, waiting for you to make your decision.

And you did.

You grabbed his neck and pulled him close, pressing your lips against him fiercely. He returned the kiss immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer. You melted into the kiss, letting him explore your mouth and give you pleasure with every flick of his tongue. You held onto him tighter, relishing in the way he made you feel. No one had made you feel like this, made you feel as powerful as you did in this moment. You could tell that Void wanted you, the way he gave a sound of approval from his throat when you pulled him even closer.

He lifted you up on to a desk, moving between your legs and you dutifully wrapped them around him, your hands pressing against his chest. Void tilted your head to the side to get better access to your mouth, one of his hands going to your hair and entangling them in it.

You felt powerful, and you knew you’d get revenge on you so called ‘friends’, with Void right by your side.

[writernusratsultana]

the one huntress that matters

ও a study (read: ramblings) on allison argent in light of the news that according to the 2023 teen wolf movie, allison is alive...with absolutely no repercussions for it??

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

Allison Argent will always hold a special place in the land in my heart that Teen Wolf occupies. If you look her up, you'll find articles on why she was and is one of the most important female characters in the history of teen dramas. I agree. I agree with it all.

She was not a black-and-white one-dimensional character. She was layered and complicated, someone we were all conflicted about: What is she doing? Do we support her? Is she good or bad?

            Allison entered as the archetypal pretty new girl, unaware of anything supernatural. The hero's love interest, and nothing more. I thought she was pretty but didn’t give her much agency.

The show clearly had another plan for her. Over the course of the first season, it became clear that she had her own storyline, separate from Scott's, which is hardly ever seen in such shows. She no longer had to use “love interest” as her crutches. We saw her becoming a talented archer and a conflicted hunter, targeting her own werewolf boyfriend before ultimately accepting Scott.

            Scott and Allison's romance (I blame them for idealistic expectations) was real and moving: the excitement of new romance but the undercurrents of a first love that went deeper. She became his anchor; the one that brought him back when he teetered on the edge. All he had to do was think of her. All she had to do was hold his hand to let him know she was there.

            Season 2 saw Allison pick up her trademark weapon and evolve into the strong hunter we began knowing her as. She and her bow and arrow came before Katniss did (The Hunger Games released 2012), so you couldn’t compare them. We saw how far she could go, what limits she could cross. Unaware that her mother died trying to kill Scott, she was manipulated into thinking that a rival werewolf pack was responsible for her mother’s death.

            Her mother's death started her downward spiral—something that was completely fresh and unexpected in a teen drama and wholly fascinating to see in a lead female character. Instead of breaking down, Allison used her anger as a weapon, pulling away from Scott and hunting down the rival pack, shooting arrow after arrow into teenagers until she was stopped by her stunned father.

We watched her, a human, fight werewolves that were stronger than her, using her training, her daggers and arrows, to make them bleed. Her transition from a sweet and pretty love interest to a strong and dark warrior was a change that all us fans were enthusiastically cheering for. Teen Wolf was setting milestones in their character portrayals and breaking stereotypes, setting an example for all media ahead.

            Season 3 became Allison's redemption arc. She needed to atone for the wrong she'd done. And so, she broke up with Scott and became completely independent—another move that made her different from other teen female leads, especially back then. She was making her own choices and telling us that we could too.

            We saw Allison become less confident in her abilities, unsure of what she was capable of and if she could really protect her friends. Her insecurities made her more human. Despite their break-up, it was clear that Scott and Allison still cared about each other.

Lydia’s friendship with Allison also evolved. For the first time, a female friendship was given as much depth and importance as a male one. We saw Allison become more protective of Lydia. When Lydia had to meet the Alpha that was responsible for biting Scott and killing Allison's aunt, Allison accompanied her, ready to defend her if needed. Lydia pushed her to gain back confidence in her abilities, giving her encouragement when she struggled with archery.

            In fact, the character relationships are probably the best thing about Teen Wolf. When people remarked that Allison and Stiles weren't really friends at all, the show proved them wrong: When Allison has to confront Void Stiles in season 3, she has tears in her eyes and an angry, determined expression that betrays her emotions—it is not an expression someone who isn't a friend would have. She doesn't even have to verbally say anything.

Season 3 was the show’s peak. Allison overcomes her internal struggles and is able to protect her friends without worrying she will hurt them. At this point, I was completely invested in the main gang. I was rooting for them to make it through. I was rooting for Scott and Allison to get back together despite the introduction of Kira.

Here, Allison was at her high point. Fierce, loyal, caring and sweet. She had emerged as one of the strongest female characters on the show whose role wasn't reduced to being the love interest, and it made history. Her story wasn't merely connected to Scott’s nor was it there just to support him, nor was it always impacted and affected by him. Her storyline was her own, and that's what we all loved. We loved her.

Which is why the entire fandom blew up when Allison died at the end of season 3. It was the first time I broke down over a character death on a TV show.

            It's important to note where Lydia was at the time of Allison's death. She and the real Stiles could not see what was happening; they were in a tight passageway so narrow Lydia could touch both walls if she stretched her arms. The scene that followed was remarkable in its depth. Where once Allison was so unsure of her abilities, here she was, using her bow and arrow to destroy the Oni.

            When she realized that an Oni was about to kill Isaac, you see her nocking an arrow and pointing it at the shadow warrior. And then you see her visibly take a deep breath. She's both steadying herself and assuring herself that she can do it. That she can hit her target. That she can save her friend. It was amazing—it made her so human. She was not perfect, just like the rest of us.

And it hits. The arrow goes right through the Oni. And in that brief moment, her face lights up. She did it. But she doesn't see the other Oni that promptly avenges his fallen mate. And she is run through with his sword. I screamed when that happened. No, no, no. No, she'll live. She'll survive that. She will.

            The scene cut to Lydia with an unconscious Stiles. The moment the sword went through Allison, Lydia stiffened and gasped. And she screamed Allison's name. The scream was bloodcurdling, both terrible and ultimate.

            But wait. Lydia is inside. She didn't see Allison get stabbed. So how did she know? You could say it was banshee powers. Intuition. But as the viewer, you realize that Lydia felt the sword. It was as if she had felt the sharp pain Allison must've felt. Could you imagine losing your best friend that way?

            But Lydia is not the only one who breaks. Scott comes running just in time to see the Oni drag his sword back out and vanish. Allison collapses into his arms. The blood that stains her lips looks like crimson lipstick. You can see the struggle in Scott's eyes, the helplessness, the shock: like he can't process that the girl he has always loved from the very beginning of the show is now dying in his arms. It was something not even we, as fans, had seen coming.

            And then Allison says something. "I love you," she says to Scott. "I love you, Scott McCall."

            Why was this so important? One, because Allison and Scott are not together. And yet she says this. Second, one thing I've always loved about Teen Wolf is that not everything is verbal. There are meanings underneath what they say on the surface. This is a show that treats its teens in a more mature way than you see in most teen shows.

            So when Allison said "I love you," to Scott, it wasn't just a romantic love she was talking about. She truly loved him. As a person. She had always loved him just as he had always loved her (fun fact: this line was not in the original script. Crystal Reed had come up with the line herself, against the producer's wishes. She too believed that till her dying breath, the one person Allison Argent had always loved was Scott).

            Everything about this scene was brilliant and beautiful and top-notch for what you'd normally see in a teen drama. It wasn’t sappy. It wasn't overdone or underdone. I loved that they emphasized the friendship between Allison and Lydia—two female characters—just as much as they had emphasized the lovers. Because yes, Allison's death took something away from Scott. But it also took something away from Lydia. When I think about Allison's death scene, it is Lydia's reaction that stands out most in my mind, despite her not even having witnessed the death like Scott did. 

            Allison's death was almost historical. MTV put up a website that was designed as her memorial. All you saw were fans posting about how much Allison had inspired them. Entertainment websites and blogs waxed poetic about why Allison was such an important TV character and why her loss really was a loss.

            It was especially sad because Jeff Davis had not originally planned for Allison to die. In fact, in his plan, Allison actually lived and he had envisioned her and Scott getting back together and eventually getting married (give me a moment while I cry about this forever). Allison's death was a result of Crystal Reed's decision to leave the show to pursue other roles.

            Of course I wish she hadn't made that decision. The entire fandom wished it. It is true that Allison’s death marked the beginning of the show’s fall, its downward spiral and shaky foundation. Ever since her death, the show was unable to keep itself steady, mostly due to the high character turnover. Characters entered and left as if everybody was a guest star instead of the main cast.

            They began introducing a plethora of characters with immense potential, just for the show to never expand on them, or for the actors themselves to leave.

            The worst blow came when the show wrote off Arden Cho, the only, might I add, Asian character in the main cast. Kira Yukimura was a kitsune, a fox spirit. She had no control over the kitsune inside her—rather, when she was in battle, the fox spirit rose up and controlled her instead of the other way around, and Kira didn’t even know it.

            This created so much potential for her. How could she help Scott and be a part of his pack if she couldn’t control her powers? What if the kitsune completely took over? What havoc would she wreak, especially with a sword in her hands and her powers in tow?

            But just when her story was building up to an exciting crescendo, Arden Cho revealed that she would no longer be part of the show come season 6. The writers had cut her out—their excuse was “too many characters to keep track of.” It was a slap in the face to fans who had invested in Kira the same way they’d invested in Allison. Now, just like Allison, Kira would be leaving, and she didn’t even get a proper goodbye.

Yet, the show chose to keep irrelevant characters. They were introducing unnecessary male characters instead of expanding and building on the characters they already had. We were all confounded when after giving that reason to cut Kira out, they announced that a new cast member would be joining—“a hunky, sexy lacrosse player who gets drawn into the supernatural world.” At this point, we already had way too many “hunky, sexy” boys. It was ironic how the show that complained they had “too many characters” was now introducing a new face none of the fans wanted, when they could’ve spent that energy developing Kira.

            But one thing Teen Wolf did that I loved that was very unlike typical teen dramas was that they didn't brush off Allison's death nor did they ever forget that she was such an integral part of the show. In other teen dramas, when characters die, the show tends to find a quick replacement and move on without looking back. Teen Wolf did the opposite.

            For example, the fandom was pretty angry when Teen Wolf didn't give Allison a funeral and instead jumped right back into trying to save Stiles. But upon thinking about it, I realized that they did it to reflect the situation: the truth was that none of the teens had any time to process Allison's death—they had to rush to save Stiles before Void Stiles caused anyone else's death.

            This is why, at the end of season 3, the scene where Scott sits alone at the kitchen table staring into space until his mother arrives and he suddenly breaks down crying in her arms, hits that much harder.

          Teen Wolf has always done well with nonverbal scenes and I loved this one. Without any words at all, we understood who Scott had been thinking about. That was both a testament to how well we had grown to know Scott over the span of the show and to the writers of the show.

            We thought that after season 3, Allison would never be mentioned or thought of again. But we were wrong. In the 5th season, the gang attends a “senior scribe:” a tradition where seniors write their initials on a bookshelf in the library decorated with the initials of previous seniors.

          Scott writes his initials. Pauses. Then, right underneath his initials, he writes, “A.A.”

            The fandom went crazy. It was so endearing. With that simple—again nonverbal—scene, Scott proved that he would always love Allison. He would never forget her. She too would’ve been with them, taking part in this tradition, if she were alive. It was lovely and it hurt.

            In season 5, the fans celebrated Crystal Reed’s return. She would be guest-starring in one episode as Marie-Jeanne Argent, a woman who bravely killed a beast who turned out to be her brother, Sebastian.

            When Sebastian and Scott are facing off, Sebastian is winning. Ready to serve Scott the killing blow, he digs his claws into the back of his neck: however, in doing so, he is immediately immersed in Scott’s memories.

            And who did he see? Allison. What did the fans see? Flashbacks of Allison, who we thought we’d never see onscreen again. Disoriented at the visions, Sebastian stumbles back, whispering his sister’s name: “Marie-Jeanne?”

            That quick moment gave Scott the time he needed to save himself from the blow that would’ve killed him. Though dead, Allison had saved Scott’s life yet again.

  The fandom went wild. This was the best tribute the show could’ve given and nobody had been given any warning. The show had not revealed that they’d be doing anything like this. It was the second tribute they'd given her despite it being two years since her death, and it was beautiful.

The fact that the show understood the value of its female characters (with the exception of Kira) and makes sure to remember them is something I have not witnessed in any show. Allison was the perfect flawed character. Teen Wolf will always be special for their deft handling of their characters and the amazing way they turned an actress’s desire to leave into something beautiful.

So while I am elated that Crystal Reed is back for the movie, the fact that they brought Allison back, alive, after I've finally gotten over her death—has me in doubt. I wonder if it doesn't negate all these beautiful moments, the growth the characters and the fandom has had because of her death. Because then, what was the point?

[camellcat]

to go ahead and start off my new awesome Teen Wolf obsession, here are some Void Stiles doodles as I try and figure out how I wanna draw him

up next: Scott McCall (and more Stiles) :D

[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.

[voidpetrova]

captive hearts — void!stiles x reader

☄. *. ⋆

content warnings and genre: swearing, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, degradation, slut-shaming, breeding kink, obsession

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

synopsis: it wasn't something your best friend would do, but it's what the nogitsune wanted for him. it was supposed to be against your will, but you couldn't stop yourself from falling for the familiar face that was holding you hostage

✧.*

the night hung heavy with a sense of unease, casting shadows that seemed to dance with malevolent intent. in the dimly lit hallway of eichen house, you stood, the distant echoes of your friends' voices fading into the background. anxiety clawed at your chest, a gnawing feeling that something was deeply wrong.

as you rounded a corner, a figure stepped out of the shadows, and your breath caught in your throat. your best friend stood before you, his eyes dark and haunted, his presence radiating with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“(y/n),” his voice was a low, almost chilling whisper, a stark contrast to the stiles you knew so well. “you shouldn't be here.”

despite the warning in his words, you felt a surge of concern for your friend, your best friend. the stiles you had grown up with, the one who had shared countless memories and inside jokes. but now, as you looked into those void-black eyes, you couldn't deny the presence of something darker and far more sinister.

“what's happened to you, sti?” you asked softly, your heart heavy with worry.

a mirthless smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his voice carrying an eerie edge. ”oh, i'm still me, sweetheart. just a version you've never seen before.”

before you could react, his hand had shot out, his fingers gripping your wrist in an iron hold. panic surged within you, your heart racing as you struggled against his grasp.

“let me go, sti, please,” you pleaded, your voice quivering with a mix of fear and determination. he didn't relent, his grip unyielding as he stared down at you, his expression an enigmatic mask. “you're not leaving, (y/n). you're staying with me.”

confusion mingled with your fear. “why? what is it you want?”

his gaze held yours, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “i want you all to myself. away from distractions, away from interference. just you and me.”

his words sent a chill down your spine, the implications sinking in like a weight in your chest. your friends, the pack—they were the distractions he spoke of. stiles wanted you isolated, wanted your undivided attention. but for what purpose?

“stiles, please,” you pleaded, the fear in your voice betraying your facade of strength. “this isn't you. you're my friend.”

for a moment, something flickered in his eyes, a brief hint of the stiles you knew. but then it was gone, replaced by the darkness that had consumed him.

he leaned in, his voice a low murmur against your ear. “they don't matter, (y/n). only you.”

his words were a whisper against your skin, a dangerous allure that tugged at the edges of your resolve. despite the fear, despite the unease, you found yourself drawn to him—compelled by his magnetism, his power, and the dangerous allure of the unknown.

the air grew heavy with tension as stiles maintained his unyielding grip on your wrist. his touch was both firm and possessive, a reflection of the darkness that had consumed him. there was a twisted energy about him, an intensity that sent shivers down your spine and yet stirred an unfamiliar curiosity within you.

“why are you doing this, stiles?” your voice wavered, your heart pounding against your chest.

his eyes bore into yours, void of the warmth and familiarity you once knew. “because, (y/n), there's something about you that i can't resist. something that draws me in, that makes me crave your presence.”

his words held a certain vulnerability, an admission that cut through the layers of manipulation. and despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, you couldn't help but sense a flicker of truth in his confession.

stiles' fingers released your wrist, only to replace their grip with cold metal cuffs that bound your wrists together. he led you down the dimly lit corridor, the echo of your footsteps resonating through the silence. chains clinked softly as they trailed behind you, a physical reminder of your captivity.

“you and i, (y/n),” stiles murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “we're bound by something deeper than friendship. i can feel it. and i need you, all of you, to myself.”

as you walked beside him, the weight of his words settled over you like a cloak. the darkness within him was palpable, and yet, there was a connection that defied reason—an inexplicable link between you that drew you closer, even in the face of danger.

he led you into a room, its walls adorned with eerie symbols that seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy. chains dangled from the ceiling, their presence a stark reminder of the power stiles now wielded.

“you won't leave here until you understand,” he said, his gaze intense and unyielding. “until you see the truth of what we could be.”

stiles' hands moved deftly, securing the chains around your wrists, leaving you bound and vulnerable. the metal cuffs bit into your skin, a physical manifestation of the control he exerted over you.

“you're hurting me, sti,” you whispered, your voice laced with a mixture of pain and desperation.

his eyes softened for a moment, a trace of remorse flickering within them. “i don't want to hurt you, (y/n). but you have to see. you have to feel what I feel.”

he drew closer, his presence consuming the small space between you. his fingers brushed against your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle, and yet, beneath it all, you sensed the unrelenting darkness that had taken hold of him.

“i've watched you, wanted you,” stiles confessed, his voice laced with raw emotion. “and now, i can't resist. you're mine, (y/n). even if you don't know it yet.”

his lips brushed against yours, a kiss that held a desperate longing, a dangerous craving. and as his mouth captured yours, you couldn't help but taste the dichotomy within him—the darkness and the yearning that intertwined in a twisted symphony of desire.

for the first time since your captivity began, your resistance wavered, the line between fear and fascination blurred. stiles' kiss held a power over you that defied reason, igniting a fire within your very core.

and as he pulled away, his eyes locked onto yours, a sense of inevitability settled over you—a realization that the boundaries between captor and captive were more fluid than you had ever imagined. in the midst of the shadows, a dangerous intimacy had formed, a connection that transcended the darkness and danced on the precipice of something deeper, something you couldn't yet comprehend.

the weight of your captivity pressed down on you, the chains and cuffs a tangible reminder of your vulnerability. stiles' eyes bore into yours, a mixture of intensity and anticipation that sent a shiver down your spine. his confession, his touch, his kiss—they were all a maelstrom of emotions that threatened to consume you.

tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed at him, your voice shaking as you found the words. “stiles, please— i can't share my feelings like this, not when you're— not when you're like this.”

his fingers brushed away your tears, his touch gentle against your skin. “(y/n),” he murmured, his voice a mixture of longing and reassurance, “you don't have to say a word. i can see it in your eyes.”

you trembled beneath his gaze, your heart a chaotic mess of conflicting emotions. his words held a truth you couldn't deny—the feelings you had suppressed, the connection you had resisted, it was all there, laid bare in the depths of your gaze.

he leaned in, his lips brushing against your forehead, a tender gesture that contrasted sharply with the darkness that enveloped him. “i've waited for this,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “waited for you to see what's between us.”

your heart pounded in your chest, a symphony of fear and desire that echoed in the silence between you. his lips descended upon yours once more, a kiss that was both a declaration and an invitation. and this time, as his mouth claimed yours, you didn't hold back.

your lips met his in a fervent dance, a mixture of desperation and surrender that left you breathless. the chains that bound you became an afterthought, the darkness that surrounded you fading into the background. there was only stiles—the stiles who had once been your best friend and confidant, and the stiles who now held you captive in a web of emotions too complex to untangle.

as his kiss deepened, a sense of inevitability settled over you—a recognition that your fate was now irrevocably intertwined with his. the tears you had shed, the resistance you had fought—it all seemed inconsequential in the face of the consuming desire that pulsed between you.

his hands explored your body with a reverence that belied the darkness that had taken hold of him. Your skin tingled beneath his touch, each caress sending waves of heat through your veins. the chains that had once symbolized captivity now seemed like a conduit of connection, linking you to him in a way that defied the confines of reason.

and as the minutes stretched into moments, and the boundaries between you blurred beyond recognition, you felt a strange sense of surrender. it wasn't just to him—it was to the complex emotions that had taken root within you, to the longing and the darkness that now coursed through your veins.

stiles' lips left a trail of kisses along your jaw, his touch igniting sparks of pleasure that melded seamlessly with the turmoil of emotions you felt. the fear, the desire, the confusion—they all melded together in a symphony of sensations that left you dizzy and disoriented.

you pulled him closer, your fingers threading through his hair as you captured his lips in a fervent kiss. in that moment, the darkness that surrounded you was eclipsed by the intensity of your connection—an intensity that defied reason, logic, and the very essence of who you thought you were.

as the darkness and the desire merged into a single entity, you surrendered yourself to the storm that raged within you, a storm that was as much a part of you as the beating of your heart.

amid the whirlwind of emotions, your senses seemed to blur, the line between reality and desire becoming increasingly indistinct. stiles' touch was intoxicating, his kisses igniting a fire that consumed you from the inside out. the chains that bound you, once symbols of captivity, now felt like a tether to something deeper, something that defied the darkness that surrounded you.

his fingers traced the contours of your face, his touch both tender and possessive. his lips brushed against yours in a series of fervent kisses, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The world around you faded into obscurity, leaving only you and stiles, entangled in a dance that seemed to transcend time and space.

his breath was warm against your skin as he pulled away slightly, his gaze locking onto yours with a mixture of intensity and vulnerability. “(y/n),” he whispered, his voice rough with longing.

tears welled up in your eyes, your heart a tumultuous sea of emotions. the words you spoke next were laden with a raw honesty that cut through the darkness like a beacon of light. “stiles, i love you. i don't care what you do to me. just—just do whatever you want. i'm yours.”

his eyes widened, surprise mingling with a rush of desire that seemed to consume him. a mixture of conflicting emotions played across his features—a sense of disbelief, a yearning for connection, and a darkness that still clung to him.

but then, as if a dam had broken, stiles' expression shifted. the vulnerability in his eyes intensified, the conflict giving way to a single-minded determination. he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that spoke of urgency and need.

the room seemed to spin around you as the kiss deepened, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you pulled him closer. the chains and cuffs that held you were no longer barriers—they were mere threads in a tapestry woven from the emotions that bound you to him.

stiles' hands roamed your body with a possessiveness that mirrored the intensity of his emotions. your skin burned under his touch, each caress igniting a fire that seemed to spread through your veins. and with every touch, every kiss, the divide between you grew smaller, until there was nothing left but the overwhelming sensation of being consumed by him.

as the minutes stretched into eternity, you felt a sense of liberation—a liberation from the constraints of reason, from the boundaries of morality. the darkness that had once defined him was now a mere shadow, eclipsed by the force of your shared desires.

stiles pulled away, his breath ragged, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless. “you have no idea how long i've waited to hear you say that.”

your chest heaved, your heart racing as you met his gaze with unwavering sincerity. “i meant every word, stiles. i don't care about the void. i love you, all of you.”

the vulnerability in his eyes deepened, a sense of awe mingling with his desire. he kissed you again, a kiss that was both a promise and a confession—a promise of something deeper, something that defied the darkness that had brought you to this point.

and as his lips claimed yours once more, you kissed him back with a fervor that mirrored his own. In the midst of the chaos, the desires, and the emotions that swirled around you, a new truth emerged—a truth that transcended captivity and defied reason.

“i've gotta be honest, doll,” he murmured into the kiss, stroking your cuffed wrists as he attached his lips to the crease of your jawline. “spent so many nights jerking off to the thought of you.” you pressed your thighs together, attempting to ease the tingling between your legs as a soft moan left your mouth.

“stiles, please,” you moaned, tugging at his dark locks as he sucked on the sweet spot of your neck, sucking until it was marked with purple. “need you inside me already.” he smirked at the way you begged for him, your words going straight to his dick as his jeans tightened.

he pulled away from your neck as he admired your desirable state, neck marked, hands cuffed and legs spread for him. your eyes fell to the bulge in his jeans, a small gasp passing your lips. the size was incredible, you couldn't possibly imagine what was waiting for you behind the fabric. “go on, princess,” he cooed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “take it out for me, baby. show me how much you want it.”

you did as you were told, from unbuttoning his jeans, to sliding them down his legs, to ignoring the way your pussy throbbed at the sight. his grey boxers had a stain pressed right where his tip was, tight and suffocating as his dick was outlined in the most perfect way. when you slid his boxers down in anticipation, your eyes widened, the smirk on his face only growing. “it's too big,” you gasped, and you weren't exaggerating. you knew it would tear your cunt apart with the combination of length and thickness. “gonna rip me apart.”

he could only shudder as you wrapped a hand around his shaft, your other hand pulling him in by his shirt. he was practically on top of you now, big dick right in your face as you clutched it. he exchanged your hand for his own, tilting his cock towards your mouth, shuddering as he tapped his slicked, angry tip against your bottom lip. you parted your lips, saliva trickling as you engulfed his tip, swirling your tongue around the slit as salty pre-cum filled your mouth and groans of pleasure filled your ears.

“so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he cooed, hand brushing your cheek as he admired you. you were so slutty for him, so willing and eager to please the man who was holding you hostage. “needy little doll, aren't you?” you nodded as he withdrew his cock from your mouth, smearing the arousal onto your lips before pulling away.

“please give me more, sti,” you moaned as you felt your clit throb, tugging on your restraints but failing to accomplish anything. “need all of you, please.”

he took pride in the way you begged him so nicely, in the way tears clouded your vision due to the lack of friction and mercy. he held devious laughter back as the tears spilled down your cheeks, unable to resist a few pumps of his dick at the sight of your tears. he leaned down, lips grazing your ear as his hands began to roam your body.

“little sluts like you get their pussies used, you know that? walking around in tops like this with your tits out, you like it when other guys stare at you?” you shook your head but it was no use, he had torn off your shirt, leaving you in a bra that would soon fall to the floor. he groaned, dick pressing into your skin as he groped your tits, eyes practically rolling back into his head as he sucked on the soft flesh, tongue swirling around your nipples before he engulfed them whole. “and these skirts that barely cover your ass, come on. you get a thrill knowing aiden's watching your cute little thighs? knowing isaac and theo are jacking off to your ass and tits at home, wishing they could have you the way i do?” the skirt you had on met the same fate as your top, leaving you in panties that made stiles go insane—see-through, pink, and for his eyes only. his hands pulled apart the flesh of your ass as you moaned, his lips trailing along your thighs, kisses planted on every inch of skin until you could feel his hot breath fanning your pussy.

“such a pretty little thing,” he cooed, pressing his nose into your barely-clothed clit. you whimpered, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as stiles inhaled, groaning at how he was met with a damp nose. “anybody else get you this wet, sunshine?” you shook your head eagerly, thighs trembling.

“no, just you. it's always been you.” your response pleased him enough for him to push your panties to the side, a sigh of relief leaving him as he stared at your pussy—at the way your arousal made it shine in the light.

“do i have to prep you, doll?” his question was almost mocking, dripping with insincerity as he used his thumb to toy with your clit, rubbing aggressive circles into it as your moisture piled up. you shook your head through your moans, back arching into his touch. you needed more of him.

“spread your legs wider,” he ordered. you obliged, spreading them as much as you could, your pussy on display for him. “good fucking girl.”

when you felt his tip against your entrance, you knew you were in for a treat. he didn't bother putting a condom on, knowing that even if you got pregnant, it could only make him a happier man.

“i'm gonna tell you one thing,” he murmured, his voice steady yet harsh. “i'm gonna breed your fucking pussy, mark my words.” you whined at his words, the idea of birthing his children going straight to your core.

“please, sti,” you begged him, hating the empty feeling that overwhelmed you. “cum inside me, get me pregnant please.”

when he thrusted into you, your vision went black for a good few seconds. he entered you with a loud groan, his eyes glinting with a burning desire that clouded his judgement. you moaned with him, your pussy clenching around his dick like no other. if only he had given you time to get used to the size of it. you pulled at your restraints, pleasure clashing with pain at the foreign size inside you. “s-stiles,” you begged him. “t-too big, please.” your pleads only came off as a joke to him, as he mocked your words.

“it sucks, doesn't it? when i have to put you in your place, split your pussy open?” he smirked at you from above, a dangerous spark in his eyes. “really should've thought about that before leaving the house like a cheap slut.”

tears stung in your eyes, but you couldn't ignore the way your wetness spread at his derogatory tone. it was impossible to ignore, with the way he was pounding into you at an impossible pace, hips slamming against your skin as he used you. he used you. he had turned you into his bitch in heat—screaming for more of his cock that made you delirious. he grabbed your jaw with one hand, breast with another as they began to bounce from his brutality. he watched the way tears spilled down your face from the pain, and he couldn't help the way they made his cock twitch. watching you cry like that had him cumming the first time in a matter of minutes. “keep crying—shit, fuck—cry for me, cry like a little bitch,” your first orgasm followed shortly after, cries of ecstasy passing your lips as you rode out your high. unfortunately, stiles wasn't planning on stopping.

the overstimulation was too much. stiles had himself on top of you, his legs spread farther apart in order to thrust into you at an animalistic pace, even faster and harder than the first time. you sobbed, sweaty hair sticking to your skin. he groped every part of your body, leaving bruises on your tits, waist and ass as he fucked you stupid. “come on, gorgeous, i know you've got another one for me,” he practically snarled, pounding into your sweet pussy as he thumbed your clit with a loose finger. you were so close, you could feel it. “it's too much, stiles, i can't,” you sobbed, but he wasn't having any of it.

“can you feel it? the way i'm fucking all this cum back into your little pussy?” the cum from his first orgasm had slipped out by a few drops, but he was right, it was all fucked back into you during your second round. “no one's gonna fucking touch you after i'm done with you. you're gonna be my little whore.”

“i'm all yours, sir,” you cries as his hands found its way around your throat. he gave your throat a squeeze, watching the way you moaned with your head back, boobs bouncing from the sheer force of his overpowering thrusts. “i'm your dirty whore and no one else's.”

when his thrusting reached a pace that seemed inhumane, you felt your second orgasm washing over you. you had to close your eyes to brace yourself for when it came, but when it did, it was twice as good as the first. you moaned when you squirted, juices coating his dick as it began to throb aggressively inside you, a string of curses leaving his mouth as hs held onto your tits, lips parting as he finally came a second time. he came loudly, thick, hot spurts of his cum filling you up twice in a row.

when he pulled out, he could only watch in satisfaction at the sight of your pussy overflowing with his cum.

you were worn out, an empty feeling striking you as you locked eyes with stiles. he couldn't help but smile at you, planting a kiss on your forehead.

in each other's arms, you found solace—a solace that resonated with the knowledge that, even in the heart of darkness, love could thrive.

[eddiemsguitar]

What is your top five Sterek scenes?

1. Stiles comforting Derek after Boyd's death. Season one Derek would've yeeted him across the room but instead their relationship developed to where Derek accepts the comfort

2. Derek carrying Stiles bridal style because he got shot in the foot. Stiles is screaming and Derek is over it

3. The pool scene is iconic, Stiles held up a paralyzed Derek in a pool for two hours to keep him from drowning.

4. A small scene but when Void Stiles was egging on for Chris to shoot him, Derek is in the background looking like he's ready to jump and take a bullet for him.

5. When Derek believed Stiles over Jennifer,

[fandom-imagination-ss]

IMAGINE: Derek hale destroying your tire so you can't leave Mid fight

You and Derek rarely have fights.

Not since you graduated high school and told Scott and his pack to Suck it.

Between your cousin Scott lying to you for years about the werewolf thing, being shot in my shoulder by Stiles / Void Stiles by an Arrow. And getting No explanation for it. No one told you what he'll be going on. Until Peter mentioned it and Derek tried to shield you from the truth. It only made you mad. So when Graduated you just left no goodbyes nothing.

But time changes a person, you Forgave your cousin, his hot best friend Stiles, and when Life gave you a curve ball and you returned to Beacon Hill. you gladly became friends with Malia and Started Dating Derek. 

the Fight was Stupid. It wasn’t an Earth-shattering Fight, it was a simple Stupid Fight. Derek Forgot about your Dinner date. that you were looking forward to all week. because he was so focused On work fixing a Fancy car. the Idiot who brought in the classic Car. had the Brilliant Idea that if he put Painters’ tape throughout the Entire Car. covering Every Inch of the Car it would protect the paint job... Between the Heat of the Sun beating down on the moving car. and the fact. he used cheap ass painter’s tape. he destroyed the car.. the tape he started peeling off. and took Large chunks of the paint. 

Normally it wouldn’t be a big deal that Derek forgot about Date night. bot after the week of hell you dealt with your co-workers. your boss putting a pass at you. again. and you have to file another report to HR. who just swept it under the Rug and then dealt with Eli. Stealing the Jeep Again for the fifth time. this month, and to Top it all off you were Late... you only realized it today once you were getting ready for date night that you weren’t just a little late. you were 3 weeks late. your Plan was to have a wonderful Date night with your man. Slip off to the pharmacy to snag a pregnancy test and hope along and take it. in the store. because you knew. that Derek and Eli would find it at home. That was your Mission for the night. But Derek came home covered in Grease complaining about how the painter taped around the exhaust pipe that the idiot put on. burnt the pipe. and that led to discovering the Oil was leaking and it was a bigger task than he expected. you stood wearing your summer dress with a jean jacket as he looked at you stunned, “why are you dressed all cute?” 

“Date night?’ 

Derek rubbed his face as he spoke, ‘rain check? I’m exhausted?” he walked over kissing your head as he suggested ordering a Pizza instead as you called him a butthead.  and grabbed your keys and decided you would go to Walgreens and Skip Part 1 of your plans. and go straight to getting the Test. you were sitting in your car at a Red light. the road was empty. as the light turned green. your Car jumped. but didn’t move. you quickly turned to see Derek standing behind your car. as he’s claws were slowly going back to normal. your jaw dropped as you quickly un did your seatbelt as you shot out. seeing he sliced your back seat driver side tire. 

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND!” Screaming you walked over lookign at your tire it was ruined no fixing it. you would have to replace it complete.y “My Car!” 

‘you don’t get to just Leave!” Derek was trying to contain his anger as you looked up at him. 

“I was coming right Back after I hit Walgreen you Jack ass!” 

‘you called me Butthead!” 

your anger was sidetracked at hearing the hurt ins his voice hearing him say that as you blinked stunned, “I’ve called you So much worst! your fixing this!’ Derek crossed his arms tightly as he snapped, “the last time you called me a butt head you disappeared for three years! you don’t get to just leave because I forgot date night!” 

“I was just going to Walgreens! I wasn’t Leaving! I stormed off  yes but I intended to COME BACK!” you groaned as he spoke, ‘what was so important that you needed to go to Walgreen you sick?’ 

“No. I just- needed.. female products.” 

A pregnancy test counts don’t it?  you hoped he couldn’t tell the difference as he stared at you, “I’ll fix your car. and we can go-” 

you shook your head as you crossed your arms, “you can fix my car, and we Can go home! and we are getting burgers. and im getting a milkshake and we are going to watch whatever i want! I can’t believe you Jump from Butthead to me Running off? where would I go? your my Heart!” 

Derek sighed heavily as he spoke, “it was Rough the first time you left.. you just called me a fucking Butthead and then you were gone i didn’t even get to know hwere you were” 

“Derek- to be fair.. we weren’t close back then you kept your distance.- I would Never leave you.. if i leave you- i’m taking you with me. i’ll stuff you into my trunk- your stuck with me forever.” 

he nodded his head stepping over as he cupped your head softly, “im sorry - I overreacted and broke your Car.” 

you nodded your head, “Sorry I called you a butthead and stormed off I just- it’s been a rough week.. and I was looking forward to just you and me time.” he sighed heavily soothing your hair, ‘you did look beautiful. you do look beautiful, lets get this car fixed and go have a date.” you smiled weakly as you spoke, “by the time you fix the tire, i’ll be passed beauitful and want to go home.. Lets just fix it. and go home. and order in.” he nodded his head saying okay kissing your lips as he pulled back as you helped him take your tire off, and use your replacement. that he forced you to have in your trunk. when the car was fixed you kissed him and said you would meet him at home as you drove to Walgreens. 

you only ever taken a pregnancy test Once, when you were in university. your roommate was worried about taking one so you took one with her. you weren’t pregnant. you weren’t at all in danger of having a bun in the oven. but Now? Now you were in a relationship with a guy who looks like the Greek Gods carved out out of marble! your relationship was at the ‘honeymood” stage... bene together for almost six years. and your “Fun time” was Very much Healthy Relationship. and Sure.. Sometimes you both get caught in the moment and forgot to be smart. and responsible! 

Which as you stood at the walgreens counter paying for your Pregnancy Test yo were shocked you were here. buying a test. Sure Rationally you knew, you weren’t excatly “Safe’ 100% of the time.. especially lately. But it still surprised you. you were just paying when Derek came in. and caught sight of you instantly. he’s eyes grew large seeing you holding pregnancy box as he fainted. 

Nothing could perpare you for seeing your boyfriend. falling forward completely passed out in shock as you bolted over to him as you rubbed his arm trying to wake him. he woke up instantly as he looked at you as he spoke, ‘your pregnate?” 

you shook your head, ‘no- well I mean.. I dont kow..” 

“were you going to tell me?” 

“yea.. after i took the test.. I didn’t- I didn’t think taking the test at home would be a good idea..” 

Derek got to his feet as you helped him as he spoke, “why not?’ 

“Derek I was hoping to surprise you with the news.” he rubbed his face as he spoke, ‘okay.... Lets go take it.” 

“What?” he grabbed the box as he spoke, ‘come on. they have a public bathroom.’ 

you laughed but was shocked as he picked you up as you gasped he hosted you over his shoulder as you gasped loudly. as he headed to the bathrooms. getitng itno the  womens bathroom he went to the wheelchair accessable stall and put you down as he spoke, “here you go.” 

he handed the box to you as you spoke, ‘thanks..... we never talked about babies..”  

he nodded his head as he spoke, “I would Love- if you aren’t pregnate.. can we have a baby?” 

you couldn’t help but smile at the way he asked as if he was asking for a puppy. “you want a baby?”  he nodded his head, “I want to have a baby with you. i want our family to grow. I always wanted a big family. you want kids. we talked about this.” 

‘yea- Like on our first date! Derek!” 

“is it cause we aren’t married yet? Because i’ll pospose right here and we can elope oyu never wanted a big fuss of a wedding!” you couldn’t help but smile. you shook your head fast. 

“as much as getting postpose to in the bathroom. is intoxicating. can we pick another time to ask me.. Like when we aren’t in a public bathroom?” 

he sighed heavily as he stepped over, “just- can you pee on the stick? I want to know.” 

you chuckled as you spoke, “well- leave the stall and I’ll do the test.” 

“can’t i stay?” you laughed as you shook your head, “No sicko go!” he grinned slippng out as he closed the stall door as he stayed in the bathroom. you rolled your eyes. Even if he went outside he would still listen in. that’s the problem with having a wereowlf boyfriend. you did what the test required as you walked out. ‘would- it be 50/50 if it’s like you or me right?” 

“yea why? does it matter?” 

“well Yea! if im gonna nurse i dont want my bits bite off! Oh my god! what if i ahve the baby on a full moon! Derek! does it matter? what if-” derek stopped your rambling as he cupped your face softly, “I would be right there to help, and it wouldn’t be like that. just a little babe. and the powers awaken later.” you nodded your head relieved to that as he spoke, ‘So you would want it?” 

you nodded your head softly, “A Chance to see you with daughters. Hell yea.” 

he chuckled softly as he spoke, “not a boy?” 

“Nope a girl.” he smiled to that as you reached up cupping his face kissing him. when the 2 minutes were up. it was your time to faint. as Derek caught you. you were infact. pregnant.

[mikatheseer]

We interrupt this multi-chapter sterek fluffsmut fanfic to bring you a Void Derek vs Void Stiles one shot AHAHA WHAT AM I DOING TO MYSELF

[slut4thebroken]

Dylan O’Brien’s Characters Masterlist

Smut - ❤️

Fluff - ✨

Angst - 🖤

Dark content - ❗️ (noncon elements)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

main masterlist

𝑷𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅:

༺˚ʚ Stiles Stilinski ɞ˚༻

Enemies With Benefits ❤️ 🖤 ✨ (on hold)

Stalker!reader hcs pt. 1

Stalker!reader hcs pt. 2

༺˚ʚ Mitch Rapp ɞ˚༻

Russian Roulette ❤️

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔:

༺˚ʚ Void Stiles ɞ˚༻

Untitled dub con knife play one shot

[theemporium]

so i have this idea… 👀 3x22 eichen house stiles but instead of having sex with malia he has sex with reader?

this is short and rushed because honestly i had to stop myself from writing a whole ass fic for this but enjoy!🖤

.

“Chaos has come again.” 

Your lips twitched as you lifted your head to the sound of his voice. “Still going around saying that funny little riddle of yours?” 

His head tilted to the side. “Still think it is a riddle?” 

“You haven’t told me otherwise,” you countered, and he seemed to like that answer. “What brings you back to this shit hole?” 

You hadn’t seen him here in weeks. He was an enigma when he first arrived, seeming like a dark tortured soul. He was mysterious and he kept to himself and it intrigued you. After some time, something had switched inside him. It was like the shyness disappeared, and there was something different to him. A thrill that you couldn’t deny your attraction to.

Everybody else in Eichen House were just as fucked up as you, but something about him was…different.

A different kind of fucked up that was addictive. 

But then he left without a peep and you hadn’t heard a word about him in weeks. 

Until now. 

There he stood at the end of the couch, having somehow snuck into the building and make it all the way down to the basement—to you. And he was staring at you with a fire in those eyes, a dark, twisted fire that made something deep in your stomach twist. 

“I had some loose ends I wanted to…tie up,” his voice was rougher than you remembered, huskier too. “Some chaos of my own to attend to.”

The book on your lap you were previously reading was moved to the side, your full attention focused on the boy in front you as he made his way around the couch and closer to you. You watched as his dark eyes raked over your figure, the thin shirt and sweatpants was not an unusual sight at Eichen but the way he was looking at you made it feel like ten times the outfit it was.

“You’re gonna make a girl blush, Stiles,” you commented with a teasing tone to your voice. But the smile on your face faltered when his whole expression dropped. 

“Don’t call me that, dove,” he sneered between clenched teeth, leaning so close to the point his nose was brushing against yours. “Don’t use that name.”

Your breath hitched. “Then what should I call you?” 

“I have had many names over the years. Many names and titles but none of them should matter to you, dove,” he whispered against your lips, his fingers ghosting along your bare arms. “You can call me void tonight.” 

“Void?” you repeated. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, one hand cradling your jaw, his thumb ghosting the edge of your lips. “You’re gonna sound so pretty screaming it for me.” 

He was addictive. His words were addictive and his touches were addictive, and you knew he could have asked you for anything and you would have given it to him. 

The clothes were shed in a blur of motions, laying abandoned on the cold concrete floor of the basement without another care in the world. And Void was everywhere: his hands on your body and his lips on your own, his cock thick and hard pressing against your thigh. 

“I knew you’d be so good for me, dove, knew from the first time I saw you,” he whispered as his hands dipped between your legs, your cunt soaking and needy—all for him. “You’re the only person in this fucking town that could ever be good enough for me.” 

“Void,” you panted as your hands gripped his shoulders, his body hot and warm against yours. “I-I…I’ve never…oh my god.” 

His eyes darkened, something like a smirk growing on his lips. “You’ve never done anything like this before?”

You shook your head. 

He let out a groan, low and heavenly, and it went straight down to your core. “Oh you, dove, you don’t even realise how perfect you are.” 

“Please,” you whispered, your eyes wide and glossy as you stared up at him. The couch was thin and uncomfortable and probably as old as the building itself, but you didn’t care. You just needed him in any way that he would give you it. “Please, Void, I need you.” 

Void was insatiable. He strived for chaos and pain and grief. He wanted to see the world burn down, for the supernatural wannabe heroes of Beacon Hills to go insane. He wanted it all. But he wanted nothing more in than to feel you come around his cock, to see you flustered and fucked out, to absolutely ruin you for anybody after him. 

Not that he was quite sure he wanted there to be anybody after him.

“Shh, baby,” he cooed as he gripped his cock, slow strokes and his thumb teasing his tip. “I’m gonna give you it, give you everything.” 

“Everything?” you whined helplessly. 

“Everything,” he murmured as he guided his cock to your entrance, eyes focused on your face as he slowly sank into you. “You can take it all, dove.”

He watched in blissed awe as your lips whispered his name like a mantra and your nails dug into his skin, a tear escaping the corner of your eye and fuck, he could have came right there. 

“Shit,” you whimpered as you tried to nuzzle your face into his shoulder. “Holy shit.” 

“Atta girl,” he groaned as he slowly pulled out before sinking back into you. “Taking me so good, taking everything I’m giving you.”

“Everything,” you nodded, biting down on your lower lip.

There was something different in his voice as he spoke. 

“That’s my girl, always by my side, yeah?” 

You nodded. 

“I always knew you were more than this shithole, dove.”

.

[freedomfireflies]

more stiles blurbs??? last one was hot

A tense silence settles over the hallway as you look at the massacre and bloodshed, the ruby marks splattered across the wall, across your dress, and across Stiles’ face. 

His chest is heaving, his cheeks are flushed, and his stained hands are balled into fists by his side. He’s done what he came to do. He’s managed the threat. He’s executed the entire council.

He looks at the damage he’s done as he regains control of his breathing pattern and once he manages to ground himself, he looks up and meets your eye.

You gaze at the face of the man you’ve grown to love these past few months. The face of a man who gave up sanity and freedom and his entire life just to be with you. The man who chose to crawl back into the labyrinth of the nogitsune just to keep you.

You step over the lifeless body at your feet, your heels clicking across the marble floor as you make your way for him. He watches you, still a bit lost in his own mind, but with each step you take, he becomes increasingly more aware of himself. Of you. Of why he’s here.

You take his face in your hands, thumb swiping a stray drop of blood from his lip. “How do you feel?” you whisper. You’re desperate to taste just a fraction of the ecstasy you’re sure is coursing through his veins. All that pain, all that agony, all that strife…you need it. More than you need air in your lungs.

His eyes flick between yours as he finds his voice. “So fucking good.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hands find your hips, tugging you into his body as your chest meets his. “Better than the last time.”

Your lashes flutter at the rough cadence of his voice. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs as he nudges his nose against yours. “S’fucking good, Angel. Promise you’ll like it.”

“I know,” you tell him within an instant, ready to find out. “I know, I can feel it.”

“Yeah?” His breathing is becoming sporadic, as is your own, both of you beginning to claw at the fancy outfits you’ve chosen for the evening in a desperate attempt to take. “This what you wanted?”

He pushes you back until you meet the wall, and you gasp at the contact as he begins to fist your dress in his large hand. 

This is what you wanted. It’s all you’ve wanted ever since he took you to the woods and introduced you to the Nemeton. Introduced you to the power. To Void. To the possibilities.

You’ve never seen a man more glorious. Never seen someone so comfortable in this type of light. This type of revenge. 

The Stiles you met back at the academy was quiet. Frustrated. Kept to himself and didn’t talk much about his past.

Spencer Reid had introduced you. Said Stiles needed a friend. A reminder that the future was louder than the past. 

You befriended the quiet, tortured boy. Figured out why he hid in the shadows. What he was trying to hide from.

He didn’t just let you in that night. He let the darkness in as well.

“We should…we should go,” you pant as he trails his open-mouthed and desperate kisses along your jaw. “They’ll be here soon, and you know Hotch won’t let this go—”

“Don’t fucking care,” he whispers, fingers slipping up the inside of your thighs as he kicks your feet apart. “Don’t care, Angel. Know you don’t, either.”

Your eyes roll back as he cups the back of your neck just to bite on your bottom lip. As he takes. “I care about keeping you safe—”

“M’safe right fucking here. Right here, with you.”

You whine when you feel him press the heel of his hand to your clit, rolling his wrist just to watch you squirm. “Stiles—”

“What?”

You gasp for air. “We have to go—”

“Not yet. Not until I get what I came for.”

“Stiles—”

“What?” he whispers, nose against your cheek as he slips his fingers inside. As he curls and beckons you toward what you want. What you both want. “You know the deal. Know it’s all for you—”

“Fuck.” Your head falls back against the wall with a thump. You’re not even sure how you’re still standing or why he’s so set on doing this now, but you suppose he’s right. A deal was made that day in the woods. A deal you can’t exactly opt out of and wouldn’t want to if you could. 

“If you wanna go so bad…” he murmurs as he drags his teeth along the outer shell of your ear. “…then I guess you better give me what I want.”

He wants to ruin you. See tears streaming down your face as you beg him for the power he wields. For the euphoria that comes from the dark kitsune spirit. For the touch that bends you, the touch that breaks you, the touch that belongs to nobody else but him.

The lifeless bodies on the floor, the blood painted across the walls, the strife he’s caused here…that’s only the tip of the iceberg. It’s only a fraction of what he feeds off of. 

What he truly needs to survive…is you.

You know this. You’ve always known this. And you adore it, truthfully. Adore the way your body, your pleasure, your pain is his destiny. Is the reason he exists. The way he spends each moment tortured by the thought of consuming you. 

It’s what drives him.

Like now. With all this chaos in the air (and on the floor), he can’t leave, he can’t move on until he gets what he really came for.

You.

And you’re not cruel. You’re not unfair. You’ll give him exactly what he wants, and you’ll do it gleefully.

He growls in the back of his throat when he feels you clench around his fingers. When he feels your nails scratch down his white shirt that’s stained crimson. When he feels you finally let yourself go.

And each kiss, each bite, each thrust is made for you. To own you, to have you, to ravish you. 

Stiles Stilinski is many things.

Focused has always been one of them.

You can hear the sirens in the distance. The fleet of vehicles as they surround the building and screech to a stop. The sounds of stomping boots and the cocking of guns as they yell their orders and positions.

They’ve come to take him away.

And while Spencer has always done a rather good job of giving you both a head start, you don’t imagine Stiles’ old boss will be pleased to see him at the center of this unjust crime.

So, just before they can swing the doors to the hotel lobby open, you give him what he wants. You gasp his name and fall into his arms as he carries you through the moment. As he whispers, “S’a good fucking girl,” over and over until you wilt into his chest in an attempt to catch your breath. 

And he seethes your name under his breath, the power you’ve just given him unlike any other. The rush of control and dominance almost enough to knock him off his feet. 

But you’re both out of time. You can hear the sound of Hotch’s voice as he leads his men toward the hallway you both currently reside in. 

And as Stiles leans back, ready to flee, you catch his eye. His smug smile rather victorious and so fucking pleased as he takes your hand and yanks you away from the wall.

You manage to slip through the emergency exit in seconds before you race down the steps, away from the mess you helped create and toward your getaway car.

Tonight, he got lucky. You both did. Perhaps next time, you won’t be able to say the same. 

But then again...you suppose you’ll just have to wait to find out.

I’m in a Stiles mood, sorry 😭

~ Full Masterlist

~ Other Dylan Blurbs

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi, do you have any fics where everyone but Derek don't care about Stiles? Maybe after the Nogitsune where everyone blames him but Derek is the only one who doesn't? Thank you!

Anon asked: post nogitsune stiles, where stiles has nightmares/self harm/or doesn’t eat much

Hi anons. @kevaaronday found these and said "Post-nogitsune fics have always been my fav! Hope you like what i've picked!"

Something Rotten by HappyJuicyfruit (5/5 | 78,762 | Mature | Sterek) Dammit, this was another reason he hated walking around a big city at night, he always managed to catch glimpses of the dark underbelly. He turned around, planning on going the long way home, but he froze when he heard the voice- 

“Let me take you home,” a man said.

“That will cost you more. I get the money before we leave, and I take another hit at your place before we do anything.” Another man slurred. 

That voice. It sounded like- Derek’s feet were moving him towards the men before he could think.

“Stiles?”

I Don’t Deserve It by WordsCreatedWorlds (34/34 | 49,649 | Teen | Sterek) After the defeat of the Nogitsune, Stiles struggles to face what he’s done. Their faces haunt him, and his friends’ grief feels like a knife to the chest. What is Stiles supposed to say when Derek of all people is the only thing keeping him sane? Moving on is hard when revenge is at play.

A Poison I Drink Often by Halevetica (32/32 | 42,590 | Mature | Sterek) It's been years since Stiles left Beacon Hills. He's got a job and a life away from the supernatural, but his past continues to haunt him. He's kept awake by nightmares and memories of those he lost. He puts on a good front when he visits home so no one knows the mess of a man he's become. He's coping, until one particularly bad night when he runs into the last person he ever wanted to see, Derek Hale.

(This started as a one shot but I decided to make it longer)

I found you hidden in plain sight (why’d I take so long?) by Gorgeousgreymatter (7/7 | 25,419 | Explicit | Sterek) Stiles is pretty sure he’s hallucinating. He’s got to be. There’s no other plausible explanation, he thinks, as he sits on the sidelines of the lacrosse field and feels the cold, hard bench underneath him, the roar of the crowd at his back like the worst white noise machine in the world.

There’s no other reason why he sees it, the hulking, black figure of a wolf peering at him from the treeline behind the bleachers. Its eyes flare in the glaring glow of the stadium lights, but they’re the wrong color, he thinks: blood-moon red instead of cobalt blue, but the familiarity of it all makes his stomach roll and clench.

5 Times the Hale Pack Helped to Heal Stiles and the 1 Time the Hale-McCall Pack Helped by anxious_24_7 (6/6 | 8,604 | Teen | Sterek) It’s hard to believe that nobody noticed Stiles falling apart after the whole Nogitsune shebang. He had gained stronger bruises under his eyes. His hands weren’t moving in the same way, not flailing about but shaking nearly all of the time. He didn’t go off on the random tangents about weird things that popped into his head like he had before. He had, it seemed, no life energy anymore.

Saturday Night At The Movies by aussiebee (1/1 | 7,349 | Explicit | Sterek) 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.

The Aftermath by tabbytabbytabby (2/2 | 6,005 | Teen | Sterek) After everything that happened with the Nogitsune Stiles was not okay, despite what the pack wanted to believe. Derek finds Stiles alone in the preserve and comforts Stiles and offers Stiles something he hadn't felt in weeks, hope.

I don't trust anyone but you by Delilah2040 (1/1 | 4,722 | Gen | Sterek) Post-Nogitsune, Stiles is pushed out of the pack because they're not sure they can trust him but Derek who doesn't trust anyone keeps him in the loop and comforts the traumatised teen. Cuddling and realisations occur

Void by Sivan325 (1/1 | 1,468 | Teen | Sterek) “Get out, Stiles, you are not welcome in my pack anymore, I can’t stand to look at you and see a murderer in front of me, get out.” Scott told him, his eyes flashed red and the rest of the pack didn’t even stand up for him.

and now i see daylight by spaceprincessem (1/1 | 1,467 | Teen | Sterek) “Are you sure?” Derek asked, tilting his head to the side, the razor held securely in his hand.

“Please.” Stiles begged, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

He didn’t mean to sound so desperate, but it was one of the only feelings he had left in his shriveled up, husk of a body. He was desperate to return to normal. Desperate to get better. Desperate for his friends, his father, to love him again. Desperate to feel like he wasn’t drowning. Derek nodded his head, moving behind Stiles, carefully placing one hand against the back of Stiles’ neck to angle his head just right. Stiles held his breath, eyes squeezing shut as he let himself fall into Derek’s mercy.

Becoming Friends by Chattalgi (1/1 | 1,160 | Not Rated | Sterek) What if after the Nogitsune, Stiles suffered silently from nightmares. What if Derek had come to see him to help him. What if a good friendship were established between them with the approval of the Sheriff.

[moonlightazriel]

☽ Stiles Masterlist ☾

☽ One Shots ☾

☽ Void!Stiles Drabble

[teencopandthesourwolf]

FIAT LUX

written for @sterekdrabblesgonelong using the @sterekdrabbles 23/11/22 challenge words that were: PART, MATTER and SPOT with the end-of-month theme of HONESTY.

sterek fic, MATURE, 2245 words, post-nogitsune stiles, stiles stilinski has PTSD, heavy angst, imagined body horror, healing, getting together, falling in love, POV stiles.

READ IT HERE ON AO3

.

"Hey, you good?"

Somebody spoke. Stiles remembers that. He also remembers thinking, at the time, how it sounded a lot like Derek's voice.

He'd been right. Of fucking course he'd been right. 

Stiles was scrambling to process what had been said to him, alongside trying to figure out what exactly was happening to his still-wobbly sense of self.

"Stiles? Are you okay?" 

Stiles couldn't answer. Couldn't get any sounds out of his strangled throat, nor force his suddenly arid mouth to move and make the right shapes needed for words.

Everything was muddying all over again, his mind and body becoming a wasteland in a heartbeat. He was barren, a damned apocalypse. Truth be told, since his possession, Stiles was just an empty shell, only pretending to be human. And now his memories were flashing before his eyes, having once again become a trailer for his fucked-up, one-man indie zombie movie. Although—no, actually. No, that wasn't right. This wasn't a trailer. The Horrors were back in full, movie-length, and were now playing out their incredibly specific brand of Existential Dread right before Stiles' glassy eyes in all of their glorious, terrible technicolour.

Spawn of the Dead: Double Feature!

Grab yourself an extra large bucket of Salty'n'Sweet and settle in for the midnight showing.

How, though?

How the hell could the parasitic evil which they'd ended—it absolutely had gone, it had!—be so inexplicably here? Like, right here and now, delightedly wrapping one crooked hand around Stiles's stringy neck while using the other to dig into Stiles's already bent-way-out-of-shape psyche, sinking its dirty claws in all the way again until Stiles couldn't think or see straight or even speak.

How could the thing they'd destroyed still have him so very firmly in its clutches?

In his peripheral there were now only blurred-out, bony digits where his fingers were supposed to be; Stiles couldn't stop the violent shaking as he looked down at his hands and felt bile rise in his throat that tasted of reams and reams of filthy bandages rapidly climbing his esophagus, in a far too-real scene from some disgusting, stop-animation nightmare.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Oh, fuck no. 

It was here. Even if it wasn't really; it was. Here, crippling each of his faculties, one by one with a sickening sort of ease, the ghost of it shutting down his capacity to process his surroundings, to operate his body correctly, to function as a human being, even if only a pretend one. It was too quickly obliterating his ability to just be.

To be Stiles.

Void.

Oh, God. 

No! No! No! No! No! No! No! 

Breath became cement in his lungs. 

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Re-appeared and yet not, the spectral memory of the Nogitsune was once more burrowing its way beneath pale skin and fragile bone, digging a six-foot deep grave ready to bury Stiles's power to answer a simple question and say No, no, I'm not okay and I really need some help here, and so very easily quashing his in-vain attempts at doing anything at all about this runaway train of a shit-show situation.

Chaos.

He'd lost control again. 

This time it was aftermath. Or aftershocks. Or afterburn or afterbirth or some other after-metaphor for absolute guilt.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

"Can you hear me, Stiles?"

Stiles wasn't really there anymore.

Stiles was spiralling, fast, due to that broken part of his soul ripping apart all over again and gaping open, a casm, a disgraced depiction of his abject shame for his past actions that now flowed out from the ghoulish wound like spilled wine. He looked down to see invisible gut-shot viscera tumbling out of him, staining his shirt and shoes like claret on crisp white sheets and instantly soaking into his skin and muscles and right through to the marrow of his bones, infiltrating his forever-infected anatomy in a strange sort of self-perpetuating vicious cycle. His heart, full of holes, was leaking its last vestiges of goodness, draining right out of him, his body now just a humanoid estuary. Other Stiles Juices added to the polluted mix—tears and adrenaline and cortisol, all becoming a veritable hurricane in his brain and chest and belly, swirling around viciously, dangerously—until it had drowned out his voice and drenched his autonomy in a chorus of non-existent Let me in! Until he'd lost his will completely to a bottomless whirlpool of contempt.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Oh, Void had truly left its mark. 

And so there he was. Just a stricken, hyperventilating five-foot-ten jagged fissure wearing his clothes and his face. A mask was all that was left of Mieczysław Stilinski: Stiles, just a stupid boy in the body of a not-quite man, who was suffocating in the mould and the rot of himself.

The intangible had brimmed over and drip-drip-dripped until it was gushing freely and spilling right out of him and onto the floor, becoming an epic tidal wave of oblivion that would splash and tarnish and permanently stain everything and everybody around Stiles, all that he loved. 

Again. 

Only this insanity wasn't invisible, not to him. It was a vivid Hieronymus Bosch knock-off. A never-ending bloodbath painted in brushstrokes of the richest of colours. Stiles was an oily waking nightmare, a moving tapestry of his own creation that was playing over and over and over on the glitched-out loop that was his faulty VHS mind.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

"Don't step in it," he'd whispered. 

He doesn't remember if Derek had answered. He doesn't remember much of anything after that. 

Derek, just like everybody else, was poisoned by Stiles's toxicity. Forever marked, just as Stiles had been—because of Stiles.

Stiles, with his bony hands that hid those undetectable tattoos in blacks and blues and mauves that were the inky Rorschach contusions of all his loved one's cuts and bruises; Stiles, with his immortal pattern of dead leaves that twisted along the gnarled branches of his inner Lichtenberg tree; Stiles, with his fear-induced awful decisions that had lead to the lives of so many being taken; Stiles, with his murderous intent—borrowed or not, it made no fucking difference in the end; Stiles, with all of this horror; Stiles, with his blackened soul that was now only recognisable as death.

Yet, in stark contrast, his haemoglobin-bright red ravaged veins were very much not dead. He felt them, now, itching beneath the surface of his skin, unreal yet so real and becoming vine-like, pulsating and stretching out their long creepy creeper-fingers to reach down inside of him, clawing their way back home to the black hole that was his centre. And they were growing. He could feel them swelling in his arms and his legs and his face. Alive. Becoming stronger and stronger, they traversed alongside his nervous system like a road map, journeying through what was left of his tattered existence and getting so big and so fat they too were branches and were somehow both choking him and splitting him clean open—Stiles, roots and all—his thoughts and actions reduced to nothing more than a fractured glass pane in an already damaged photo frame which threatened to crack and turn him into thousands of thousand-year-old shards of nothing but absolute destruction.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Out, damned spot. 

Maybe Derek had said more words. Begged and pleaded for Stiles to talk to him, to make sense of things for him. For Stiles to tell him what the hell was going on.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine—

ten? 

Or was it eleven, or twelve that time? 

Too late. 

Rip. Tear. Shatter. 

Stiles had collapsed under the weight of his own mistakes.

*

When something in his brain managed to press the pause button on the horror show, there was only numbness.

Nothing. 

Then remorse had once more seeped through his pores like a poisonous gas, a hazy mist of it eventually filling him and triumphing over delirium because, after some time—minutes, hours, days, maybe—Stiles was finally able to communicate again.

Well, sort of.

There were four words he had to offer.

"It's all my fault." 

And as he'd made frantic attempts to once again count his uncontrollably shaking fingers, he'd whimpered those words on repeat, for an indeterminate amount of time and in a thousand different voices, none of which sounded like his own.

"It's all my fault."

onetwothree—start again.

"It's all my fault."

onetwothreefourfivesixseven—shit.

"It's all my fault."

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine—

"Hey, I've got you."

Derek?

If he wasn't dreaming, it meant Derek hadn't left him. He should have. Stiles was to blame for so very many terrible, terrible things.

But Derek had stayed and minded him, regardless.

He took Stiles in, after that. Fed him. Forced him to wash. Watched him as closely as he ended up holding him, in a way that he shouldn't. In a way that nobody ever should because Stiles was a travesty. Undeserving. But Derek? Derek was good and so Derek did it anyway. And those big arms folding around Stiles broke Stiles all over again, broke him impossibly more. Only it was a different kind of break this time around. Maybe not gentle so much as it was firm and necessary. A resetting of bones.

Then, somehow, slowly, painfully, Derek helped to put Stiles back together again, which was nothing short of a Herculean feat.

That Humpty Dumpty Stiles, he'd spent weeks sobbing and going mute, sobbing and going mute, and sobbing and sobbing and shouting and shrieking and screaming the loft down, bringing his feral nightmares back to life and out into the open and into the here and now, into Derek's already too-difficult world.

Stiles was just a transparent bag of those reset bones. Fused with fear and sorrow and so much sin, glued up all wrong, and held together with tears and snot and guilt and shame—and an ancient, evil-tainted love; a love possessed. 

Until he wasn't. Until there were hints of a new kind of love shimmering around the edges of their lives. Something quiet. Something lighter.

A love made up of Stay here with me and Stay another night and consistently screaming into the dawn but never any pity nor judgement and whole days of silence and then communication via eyebrows and heartbroken Fuck Yous and last-minute notes left on the refrigerator door and second and third and fourth, fifth, sixth chances and just being there and Shut Ups with no real heat behind them and listening and listening and listening some more and sandwiches left untouched until there were sandwiches half-eaten and finally sandwiches scarfed down at the speed of light again and conversations with thumbs-up and thumbs-down and Don't Call Me Dude and comfortable silences and unexpected classical music afternoons and awfully bad puns and quality time spent alone together and Wanna watch the Discovery channel? and smiling eyes and crappy paper planes and precarious mountains of hot buttered toast and stolen borrowed too-big Henley's and thrifted old sci-fi novels and English to Latin dictionaries and games of PSYCH! from opposite sides of the same room and eyes being rolled into the backs of thick skulls and gallons and gallons of Dirty Chai Lattes and a far too-kind and outstandingly stubborn asshole's absolute forgiveness and furtively holding hands in the dark and weighted long looks that said I know, it's okay—I'm broken too and the silent question of Do you want me? and the tactile answer being Of course I do, you idiot. Of fucking course I do. 

It was a love that made Nogitsune love never, ever love. A real love that shook its head softly at such dreadful affection.

Werewolf trumps Demon, every damn time.

* 

Stiles might not be able to laugh—at least not properly, not yet. He's getting there, though. The quirk of his lips today is bigger than yesterday's meagre twitch. And who knows, tomorrow could even bring a grin. Stranger things, right? 

There's still pain. Stigma. Suffering. Still so, so much work to do. Only now it's manageable. A touch easier.

Derek's touch.

There are many more hard days and nights to come, Stiles knows that, but he is nothing if not single-minded and he's making steady progress. Every day, he's mending. Thanks to Derek and Stiles's determination, the fissure that he'd become is closing up and he is no longer infected with quite so much self-doubt. There's scar tissue, sure. How could there not be?

But Stiles is healing.

He's being replenished and renewed, little by little, bit by bit, and at long last he's finally finding his voice again. The right tone, a familiar pitch—and it's strongest in those times he utters a particular word. It's a name, actually, so often spoken as a mantra, or mouthed delicately like a prayer.

"Derek?" 

Of fucking course. 

"I'm here."

No more counting fingers. 

As it happens, Stiles Stilinski is finding his way back to his life and to himself with the help of Derek Hale, sometimes stumbling and yes, often having to crawl from the oppressive blackness, dragging himself through it using only his non-existent fingernails and stubborn will, barely making it out alive by the skin of his teeth.

Yet he knows, now, that he'll conquer that darkness. Because he's not alone anymore. There's help at hand, in his hand, where Stiles holds a candle that burns just as brightly as the Sun, the Moon and the Truth, and won't ever blow out—not while shielded by the shape of the 'wolf.

Fiat Lux. 

Let there be light.