Teen Wolf Imagines #Wattys2017

Take The Pain (Part 1)

You had always been good at hiding your pain. You hid it from your father, who would abuse you, and you hid it from your brother, who went through it with you.
The only difference between you and Isaac was the fact that he wasn't left with the immense self-loathing that weighed on your shoulders after your father was killed by the kanima.
You'd hated yourself ever since you could remember. Your body curved in all the wrong places, your grades were always lacking in school, and it didn't help any when your father solidified any insecurity you ever had about yourself. When he died, you had hated yourself for being happy he was gone.
Isaac had been the only one keeping you going. You'd been in the thick of it together, and he would take the brunt of the abuse to keep you from getting it. He was your big brother, after all.
You hated yourself for getting him into trouble.
When he became a werewolf, he had more to worry about than just you. With the threat of your father no longer there, you found yourself spending more and more time alone. It never felt right to tag along after Isaac and the rest of the pack.
You'd just get in the way.
The scars on your thighs increased the longer you were alone with yourself. Alone with your thoughts. Alone with the hatred. The more problems that arose in Beacon Hills, the worse it got.
You hit your lowest point around the time Stiles got possessed by the Nogitsune.
Looking back now, you'd say it was the unintentional turning point in your life.
That was the day you'd decided to end it. The day you were finally going to let Isaac go. Let him be happy and not have to worry about you ever again. He had Allison now. He had the pack. He had a family. He didn't need an awkward, dysfunctional sister to ruin that for him.
You were going to make his life easier.
You'd decided to do it in the bathtub. You honestly hadn't wanted to do it in the McCall's house at all. You didn't want to make a mess. You couldn't do it in the woods, though, because then they'd waste time searching for you.
So the bathtub it was.
When you'd lowered yourself into the tub and rolled up your sleeves, razor at the ready, you heard it. A small chuckle coming from the shadows of the adjoining bedroom. You froze, peering into the darkness to meet a dark pair of familiar eyes.
"Don't stop on my account, my dear," he called, leaning on the wall in an almost nonchalant manner.
You flushed in shame, attempting to hide the razor behind the barrier the tub provided before answering, "Stiles? What are you doing here?"
"I could smell your misery since the moment I took control of this boy," Stiles pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the door adjoining the two rooms. "Your pain," he spat as he came to stand in the threshold, "Your hatred."
"S-Stiles?" you whispered, but you knew the thing standing before you was no longer your friend.
"You're the perfect picture of chaos," a smirk crossed Stiles' lips before he quickly advanced on you. Your scream died in your throat as he gripped your neck, pulling you up from the tub. You dropped the razor in place of grabbing the hand that had soon pressed you against cold tile, making it difficult to breathe.
"Those idiots couldn't sense it. They couldn't see how broken you are behind those half-hearted smiles you give them. How much you just want to disappear. Well," he steps into the tub, pressing the length of Stiles' body against yours, "I noticed."
You shiver as he nestles his nose into your neck, inhaling deeply, "I can smell it on you." You feel tears brimming at your eyes and let go of the hand at your neck. This wasn't the way you'd planned on going, but if he wanted to do the job for you, you weren't going to stop him.
"Do it," you feel him pull back and meet his sickly eyes with your own, "If you're going to kill me, just get it over with."
The Nogitsune laughs; a full, hearty laugh that reminds you of how Stiles would laugh whenever he was genuinely happy, "Kill you? You think I'm here to kill you?"
Your brow furrows, "Aren't you?"
"Why would I kill the perfect source of pain?" his hand loosens from around your neck, moving to cup your jaw. "Now, take all of that pain," his lips are just a breath away, "and give it to me."
You gasp as his mouth connects with yours, and you go lightheaded as it feels like he's draining the life out of you. You brace yourself on his shoulders and feel him press his full body against you to keep you propped between him and the wall. His knee goes between your legs, locking you both there.
You hear a breathy groan pass between his lips, muffling against your own. His lips crash against yours in what seems like a desperate effort to get more. More of you. More of your pain. Whatever he was taking from you, you found yourself giving it freely as the kiss went on.
He wrenches himself away from you, panting as he wipes his mouth. He keeps one hand entangled in your hair as you look at him in a daze. Your heart is beating ferociously and you're gasping for air nearly twice as hard as he is. Before you can even think a coherent sentence, he seems to have regained enough composure to grip the back of your head by your hair and roughly pull you to focus on him.
"More," passes through his kiss-swollen lips as he attacks your neck. You feel that same lightheadedness as he latches onto your pulse, his free hand sliding up the hem of your shirt. As he takes more from you, you find it to be an almost ecstatic feeling. You're unable to stop the moan that rips from your throat as he bites down, taking blood with the pain.
You feel your hands move on their own accord. They go to his messy hair, gripping him in an effort to just grab onto something. You felt so lost in this moment, as if the only thing keeping you sane were his lips on your body.
"More," the word comes from your own parted lips this time. What are you asking for? For him to take more of the pain? For him to take more of you? You honestly didn't know. All you knew was that this was the most alive you've felt in years, and you wanted to keep feeling this way.
If this demon was going to give that to you, you'd let him take whatever he wanted.
The Nogitsune seemed to know what you were asking for as his lips disconnected from your neck with a smack and he ripped your shirt off your body in one fluid movement. His hands traveled behind your back, your bra soon following your shirt. Every touch he made seemed to linger, and it wasn't until he was between your knees, gripping your scarred thighs, that you noticed the black veins that appeared whenever he touched you.
You were still gripping his hair for dear life as he smirked up at you, sliding a hand up your skirt before ripping your panties down to your ankles, "Even now, you're still in chaos. You're torn between wanting to feel again, and knowing that you're supposed to hate me."
You were about to retaliate when he dragged his index finger along your sex, "After all," his smirk never faltered as he pushed the skirt up higher, "I am the enemy." You nearly scream as his tongue darts out over your clit, working its way over your core. You can feel the fox's grin as he works you over relentlessly, gasps and moans involuntarily ripping from your throat. You know your grip in his hair must be almost painful at this point, but it doesn't slow him down one bit.
You don't know whose name to scream out when you go over the edge, panting and writhing against the wall of the bath.
The aftermath of your orgasm is pushed forward by his tongue as he greedily takes all you can give. He detangles your fingers from his brown hair; that damned smirk is the first thing that comes into your vision as he stands upright again.
He leaves you there, in a daze and shivering against the cold tile at your back as he steps out of the tub. He looks back only once as he reaches the door, a Cheshire grin playing at the lips which were only moments before at your most intimate of places.
"Don't do anything we'll both regret, my dear. That was the best meal I've had in the last five hundred years."