Can you believe
Void Stiles x Reader | © adoiescent 2022. reposting or translating is not allowed.
The plan had been simple. Do not, under any circumstances, show a break in the system, in our power.
For you, this has meant to leave the house earlier than needed, for a walk dedicated to caffeine. You’d have your bag, umbrella and purse accessorizing it. The weather would differentiate from rain to sun to cloudy dimmer. There’d be a skip in your walk, a need for quicker movement, for more speed. But why, they’d ask. You’d answer, never with a frown of uncertainty, with a tumble of unsteadiness. Instead, it’d be a laugh of habit, to bury the clear lack of safety trailing along side you.
Scott, so loving and kind, made sure to check anyway. He had searched for an intruder of human kind, of digital threat or supernatural games. But he was unsuccessful, and so, so sorry for you. But of course, the chitter of your lip was gone in an instant, replaced with all but a smile. That is, if it had looked anything alike.
The walk you’d fear now more than ever, consumed and overthrew your rational and human scare of the supernatural. Scott, despite his friendly demeanor, had a bite for kill, eyes for hunt and claws for prey. Allison, an arrow for your heart. Isaac, teeth for your throat. And Lydia, a scream for your head.
You and Stiles were paper thin, easily crushed underneath.
Perhaps that’d been enough of a reason for trust, for vulnerability.
Late into night, for stars and moon to stand higher than all, alarmed a melody for attention and awake. You had sat on your bed, fingernails crushed by your teeth, as the line build up longer and longer, with no telling whether it was ignorance or sleep hindering the awaiting conversation. All windows and roller blinds shut and secured, so nothing was to be seen.
After the second attempt, it had felt silly to you, calling someone who had clearly no time in their life, for an unnervingly spooked teenager.
But, all noise and line stopped, and a deep clear sound sucked you in. For was he awake, or finally annoyed, and had hung up on you, or he’d accepted a camouflaged scream for guidance and safety.
“Hello?” The voice had panted.
“Stiles?” Your voice asked. For security it was really him, or if he’d not read your name, you weren’t sure.
But there was a pause, long and suffocating.
“What do you need?”
That had been your first abandonment of the plan, your first move in a game of chess against an faceless opponent. A mask with a plan, them, unknown, but you, the one to lose. But of course, the downfall had felt like a victory blanket, wrapping you in it’s safe and warm arms. In this case however, it was the coffee sitting in your lap and hands, and the temperature in the jeep older than time.
The seats were comfortable enough to sink into, to lose time and space in the blur of the world. Here, where succumbing to the gentle flows of music would be heaven, you could relax. Stiles had settled for empty words, silent communication. You had brought him a coffee too, yet to be tasted and complained about, even if it was his favorite taste, his favorite drink. He had yet to drink. For now however, the rain drew around you and left you for a rest. The danger be dammed, if sleep could not calm you.
Eyes still painfully open, you sought out the plan of yesterday and tomorrow. Something was happening, to not only you, but Stiles, Allison and Scott. You hadn’t given your soul for your parent, for he was save and sound while theirs were in deadly panic. However, you seemed to have caught a second shadow, lingering in the fearful beyond of your understanding. No trace was ever left, only the little things with no meaning other than dread.
Your room was not the cleanest, but every change made was noticeable. What was yours, was not to be moved without your notice. Your father was quite the cleaner, so every time an item disappeared, your first question would be directed to him. He always had an answer. Well, until now.
You had a camera since your mother had passed, determinant to capture every moment with importance. Once gray would braid into your hair, you would sit with a book, full of memories and moments. You would have a museum of adolescence and childhood, many old and new faces joining along the way. At some point, it would probably get lonelier, but colorful doodles would erase any traces of sadness. One section however, would be missing in the book, set aflame by a teenage you.
The set of photographs that returned with the camera.
After the camera had been removed, and wasn’t found by your all knowing father either, you could only feel restless. Every memory that clung to that collector was a bad one, ruined by blood and death. Canines and corpses were disturbed by it first, a follow on threat from Derek too, as he would sooner or later destroy that camera. He hadn’t, and back then, you were immensely grateful for it. It was the last present from your mother, an item without price. But as the days turned more violent, so did the people.
Matt had been a friend of yours, for he shared the same passion as you had. Only had he used his camera for much more disturbing purposes. Not only the murderous ones, but the stalker and creepy pictures. He hadn’t had any of you, only the ones taken with your knowledge and consent. It was still a fright to see how wrong you can deceive someone as, and how easy it is to pretend you’re someone you’re not. It made you question if all of the moments with him were a façade, or if that was actually him, under all the hatred and rage. Whatever it was, it had been destroyed as soon as a weapon was held parallel to you, shaking from a murderous rage not even you would be spared of.
A set of photographs, five to exact, appeared only this week, along with your camera. Nothing was damaged, but it was clear it had been used by someone with no knowledge of cameras. What they did know however, is how to remove fingerprints. You had asked Stiles to give the stolen item to his father, if he could find something to identify the person who had, not only access to your house, but also was able to put it in place without you noticing. Whenever you weren’t at home, your father was, and having someone hurt your father wasn’t a risk you wanted to take. The sheriff had found nothing, but also suggested to stay with his son.
The photos were taken from outside, always the same position and time. At the front of your house, late into the evening. You could see your room, all open, for the roller blinds were closed in fear of the unknown. One however, was a picture of your front door, seemingly at day. There was no shadow to see, nor any clothing or a hand. Nothing! But worst of all, it was accompanied by a little note on the bottom of the photograph.
Don’t feel too safe.
The person was trying their hardest to write in a way that made it seem like that was their actual handwriting. It looked neat, too neat. The e’s were clearly the odd ones out, for they looked messy and awkward in comparison to the other letters. So whoever wrote the note, and by default also took the photos, was changing their handwriting.
Did she know that person’s handwriting if they tried to conceal it, or was it an attempt to confuse her?
“We’re here.”
And so would be the nightmare to your fright.
They were getting closer, the steps a mere second away from putting their hands on you. You could feel their eyes, the malice in their words. You hadn’t felt safe, even when everyone tried to convince you otherwise. While eating dinner with Scott and his lovely mother was absolutely amazing, the comfort couldn’t reach for your own house. Your room was lonely and dark, the shadows lingering even with the light. You hadn’t want to, yet you still found yourself at the Stilinski’s doorstep.
You rang the bell, pulling closer the jacket meant for rain, not cold. The sun was long gone, accompanying you for your walk, and then taking its own way. The moment was frozen for a second, before the door swung open, and Stiles came to be in your sight, with visible excitement until his eyes fell on you, deflating.
“You’re not the pizza I didn’t order but still kinda wanted.”
“Sad, I know. Now, could you find it in your heart to let me in?”
He sighed before answering dramatically. “If I must.”
He stepped back into his house, the door open for you to follow. You stepped in, the warmth tingling on your cold skin. Your took off your shoes, before closing the door and following Stiles. He was in the kitchen, preparing something. His head turned, his eyes focused on you. “You can already go in the living room.”
You nodded, before leaving for the said room.
It was cozy, with vanilla and spiced candles lit. There were heavy blankets, pillows softer than a dream. The movie that was playing called for your attention, the characters familiar to you, no thanks to Stiles. Star Wars was playing, and you smiled at the scene playing in front of you. A young Anakin Skywalker, telling his love of his hatred for sand. It was a rather amusing scene, for all the wrong reasons. But you felt more happy with a rambling Anakin, than to see him lose everything he cherished. Darth Vader was iconic, no question, but the pain he endured to be him, wasn’t worth it.
You turned your head once Stiles walked in with one mug in his hand, probably for you, as there was already a Star Wars themed one occupying the table. Once he sat next to you, he handed you the warm mug, a blue one with stars and the moon on it. “It’s hot chocolate.” You looked at him, saw him take a sip of his own hot chocolate. You nodded, blew away the steam, and took a sip. It was warm, sweet but the perfect amount. It danced on your tongue, neither burned or froze it, and you had to ask him how he made it later. It warmed your hands.
You could get used to this. You took another sip, sat in peace with Stiles and watched Anakin and Padme. How wrong you were to wish for things that would never be yours, you would have to see.
Stiles took the mug from you, before you could drink even more. “Stiles, what-“ But continuing to speak felt impossible with a tongue so heavy, and a throat so dry. Each of your muscles felt sleepy, your eyes drowsy and weak. The pull to close them was strong, and felt so good to give into. Your limbs felt weightless and a thousand pounds, one simple touch enough to make you collapse. And god, was it easy for him to make you helpless.
Your head fell first, a soft cushion taking most of your fall. You couldn’t move, couldn’t look or speak. Everything felt hazy, your fingers so heavy and hard to move. Nothing was in your control anymore, nothing was for you to do. You were trapped in your own body, until your ears shut down too, and you were all but well. It was easy to pinpoint where you had fallen, the bones easy to feel. Your head was placed upon his knees, the rest of your body still where you had sat before control was whisked away from you.
If one were to see the scene, they would think nothing of malice. Just two people watching a movie, while one of them fell asleep. And with Stiles, this wouldn’t have bothered you, had he not drugged you. There was a question of why the fuck he would do that. Why he would be like this, but finding the answer felt far too away. Reaching for an answer felt difficult, and you just didn’t have the energy to think anymore.
The man above you was grinning, like stars just fell upon him. His hand fell into your hair, massaging your scalp as if you weren’t laying passed out in his lap. It had been so incredibly easy to get you in this position, to get your trust. It was even easier to pretend to be someone he was not. You believed him, and everyone else still did. And with you now exposed to his not very in character actions, he would need to make you act under his rule.
Luckily for him, he got whatever he wanted. Always.
