Mischief Mondays Chapter 1: Stetopher - Breaking Point, a teen wolf fanfic

Teen Wolf Stetopher Teen Wolf Breaking Point Teen Wolf Stetopher Teen Wolf

Title: Breaking Point – Mischief Mondays Series

Tags: m/m/m, polyamory, Spark Stiles, post-Nogitsune, PTSD, hurt/comfort, fluff

Main Pairing: Chris/Peter/Stiles

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Peter Hale, Chris Argent

Summary: Stiles knew how far he could push his body and mind. But this time, everything around him had pushed him too far. Embarrassingly enough, he reaches his breaking point in the middle of the cereal aisle at the grocery store. Even more embarrassing? Peter and Chris are shopping too.

Breaking Point

Mischief Mondays Series

Stiles was not going to cry in the cereal aisle at the grocery store. He refused to cry in the cereal aisle at the damn grocery store. And he didn't even have a real reason for it. He didn't cry easily, he could face sadistic grandpas torturing him and still snark back. He did not cry.

This was different though, this wasn't any one thing that made him crack, it was about two dozen things that had been piling on for a while now and wearing him down. That was just how it went.

Stiles knew his own body, and his mind, he knew how far he could push him. How many nights of binge hyperfixating he could do with a bare minimum of two or three hours of sleep. How many meals he could skip for the sake of getting more work done and finishing whatever he was hyperfixating on before the gnawing in his stomach became too much. He even knew how to compartmentalize the majority of his trauma responses, push them down to be dealt with later when he had time to deal with them, so he could focus on whatever was currently trying to kill him.

These were skills he'd taught himself over the years. They'd started out harmless enough, with rabbit holes of wikipedia articles that his hyperactive mind decided he needed to read and catalogue and it did not allow him to rest until this random, unimportant task was actually done. So he wouldn't sleep for a night and be exhausted at school. Not too much of a problem.

Nowadays? Nowadays, these skills literally meant the difference between life and death. When something came to try and kill them, gathering all the information they could about the threat was vital, it allowed them to make a plan of attack, to not be sitting ducks. Where the majority of his pack tapped out after a few hours of research and even his hardened co-reasearchers – Peter, Lydia and Kira – would tap out after about ten hours. Thanks to Stiles' hyperfocus, he knew he had another five hours in him easily. And another five after that, if he pushed himself to the limit, which usually entailed shaky hands, dizziness, the inability to walk straight and a queasy stomach. Nothing he couldn't handle, if it meant he could finish whatever his mind had latched onto. Because he knew his mind wouldn't let it go until it was finished. That was just how it worked.

The problem with knowing one's limits and how far to push? Sometimes, when pushed too often for too long without being able to catch a break – because the next big bad was already lurking by the time they were regrouping after the last attack – sometimes, he reached his breaking point.

And that never came from anything big or dramatic. It wasn't like one of his triggers for whatever variety of trauma he'd endured over the years. Nothing that he could point at and identify as a problem, as the source of the problem. No, usually, it was something really stupid.

Like right now. He hadn't slept at all last night, three hours the night before that, busy researching the witch coven that had taken up residency somewhere in Beacon Hills. They'd tracked them down yesterday and it had been a hard battle, too many injuries on his pack, and them being witches, Stiles had taken the brute force of the fight with his magic, which left him drained, which was its own separate issue from all the sleeplessness. He hadn't had more than five hours of sleep a night in at least two weeks. He'd been up on his feet for the past twelve hours now – school, lacrosse, quick stop at the Pack House to touch base with their Alphas, home, cooking dinner, realizing they were running out of food and it was Friday night so he might as well get the grocery shopping done right now, because he couldn't just call in sick from school and his life just because he drained his magic. So, after all of that, he was pushing his shopping card through the grocery store and there were already three things he hadn't been able to find and it was small and insignificant and so much more frustrating than it had every right to be and his entire body ached.

And so he stood there, staring at the too big variety of cereals and being overwhelmed by it, by everything. His body and mind had been pushed too far for too long. He was cracking.

"Stiles?" Chris' gruff, pleasant, soothing voice broke him out of his spiraling thoughts.

He jerked, a full body jerk, his head snapping over to stare at Chris and Peter. The married couple just stood there, looking gorgeous and perfect and so normal. Just two husbands, out buying groceries for their family. Domestic fucking bliss. It made Stiles feel like he was choking on bile.

And that was such a fucking unfair reaction to have. He loved Peter and Chris – was in love with Peter and Chris, but that was beside the point, he loved their love. Loved the Romeo and Juliet of it all, the tragic and dramatic, but also the mutually broken, and how they had both clawed their way back from losing nearly everything and everyone, having to redefine themselves.

So much had changed since the Alpha Pack had come, since Derek had given up the Alpha spark to save Cora and in return, Peter had killed Kali to regain the Alpha status and helped save Scott from whatever plot the Alpha Pack had had for him. Granted, Peter and Scott still weren't best buds, but there was a mutual respect that came from saving each other's life and from seeing the other save your own loved ones. That mutual respect was what the majority of this pack was built upon, really. And then Chris and Peter had fallen in love. Well, in lust first and then begrudgingly in love, until it wasn't begrudged anymore. Now, they were the Alpha and the Alpha Mate of their pack and… and Stiles was happy. He really was. Peter, with this second chance at being the Alpha of the Hale Pack, was doing so great, he'd grown so much and he finally got to shape the Hale Pack that he wanted.

It was just that, as happy as he was for them, he couldn't help but feel bitter on his own account. Because he was in love with them both. Had been in love with Peter longer than with Chris, but once Chris became a part of the pack, really started getting involved himself, it was hard not to fall for the man. So seeing the two people he'd been in love with for longer than he cared to admit, happy, domestic, married bliss and all? It usually just made his heart clench, but with his current emotional and physical state, it simply felt like yet another crack, bringing him closer to breaking. Because they got to be normal and happy and he was falling apart from the inside.

"Sweetheart, you… smell incredibly distressed and you're shaking," Peter spoke carefully. "Did something happen? Were you attacked, by the witches? Is this a curse?"

Stiles stared at him and couldn't help the dry, sarcastic laugh. A curse. Sure, some days, his anxiety and ADHD definitely felt like a curse. Some days, his entire damn existence felt like a curse. His chest felt too tight, like his rib-cage had shrunken a size or two and his lungs didn't fully fit in there anymore and maybe his heart was being squished a little too.

"Stiles, doll, you need to focus," Chris' voice was firm and nice.

Focus? All he did was focus. He focused so much that his brain couldn't seem to relax anymore. He blinked at the two men, feeling more and more disconnected from the present. Like he was walking next to his body instead of inside of it. And. Oh. That wasn't good. He hadn't had a crash like this since before the Nogitsune and now, the feeling of disconnect between his mind and body made him remember entirely different things. He felt raw panic claw at his throat as his eyes widened in a silenced scream, the tears spilling from his eyes no longer simply from frustration but from fear.

/break\

When Stiles woke up, he had a moment of panic and disorientation. This was not his bed, these were not his sheets, they were too soft and smelt different yet the scent was oddly comforting. When he opened his eyes, he looked around a room that he had never been in and that still felt somewhat familiar in a way he couldn't quite pinpoint. Furrowing his brows, he sat up.

His body hurt. It was one big ache, soreness all over. He groaned softly at it, tilting his head back until there was a thud where he hit the wall. He closed his eyes again, trying to concentrate but finding thoughts annoyingly hard to formulate. Another groan, this one more frustrated.

Gentle knocking on the door drew his attention and before he could try and form a reply did the door open and Chris walked in, carrying a tray of food, with a glass of orange juice and a delicious smelling coffee. His brows were knitted in a concerned frown.

"Peter said he just heard you make noises and that you were up, doll," Chris whispered.

Oh wow Stiles was dead and in heaven, or he was still dreaming. Subconsciously, he started counting his fingers with his thumb pressing against them one by one. Five on each hand. Not a dream then? Stiles blinked at Chris, whose focus was on Stiles' finger-tapping. He froze, forcing himself to stop. Damn it. He knew how much the finger-counting worried his pack, he should know better, he had more control than to do it where one of them could see it.

"Why is his heart-rate spiking. You were supposed to bring him food, not upset him, Christopher."

And suddenly there was Peter, looking over Chris' shoulder. Stiles blinked a couple more times, staring at the married couple. Both men entered what Stiles came to realize was their bedroom, which was why it seemed so vaguely familiar. There were notes of both men all over the place and the general architecture – the windows, the door – he recognized it. He was in the pack house, for sure, but for some reason, he wasn't in his room (even though every member of the pack had their own bedroom in the mansion, including the ones who didn't live there, to give them their own space and a place to retreat to whenever they needed to get away from home).

"H… How did I get here?" Stiles asked, feeling panic rise in him at that realization. "I was groceries shopping for dad and me and now I'm here and I don't remember how I got here, I don't remember, I can't lose time again, I can't-"

He started counting his fingers again, forceful and fast and frantic. Peter pushed past Chris and went to sit next to Stiles on the bed, carefully taking Stiles' hands to hold and stop the motion.

"You didn't lose time, sweetheart," Peter reassured him softly. "You had a panic-attack at the grocery store and… passed out. We took you home with us."

"Oh, I didn't lose time, I just lost consciousness," Stiles sneered. "That's better."

He squeezed his eyes shut, frustration building up in his chest. Why was he like this. Why couldn't he just function like a normal human being. Taking slow, deliberate breaths, holding them deep, he forced himself to relax. He hated few things more than worrying his pack.

"Eat," Chris ordered, putting the tray down on Stiles' other side. "We'll talk about what happened once you've eaten and maybe showered. But we will talk about what happened."

The look on his face left no room for argument and quite frankly, Stiles was too exhausted to argue. He just grabbed the tray to place it on his lap, briefly marveling at the fact that Peter had made him breakfast (Chris could not cook for shit, aside from Stiles, Peter was the only one who cooked for their pack. More often than not did the two of them cook together).

"Thank you," Stiles whispered once he had eaten about half of it. "For, you know."

He motioned weakly. Chris and Peter were still sitting on the bed, just… watching him. The hunter had his arms crossed, a frown on his face, and the wolf looked like he was dissecting Stiles with his eyes alone. Which Stiles didn't put past him. Peter was the best at reading him.

"Can we upgrade the shower to a bath maybe?"

"Are you just trying to buy time?" Chris asked bluntly.

Stiles stared at him with tired eyes, contemplating the merits of a snarky lie by agreeing, the easy way out. "Every muscle in my body feels like it's on fire and the thought of soaking in a hot tub of that herbal mix I made for you sounds like I may finally stop my body from shaking."

His eyes dropped to his still shaky hands before he balled them into fists. Peter made a noise in the back of his throat, the werewolf hearing that Stiles was telling the truth and probably worrying. Stiles was too tired to feel guilty about worrying them. Maybe he'd drown in the tub. Easy way out.

"I'll draw you a bath, doll," Chris' voice softened. "Thank you for being honest."

Closing his eyes, Stiles leaned back against the wall, trying to breath deep. He could feel Peter's eyes on him, still trying to take him apart, trying to figure out how he worked. Hopefully, Peter would tell him once he figured that out, because damn if Stiles didn't want to know that too.

"We will talk after your bath," Peter's words were an order.

"Yes, Alpha," Stiles mumbled tiredly.

"Can you… get up?" Peter sounded concerned but also calculating.

Stiles ground his teeth together in frustration. "...No."

His eyes snapped open when Peter picked him up, careful and gentle, cradling Stiles against his chest. His heart started beating faster and faster as he stared at Peter from this new, nice angle, felt the firm chest beneath his cheek, his arms around Stiles, holding him. Fuck. He got carried into the master bathroom – because even though the Pack House had a bathroom downstairs, shower-stalls in the basement with the training rooms and two bathrooms in upstairs, that was… not enough for the size of their pack and Peter and Chris refused to share their bathroom with a bunch of rowdy young adults, which was fair enough. Stiles too would opt out of having to share bathroom time with Jackson, Erica and Lydia. The three seemed in a competition on who took the longest in the mornings and it drove Stiles up the wall every pack meeting that ended in a sleepover.

"Thank you," Stiles sighed as he was put down on the toilet seat.

"We'll help you undress, okay?" Chris asked, reaching for Stiles' shirt.

"Sure," Stiles heaved the most defeated sigh. "Why not. Let's make today the most humiliating day in my life. And I got beaten up by a geriatric once."

Usually, he'd filter that better. He didn't bring up Gerard, not ever if he could help it but definitely not in front of Chris. But he just truly fully could not bring himself to care and he was feeling like a pity party. The hunter regarded him with worried and sad eyes as he pulled Stiles' shirt off.

"That geriatric was a trained soldier and hunter with decades of experience," Chris spoke softly. "And you were a sixteen year old kid with no training and no real access to your magic yet. You held your own damn well, Stiles. And everyone aside from you knows that."

Stiles blinked surprised, staring at Chris. What. Too dazed to react, Stiles just let himself be undressed and helped into the tub. He heaved a deep, content sigh as he sunk into the hot water, his eyes closing slowly. Oh, this was heaven. Maybe he had died after all.

"We'll leave the bedroom door a little open, so we'll hear if you call for us. Or if you drown."

Stiles weakly flipped Peter off as the mated pair left. Leave the door a little open. Because nobody in the pack used to term 'ajar' anymore after it had sent Stiles into a full two hour panic-attack once. The only real panic-attack he'd ever had in front of his pack, but he couldn't help it. When's a door not a door? It triggered him badly. Probably his worst Nogitsune trigger, if he had to rank them. Heaving a sigh, Stiles slipped lower in the tub, allowing the water to cover his whole body and just taking a moment to relish in the feeling, pretend the world outside didn't exist.

/break\

Chris and Peter busied themselves by getting rid of their pack. As much as they loved living together with a good junk of their pack, right now, with Stiles in whatever state he was in, they wanted the house empty. Whatever had happened yesterday, clearly Stiles didn't want anyone, including Chris and Peter, to know. So the least they could do was make sure nobody else from their pack would be there to overhear anything Stiles wasn't ready to share.

Derek was easiest to get rid off, he had to go to work. Being a new deputy with the sheriff station took him out on weekends too, though he always made sure to be off for pack nights on Saturday, taking the morning shift. Chris managed to coax Allison into going to the library, telling her that she would have an easier time working on her essay for college there than in the Pack House. Isaac and Cora were easy to get out by suggesting they could ask Boyd and Erica to join them for a trip to the movies since they'd been talking about some new release that Chris absolutely could not keep track of. Lydia and Jackson weren't there anyway, because one of the conditions Natalie had when Lydia decided to move out after graduation and move into 'the Hale cult house', as Natalie so lovingly called it, was that the couple had to come over for lunch every Saturday. Malia was out on a date with Kira, so she wasn't an issue either. And Kira and Scott were, aside from Stiles, the only pack-members who weren't living at the house anyway.

"What do you think happened," Chris asked, as soon as the last car was out of earshot.

"My guess is as good as yours," Peter looked very displeased by this admission. "We saw him. We saw him go into the aisle. Nothing was majorly wrong? There was nothing that I could identify as a trigger for him, but then there is so much about his trauma that he doesn't share so there's no way to be sure. But it… scared me, Christopher."

All Chris could do was grunt his agreement, because it had scared him too. He'd seen every member of their pack get hurt, go down, many of them during flashbacks or panic-attacks too – there was plenty of trauma to go around for most of their pack. But yesterday? He didn't understand what had happened and he couldn't identify the source of it, that was what made it scary. Also the fact that it was Stiles. As the Alpha Mate he shouldn't have favorites, beyond his mate and daughter, but Stiles was… Well, Stiles was Stiles. The young man had wormed his way into Chris' heart in a manner that so far only Peter had managed and this one was no less surprising than Peter had been.

Peter suddenly perked up, head turning. Chris raised an eyebrow and waited.

"Stiles says he's done in the bath," Peter paused for a moment. "And he… wants help to get back to the bedroom. Christopher, I am… terrified by whatever this is."

Once again, Chris grunted his agreement, eyebrows furrowed deeply. The two of them headed back upstairs to find Stiles sitting on the edge of the bathtub, wearing Chris' hoodie and Peter's sweat-pants that had both been on a shelf with some comfortable spare clothes the couple kept there, mostly for post-mission quick showers when they had no energy to go and pick out clothes before the shower. Chris took a moment to appreciate the sight of their boy in their clothes and he wondered just how much this must rile his wolf up. Sparing a glance at Peter, he could see how much control it cost the Alpha to not flash his eyes and devour Stiles whole.

"Okay, let's get you back to bed, doll."

Chris went to pick Stiles up this time, seeing as Peter had gotten to carry their boy into the bathroom. This seemed only fair, even though his husband was glaring fiercely at him for it. Married couples ought to share, and Chris tried to convey that sentiment with a wicked smirk.

"You can't tell the others," Stiles muttered sullenly. "You have to promise, okay?"

"Only if you actually tell us what's going on," Chris argued.

He placed Stiles back on the bed and then went to sit down opposite him, leaning against the foot-end of the bed so he could look at their Emissary. Peter joined them, sitting down next to Chris. Stiles heaved a tired sigh and drew his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

"It's nothing serious," Stiles started out, earning incredulous looks from both of them. "It wasn't. It just… happens sometime. I know how to avoid it, mostly, but sometimes… not."

"You'll have to use so many more words than that," Peter grunted. "And I am baffled by the fact that I have to say that to you, Mieczysław."

Stiles flushed brightly, as he usually did when Peter used his first name. Ever since Peter had learned Stiles' name, he'd started wielding it like a weapon with the sole purpose of flustering Stiles. Though it had somewhat devastated the both of them to learn that nobody knew Stiles' name, or how to pronounce it. Because nobody had ever bothered to so Stiles had, at one point, stopped using it and stopped expecting people to try and say his name, something so incredibly basic. Peter and Lydia actually knew how to pronounce it, both being more or less fluent in Polish and they'd taught the entire pack, until the last member knew how to say it without stumbling.

"As you may be aware, I have ADHD and anxiety," Stiles started, sounding unwilling. "The ADHD works well for research obsessions, but if I obsess a little too hard for a little too long and don't sleep for a while, I start getting shaky and, you know, not great. Which fuels the anxiety."

"So what happened yesterday happens every time you go on a research binge," Chris was mortified.

"No," Stiles shook his head sharply. "It's so much milder usually. Just. Just some dizziness and queasiness and mild shaking, okay. It's fine. Really. Last night was just… a culmination of too much. The witch research binge, coupled with a couple weeks of bad nights thanks to nightmares, and then battling the witches yeste—the day before, fuck it's already the next day, isn't it. And yeah. Friday wasn't exactly a 'kick back and try to recharge from the fight' day, it was a long school day with long practice and then we needed groceries and it was just… It was a physically exhausting day when I would have needed a relaxing day, so that pushed me further."

Stiles paused for a moment, staring at a spot on the wall between Peter and Chris, effectively avoiding either of them. "I have had days that got to the point you met me at yesterday before. But… But I haven't crashed that hard since before the Nogitsune. When I crash this hard, it makes me kind of… disconnect from my body. I never had a problem pushing through that in the past, but yesterday, when I was feeling that way, it… it sent me into a flashback about the Nogitsune, about actually being disconnected from my body. That… I… I swear it's never been that bad before. I don't know… I didn't calculate for that… I know better now."

"Oh, don't say that, please don't say that," Peter's voice was near desperate. "Because that just means you'll try to do better at hiding it and powering through it alone."

Chris, however, was still cataloging everything else that Stiles had said. "You said the fight the night before. What about it? When we regrouped and checked for injuries, you claimed you hadn't gotten injured and none of the wolves smelt blood on you. Did you hide an injury, Stiles?"

Stiles had the audacity to snort at him. "No, I didn't."

"But you hid something else," Peter narrowed his eyes before growling. "What is it."

Rolling his eyes in utter defeat and annoyance, Stiles tilted his head back so he could look up at the ceiling. "When I use up too much of my magic, it… I know you guys just think it tires me out. But it's… more than just… It hurts. Physically. When I said that it feels like every muscle in my body was on fire earlier? That's from the fight against the witches. Using up my magic is painful and I usually just crash in my bed for about twelve hours because when we bring the fight to a monster we schedule those for the weekend. But it was a school night, so…"

"Why…" Peter was visibly struggling to not growl. "I'm your Alpha, Stiles. You can not hide something like that from me. Pack is about trust. Do you not trust me?"

For the first time, Stiles actually looked at one of them. Looked at Peter like a wounded animal pleading with the hunter to not take the killing shot. Chris swallowed hard.

"I do, fuck you, I do, you know that," Stiles sounded so desperate. "But what good would it have done to tell you? To tell you any of this! We need my research binges, otherwise we'd be severely under-prepared and more often than not at a disadvantage. And even if I cut back on pack-research, my brain will just find a stupid, random hyperfixation to obsess over so I'm going to end up with the aftermath of it either way, might as well put it into keeping our pack safe. The insomnia? You actually know about that, don't think I don't know there's two werewolves patrolling my house every night, to 'conveniently' feeling like they need my company when I have a really bad nightmare. The pack's not subtle, you know."

Stiles took a deep, frustrated breath, running his fingers through his hair. "And the magic drain? What's the point. I'm tired. I'm so fucking tired of everyone treating me like I'm made out of glass ever since the Nogitsune. I'm tired of worrying everyone and everyone watching their every word, worried they may trigger me. Everyone saw me break down in a panic-attack once and they barely leave me out of sight still, they have the aforementioned routine of watching over my house. I don't… I just… I'm tired of being looked at as the fragile, weak one…"

"Nobody," Chris interrupted him firmly. "Absolutely nobody in our pack looks at you as weak. You aren't weak for the trauma you lived through, you're… impossibly strong for surviving it. And everyone is… They're worried about you because they love you, Stiles. We all love you."

"Yeah," Stiles sighed and looked away. "That just makes it harder though."

"You don't have to tell the entire pack," Peter conceded, crawling up on the bed to sit next to Stiles. "But you have to tell Christopher or me, from now on. About it all. If you pushed yourself too hard with your research and if you are in pain after a fight. Because we do love you, sweetheart."

He'd reached out, was cupping Stiles' cheek ever so tenderly and Chris' heart skipped a beat. Was this happening? They'd been debating it ever since Stiles' eighteenth birthday, but it had felt too much like 'we were just waiting for you to be legal' and then one disaster kept chasing the other, as was their lives. They'd kept putting it off, unsure how to tell Stiles, unsure how he would react, unwilling to make their Emissary uncomfortable with them.

"We're in love with you, doll," Chris clarified as he came to sit on Stiles' other side. "We want to take care of you, not just as your Alphas but also because we love you."

Stiles stared from one of them to the other, those beautiful brown doe-eyes impossibly wide. "What. Why. I literally just told you what a fucking mess I am."

"Sweetheart, if you haven't noticed, our entire pack if a fucking mess of trauma, tragic backstories and other issues," Peter chuckled, nuzzling Stiles' cheek. "I had a panic-attack last month, when Malia and Allison thought they'd do something nice for us and prepared an anniversary dinner for Christopher and I. Including a lit candle for atmosphere. Fire… Fire is still a trigger for me."

His fingers clawed into Stiles' shirt and he leaned into the Spark a little more, seeking his own comfort. "We all know pain. We're all messed up in our own way. But that doesn't mean we're not worth loving, Stiles. You're worth loving, and Christopher and I very much do love you."

Stiles gave a jerky nod, though he still looked confused as he regarded Chris. "But…"

Chris silenced him easier, by pressing a gentle kiss to soft, pink lips. "We love you and the only way you can get us to back off is by telling us that you don't feel the same. Which is an argument I haven't heard yet. So, Mieczysław, tell us what you want."

The blush colored all the way to the tips of Stiles' ears. "I… I love you too?"

It sounded more like a question than a statement, but damn it all, Chris was going to take it. He dove right in for a deeper kiss, gently maneuvering Stiles until their boy was trapped between Chris and Peter, safely embraced by them all. When their kiss parted, Stiles tilted his head enough to get a kiss from Peter too. He was worrying his lips after, though he also relaxed against them.

"I… I guess I wouldn't mind the routine of breakfast in bed and a hot bath in your bathtub after a magic drain," Stiles conceded after a moment, a small smile on his lips.

Both Peter and Chris offered him bright, warm smiles at being allowed to comfort Stiles.

~*~ The End ~*~

Author's note: INTRODUCING: Mischief Mondays! On account of my current overflow of Teen Wolf ideas, I've decided to broaden my updating schedule; my Saturdays are WIPs, my Wednesdays are longer oneshots - and now my Mondays will be shorter Stiles-centric fics. Ballpark was supposed to be 1-3k, but as you can see by this 5k story, I have ALREADY failed spectacularly, so: Monday oneshots will be between 1-5k, Wednesday oneshots will be anything from beyond 5k. This will still allow me to sort my many Teen Wolf ideas by length and post twice a week! And while my longer oneshots may on occasion be delayed by a week or two (due to this pesky thing called real life and responsiblities), I can much more certainly guarantee the weekly shorter oneshot, that's why this gets its own series ;)

Also, yes, this story was impossibly self-indulgent and self-projecting. I just realized that one of my own aftermaths of excessive hyperfixations is a feeling of dissociating from my body and I figured damn that would REALLY fuck with post-Nogitsune Stiles a lot