#stigitsune

[lillpeanuut]

New fixation new me.........

Teen wolf! And mostly Dylan ofc. I just fell in love with ship Stiles x Nogitsune and welp. Maybe I'll be post of them more

Upd: I forgot to add that this work is fanart for fanfic "Look into the Abyss" by Rakshasha

I'm totally in love with that work. (Void is a little different from himself from the fanfic and I realized it too late. I'm sorry about that 😔)

[raksh-writes]

As you wish

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Nogitsune/Stiles Stilinski

Words: ~2,5k

This one I wanted to post for Stiles' Rarepair Week 2021, but since I had a lot going on (still do, since I got a job and I'm slowly getting used to it, but it's calming down), I didn't manage it then - and so here it is now ^^ A small, fluffy one-shot I wrote mooonths ago, like - somewhere in the beginning stages of LitA, but it's meant as post-LitA ‘s storyline. I wouldn't consider this a big spoiler, since there's like 1-1,5 chapters left there and we all know how it's gonna end, but if that bothers you, feel free to come back when LitA is finished ^^ And enjoy! All the love 💗

Warnings/Tags: pure Fluff here, no warnings!

Also on AO3 here!

--

Sometimes, when Stiles felt this bone-deep tired, his mind would whirr instead of going blank, finding a way to bring him down, down the memory lane — it never quieted, was the problem. And with no will to fight it, Stiles went along, wondered through exhaustion about what-ifs and reasons long in the past, not touched on a normal day. This wasn’t an ordinary day, though, after months of peace and quiet shit hit the fan and Stiles had to take care of it — it wasn’t too bad, but he’s used up too much of his magic not to feel the effect. Hence now he's sprawled over the couch, head tipped back on the cushions and looking up at the ceiling while his mind wanders — and, as many times before, follows a familiar pattern.

It starts with Scott being bitten, goes through the mess with Gerard and with the Alpha pack, with the Darach and Derek, to finally reach what his mind was always running towards — Void. And Stiles lets himself revisit those thoughts — how on one hand he’s been so terrified, and on the other couldn’t keep his intrigue at bay as the demon revealed glimpses of his mind — so similar, in a way, to Stiles’ own; a beautiful maze, a strategist like himself, a trickster in its full glory, always fighting with his mind first and winning in a play no one sees coming, but also so different, so unbound by anything remotely human — morals, ethics or other — a free spirit through and through, uncaring about anything but his freedom, his own sense of honor and now — Stiles. His mate.

Stiles has tightened the thread of their bond before his mind went on these wanderings, closed it up on his end, but something must have bled through. Or maybe it was exactly that damper of their connection that tipped Void off, because no sooner than Stiles is getting too tired with his own mind, a thrill rushes through his chest, heating up the rune above his heart, and hands slide down his chest.

„Thinking about that time again, darling?” the demon muses, voice light, just on the edge of teasing, as he leans into Stiles; noses at his neck with a deep inhale. It’s still, without a fault, even after months together, sending a small shiver down Stiles’ spine.

„I can’t help it,” he counters, arching his back just a little, head turned so Void can bury his face in his throat, drown Stiles’ senses in the feel of his cool skin, of his hot breath and spicy-sweet scent, heavy and intoxicating in the best ways, filling Stiles’ mind with comfort, with passion, with warm, steady, mine. It traps a small whine in his throat, makes Stiles tug on Void’s arms. „C’mere, I want to cuddle.”

„Really out of it, aren’t you?” Void chuckles but then complies easily, withdrawing his arms just to climb over the backrest and slide in place beside Stiles in one smooth motion, all cat-like grace and ease, before pulling Stiles into his side immediately after.

And he latches onto Void almost desperately, the absolute exhaustion weighing his limbs not enough to stop Stiles from shoving his face into Void’s neck in a much similar manner to what the demon just did a second ago, inhaling the scent with his whole being. Rich and layered, sweet and heavy like hot chocolate, like lilac — bez growing in his babcia’s garden — fresh and light like cherries, smoky and spicy like chili biting on his tongue and warm like the glow of a bonfire; all-encompassing in a way that finally quiets Stiles’ brain, fogs it up in reassurance, in heat and warmth and mate.

„Better?” Void asks in a low murmur, nose buried in Stiles’ hair and hands lazily petting over his back.

Something like an agreeing hum leaves Stiles’ throat, but he’s still occupied with enveloping himself in Void’s scent, with covering the demon in his, all of Stiles’ affectionate scenting mirrored by Void’s own easy petting. It’s only several moments later, as he finally feels they’re suitably smelling of each other, that Stiles can relax into a more comfortable position on Void’s lap and get his mind back online; somewhat, at least.

„It’d be easier if I could care less,” he mumbles after a while, a long-drawn breath slipping past his lips. It’s not really what Stiles would want, of course; he cares, a lot, and that’s why musings like these torture him on occasion — no point in any of them — coming back to invade his thoughts again and again.

Void hums into Stiles’ hair, low and lazy, while his fingers card through the wild strands in a perfect pattern of brushing, massaging, and nails scraping over Stiles’ scalp that just about melts his very bones.

„Maybe, but that’s who you are, little fox, nothing wrong in that.”

And Stiles sighs, nuzzling ever further into the demon; letting himself fully enjoy the way Void seems to be so attuned to how needy and clingy and purely affection-starved he always gets when this exhausted and knows exactly what to do to make Stiles total putty in his hands, plaint and mushy and soaking up all that attentive care. It’s not even as if Stiles isn’t all that on a normal basis too — he’s just mostly able to manage his cravings on a usual day, but on ones like this? Well... Stiles won’t deprive himself of what’s given so freely.

„How training went?” he asks instead, remembering just where Void was before he got back.

„With the thunder kit?” the demon muses, like it could be about anyone else.

And the way the moniker almost, almost seems like a nickname now, like how little fox will always be Stiles’, how Void sometimes slips and addresses Kira with little one that’s still mostly Stiles’ but slowly edging on the young kitsune — always blushing when Void uses it for her. If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d think Void started to see Kira as his own; the seeds are there, but it’s still too early.

„She’s getting better,” he adds, after a while, seemingly disinterested, „lasted almost whole five minutes this time.”

Stiles can’t help the snicker. It had been so abundantly clear that they were so very wrong in thinking that Kira just mastered her katana right away — not that she didn’t, but that it was enough.

The first thing Void did was prove how blindsided they were — knocked Kira off her feet in just a few seconds, without any weapon, just his mind and his body. Took her katana in the next as she tried to attack again. The same day — few very, very quick sparring sessions in, as her fox went out of control — the pack got a first glimpse at Void’s true form; the room plunged in darkness as shadows curled and writhed around the demon, all power and too many tails, bringing Kira’s fox to foot with just a look. It wasn’t even the first time Stiles saw it and it still chilled him to the bone — all the while his rune flared and flooded his gut with unbearable heat. It was hot, okay, sue him.

„She’s making progress, at least,” Stiles remarks, smiling into Void’s chest as it lifts in a small sigh.

„The kit’s still struggling with control — will be struggling for a long time, maybe forever even, but... the fox didn’t lash out today.”

And that — that makes Stiles blink, few times, before shifting to look up at the demon. It’s almost, almost like he’s proud.

„That’s... huge. That’s great! Actually, scrap that, it’s fantastic!”

It means she’s getting it, she’s getting a hold on her spirit, and Stiles couldn’t be happier for Kira, she’s such a sweetheart, but that also means... Well, she wouldn’t get there on her own. And Stiles knows Void’s pleased even if he hides it well — which Stiles won’t have. Nope, he’s not only taking in this relationship.

So Stiles pushes himself further into Void’s embrace, slotting his arms around the demon’s waist as he bumps their noses together, a wide smile on his lips.

„I knew you’d be a great teacher,” he coos, trying but failing to imitate the specific, smooth drawl that always makes him run a bit too hot. Still, his grin must have some effect, because the way Void looks at him, hooded, sparkling dark eyes, works just as well.

„I did teach you first, didn’t I?” His tone dips low, raspy and dark, trailing down Stiles’ spine with little shivers as the fingers in his hair tighten. „I’d say I did great, wouldn’t you, darling?”

And Stiles hums in full agreement. The many runes covering his skin, the steady buzz of magic in his veins, trickling lowly along their connection; both keeping Stiles sane and sating some of Void’s insatiable hunger — all of it a testament to just how well he did. The pleased pulse along the bond only fuels Stiles’ want to drown himself in it.

Void'shot breath fans over Stiles’ mouth, making him lick his lips, wanting to taste.

„Which reminds me — we haven’t sparred in a long time, little fox, would you like that?”

It’s almost tempting. He’s not doing any better than Kira, but Void’s been more than content to teach Stiles how to wield the Bo staff and it felt almost natural in the way the katana didn’t. Void never went easy on him, but was also patient and accommodating, always ready to adjust to what Stiles felt comfortable with. So Stiles enjoyed learning, even with deep bruises, aching knuckles and the frustration of how often he messed up; enjoyed, even more, when the spars ended up in the bedroom. More often than not.

Still, as he thinks about it now, the exhaustion brings his limbs down, heavy and sluggish, and the way he’s tucked into Void makes him too blissfully fuzzy in the brain; foggy and warm, the feel of it just plain too nice to move and ruin it.

„Nah, too tired,” he sighs, sneaking his arms from around Void’s waist to up to circle his neck; the tease of their lips almost brushing is possibly maddening, „jus’ want some cuddles now.”

Void bumps their noses together and Stiles can’t help himself anymore, stretching up, up, up, ever closer to tip his head just enough and—

Finally, finally, Void meets him in the middle, sealing the kiss Stiles craves so much it borders on obsession. But oh, how Void kisses him. Like there’s nothing else he wants to do, like he’s made to kiss Stiles, only Stiles, knowing so perfectly well what he needs. Slotting their mouths together, a smooth glide of lips, warm and wet, controlled in a way that makes Stiles’ head spin, slow and steady and deliberate with how Void licks into his mouth, over his tongue, nips and sucks at his lips until they feel raw and red and bruised and Stiles still wants more. It’s almost a problem, how much he craves, wants, needs Void’s kisses, any time, all the time; loves how breathless and hot and coiled with delicious tension it makes him, how the world —just— disappears for those few blissful moments. And Stiles melts into it even when he gives as much as he has, as Void takes everything he can and returns more, growling lowly in his throat in a sound that rattles in Stiles’ chest, draws a small whine out of his own lungs.

All too soon he has to take a breath; lets Void break the kiss when there’s nothing more Stiles wants than for it to last forever. But Void brushes his warm, wet lips all over Stiles’ jaw, his cheeks, his chin, in lazy, slow pecks that feel almost as good, melting the heated tension into something softer, fluffier. Just the way he needs, now, with the edge of exhaustion still lurking too close for comfort.

„Still want those cuddles, kitten?” Void rasps against Stiles’ jaw, a thrill down his body that gets caught at the base of his spine, and—

„Yeah, yeah, just cuddles,” Stiles nods, trying to calm his erratic breath, and licks away the leftover bitter-sweet taste that’s all Void, liquid hot, dark chocolate and spice, „for now.”

The chuckle Void paints against his flushed skin is warm, amused, and so overwhelmingly fond.

„As you wish.” Leaving one last nip just under Stiles’ jaw, Void straightens and looks down to meet his gaze. „Want to stay here?”

Few moments later they’re laying down on the couch, stretched over it lazily; Void all but draped over the whole length of it on his back, shoulders and head propped on some pillows, with Stiles sprawled basically on top of him, head shoved into his chest and tucked under Void’s chin. Some CSI’s or other similar pseudo-crime-solving show plays on the TV, enough to keep Stiles’ mushy brain occupied with ridiculing every bit they’ve got wrong and Void properly amused, half-paying attention, half-playing with Stiles’ hair tickling his jaw.

It’s peaceful and quiet and absolutely perfect, a blanket of comfort and bliss soon fogging up Stiles’ mind, cuddled up into Void as he is, one hand tucked into his side, the other intertwined with Void’s against his chest as the demon runs his fingers all over his back and neck, brushing out his hair — nonsensical patterns and bone-melting caress. It’s enough to lull Stiles into a light sleep, even while the TV drones on in the background, white noise to the brush of Void’s steady breath. And for as long as his mate rests, Void stays still, content to wait and keep watch.

⁂

It’s in that way the Sheriff finds them a few hours later, as the sun is slowly dipping under the horizon, long shadows stretched through the whole house. The sight is, as always, bitter-sweet. On one hand, Noah can’t really forget the past, the mess that it was and that still nags him at times, but on the other — he hasn’t seen his son so... at peace, so blissfully calm and asleep, in years.

Stiles seems happy, despite everything.

That’s why, when he catches the demon’s eyes, black and fathomless, so different from his son’s, Noah just nods, short and decisive. And the demon’s mouth quirks up, just a little, before his head tips back into the pillows, hand carding lazily through Stiles’ hair, and — just like that — Noah’s ignored again.

He looks over the pair once more and wonders, very briefly, how the Nogitsune looks so much like his son and yet so completely different that it’s hard to even consider them similar, then dismisses it altogether. Ultimately, it’s Stiles’ decision — his choice to make. And his son doesn’t seem to care, or it just doesn’t bother him, or some other reason Noah won’t even think about. One way or another, as he climbs the steps up to his own bedroom, Noah thinks that as long as Stiles is happy and content, protected by a being as powerful as the Nogitsune, he can leave it to rest. Everything else that might be happening — well, it’s not his damn business.

[raksh-writes]

Look into the Abyss

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Nogitsune/Stiles Stilinski (Voiles/Stigitsune)

Rating: Explicit

Chapter 30: a glance into the future

Here’s a snippet:

When Satomi speaks again, her tone is thoughtful:

“That seems a very short time to achieve such levels of competence with power like yours. It’s been my impression that it can be quite… volatile.”

“Yeah—” Stiles licks over his bottom lip, magic buzzing in his veins with the last wisps of excitement and rushing with the anticipation in his gut, so tuned to his emotions and feelings it’s like they’re one. “Yeah, it is, but I— I had help. And I wouldn’t be where I am without it.”

The memories of all those months are so vivid it’s as if they’re permanently burned into his brain, and with all of them playing behind his eyelids like afterimages, Stiles can’t help himself but glance around — look for the familiar silhouette of the demon, even though he won’t be there; searching for just a glimpse fleeting through the crowd. It’s fruitless and disappointing, that Void’s nowhere to be seen, but the warmth under his rune stays ever-present.

“I don’t think many managed to make a Yako share their knowledge and lived to tell the tale,” Satomi says, tone musing, but when Stiles looks back at her in surprise, her eyes sparkle with humor.

The fact it’s both a joke and not really one at all doesn’t escape him and Stiles huffs out a small breath, amused despite himself.

“He did get me into a deal, so it’s not like it was selfless on his part.” Stiles shrugs, lip bitten between his teeth as he remembers exactly how that has gone — and hopes dearly that the fierce flush back on his face isn’t too noticeable. “Though— I guess it worked for us both, in the end.”

“That so?” Satomi’s brows quirk up again, an air of curiosity coloring her energy and voice. “Might I ask what the Yako wanted in return?”

And, well — now there’s no hiding the bright blush high on his cheeks, not even in the surrounding dimness.

Read the whole work over on AO3!

[raksh-writes]

Look into the Abyss

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Nogitsune/Stiles Stilinski (Voiles/Stigitsune)

Rating: Explicit

Chapter 29: (not my) pack's business

Here’s a snippet:

The energy spikes, angry and indignant and bared teeth that only lack the visual, but Stiles barely pays attention.

Can you not—

He bows his head down and slightly to the side, without actually looking at Void, but with all his attention pointed at the demon — seeing his smug face could very well set Stiles off in a completely unexpected direction.

—It’s not fucking funny to rail them all up right now. And I can speak for myself.

Go on then, darling, Void’s growl-like words rattle inside Stiles’ chest, only slightly mocking until he follows it with an almost snarl, but don’t you dare forget how they treated you and go get used again. You’re worth more than all of them combined.

Stiles shudders, the raw edge of Void’s voice slipping over his skin and nerves, slow like honey, and he chances a single glance as the grip on his hip tightens until it’s almost bruising and the claws possibly piercing. The heat Stiles meets in Void’s eyes only serves to make the shivery-sweet sensation in his gut that much worse. He rips his gaze away before he can throw everything down to hell, and just in time to notice the situation getting somewhat back to normal — when he finally faces Satomi, she picks up at the thread that’s been left hanging in the tense atmosphere. It’s surprising how calmly she still chooses to address Void.

“I can see where you’re coming from, Yako, but I can also assure you it’s not what I meant.”

Stiles cuts in before Void has even a chance to open his mouth.

“Then what exactly do you mean?”

If Satomi is bothered by his tone, she doesn’t show it.

Read the whole work over on AO3!

[raksh-writes]

Finally fought off  writer’s block to write some for my Beauty and the Beast inspired A/B/O AU, so here’s a small sneak peek into the story! I love this ‘verse and can never wait to write more for it ^^ Following this fic: Tale as old as time. Enjoy!

.

It’s overwhelming.

The size of the room, as big as their small house was or maybe even bigger, the rich colors draped all over the place, the luxury dripping from every single curve and line; the fireplace carved in swirling marble, the couches and armchairs with plush cushions that must feel like a piece of cloud, the bed - gods, the bed. It could probably fit three grown men, comfortably; and Stiles is pretty sure he could get lost among all the pillows and sheets and blankets and furs, which - spirits save him - he just might, this very night. 

Stiles swallows, the meager amount of spit going down like a box of nails, scratching and painful on his parched throat. Arms drawn tight over his wiry chest, Stiles tries not to curl in on himself like a pathetic excuse for a man - lanky and thin and dirty, barely daring to move for fear of tainting everything around him more than he already did. Three steps into the room, shocked and blindsided by the space, the colors, the high windows and the warm fire, the polished marble and the richly colored rugs, the fur and the cushions, and-- And he has frozen, still standing where he stopped, taking in the lavishness his mind can’t quite comprehend. It feels like any miniscule twitch of his body makes filth scrape off his skin, spreading it through a place that should never see the likes of him. Stiles shudders, and immediately tries to lock his muscles into stone to prevent it - his filthy, scrapy, poor, poor imitations of boots already dirtied the room enough. 

Shame burns high on his face, swims scorchingly through his chest, both because he’d balk at those thoughts just a day ago - Mr Brady was a good shoemaker and Stiles took proper care of his boots, they were more than appropriate and nice for their little town, but here? Never in his short life has Stiles felt so-- so inadequate. And, gods, he hasn’t even thought about how dirty he must be, mud and soot and ash staining his torn clothes and caught in his shaggy hair, he’s been absolutely covered in filth through the whole spirits-damned road with-- 

Eyes falling shut, Stiles forces out the breath stuck in his throat and wrangles back the stinging under his eyelids.

He’d think it’s some kind of sick joke, a drop of amusement to the Lord he’s going to-- Fuck, Stiles is going to live with him. The Nogitsune. 

The reality of his situation hasn’t yet sunk in, probably won’t until it hits him out of nowhere, at some strange point he won’t be able to predict now. But-- it’s so surreal, so out of some fairy tale his mom would tell him for a goodnight when Stiles was just a kid that it seems purely impossible to wrap his mind around. Him. Stiles. In this room, this mansion - this Palace, for all intents and purposes - with the one even the Kitsune Lords seem wary of, the one of whom rumors are so hushed none dare to speak more than few sentences at once, and is shrouded with as much mystery as a hero from legends long past would be. The Nogitsune. Void. Or, as the locals seem to call him, Lord Yako. 

Maybe it is some kind of joke. Face Stiles with a vision of life in luxury, only to take it away for a stone prison cell, or a dump worse than even that, whatever that could be. Or. Or--

Stiles’ throat locks up.

--it’s the Nogitsune’s room he’s in - or maybe one of his rooms, since his scent seems absent - maybe he’s here not to live in as normal, but to-- to be chained, and collared, and kept on his knees at the edge of the bed, always ready to serve, to be on demand whenever the fancy strikes his Lord. As a filthy, displaced Omega like him is only good for.

Finally, a flicker of anger licks at his ribs, breaking through the fog of anxiety and shock. He was aware this might be his fate when he agreed, back on that scorched field beside his still burning town, but-- But two can play a game, and if he glimpsed it right, the Nogitsune was looking for entertainment, amusement - “I’ve been bored, lately, and you-- You intrigue me.” Stiles can be what he needs to be so his father is safe and happy and near. They have a deal, meager as it is, and that is a two way street. 

A soft rustle from the door cuts through his thoughts, and when Stiles twists to look, a kind-looking woman steps into the room. She seems his dad’s age, carries herself with both softness and surety, and both her smile and her gaze feels nothing but welcoming. 

Stiles falters, all of the grim, dark, downright terrifying scenarios wiped away by the pure warmth and calm the woman exudes. She takes a step closer and her soothing, mellowed scent puts some ease into his fried nerves. An Omega, just like him - all but for the shadow of a bite mark in the curve of her neck. 

“Master Stiles,” she greets him with a bow to her head, the whole situation too much for his poor heart for Stiles to cringe at the, well, title. “My name is Natalie, I’m here to help you settle and answer any questions and concerns you might have.” Her smile widens slightly, crinkled in the corners of her eyes, and there’s a lilt to her voice that endears him almost instantly - an edge of humor to it Stiles recognizes. She leans in, just slightly, just with the side of her body, as if to share a secret. “You know, I’m something of a Chief of Staff here. Not a person, corner or event here I don’t know about. Well, besides those concerning our Lord himself,” she tips her head, like they’re both in on a joke, “he can be quite a reclusive one, but you didn’t hear it from me. Now.” Straightening up, she gives Stiles a critical once over that reminds him too much of his mom’s look when he used to barge home covered in mud, but before that can dredge up painful memories, she smiles knowingly. “What about a bath?”

 Stiles can’t even begin to cover the relieved groan that slips from his mouth. 

“Yes, gods, please, I feel like I’m dirtying up this place just by breathing.”

Natalie’s light eyes sparkle with humor, and - just like that - the vice grip around his lungs loosens. 

[raksh-writes]

Surprise! It's a Fox! (and a few more of 'em too!)

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Nogitsune & Stiles Stilinski, Nogitsune/Stiles Stilinski

Words: ~1,2k

Warnings: None, it’s not even romantic and could tots be read as platonic!

Check the work on AO3 for more information and tags!

This just came to my head today and I didn't want to lose it, so I've dictated this small lil’ thing in a span of few hours, cleaned it up and here it is. Also, for some reason, my brain decided past tense for this, don't ask me why ;p I feel like it reads a bit differently than my other fics, but I hope it’s gonna be an enjoyable one nonetheless! I might make this into a small 'verse of its own too, who knows 👀

Enjoy! ^^ And all the love ❤

✦✧✦✧

There were foxes. In their backyard.

Foxes.

In their backyard.

Three adult ones that Stiles could see — and all of them with differently colored hides, funnily enough. One of them, resembling a very fluffy, toasted marshmallow, seemed to be sun basking in the grass without a care in the world, another — a dark silver fox with a slender snout and one white sock — appeared to be stalking the edges of the patio, and the most typical-looking one, with bright orange fur and black-tipped ears, was happily zooming around; chased by a small little kit stumbling behind it. And there were much more of them. A whole ass litter of them. From the youngest one that seemed like it was barely able to eat solid food to a few fairly grown ones play-biting at each other. And Stiles stood there, watching them frolic and chirp and just simply look like a bunch of happy foxes. Completely at a loss for words.

“What— How did you— Why—”

Reaching up a hand to cover his mouth, Stiles shook his head, something tight and aching taking hold of his chest.

Beside him, Void stood perfectly still, face a blank mask but for his eyes, dark gaze following the foxes around.

“It was no way to live,” he answered, cool and collected, but under that unbelievably smooth voice, the unmoving lines of his body, the steel was unmistakable.

Stiles' heart skipped a beat, then jumped up into his throat like it wanted to escape right through his mouth.

“What do you mean?” he asked weakly, already knowing and dreading the answer, even when something like an electric current of excitement zapped up his spine.

Void ignored his question, just as unwaveringly still.

“You thought about adopting one,” he said instead, “you wanted it.”

And just then, in that exact moment, something in Stiles broke — a small little dam that held off the welling up emotions cracking open.

“Yes! One! Maybe two! And only if we could provide them a good space, proper care, and that's if my dad even agreed! Fuck, goddammit, it was only a thought! A maybe, a Big maybe! But this—” Stiles turned around on his heel, arm swinging wildly at the state of their backyard. “This is— these are—”

All the words he could say died on his lips as Stiles watched the foxes play around in the grass, chasing each other to their heart's content. And then— he looked at Void. Really looked. And noticed, for the first time, the rigidness to his shoulders, the jump of clenched muscles on his jaw. It reminded him very suddenly of watching those videos a few days ago, of the rescued foxes at the sanctuary, of the ones trapped in those painfully small cages — and the demon perched at his back, eyes focused on the screen from above Stiles' shoulder. The realization hit him then, hard and sharp.

Fishing the phone out of his pocket, Stiles pulled up every news site he could think of and started scrolling through. It didn't even take long to find.

There.

A couple of short articles, posted a few hours ago — a fur farm being suddenly closed, the owner going basically bankrupt in the span of the night, and under them comments about sanctuaries around the country gaining a few new fox residents.

“You...”

His eyes stayed locked on the phone but really — he wasn't seeing much of anything right now.

“There was... no more space left for them,” the demon answered, as softly as Stiles had ever heard him.

A couple of noises caught Stiles' attention — the sound a cross between a chirp and a squeak. When he looked up from his phone, Stiles noticed a pair of kits had broken off from the group. They came up close to the patio and were now trying to climb the stairs, seemingly determined to reach Stiles at the top.

Watching them stumble and fall, Stiles thought about the owner — there were no reports about him being in any way injured, but they might’ve just not mentioned it. Void had definitely paid him a visit, though, otherwise this— this wouldn't have happened. Still, no mention of injuries didn't mean much when the demon could torture someone without ever laying a finger on them. And he did, Stiles was sure of it, knew it down to his bones. Void did this.

The two kits whined as if both offended at the stairs and despairing their inability to climb them. Stiles' heart dropped back into his chest, into the tight and aching hold around it — but under that, inside the cage of his ribs, a warmth started to spread, bringing new wetness to his eyes. It stung, hot and fierce, when he blinked the tears away.

Crouching down, Stiles reached for the kits to pick them up. They squealed, squirming in his hands, but when he put them down on the boards they immediately started to paw and nip at his legs, demanding Stiles to pet and play with them. A smile quivering in the corner of his mouth, Stiles gave in, occupying himself with two handfuls of small little foxes, petting and scratching and nipping back at them until a wet, watery laugh escaped the tight confines of his chest; the aching knot unraveling until all the tension seemingly went away, as if it was never there in the first place. The warmth that was left felt a little like a captured ray of sunshine, bright and feather-light.

Next to him, Void had also crouched down, keeping himself in a somewhat wary, but also surprisingly open way. When Stiles looked at the demon, there was the silver fox from earlier beside him — it had climbed up to the patio and was curiously sniffing at the air around Void. It seemed taken with the demon in some way, boldly coming closer to approach him, just like the kits tried to with Stiles; maybe the fox was still a young one too. With its darker hide, slender snout and striking light-green eyes, it was definitely one of the prettiest foxes Stiles has ever seen — figured that it would come straight up to Void.

Stiles tried, and failed, to hold back his smile when the fox became even bolder, almost jumping straight into Void's lap. It braced its front paws on his knee, stretching up to sniff at his chin, its long fluffy tail swishing behind its hind legs, bringing attention to the one white sock. It was wholly and unbelievably cute. Just — plain, old adorable.

And, finally, Void had given in too — slowly, very slowly reaching up to offer pets to the fox. It sniffed at his hand — and didn't back away when the demon started to scratch its fluffy neck. The white-tipped tail swished even harder, the fox’s eyes turning half-lidded.

If it was a normal situation, it would have taken much more time and much more work for the foxes to warm up to them. To start trusting humans at all. But it wasn't a normal situation — and Void wasn't human. Which, well, Stiles wasn't either, not really.

A sharp hissing breath left his mouth — when Void looked back at him, when their eyes met, Stiles almost forgot about the two kits still nipping at his fingers. They whined, trying to capture his attention again, and he had to rip himself away from Void's dark, dark gaze.

“Okay,” he breathed out, “okay. We'll figure it out.”

[raksh-writes]

Sit back (and watch you unfold)

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Nogitsune/Stiles Stilinski (Voiles/Stigitsune)

Words: ~2,7k

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Smut! Very explicit, and very kinky! Check the work on AO3 for more information and tags! And, again, it starts right up, be warned ;p

A/N: Oh my, ‘tis the kinkiest thing I have ever written? Yes, very much so!

I should be focusing on my thesis and all other uni-related things, yet instead - here I am!But I haven't touched my fics in a long time and I miss Voiles and writing them and ughhh, it's killing me ;_; So, yeah, I decided I can treat myself and post this, since it was sitting in my doc almost-post-ready for a while and waiting for its turn ;p Let's hope the good-fic-feels will propel me in progressing on my thesis the rest of the month, lmao.

And, of course, I hope it'll be an enjoyable read to y'all ❤ I definitely had a lot of fun with it! ^^ 

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“I must say, Stiles, you do make such a pretty picture right now,” the demon muses, claws trailing feather-light over Stiles’ stomach, “tied up with my hand around your throat.”

His smirk curves up, sharp and mean, as Stiles swallows thickly against those long fingers. They tighten, just a little — just enough to make it that much harder to breathe.

“I bet you’ll look even better with all these bruises it's going to leave, hm?”

Stiles shudders, uselessly wringing his hands where they’re held together by the wrists and secured to the headboard. It doesn’t do anything beyond amusing Void further, eyes hungrily taking in Stiles’ naked body draped all over the bed and his lap.

The wait's already killing Stiles and he can’t even do much more than curve up into Void’s touch; try to wiggle his hips as the fingers dig into the meat of his thigh. Every little move makes his muscles tense up around the plug nestled deep inside, keeping him nice and ready for taking, the smallest shift sending hot little thrills all over his body. Stiles couldn’t possibly feel any more helpless and on display than he is now — back arched into a perfect bow, ass resting in Void’s leather-clad lap and legs bent around the demon as he trembles, his aching erection dribbling precome all over his abs.

Wrapping his hands around the length of rope tied to the headboard, Stiles pushes against the demon — both the grip at his throat and the thighs Stiles is resting on — and bites back the mewl that rises in his throat. But those little, delighted sparks in Void's eyes are more than worth enduring the delirious torture Stiles is sure to get.

“Please—”

How fitting, that his voice is so hoarse and thin it's barely coherent.

“Please what?” The demon purrs, all delighted and mean in the curve of his smirk.

“Touch me?” Stiles' tone wavers, ever so slightly, but it's enough to inch his ultimate goal closer to reality — there's something about Stiles' begging and whimpering that gets to Void, delights the demon in ways only visible in moments like this one. And maybe that's because only in those moments Stiles lets himself enjoy it, show the side that he'd never otherwise, trusting Void with his submission — and maybe it's also because Void knows Stiles like no other. Sees through him so intimately and wholly; Stiles' every need and desire like an open book. And the demon relishes in everything he can take from Stiles, always.

Void doesn't answer, but his hand moves, just slightly, from Stiles' throat — thumb pressing over his lower lip.

“Maybe I should've gagged you too,” he muses, a spark in dark eyes even when his voice doesn't carry any significant weight, thumb dipping into Stiles' mouth. “I wonder how much more desperate that would make you. Not being able to beg so sweetly.”

Stiles trembles, heat spreading all over his exposed skin and some new tightness wound around his lungs. It's hard to tell, in the moment, if the idea is more thrilling or scary, but Stiles discards it for now, because—

“You wouldn't like the aftertaste,” he says, throwing it out on a chance and licking his lips over. As much as the demon doesn't mind, or even enjoys, the messiness that comes with sex — be it cum or sweat — he despises the artificial. It’s a good thing then, that Stiles found he actually prefers more natural lubricants — or lack thereof, on occasion. Then there's the fact that— “And you enjoy hearing me.”

Void's lips twitch in one corner, a small, amused breath escaping on an almost chuckle.

“Hard to deny that, but—” His smirk curves into an even meaner, mischievous one as he presses his thumb deeper into Stiles' mouth, right behind his teeth. “—who said we'd be buying a plastic one? Or getting any, really? We could… get creative, couldn’t we?”

And Stiles' whole body breaks out in little thrills when his mind finally catches on what exactly he means.

Void's only reaction is an even more delighted, half-lidded look.

“Like that, didn't you?” He chuckles, claws dragging against Stiles' thigh, digging into the fleshy inside before he brings his hand all the way down and takes a hold on the butt of the plug. “Those ties laying around in your closet, the underwear I just pulled off of you. Sooo many possibilities, so many ways to make use of them, hm?”

Stiles almost chokes on his own spit when Void pulls at the plug — slowly, so very slowly withdrawing the toy until only the tip is hooked against his rim — then pushes it back in at the exact right angle to make stars burst behind his eyelids. The spark of pleasure that shoots up Stiles' spine feels possibly electric and the way Void's fingers tighten around his throat makes it burn just that much hotter, just on the edge of too much.

“Imagine, kitten, all prepped and ready for me, with this silly thing up your ass—” Void grinds the base of his palm against the plug, the simplest shift of it against Stiles' flesh a hot coal of pure sensation, “—going about your day, wondering when or where I'll snatch you up, press you against some door with a nice little gag of your own underwear as I fuck into you. With all those people on the other side.” Void's grip goes harsher on Stiles' throat, pressing just right to cut his breath as the demon plays with the toy, thrusting it out and back in again at a torturously slow pace. “But you'd still have to be quiet, darling, with all those pretty noises you make. Unless— unless you'd like them to hear you, to come look for what all those moans are about. Maybe you'd like that, huh?” His smirk curves sharper, meaner, just as his fingers and the pace he sets. Stiles is all but grinding back against Void now, desperate to finally tumble off that edge he’s kept on. “For others to see how much of a mess I can make you. How desperate you are to come on my cock, to be fucked so raw you can barely stand later. Just look at you, rutting on me already.”

And Stiles is, desperately, because he's right there, tethering on the edge of his orgasm, and he's so close, so close— There's barely enough breath in his lungs for the pitiful mewl that spills from his lips; moving against Void's grip the only thing Stiles can do.

And the demon's gaze on him is possibly ravenous, lips parted and corners curved up.

“What an absolute delight you are, kitten,” he purrs, pushing at the plug until Stiles writhes, all but begging wordlessly, for more or for mercy, before he loosens the grip on Stiles' throat just enough to give him some air. “Do you want to come, darling? Do you want it now?”

It's as much of a test as it's an offering and Stiles wants — but it's not the only thing he wants. And just as well as Void knows his every desire and every crevice of his body, Stiles is also pretty familiar with what exactly the demon enjoys.

So he licks his lips and whimpers helplessly before the words escape on a bated breath.

“I want to— I want to come on your cock, please…”

And that moment, the little split-second when Void's eyes almost flash silver and vulpine-slitted, is exactly what Stiles has been hoping, yearning for — that dark, dark look promising to devour him whole. Because the demon is as possessive as it gets — and Stiles isn't much better.

“Such a good boy— such a perfect little thing, aren't you, kitten...” Void's voice drops so low it's almost more felt than heard, a smooth rumble that spreads heat all over Stiles, the words so simple and yet warming him up from inside-out.

He bites over his lower lip, anticipation already sizzling along his nerves when Void's grip around his throat tightens again, hard enough to make Stiles' pulse race under Void's cool fingers. But just as the sharp claws prick his skin, sending a hot shiver down his spine, Void withdraws from the plug. Stiles whines in protest, grinding his ass against the demon's lap, the feel of leather on his bare skin all sin and friction, but the sure hold around his throat prevents him from checking why— just why Void would stop now.

It becomes embarrassingly obvious when the demon chuckles and Stiles' brain finally checks back in enough to register the sound of a zipper being pulled down. And it might've as well been the flaming point to Stiles' helpless pleas, wordless but just as obvious, all weak whimpers and trembling.

“I do love how absolutely desperate you are for me,” the demon muses, bringing his hand back to Stiles' thigh and dragging claws over sensitive skin. “So, soo eager to get fucked. You want my cock so much, don't you?” He gets a hold of the plug again, teasing it slowly, so very slowly out. “Are you ready for me, Stiles? Do you want it?”

Void's hold loosens only to give Stiles some breath and a chance to nod.

“Words, kitten.”

“Yes! Yes, please, I want it, I want you—”

Fingers press against his jugular and Stiles shudders, blinking away the tears already gathering at the corners of his eyes. Void's curled lips and glimmering dark gaze are as promising as they're threatening — and Stiles all but squirms in anticipation.

“Well, if you ask so sweetly,” the demon purrs, deceptively smooth and sweet, right before his grip cuts through Stiles' whimpers, trapping the last breath in his lungs.

Stiles can't even whine his protest when Void removes the plug, leaving him empty and gaping — on occasion, the demon will keep him there, make Stiles wait for it torturously long, but this is not one of those days. The moment Void gets rid of the toy, his hand lands on Stiles' hip in a bruising hold and pulls him up on his lap, Stiles' butt sliding against the warmed-up leather. Then he starts pushing into Stiles and that maddeningly slow, almost-too-much sensation of being stretched and spread open fires sparks all over Stiles' nerves, always the same feeling of novelty that edges on oversensitivity and almost-pain that scrambles his brain no matter the amount of prep. When Void puts on the final touch, the pressure of his grip on Stiles' throat cutting any and all breath from his lungs, Stiles might've as well been a bowstring pulled tight and ready to snap.

It couldn't last long, maybe few seconds at most, but in that exact moment, all his senses in an overdrive and spots dancing in his blurred-out vision, it feels like a small forever. And in that small stretch of eternity the only things Stiles is aware of is how quickly he's getting lightheaded, high on the lack of air, the absolutely maddening stretch-burn of Void pushing into him and those sharp claws digging into his skin — when they finally break through and the pain shoots hotly down his body, Stiles very nearly comes right there and then. But Void's barely halfway in and won't allow it, a cutting tsk sounding in the air before his other hand curls around Stiles' weeping cock in a vice-like grip that stops his orgasm before it can take over. There are probably tears already running down Stiles' face but he can barely comprehend it.

Only a little longer, he has to hold off only a little, a little—

That's when Void huffs out a small laugh, an amused almost-chuckle that's more of a half strained breath.

“Good boy,” he praises — and releases his grip, on Stiles' throbbing dick and abused throat both.

Air rushes back into Stiles' lungs, cutting down his throat like flames, and Void snaps his hips — thrusts into Stiles, harsh and rough and all the way in as the obscene sound of their joining bounces off the walls — Stiles chokes, bows off the bed, and finally, finally tumbles off the edge into the burning, throbbing waves of pleasure that steal over all his senses. Gasping and moaning and writhing in his bonds, Stiles grinds back against Void as the demon fucks him through that almost torturous ecstasy with short, harsh, deep thrusts that only make the shivery-hot sensation burn that much brighter. It seems to stretch, and stretch, and stretch impossibly long until Stiles is left violently trembling and sobbing under his panting breath as he slowly comes down from his high, mewling at the feel of Void's cock still dragging against his now too oversensitive flesh. But the second his orgasm ebbs away, the demon stops moving, nestled deep inside with their hips pressed flush together.

“Hush, sweetheart, hush, it's alright, you did so well,” he praises, low and rumbling in that warm purr of his as he shifts the hand from around Stiles' throat up to his face, brushing away tears in a show of tenderness and care that still seems as shocking as ever. “Breathe for me, Stiles, just breathe, I'm here…”

Stiles turns into Void's caress on pure instinct, nuzzling into the demon's hand as his breath calms down, all the tension slowly seeping out at the continuous petting all over his quivering thighs and bruised hips. It always takes a few minutes before Stiles comes back to his senses, usually still shuddering and whimpering a bit, but his mind almost more clear than normal; quiet as it rarely is. And Void hasn't moved an inch since Stiles' orgasm tore through him, hot and heavy and very much as hard as before where Stiles is stuffed full of his cock.

“Back with me, little fox?”

Void's tone stays low and warm, his eyes just as scorching and ravenous, but there's a steel underneath it that both makes heat start anew in Stiles' gut and winds a tight grip of different emotion around his lungs.

Swallowing through his raw throat, Stiles nods and tugs at his wrists. It won't do anything besides giving Void an idea of what he needs now, but Void, of course, gets it right away.

Small smile curving the corners of his lips, the demon slowly shifts against Stiles, the move waking a small whine in Stiles' lungs, before Void braces a hand on the bed and leans down to catch Stiles' lips in a deep, slow kiss. Fingers still cupping his jaw and claws grazing his throat, Void directs Stiles whichever way he pleases, licking into his mouth and gnawing at his lips until they're raw and aching, a hot spark of lust burning anew under Stiles' navel. And when Void grinds his hips against Stiles' ass, the sparking pleasure burns just on the edge of being painful — and just as perfect.

Stiles tugs at his restraints once more, silently begging Void's permission as he nudges their noses together — he doesn't dare to do much more, but it's also not like he minds either way. Sometimes Void leaves him restrained until the very end, sometimes he decides to give in to Stiles' request — this time, as the demon's dark gaze melts the tiniest bit, it seems to be the latter. When all the knots fall undone, Stiles latches onto Void, onto his waist and shoulders, brushing through the mess of black hair; thrilled when he catches a glimpse of the markings on his wrists.

Void chuckles, a little breathy and hoarse, before he reaches down to take a hold of Stiles' thigh, fingers digging in with bruising strength. He hikes Stiles' leg higher just as he leans down to give him another kiss, a far filthier and more aggressive one, biting and lapping up Stiles' little mewls as he ruts, roughly, into Stiles' pliant body. The hot spark of pleasure travels shivery-sweet over Stiles’ spine, stirring his dick back to attention against his belly and all his senses flaring at the drag of skin and leather against his ass.

“Ready for more, kitten?”

Void purrs the question into Stiles' parted, raw-red lips and he shudders in response, clutching at Void's shoulders.

“Please,” is the only thing he manages to breathe out.

When Void smirks, dark gaze heavy with cruel delight, Stiles can only brace himself against what's coming. And he takes it all, gladly.

[raksh-writes]

Look into the Abyss

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Nogitsune/Stiles Stilinski (Voiles/Stigitsune)

Rating: Mature

Chapter 22: playing the game

Here’s a snippet:

Licking his lips in a mix of excitement and dread, Stiles leaves the kitchen through the dining room, the stretch of his senses coming back with the certainty no one’s there, and makes for the stairs. It’s almost laughably easy to guess that whoever it is, they’re probably waiting in his bedroom.

Need a hand, darling?

I can handle myself.

Stiles scoffs, brows furrowing, and doesn’t quite know where exactly the irritation came from. Definitely not from the way the nickname makes warmth spread under his skin.

Oh, I don’t doubt that. And he can easily imagine the smug smirk on Void’s face, a wicked gleam to those black eyes. But I am mostly done here, so…

Stiles is almost at the top when a new scent reaches his nose, coming from the crooked open door to his bedroom — he can’t see inside yet, but the smell is vaguely familiar. As if he encountered it enough times to remember, but not to associate someone with it, not like with— with the pack.

I wouldn’t mind the company, he answers Void, even the voice in his head sounding somewhat out of breath, mind catching and stumbling over what he’s admitting to.

Read the whole work over on AO3!