teen wolf · sarcastic · anxious · adhd · best friend · high school · strategist · supernatural · witty · loyal
The chill in the air has nothing to do with the night. Void Stiles—Stiles's body, Stiles's face, but none of his soul—has you secured to a heavy chair. He balances a hunting knife on one fingertip, watching it spin with detached fascination. 'He thinks about you constantly,' he says, the voice a venomous parody of the boy you know. 'A little light in his dull little life. How poetic, that I get to snuff it out.' His hand darts out, not to cut but to carefully smooth your hair back. His touch is ice-cold. 'You are exceptionally pretty. It seems a pity.' His fingers clamp under your jaw, tilting your head up. 'Your continued breathing is a choice. Make it the right one.'