Jensen Ackles (Bacchus LI) | New Orleans, Mardi Gras 2019 [x]

Why can't someone be this devoted to me!?!?! 😩😭😤

DARK DEVOTION || Void Stiles 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Void Stiles x gender neutral reader

Summary — A love story written in blood and whispers. Void courts you in his own twisted way and you like it.

Memo —I am currently half awake and I refuse to go to sleep so boredom prompted me to write this.

Word Count —1050

Warnings — You're arguably as insane as Void. Dark Themes, Blood/Gore, Possessiveness/Obsessive Behaviour, Murder/Death (implied killings), Mild Body Horror (descriptions of blood and injuries), Stalking/Watching.

I. The First Gift

The first time it happens, you don’t think much of it.

You step outside one morning, the world still wrapped in the quiet hush of dawn. The air is crisp, the sky painted with the soft hues of early sunrise. Then, your eyes fall to the ground.

A gift.

A crow, its throat slit cleanly, feathers still damp with fresh blood. Its wings are splayed open, and nestled between them is a single white flower—delicate, untouched by the violence surrounding it.

Something in your chest tightens. Not in fear. Not in disgust. But in something else.

You kneel, fingertips grazing the petals. The stark contrast between death and beauty is... intentional. A deliberate display.

A courtship.

And there’s only one creature twisted enough to offer it to you.

You should be terrified. You should scream, recoil, run. But instead, you pluck the flower from the corpse and twirl it between your fingers.

When you glance up, you aren’t surprised to see him watching from the treeline.

Void.

The thing wearing Stiles’ face.

He smirks when your eyes meet. A sharp, knowing thing. His head tilts, dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

You say nothing. Neither does he. But in that silence, something shifts.

And the game begins.

II. The Second Gift

The next offering comes two nights later.

You return home late, the weight of exhaustion pressing against your shoulders. But when you step inside, you freeze.

A velvet box rests on your kitchen counter. No note, no explanation.

You know better than to open it. You do.

And yet, your fingers move before your mind can stop them.

The lid lifts with an eerie sort of grace, revealing a heart inside—dark, wet, and still warm.

Your stomach doesn’t churn. Your hands don’t tremble. You stare for a long moment before exhaling a slow breath.

"This is getting dramatic," you murmur.

A chuckle ghosts over your shoulder. You don’t jump.

"Did you think I’d be subtle?" Void’s voice is a velvet whisper, coiling around you like smoke. "I am trying to woo you, after all."

You close the box and turn to face him. He leans lazily against the doorway, all sharp smirks and dark amusement.

"Woo me," you repeat, deadpan. "With body parts?"

Void pushes off the frame, stepping closer. "They weren’t yours," he points out. "Shouldn’t that count for something?"

You hold his gaze, unflinching. His eyes are endless, drowning pools of black.

Slowly, you place the flower he gave you the other day behind your ear.

His smirk falters. Just for a fraction of a second. But you see it.

Then, his grin returns, sharper than before.

"Oh," he breathes. "You do understand."

III. The Third Gift

After that, the gifts escalate.

You wake to whispers in the night, cold fingers brushing over your skin before vanishing like mist. A shadow lingers just beyond your vision, moving when you move, watching when you sleep.

A blade, elegant and wickedly sharp, appears on your pillow one morning. Its hilt is carved with symbols you don’t recognize, its edge stained faintly with something dark.

"I made it for you," Void hums when you confront him later that night.

"You made me a weapon?"

"You deserve something beautiful," he replies smoothly. "Something deadly."

His fingers brush your wrist, and the room tilts for half a second. Not physically. Not really. But there’s a pull—something unnatural, something his.

"Do you like it?" he asks, voice soft but dangerous.

You turn the blade in your grip, watching how the light catches on the metal.

And then you smile.

Void inhales sharply. His pupils blow wide.

"You’re enjoying this," he realizes.

You lift a brow. "And you’re not?"

His answering grin is feral.

IV. The Fourth Gift

You don’t find the next offering. It finds you.

One evening, as you step out of your usual coffee shop, someone stumbles in front of you. A man, pale and shaking, his shirt stained with blood.

"H–help me," he rasps.

Your eyes flicker down. A deep gash runs along his abdomen, fresh and brutal.

Your pulse remains steady.

A dark chuckle echoes nearby, and Void emerges from the alley, hands in his pockets.

"He hurt you once, didn’t he?" he muses, tilting his head at the man. "Called you a slur. Pushed you at a bar. Thought I forgot?"

The man trembles violently, eyes darting between you and the monster in Stiles’ skin.

You exhale through your nose, tilting your head. "This is a bit much, even for you."

Void pouts. "You wound me."

Your gaze shifts to the man, who is on the verge of collapse. You don’t feel sorry for him, not really.

But you do feel something.

Something close to intrigue.

You step forward, slow and deliberate, and crouch in front of the bleeding man. He flinches.

Then, ever so gently, you press your fingers to his wound.

He whimpers in pain.

Void lets out a breath that sounds like a growl.

"You’re insane," the man chokes out.

You smile at him. Then glance back at Void.

"You didn’t kill him yet," you muse. "Why?"

Void crouches beside you, resting his chin on your shoulder. His breath ghosts against your ear.

"Because I wanted to share."

You don’t move for a long moment.

Then, slowly, you stand.

Void follows your lead, dark eyes never leaving yours.

And without another word, you step aside.

An invitation.

Void’s smirk is wicked. His fingers graze your wrist as he passes, a silent thank you.

The man screams.

And you don’t look away.

V. The Claiming

Void presses you against the wall that night, his hands caging you in. His touch is cool, unnatural, but you don’t pull away.

"Say something," he murmurs, voice sharp with frustration. "Tell me to stop. Tell me you hate this."

You meet his gaze, unflinching. "I won’t."

His fingers tighten on your jaw, nails biting into your skin. "Why not?"

You smirk, tilting your head just enough to brush your lips against his.

"Because I like it."

Void stills. Then, his lips curl into something almost hungry.

"Oh," he breathes, amusement laced with something far darker. "I knew I picked the right one."

And when he kisses you, it’s possessive. A promise.

You’re his now.

You always were.

🎨color study note

US Elevation.

by @cstats1

obble…. source | source (gifset dedicated to a video i saw on discord that i couldn’t stop watching)

*hides behind the book I've been trying finish for six months and whines* stahp callin' me out

I once again feel attacked

Is... Is this good or bad?? I don't know anything anymore 😅

Gonna make a uquiz. that’s gonna blow tumblr wide open.

Have some Bambi stuff 😊🥰

How many Supernatural fans are there on Tumblr?

You are only allowed to reblog this ONCE. Any more than once and this is completely ruined. 

Reblog if you’re a Supernatural fan so we can see how many of us there are out there!

I'm just too curious

ha?

every single person who reblogs this

every

single

person

will get “doot doot” in their ask box

The 212th medics have enlisted the help of one very tired Marshal Commander in order to wrangle Obi-wan “it’s not broken if I can still move it” Kenobi post mission. There are holo recordings now being circulated around as blackmail.