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outerbankies · 1 month ago

Note

congrats bby, can you pls do Try to eat something." and light peck kisses,

new light: wondering why

rafe x reader

summary: fresh off of making things official, rafe is bummed to miss out on a boat day with you when he gets sick.

a/n: happy obx 4 week! lovely going back to the new light summer in this one for the prompt celly that still very much exists and i will complete if it kills me :-)

masterlist

Rafe thought that if he did his best to ignore it, it might just go away on its own.

He thought that if he pretended his throat wasn’t getting progressively sorer throughout the day, if he ignored the way his entire body was beginning to ache, if he acted oblivious when he pressed his own hand into the back of his forehead to find a steady warmth, none of it would actually amount to anything.

But he wakes up on the Fourth of July and just knows, knows he’s completely fucked — seeing you, seeing his friends, any of his other plans for the day immediately put on the shelf when he wakes up in the state he’s in.

He’d woken up to the sound of his ringtone chiming, and if the way the sunlight filtering through his curtains was any indication, he was waking much later than he normally would be.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he answers, phone smushed into the side of his face, after cracking one eye open to check that it was in fact you calling. He had an inkling.

“Rafe?” you return.

“Hm?” he grunts, finding the wherewithal to roll out of bed, standing on shaky legs and making his way down the hall and to the bathroom.

“You sound sick,” you accuse.

“Yeah…” he says, voice catching on a cough that sneaks up his throat. “Yeah — um. Fuck, Wheez came home from camp with something last week. I think I caught it.”

“Rafe,” you say, and Rafe can almost see your pout through the connection. “Oh no.”

“I know, I know,” he says, checking his complexion in the mirror. He looks even worse than he feels, and he’s almost grateful he won’t be seeing you today sporting this grayish tint to his face and splotches of red around his nose and eyes. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it today.”

“No, definitely not. Fuck. I thought you were acting weird yesterday.”

“Really?” he asks, leaning forward to rest a hand on the counter. He switches the call to speaker, placing it on the counter so he can rifle through his bathroom drawers for anything that could help.

After a beat, he hears, “You wouldn’t kiss me. Not on the lips, anyway.”

Rafe feels a smile pulling at his lips, as ill as he feels. “Shit, baby. You notice that kinda stuff?”

Maybe Rafe hadn’t been ignoring the feelings as much as he thought he’d been, if withholding kisses from you is something he was doing voluntarily, even subconsciously.

“Of course I do,” comes your reply. He can picture the sheepish look on your face right now, and the way you’d be ducking your head from his view the second you’d been caught out.

“Probably didn’t want you sick,” he says, trying to pinpoint anything weird from your date yesterday. It was nothing fancy, tacos on the beach after work, but he didn’t even consider cancelling while he was slogging through his day, and he didn’t regret it as soon as he saw you running down your parents’ driveway and to his truck.

“My hero. Is it just your throat?” you ask.

“Hm,” he considers, blinking away thoughts of the shorts you’d been wearing under the sweatshirt he’d given you once the beach got cold, closing the drawer in his bathroom, suddenly frustrated at its emptiness. He might have to raid the girls’ bathroom and the kitchen cabinet above the microwave. “I’m gonna be real, baby. I just feel like shit. All-around.”

“Head?”

“Yep.”

“Are you warm?”

He feels the back of his neck with a clammy hand, already knowing the answer as he ambles back into his room, unsuccessful. “Very.”

“Achy, too?” you ask, and Rafe has to crack another smile at how doting you are, treating him like one of your nanny kids who caught the flu at pre-k. God, Rafe hopes he doesn’t have the flu.

“Big time. Gonna lay down,” Rafe decides, burrowing back under his covers, phone placed beside his head on his pillow. “M’sorry about today, Y/n/n.”

“Don’t be, Rafe,” you say sweetly.

It was nothing too special, just your group of friends out on Kelce’s boat for the day. But you’d made Rafe promise to make an appearance at your mom’s party before you all got too drunk, and you’d even helped him pick out an outfit for it. The navy polo he was gonna pair with his striped swim shorts hangs on the back of his closet door, mocking him.

“Did you find meds?”

“Yes,” he lies. “Think they’ll kick in when I wake back up.”

“Good. Stay hydrated, too. Lots of fluids. And try to eat something when you get up, alright?”

Rafe looks at the empty water glass on his night stand, another empty promise falling from his lips immediately. “Yeah, I can scrounge something up later.”

“Okay,” you say, sounding slightly assuaged, but still skeptical. “Are you home alone?”

Rafe feels his eyelids getting heavier at the way your tone goes soft. “Mm. Parade starting soon, probably. They took Wheez. Sarah’s at her boyfriend’s.”

“Right. Okay,” you sigh. “Well hang in there, okay? I’ll check in on you in a bit.”

“Don’t,” Rafe says. “Go have fun with everyone. If anyone gets too drunk to get you home, I’ll come. Take it easy, baby. For me.”

He makes a mental note to text Kelce as soon as he can stand to open his eyes and look at his phone again, just so he knows someone’s keeping an eye on you. He trusts all of your friends, but the sun’ll be out and he knows how you all get about day drinking. Plus, he’s got boyfriend duties now.

It’s been barely a week since he’d made it official, so his stomach still swoops when he remembers that you’re his. And not in a queasy way, from whatever malady he’s fighting today. In a way that he can’t believe it — can’t believe he landed you. That you like him, that you’re giving him a try, that you might feel even a fraction of the same way he does for you.

Your friends don’t even know yet; today might have been the day to let them know, but not anymore.

“Don’t worry after me,” you say indignantly.

Rafe’s eyes finally flutter shut, your voice luring them closed. “I will.”

“Dork,” you giggle. “I’m hanging up now. Feel better.”

“Bye, baby,” he says, drifting off before he even hears the dial tone.

—

You already had the cute, red bathing suit you’d been planning to wear all day on when Rafe fell sick this morning. Purchased at a boutique on the mainland with him in mind last week, of course, but only bought and paid for when Gretchen and Margot had stepped out of the dressing rooms in their own new suits, assuring you you had to buy it.

You’d thrown a long sleeve and the shorts Rafe really liked on over it before getting in your Jeep, heading off to the south side of the island for one of the only restaurants in town open on the holiday.

And now you stand outside of Tanneyhill, nervous as can be, wondering if this was the right move.

Rafe did divulge that his entire family was out, so you summon the courage to lift a hand to use the door knocker. Of course, Tanneyhill had a door knocker, god — you don’t know why you didn’t notice until now. Maybe it’s because you’d always rolled up in a group, or to an open door, or filtered in through the side. But this was the first time you’d ever really—

The door creaks open, a head of pillow-messy hair hidden under a navy blue hoodie appearing in the gap.

“Y/n/n?”

“Hi,” you say, your voice shaking.

“Baby,” Rafe sighs, pulling the door open completely. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re sick.”

“You’re supposed to be…” he begins lamely, letting you breeze past him over the threshold into his empty home, shutting the door after you. He pushes his sleeve up his arm to check his watch, and you notice a tremor. “Weren’t you guys meeting up around now? You know Top isn’t gonna wait around on the dock.”

“I know. I texted him I wasn’t coming,” you say. “All the delis up here are closed. The co-op, too. But there’s this pho place down past the marina that’s so good.”

He smiles. “I’ve heard of it.”

“I made sure to get a ton of sriracha packets — I know you like stuff really spicy,” you continue, setting the bag with the styrofoam containers on the kitchen counter while he trails behind you. “So even if you don’t like it, maybe you can—”

“I’m sure it’s great.”

You walk into his arms, slipping your hands up to rub his back. “I’m so sorry you’re sick, Rafe.”

He encloses you in a tentative embrace, his head leaning away with intent. “You brought me soup?”

He sounds disbelieving, and he looks it even more, digging into the bag. You rifle through the tote bag on your shoulder at that point, too, placing the other things you’d brought on the counter. “And some decongestants, cold and flu. I forget that literally everything closes here on holidays so it’s just what I had at home, but maybe someone at Heyward’s is—”

Rafe interrupts. “You brought meds, too? I told you I took some.”

You assess his pallor, your hand holding the side of his face. “I don’t think I believe you.”

When he sags into your hold, your thumb brushes his cheekbone. You pull him down until he bows, pecking his forehead. “Do you wanna go shower up? If you get it real hot, the steam might open your sinuses. I’ll keep the soup warm while you’re up there.”

He presses a tentative kiss into your hair, distancing himself from you to head back up the stairs. “I’ll go do that. Um, stay down here? We can hang on the couch, or whatever. Just — m’room’s a mess,” he says bashfully, one hand on the banister and another behind his neck.

When Rafe heads up, you briefly consider following defiantly a few minutes later to clear up his space and make up his bed for him — but it’s fresh, you two are fresh — it’s barely been a week. Eight days, if you were counting.

You keep good on your promise to keep the pho warm, portioning out some meds too. He’d been warm to the touch, and you’d make sure he had food in his stomach, and that he actually took something. Because you were beginning to suspect that he didn’t take care of himself at all like he promised he would on the phone.

He comes back downstairs looking maybe five times better, in a clean t-shirt and sweats, his wet hair falling over his face.

“Better?”

“Better.”

You eat side by side at his parents’ kitchen counter, Rafe taking breaks to lean his head on your shoulder, his hair smelling of him in a way that, until now, you hadn’t come to recognize was his shampoo. You try to hide the quirk on your lips when watch him dump two packets of hot sauce into the broth immediately, reveling in the fact that you remembered to grab extras.

When he starts pushing the noodles around aimlessly, you grasp the container gently, setting it on the counter before him. “Wanna go lay down?”

“Yeah,” he says, watching as you pack everything up, saving his leftovers in the fridge.

You make a mental note to text him later about reheating and how long it’ll keep while you get ready to leave him be, already sad you won’t be parting with a kiss. “I’ll still be calling you later, okay?”

“You’re leaving?” he asks, one arm crossing over his body so he can scratch at his bicep.

“Yeah,” you say, confused. “You didn’t want me to see your room.”

He laughs, but it catches on a cough and your heart breaks at his pink and watery eyes. He clears his throat. “No… but we could — well. If you don’t wanna leave, we could… the couch, maybe? I don’t... you don't have to leave.”

Which is how you find yourself the most relaxed you’ve ever been in Tanneyhill, a blanket over your legs with your boyfriend’s head in your lap, some action movie droning quietly in the background.

“You can turn on one of your shows,” he says sleepily, rolling over until his lips are brushing the strip of skin between your shirt and the top of your shorts. “The housewives or whatever.”

His arm circles around your back, pulling you in, and you can’t understand how he still ties your stomach up in excited knots with a raw, pink nose and the smell of vaporub coming from his chest.

“This is fine,” you say, nodding to a buddy comedy with a title you don’t know, your eyes following a plot you don’t care about.

“I’m kinda invested in that one you had on the other night,” he confesses, cracking an eye open for you. He suddenly grins mischievously, and you feel the hand that’d wrapped around you suddenly digging into your side. “What’s this?”

His finger traces the strap of your bikini bottoms, and your skin flushes at the touch. “You got sick and now you’ll never know.”

“No,” he groans dramatically. “Please.”

You play ball, retracting your hand from his hair to lift the edge of your shirt obligingly. Rafe groans again, his face buried into your lap even further. “Fuck. I’m so mad we’re missing today.”

“I’m kinda not,” you admit. “I hate that you’re sick, but I was nervous about… I haven’t seen anyone since last week.”

“You tell any of them?” he asks softly, his head tipping back for your answer.

“Not yet. You?” you ask even softer.

“Not a soul,” he says. “I just… It’s nice having it just us for a bit.”

“I’m not ready for all the shit Kelce is gonna tell you about high school. And the girls. Probably Top, too,” you sigh, feeling your cheeks warm while you tip your head back to the couch.

“We’ll at least be even,” he promises. “Or I’ll be worse. Guaranteed.”

You aren’t immune to his insinuation, rushing to further the subject. “I was thinking maybe today.”

“Today,” he agrees. “I definitely wanted to do today. And I don’t think I would’ve been able to keep my hands off you, anyway.”

“Made yourself sick over it,” you tease.

“That was probably just from asking you out,” he teases back, his hand squeezing your knee where he’s back to facing the TV.

You can’t find it in yourself to be worried about his family coming home and finding the two of you, or about anything, really, as Rafe dozes in your lap, his grip never faltering or becoming any less warm and captivating. Not even when your phone buzzes with a FaceTime from Margot, and you opt to answer it while keeping the volume as low as possible.

“Where the fuck are you?” she demands. “There’s coasties everywhere.”

“I’m at Rafe’s,” you answer boldly.

She lowers her sunglasses through the glitchy connection, the ocean behind her a sea of pixelated blues and whites. “Why are you at Rafe’s?”

“He’s sick,” you say simply.

“That’s girlfriend behavior, Y/n,” she claims.

You say nothing, just giving an innocent shrug before you bid her goodbye, wondering how long it’ll be before she blows your phone up.

#answered #new light hcs #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #outer banks imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine

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neesieiumz · 1 year ago

Text

brontide || ──────── r. braun.

day three - SPITTING / HUMILIATION / EXHIBITIONISM

『 synopsis 』 ⸻ a night with your friends gets you into way more trouble that you're looking for.

『 warnings 』 ⸻ mafia!au. mafia-boss!reiner. the mafia part is implied but not explicitly mentioned. he also owns a sex club. sm*t. minors do not interact. humiliation. exhibitionism. spitting. emotionally-abusive ex-boyfriend. who happens to be floch. and who also happens to be in prison for five years. he calls you sweetie/sweetness. he's been obsessed with you the moment he saw you and sent your ex to jail so he can have you. one of reader's friends are also a part of the mafia and basically escort her to go to the club so she can get snatched up.

『 writers notes 』 ⸻ first day of kinktober! been planning this since august and I'm gonna finish it! By god's grace, of course!

『 word count 』 ⸻ 6.4k words

masterlist. next part in kinktober.

Laughter echoed into the night, and the entire group huddled together ambled alongside the wet sidewalk. Your arms were hooked around the arms of your friends, walking in sync with them as the rest of your friends followed behind you all. The air smelled fresh, of wet petricor and tar, evidence of the recent rain that fell over the city. You felt light as if your head could fall off your shoulders, the slight buzz from the round of margaritas you all had during your dinner together. The original plan was to continue the party at your favorite club, but you found the line to be too long and it was slowly ruining your buzz. So now you were walking through the town, hoping to find something to continue the fun you’ve had tonight.

Before, you’d never thought you’d be out like this, with friends, wearing short dresses and a huge smile on your face. Seven months ago, you were a whole different person, quiet, frightened, and controlled by your ex-boyfriend. However, miracles could come in the newest forms as he suddenly found himself thrown into prison, which inadvertently caused your freedom. Ever since then, you found yourself living more and more free, living more and more for yourself. You packed up most of your things, sold what you could of his things, and moved cities and jobs, finding a career or even higher pay. With your ex-boyfriend out of the way, as well as removing him from everything you could, it helped that he was in prison, and it made everything in your life in order.

“You know,” you felt one of your friends whisper into your ear, “I’m glad you could come out with us tonight.”

You had met her not too long ago, the two of you running into each other while you were in the middle of running errands. Since then, you’ve assimilated yourself into her friend group and all of you are becoming really close, really soon. However, swamped with work, at your new job, you hadn't had a chance to step out and have a fun night off with your new friends, who were all pushing for the time with you, especially since you told them about your ex-boyfriend. Learning about how before he went to prison for robbery, and how he kept you isolated from your friends, family and controlled your money

You smiled at her, lifting your hand up to brush a few of your braids that were blowing in your face, “I’m glad I finally found the time to come out.”

She smiled at you, glancing down at your dress, “and I see the choice of dress you wore. Isn’t this the one I had to convince you to buy on one of our shopping trips.”

The dress was black and short, with a long slit going up the side, with thin straps holding it. On the slit, connecting the two pieces of fabric were multiple bedazzled thin pieces of fabric. It was different from what you would usually wear, but as you glanced down at it, from the fabric to the low-plunging neckline, it held a certain freedom that you hadn’t felt in a long time. The two of you gave each other a smile, as the entire group approached the newest location, a club that had opened up recently. It was brought up by Michael, who was your friend’s boyfriend, and mostly everyone agreed to finish the night out there after dinner. The name of the club was plaster at the top, glowering in a pure white. The rest of it was covering dark red LED tassels, it was opulent in nature, and the towering building had your heart clenching for a moment. You lowered your head, now gazing at the very long line peeking out the door.

“That line seems… long,” you mumbled, as you all got closer and closer.

Your friend glanced over to you, squeezing your arm, “no worries, Michael knows people, he’ll get us in.”

“Tessa!”

The two of you turned to see Michael waving at her, gesturing for her to come to the front. You were about to let go of her arm, but instead, she held onto it tighter, taking you along with her. The rest of the group made way for the two of you as you all reached the doorway. You could hear the jeers of the rest of the line, seeing your entire group waiting at the entrance skipping the rest of the line. You stood right before the bouncers guarding the door. They were huge, wearing tight, black shirts and heavy cargo pants. They held tablets in their hands as they glowered down at you all.

“We’re ummm…” Michael started, “we’re friends of the owner. He should already be expecting us.”

The bouncer glanced between the group before his eyes landed right on you. His hard stare caused you to slightly flinch, but Tessa’s grip on you only held tighter, keeping you in place. Your heart pounding away in your chest, you saw the bouncer glance down at the tablet before looking right back at you, before turning towards his coworker. The two of them whispered for a moment, and then the coworker picked up his small radio before entering into the dark nightclub.

“Come in.” is all the bouncer said, before moving out of the way.

You glanced around at the group but you had no time as you were pulled into the building and into the dark space. Inside, it was dark, you almost couldn’t see ahead of you if it wasn't for the white strobe lights constantly moving and flashing around the room. The music was dark, with a huge bass boom, you couldn't feel your own heart beating. You pressed your hand against your chest, hoping for a reminder that you were still alive. Before you knew it, the group broke up all going in different directions, you could barely see where the rest of them went. You could feel Tessa’s arm pulling you away, past all the ladies standing and moving about it.

Before you could even think, you were standing against the bar table, your mind barely getting used to the loud music, and the constant movement all around you. The bar table was the only thing with consistent lighting, with low back wall lights, lighting up the different stacks of liquor, as well as low-hanging black lights as well, causing you to see the working bartenders making different orders. You glanced over to your left, hoping to see Tessa or some form of her standing right beside you but you couldn't. If you held your hand out in front of you, you probably wouldn't be able to see any of your fingers. You let out a shaky breath, soon realizing you couldn't hear yourself breathing. You glanced around you once more, not able to find any semblance of your friends anywhere around you. You felt weird, out of place even, you didn't know where to go. You turned your head around once more, taking note of everything around you. At the same time, an empty stool opened up, allowing you to sit down and rest your feet. You were still looking around, but still, all you could see was the strobing light, now a mixture of blue and gray, and the crowd of bodies.

Suddenly a hand tapped on the one hand you had placed on the counter, causing your already jittery body to jump, your body flying right back around, facing the bar counter. In front of you stood the bartender, with short, blonde hair, and a white towel laid across his left shoulder. He wore the same uniform as the bouncer, with a black shirt and you could see the hems of the heavy cargo pants.

He stepped back a moment, his hands in the air as he took note of your jumpy attitude, “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shook your head, “sorry, I’m just a little jumpy, it’s my first time in a place like this.” You yelled over the loud music, leaning over the counter.

He smirked at you, “Well, I’m sure you’ll have a good time.” That's all he said before sliding you over a tall martini glass.

It was filled to the brim with brown liquor, with a little bit of foam brimming at the top of it. You tilted your head at you, a questioning look on your face.

“I don’t… I don’t remember ordering anything.”

The man shrugged, “it’s on the house, for you know… your first night here.”

That was the last thing he said to you before walking away, before tending to others sitting at the bar. You looked at him as he walked away before facing the glass one more. Slowly, you reached over to the counter, picking up the glass by the stem before bringing it over to you. You brought it up to your nose, taking a whiff of the cocktail. You could smell the slow-churned liquor, strong and expensive in smell. You glanced at it one last time, before taking a sip, the smooth mixture sliding down your throat easily. A slow, warm tingle rose up within you as you took another sip. Stepping away from the bar, slowly immersing yourself in the crowd. The crowd was moving all around, dancing in waves and into each other. You stood around, looking into the crowd of dancing people, seeing if you could find your friends anywhere, mixed in with the crowd.

With nothing, you decided to move on, sipping on your glass as you slowly stepped around the perimeter of the club. You could feel eyes on you, prickly-like needles poking and prodding at your spine. Turning around with swiftness, you found yourself glancing up at what seemed to be the second floor, seeing people standing about up there. There was some level of privacy, with only semi-opaque windows showing off what seemed to be a private party. Your eyes glanced over from the railing of the second floor, your eyes guided to what seems to be a stairwell, located not too far from you. You could see two bouncers standing there, with a velvet rope keeping the general populous away from what seemed to be a more private crowd.

“Hey!”

You gasped, feeling something cold prodding at you as you turned around, seeing the friend you walked into standing right behind you, her boyfriend not too far from her.

“Hey, I was looking for you!” you yelled over the music, taking another sip of your drink.

She smiled at you, giggling and crashing into you, most likely unstable from however much she drank, “sorry, me and Michael got lost in the crowd and we ended up joining someone’s randoms section! You should join us!”

The moment she said that Michael, the boyfriend, came up to her, pulling her away, whispering something in her ear. Your friend’s joyful expression soon faded, the two of them delving into whispered arguments, furrowed expressions on both of them now. Not wanting to get in between them, your eyes soon wandered towards the stairwell again. Two people, a couple, soon stepped up to the bouncers standing there, exchanging words between them. The bouncer glanced down at his tablet, much like the ones in front of the club, and scrolled through it, before nodding at his partner, who unlocked the velvet rope, allowing the man and woman to enter and soon walk up the stairwell to the more private party.

“You curious?”

You jumped for the third time that night, your head whisking to the right, before seeing a tall figure standing over you. The first thing you notice about him is his olive green eyes, it was like they shined within the strobe lights. He had long dark hair, which you could tell was pulled back in some kind of bun. You couldn’t help but glance down further, seeing him wear a suit, his hands tucked into his pockets. He tilted his head, before the two of you turned your heads at the same time, staring at the stairwell.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I guess I am, why? What’s up there?”

He mused, “can’t tell you that, but I can get you in, if you’d like?”

You narrowed your eyes on him, “why should I trust you? I don’t even know your name, and why would you do this for me?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “feel like being nice for a very pretty lady, think of it as my act of kindness of the day.”

He pressed his hands around your waist, before guiding you towards the stairs. At this point the thought of your friend and her boyfriend flying out of your mind as you headed closer and closer to the flight of stairs. Your mind racing with a never-ending stream of thoughts, and your heart pounding away at your chest, you honestly had no idea what you were doing. You took a final sip of your martini, just as you stood with the man in front of the bouncers.

The two workers took one look at the man, not even bothering to look at the tablet before the one handling the velvet rope unhooked it immediately, allowing the two of you to pass.

“Enjoy your time, Mr. Jaeger, Mr. Braun is sure to be expecting you.”

Braun…?

That name was familiar to you, you had no idea how, but you heard it before. However, before you could dwell on it, your escort, denoted as “Mr. Jaeger”, pressed his hands into you, guiding you up the stairs. You took one last moment, hoping to catch a glimpse of your friend, but you could no longer see her standing where she was last left, and neither could you see her boyfriend either. You shrugged the thought off, remembering the short conversation with her about joining someone else within the club. The sounds of the club became more muffled the more and more you climbed above them. Mr. Jaeger took his time to take you towards the more privatized area. You saw an empty table, glancing down at your glass before placing it on there, hoping someone would pick it up.

The door to the area wasn’t covered by bouncers, but it was hidden from where the general population could see the few viewings of whatever was going on within the room. Jaeger is what you’ll call him until you can learn his real name, open the door, gesturing for you to walk inside first.

It was much like the crowd downstairs, but smaller, and with fewer strobe lights. It looked to be a private party taking place. You could tell by the banner that hung up in which you could vaguely make out the words “Happy Birthday.” Everyone was up in a ball in the middle of the floor having the times of their lives, with people scattered about as well. You ignored the white powder on some people’s tables as you maneuvered yourself through the standing people.

Before you knew it, you had made it out of the crowd, stepping into a cleared-out area.

You took a moment to glance behind you, seeing the heavy crowd, and all the bodies moving about. Turning around, you suddenly found yourself face to face with a door. It was watched over by two heavily tattooed bodyguards. The men guarding the door looked different than the bouncers, each of their arms heavily tattooed, wearing heavy utility belts around their waists. Your curiosity was slowly taking hold of you, as you tilted your head at the men.

Suddenly, the two men in the center took a few steps to either side, parting like the Red Sea, as the door behind them suddenly opened. Your eyes caught onto the first boot that walked out of the darkness, your eyes trailed up slowly as the rest of him appeared from the pitch-black, darkness into the low, gleaming light. The first thing you noticed was his hazel eyes, they gleamed through the light, capturing your pure attention. His blonde hair contrasted against his dark suit, his hands tucked into his pockets as he stepped down the rest of the way. He stopped, just right in front of you, and the two of you locked eyes. You took in his entire form. Your head tilted just a little, as you looked upon his face, the clean-shaven look, the broad form, realizing that he looks so familiar, that you’ve seen this man before.

Memories flash before you, tan walls, bright lights, sliding chairs, and tables, black suits, and a mean smirk staring down at you. You glance up, jumping as you realized the man has gotten closer to you, no longer standing on the steps in front of the door.

“It’s been a while, sweetie?”

Braun…

It was like lightning had struck you, as your mind flashed back to almost a year ago.

“Babe, what is this place?” You couldn’t help but ask as you looked around the fancy lobby area.

However, he didn’t answer you as he walked up to the hostess behind the table, talking to her before guiding the two of you somewhere. You tried to speak up again, asking him about this restaurant he took you to, but he only hissed at you, before focusing on the table before you. It was a long table, filled almost to the brim with prim and proper-looking people, all talking amongst themselves.

“Mr. Braun, I’ve brought more of your guests.”

The scattered chatter spoon became hushed whispers as almost everyone looked up at the two of you. At the head of the table, hardened hazel eyes looked up at the two of you standing there, the intense stare causing your back to straighten up as he glanced between the two of you. He had his folding in front of him, resting on his elbows and he produced a glare so menacing towards your boyfriend, the only thing you could skin them to was the hard and nasty stares your grandmother used to stare down at you whenever you broke her stuff.

“Mr. Forster, I should have you arrested for stalking,” the man started, waving away the hostess.

Your boyfriend, despite the obvious and sudden sweat that dripped down his face, as well as his shaky hands, spoke, “yes, Mr. Braun, I understand, but I just really need some of your time to talk about this new business venture.”

Business venture… so this wasn’t a romantic dinner like you thought it would be. YOU could feel yourself deflating as your boyfriend suddenly let go of you. He reached down, pulling out the seat closest to him, immediately, sitting down, leaving you to be the only one standing. Flustered, you began to reach for the seat next to him, hoping to pull it out and sit next to him quietly.

“Stop.”

Everyone froze, as the words echoed through the nearly empty backroom of the restaurant. You looked up only to find his eyes on you, which only caused everyone else’s eyes in the room to look at you.

“You crash my event and make yourself known, the least you can do is pull out your own girlfriend’s seat, huh Forester?”

Floch, already flustered and embarrassed, only turned red as he stuttered against his words, “Oh, oh right, sorry, Mr. Braun.” Your boyfriend began to move to get, to pull your seat out for you.

“I’m not the one to say sorry to, and don’t bother moving,” is all Braun said, before snapping his fingers.

All of a sudden, a man wearing an all-black suit appeared right behind, causing you to jump a little. He pulled your seat out for you, making a quick gesture for you to sit down.

“Take a seat sweetness.”

Quietly, you thanked him before sitting, squeaking as he pushed into your chair for you. Glancing up, seeing Mr. Braun’s eyes on you as you settled down into your seat.

— — —

Seeing those same hazel eyes sent you in a whirl spin. Almost a year passed and you could still remember them staring into your eyes just like that day.

“Mr. Braun… the dinner party…” your words tasted acrid as you spoke them, inadvertently bringing up the memories of your ex-boyfriend.

His chuckle sent electricity down your spine, seeing him step a bit closer towards you, “just call me Reiner… glad to see you remember me, huh?”

“Yeah… I’m surprised you remember me?” You winced at your words, internally yelling at yourself for the awkward choice. If he noticed it, he didn’t say anything about it, only moving towards you even more.

“Can’t forget a pretty face, now can I?”

Your mind was yelling at you to move, but you could barely bend a knee as he towered over you, his hands no longer tucked in his pockets, instead, he reached up, his hand slightly pushing past your long braids that frame your face, before caressing your cheek. You couldn't help the shaky breath, the clench between your legs as you got a whiff of his string cologne.

“Come with me.”

It was a demand, not a question.

He took you by the arms before leading you up the platform he had once descended from. You couldn't help but glance back at the retreating party behind you, seeing the crowd get smaller and smaller as your vision soon became surrounded in black. The two of you moved through the darkness, the music changing from the EDM-focused club music to something a lot slower, and a lot more sensual, combined with a lot of bass.

It was as if you stepped into a new dimension.

The atmosphere was different from the one downstairs. That one was exhilarating, heart–throbbing.

This one was heart-stopping.

Your heart felt strained, trying to pump blood throughout this entire experience. Your inner ears constantly vibrated and fuzzed as you took a step into the crowd. Every movement felt like it slowed down, you could barely see two feet in front of you, much like downstairs, but somehow, it felt… different. It felt as if the bodies were closing in on you with every step you take. You rubbed your cold hands against your skin, hoping to warm it up a little and gain a sense of grounding within you. You let out a shuddering breath, feeling the temperature around drop with every step you take. The music was loud, almost deafening even, you could barely hear yourself think. All you can do is take one step at a time, trying to warm yourself through the cold environment. You couldn't help the way you held onto the man taking you deeper and deeper into this new-founded area, digging your nails deep into his arms to steady yourself into this anchor of a man.

The two of you soon pull up to this table, surrounded by other people as he guides you to a velvet-cushioned seat, before sitting right beside you. All the men sitting around were huge, wearing suits of all different fabrics and cuts. in their hands either held expensive cigars or lit up, causing the area around them to smell like smoke. This caused your face to grimace, moving your hand up to your nose to block the smell.

“Smoke’s getting to you, sweetie?” A low voice came up to your voice.

An arm wrapped around your shoulder, a hand grabbing at your face before turning it to the right.

“I always hated the smell, Floch used to smoke cigarettes, and would stink up the apartment too.”

“Heh, you’ll get used to it,” is all he said, reaching out as someone handed over a perfectly wrapped and sealed cigar.

That same person lit it for him, before bowing and taking their leave. You watched them just as he inhaled the first smoke. The smell hit you, your nose slightly wrinkling at the tobacco. Reiner’s arms kept you close, putting you up against the smoke as he looked down at you.

Before you lost your nerve, as you turned to him, your hands rubbing down your arms to calm the chills that ran up your spine, “Why did you bring me here?”

Reiner glanced down at you, blowing smoke out from the corner of his mouth. He then leaned down towards you, his heated breath from the cigar ghosting over your ear.

“Look around Sweetness, what do you think this place is?” He whispered into your ear.

Your eyes glance around the room, landing on the different people moving about. Some people were standing around smaller stages, watching strippers easily glide themselves up and down the pole. However most of the people were standing around couches, you could barely see what they were looking at. Looking closer at one of the couches, seeing one of the bodies move, your eyes widen at the scene. You saw a man—no, two men, one towering over a woman and the other one having her on his lap. You couldn’t see everything, but you knew what was happening, what the other people were watching. Reiner must have heard your gasp when you spotted one of, what looks to be many events, happening on the couches.

Your legs crossed, a dull sensation washed over you. Suddenly, your hyper-awareness activated, feeling Reiner’s hand on your thigh. His hand continued to trace circles in your thigh, his actions causing your head to feel slightly fuzzy, combined with the smoke in the air, from the cigars and the heavy smoke machines. You could only sway with the beat of the music, your body grazing against Reiner’s body. His arm that was once weighing on your shoulder slid off, before trailing up your face, pushing past your braids, caressing the left side of your face. The roughness of his hands grounded you just a bit, your dropping eyes fluttering open a little to look at the man with you.

“Did you like what you saw, sweetie?” He whispered to you, his lips grazing the outer shell of your ear.

You nodded your head, vigorous in nature, gasping as he didn’t move his head from your ear. Rather, he leaned even closer, dipping down a bit before pressing slow and soft kisses against your neck. It had been a long time since you’d had anyone touch you. Seven months since you broke up with Floch and even longer even since he had gotten arrested. A shaky breath left your mouth, your hands reaching up to his suit, gripping onto it for balance. The hand was touching your thigh slide up, slipping in between your legs, his fingers grazing up against the slightly damp fabric of your thong. The size of his hands, as well as his strength, made your legs begin to spread apart. You couldn’t help but glance around the room, feeling all eyes were on the two of you. Suddenly the hand that pressed against your face, its grip tightened, a gasp leaving your mouth as you suddenly faced him again. The sudden hard stare caused you to squirm, your eyes darting about.

“Look at me, don’t look at anyone else… just focus on me,” he commanded, before releasing his grip on your face.

Before you could even think, his hand flew down to your hips, lifting you up and placing you right onto his lap. The first thing you felt was his erection, pressing against your barely covered pussy. His legs spread wide as well, easily taking up the space upon the seats you were sitting on. The people around you all easily made space, but you could tell that they were all watching, their eyes felt like lasers burning holes into your psyche. Yet, all you could do was focus on Reiner before. Your heart was racing, and you felt heat flushing throughout your entire body, from his actions to the people staring down at you.

“Reiner–” you stared before you were cut off by him suddenly pushing you forward, your lips landing on his.

He tasted like scotch, with an aftertaste of smoky cigars. Despite your known aversion to anything tobacco, you found yourself deepening the kiss. Your hips began to grind against him, hoping to find that perfect rhythm. Underneath your dress, your clit throbbed again the thin fabric of your thong, your pussy throbbing with every movement you made. Reiner’s hands slide down your back, before cupping themselves underneath your butt, underneath that the fabric begins to rise up and crumble up around your hips. You could feel the air hitting in between your legs and the deep feeling that your thong was on display for those around you to see.

Spit began to drip down from your lips, evidence of your intense makeout. Slowly, you pulled your lips back, your lungs immediately inflating with air. Reiner’s hands began to massage, almost kneading the flesh he clung onto. By this, your thong was soaked, and the area around his erection was slightly damp with your juices. His finger thumbed at the thin strap of fabric, pulling it as far back as he could before letting it go. The loud snap stung against your skin, your back arching into the pain, eliciting a slightly painful yelp as your pussy clenched around nothing.

“Reiner!” you shrieked, your hands and nails gripping his back and shoulders, digging into his clothing.

You could feel him smirk against your skin before his fingers lifted up your thong strap before popping against your skin once more. Every throb of pain had you clenching around nothing, soaking your thong and his pants even more. By now, your dress had ridden up to your waist, so everyone was able to see just what he was doing to you. No one said anything, they only watched as he grabbed at your thong, beginning to pull the thin fabric down your legs. Your nerves wreaked havoc on your hands, seeing how they trembled as you began to slide them down from behind his neck to his chest. You lifted your legs a little bit, helping him get your thong off.

He held them in front of you, shaking them like a cat toy with a sneer on his face, and an evil grin. You tried to reach out and grab for them but he pulled them back, a chuckle leaving his mouth as he laughed at the way you lunged at him. Reiner pocketed them, before putting his hands right back on your butt, like they belong there. You gasped as his fingers teased along the opening of your cunt. He leaned over, his heavy voice echoing in your ear as he spoke to you once more.

“Second thoughts, sweetness?” he asked you.

Despite your sudden fear, you shook your head, your hands suddenly gripping the fabric of his suit.

“Good,” he smirked, “because I’d hate to not be able to give all these people a nice show.”

That was the last thing he said before suddenly lifting you up, letting go of his cock. You squealed as he suddenly turned you around, fully facing the audience you had amassed. Your heart almost dropped, you could barely even see the back parts of the room, with the way the crowd had amassed itself. You hadn’t relaxed just how many people were watching you. Their eyes never left you, you could see their hungry eyes taking in the scene before them. Your dripping pussy, Reiner’s cock, the way you whined and grinding into him, everything. You couldn’t help the way tears welled into your eyes, but at the same time, a forceful tingling heat wracked through you. The humiliation you felt rocked you, yet all it could do was make your pussy even wetter. Their eyes were magnets, sticking to your every reaction.

He stretched your legs wide, the sticky sound of your pussy easily bringing in more of the crowd. Hips fingers, continuing to tease you, dipping down into your hole, smearing some of your juices at your clit. He spread your lips even further, having no problem to let all these people watching you get fucked. You let out a sharp gasp as you felt his thick finger beginning to prod at your hole, your juices dripping down onto him. Melting as he further plunged his finger into you, hissing at how tight you were. Your eyes glued to his hands, only able to watch the way he slowly began to ravish you, bit by bit. You bit your lip, restraining your budding moans as his finger slid deeper into you.

“Reiner—“ you choked, your head thrown back as his thumb pressed up against your wet clit.

Your hips ground against his hands, clenching around his fingers. Rocking against him, succumbing to the way he pulled different reactions from your body and your lips. Your moans echoed through the room, and you could hear the muffled grunting of some of the men watching you. You could hear their whispers, wondering who you were. You could hear the jealousy on some of the women’s lips, complaining about how someone as unknown as you could gain Reiner’s attention. Writhing underneath his hold, you couldn’t help the way their animosity elated you. You cried out as you felt his fingers brush up against your g-spot, your back arching away from his front side.

“Fuck— I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum—“ your words were high pitched, feeling the sudden building ache rushing through you.

Suddenly, you were left out cold as you felt his fingers abruptly pull out of your cunt. You had no time to whine or complain as a gasp left your mouth and your body jerked suddenly, feeling Reiner beginning to stand up behind you. His hands slide down to underneath your knees, further spreading your pussy open. You crossed your arms, heart racing as you felt his angry red tip prodding at your entrance. For a moment, you glanced up, and standing behind a couple people, you could see familiar olive green eyes, with his tan hand tucked in his pocket, holding a glass of liquor.

Before you could fully register the sight, your body convulsed as you felt the tip of his cock easing into your sopping wet cunt. There was no need for foreplay, with the way you had been dripping all over Reiner from the moment he placed you on his lap.

“Oh my– oh my god,” you whined out, your head thrown back as he pressed his dick into your further, hearing him grunt as you felt yourself slowly stretch around him.

“Big—“ you cried out, “its too big, fuck, I can’t—!”

“Aww," he suddenly interjected, “can’t what? Can’t handle it?” His voice was deep and laced with condescension.

Your body trembled at his words, and despite the humiliation, hearing the slight chuckle in the crowd, your pussy clenched around, sucking him in even further. Toes curled, you could do nothing while stuck in his hold but take it, desperate moans fleeing your mouth. You could feel his hot breath against your neck,, his own deep-seated, needful groans echoing in your ears. Although your eyes were shut you could still hear the makings of the crowd around, still watching you take every inch of him.

Suddenly, one of his hands left your leg, before sliding across your neck and face. It wrapped itself around the front of your neck, before pulling it and your head back. His face towered over your own, and your eyes were almost jerked open. His thumb was able to reach your wet, plump lips, pulling the bottom one down slightly.

“Open.”

It was a single command, one you fulfilled lustily, your lips parting and your tongue falling out. With nothing else, he inhaled sharply before a decently-sized globble of saliva dripped down from his mouth onto your own. Most would find the action distasteful, but not you. Your body completely wrecked with lust, could do nothing, squeeze your eyes shut, a large moan leaving your lips as his spit slid down your tongue in your throat. You melted in his hold, your juices soaking your dress, thighs, Reiner’s pants, and even a little bit of his shirt.

Reiner ravished you, and the feeling of his cock pummeling you continued to push you more and more over the edge. Your entire body jerks, the feeling of your climax building up within you once more. His heavy pants and the heated smell of sex permeated off of both of your bodies, but it was the quieted, hissed sound of a few people watching, trying their best to stay quiet as they reached their own climax.

“Coming!” Your words were loud but slurred from succumbing to your incoming orgasm.

With your toes curling, your body thrashed within his hold as your cunt squeezed around his dick. Your body melted further into him as your juices poured out of you, your pussy throbbing. Your hands reached out, clutching onto the air as shaky gasps escaped from your mouth. Underneath you, you could feel Reiner’s actions becoming more erratic, his groans following along with him. With no other warning but a groan, you gasped as he came all inside of you, his cum painting your walls white. Tears streaks stained your face as you heaved in and out. Slowly, you felt Reiner slowly putting your legs down, still keeping you close to his body. You winced at the way your legs felt, seeing how they were stretched beyond their means. The crowd slowly began to dissipate as they realized you and Reiner’s bout with lust was basically over. Some still stayed, keeping their eyes on the two of you as you tried your best to clean yourself up.

You gasped as you felt him slowly pull his cock out of you, a cool emptiness filling you. With whatever strength you could pull, you grabbed the hem of your dress, covering the mess the two of you made. You could feel both his and your cum dripping down your thighs, ignoring the way it trailed down your smooth legs. As you sat beside Reiner, waiting for him to get situated, you felt a wave of tiredness rush over you. You stretched, letting out a yawn. With no other warning, Reiner suddenly stood up, taking you into his arms. You could not fight him off as he held you tight. Through your teary and droopy eyes, you could see the crowd parted for the two of you. He walked deeper and deeper until the smoke and darkness fully covered the two of you. Your body had no strength as your body went limp, falling into a deep slumber.

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plscallmeeren · 1 year ago

Text

G I R L O N

G I R L ?

Hermione J. Granger x Reader

Request: indeed

Summary: upon accidentally witnessing Cho and Ginny making out, you and your friend Hermione grow curious as to the concept of doing something with other girls and decide to experiment ;)

Warnings: swearing; scissoring; top!reader; bottom!Hermione; fingering (her receiving); loss of virginity ig

Word Count: 2.9K+

"Have you written your essay on bezoars yet?" you asked suddenly, disturbing the quiet library air.

"Yes. Now, don't tell me you want me to write one for you-"

"I'm not Ron," you interjected, slightly insulted. "I was just wondering which points you covered in order to write three feet on it."

"Oh. Sorry. I just- Ron's really getting to me, y'know. I mean, he always has, but couldn't he just- just- oh, I don't know."

You posture softened at the desperation in her voice. "Do you still like him?"

"No, no, none of that... if I'm being completely honest- Can I be completely honest? If there's anyone I can tell, it's you." You nodded. "He... I used to find him attractive, you know. Like, I thought about it and about- well, you know what, but now it just... he has no appeal and he's still a blithering idiot, so really, there's nothing left to like. Oh, does that make me awful?"

"No, love," you consoled immediately, "not at all. If it weren't for Harry, I'd say maybe you've just grown too far apart. C'mon, let's talk about this some more in the privacy of our room. I think I've still got some sweets from Honeydukes?" You smiled warmly and she gladly agreed.

•••

The two of you laughed at the unfortunate victim of one of the twins' pranks who was sitting rather unhappily in the hallway, Hermione albeit a little ruefully.

"Oh! I forgot my textbook in the Transfiguration classroom, I almost forgot. Can we quickly-"

"Sure. It's just around the corner, anyway."

You lay an arm around her shoulders and she wrapped hers around your waist, the both of you ambling along in comfortable silence.

"Alright, I'll be just a second," she said, letting go of you and heading to the classroom.

"Yeah- 'Mione?" you questioned, a tad concerned. She stood with the door ajar, frozen in place, staring inside.

"What's wrong?" you asked again, but she didn't bother replying. A little on edge, you moved behind her, staring over her head to see what had captivated her.

Inside the classroom, Ginny Weasley pushed Cho Chang against a desk, a firm grasp on her ass as they welded their lips together in beautiful sync.

You weren't as shocked, perhaps, as Hermione, but your eyes went wide and you could hardly force your gaze off the two of them. Your lips parted involuntarily and you hardly noticed the way your friend's body was pressing flush against yours.

Ginny began trailing kisses down Cho's jaw, the latter moaning out her name as if god herself was doing this to her. She grasped the hem of the red-head's shirt and just as she was about to pull it over her head-

Hermione closed the door and locked it with a charm simple enough to beat with Alohamora.

She turned and only then did you realise how close you were, foreheads almost touching, hips pressed against each other. You quickly stepped back.

"W-What was that?" she asked shakily, gulping when we heard a carnal groan from the other side of the door and casting a quick silencing charm to their benefit, too.

"I'd say it was pretty clear what that was," you replied, unsure as to what she wanted to hear.

"Yes, but- but they're girls. Both of them." You could see her trembling, wondered why this bothered her so much.

"Well, yeah. I haven't really heard much about it, either, but I don't see why it's a bad thing."

"No- No, I'm not saying that. I think my second aunt Marie was a lesbian, or at least my mother thinks so, but they're so... so close to our age and- and-"

You cupped her face in your palms, looking her in the eye in an attempt to gift her some sort of comfort.

"It's okay. You don't have to feel that way or feel challenged by it or- alternatively, if that's what you're worried about, if you share that sentiment, you don't have to be ashamed of that, either."

"Right," she breathed, calming, but much to your confusion, her legs were still shaking. "Do you... Do you ever think about girls like that?"

The question caught you thoroughly off guard and you noticed with mild surprise that while you never thought of boys sexually, you had never really considered girls.

"I... I haven't, but..."

Before you could stop yourself, you began imagining things, and you almost slapped yourself when an erotic painting of Hermione, a naked mess of moaning limbs in your bed, came to mind.

"But what?" She stared at you inquiringly, and that image of her letting you fuck her only took on more detail.

"Well, I could imagine... some girls are pretty hot, I mean."

"Yes. Yes, that's true... Would you- Let's just go to our dorm."

You nodded hurriedly and you made your way to the Gryffindor common room, although this time keeping your hands to yourself, in a silence that was not so much unpleasant as thick.

Brown waves splayed across your pillows, her back arched and nipples perked-

Stop it.

Her toes curled, fingers grasping the bedsheet as she cries out for you, she needs you, she needs more-

Stop it!

Hermione, so vulnerable before you, core throbbing, clenching around your fingers, so wet the slick runs down her thighs-

No.

You shook your head as if that would help. Hermione wasn't looking in your direction and you considered - just for a split second - whether the same thoughts were plaguing her mind. But surely not. Hermione wasn't like that. She wouldn't.

Eventually you arrived at your shared dorm (together with Lavender and Parvati). Much to your surprise, she whirled around, a look of studious determination on her face you knew all too well.

"...Yes?"

"Okay, I- I've thought about it. I think these things need to be tried out, you know? Just to see if they work."

"Oh, I think they work," you smirked, but she only glared. "Okay, fine. What are you suggesting? That we make out and see if we find it better than our experiences with boys?"

"Well, if you put it that way... Yes. I think it would be a beneficial experiment for both of us. You know - broadening our horizons. I wasn't particularly attracted to Viktor, necessarily, and you said your attempts at - you know what - sort of failed with Dean, so maybe..."

"Maybe we would be better off with another girl?"

"Girl on girl?" she affirmed, and the images of her flooded back.

"Yeah, okay, well- Do you want to prepare or...," you trailed off half-heartedly, fearing this might be awkwarder than necessary considering how you had worked up to it.

To underline one important thing; You couldn’t believe in the least what was happening. You were almost certain you were dreaming. And yet… her hot breath on your skin felt so life-like.

"No, now's probably best, Parvati and Lavender will probably be in Hogsmeade until this evening.

Deciding waiting wouldn't improve the atmosphere at all, you simply dove in.

Your lips crashed against hers and a moment later she reciprocated, her movements a little sloppy but otherwise pleasant. More than pleasant. Electricity seemed to be sparking between you, a force that drove you to push her back against the door to gain more friction.

With half a mind to just risk being caught, you pointed your wand at the door from the inside of your pocket and muttered colloportus and silencio.

Hermione’s hands clasped behind the nape of your neck, the kiss morphing to open-mouthed movements as she whimpered, your hands roaming the curves of her waist and finally grasping her ass.

You noticed as a dull sort of side-note that it all came naturally. Not once had your fingers ventured like this over the curves of a woman’s body, not once had you arched your back in just the right way to press your body flush against another female one, not any of it. But it came like second nature, just like a first kiss, where you formerly wonder if you’ll know how to even move properly.

“More,” Hermione whispered frantically, only urging you further to drag your lips along her jaw, hardly coming up for air.

“More what, sweetheart?”

She expressed a high-pitched moan that told you everything, but you needed to hear it.

“Use your big words for me, love,” you purred, and with a groan she managed ‘you’.

“I thought you only wanted to make out?”

“G-God, I need you. I’ve never felt like this before, I can barely stand- my legs- my legs-“ You sucked on the sweet spot below her collar bone that you could still reach without taking off her shirt.

“Hm… I think these’ll be getting in the way, then,” you nodded at her attire, and she sank along the door in need of rest, sitting on the floor with her legs spread wide before her.

“Do it for me, (y/n). Please,” she whimpered, and you couldn’t help but obey.

You slowly sunk to her height, crouching before her, starting by pulling off the tie loosely hanging around her neck (she only allowed such slack in herself on weekends) and then opening button after button on her shirt.

You continued to undo her slowly, her legs spreading wider and wider as if welcoming you in, raking her fingers over the carpet in an attempt to ground herself.

You finally pulled off her shirt and Hermione gasped as you ripped off her skirt in one swift motion. Her fingers grabbed at your hair instead and you could already feel the slight scratches on your scalp.

Her shoes and leggings were discarded carelessly and finally you could stare at her in nothing but her white lacy panties and a frilly white bra, not to mention the matching socks. If you hadn’t already known she was a virgin, you might have noticed at the sheer innocence of her arms covering her torso half-heartedly and the dark patch - ever-growing - in her white underwear.

“I-I’m not- I know I don’t look perfect, I… I don’t exercise much and I know my breasts are-“

You shushed her with a passionate kiss in which you hoped to share even a magnitude of how beautiful you found her. She moulded her lips against yours with just as much ferocious attraction.

“You wanna see me, too?” you asked quietly and she nodded immediately.

With hardly a second’s thought, hoping Hermione might be too hot and bothered to care how you looked or notice all the things you were insecure about, you pulled off your shirt, pants, shoes, and socks, finally leaving you in your underwear as well, although a tad more simple and certainly more black.

“You- You’re- You’re gorgeous,” she stuttered, eyes widened.

“Thank you, darling, but if I may continue,” you taunted, expertly undoing her bra (which, lucky for you, opened at the front) with your teeth, a skill you were most surprised you possessed, considering you had definitely done no such thing before.

“That’s, uh, that’s hot,” she murmured, panting slightly as you sucked on her left nipple, rolling the other in between your fingers. Your tongue traced a spiral around her nip and eventually you were massaging both of her tits as your mouth wandered further down, placing open-mouthed kisses and hickeys along her sides and abdomen.

“Oh, my God,” she whined, throwing her head back with closed eyes.

“It’s not God who’s doing this to you, love,” you teased, smiling into her as you finally reached her clothed pussy. The wet stain was dark and sweat beaded on every patch of skin, but you wouldn’t assume, you wouldn’t dare.

Stopping, your eyes flicked up to look at Hermione, the brunette needing a moment to realise why you had stopped.

“Please, I need you,” she groaned, and that was confirmation enough.

You ripped her panties clean in half in desperation, taking only two seconds to examine her pretty cunt and press your lips once to each inner thigh, diving two fingers into her without warning.

She moaned loudly, a sound so crazed and pleasurable you were glad only you could hear it. Then again, if Lavender and Parvati walked in on you both, they - and probably the rest of the school - would always know she was yours…

But she wasn’t yours.

This thought angered you more than anything could have in the foreseeable future, encouraging your fingers even more-so to pound into her at an ungodly speed. Her whines matched your pace, a girlish sound escaping her every time her back hit the wooden door.

“Am I fucking you good, ‘Mione? Better than Viktor could’ve?” You weren’t sure where the confidence came from or how you knew what words to choose to almost drive your friend over the edge, but the risk of her being put off by them vanished into thin air when her pathetic moans only grew louder.

“Much,” she squeaked between thrusts. You could feel her walls clenching around your fingers, climax ebbing just one more lick of your thumb over her clit away, all so close, so close, trembling, yelling your name, unspeakable sounds-

You pulled out of her and licked your lips. Slowly, taking your time as she stared at you in utter horror. Obviously, she was new to a little something called edging.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby,” you cooed, swiping up the last of her juices with your tongue. She was so wet it was pooling on the floor.

“You- You- How could you!? I’ve never came before and you just took-“

“C’m’ere,” you offered, standing and sitting down with open legs open on your bed. “I wanted to try something. This is supposed to be an experiment, right?”

She flushed so deeply red you considered calling it something else.

“If there’s one thing I did learn from Dean, it’s that an orgasm is always better if you’ve been denied one several times. Don’t worry, I won’t make it several times,” you promised, seeing the look on her face. “But, because we’re two females, which was the point of this whole exercise, I thought we should try doing something you can’t do with a dick.”

You took a moment to stare at her, let your hungry eyes roam as you licked your lips. There she lay, leaning against the door for support, legs spread incredibly wide, liquid spilling out of her, coating her inner thighs, cunt tensing around nothing, nipples perked, trembling, panting, hair a mess, a slight smudge of her mascara.

Almost how you had imagined it. Only better.

“What’s that?” she asked, with the same kind of intrigue she had when examining a bowtruckle.

“Well, we both have cunts-“

“(Y/n)! Don’t use that word!”

“Why not? It describes something so pretty,” you countered, nodding at her pussy, and she blushed anew.

“We could try… I don’t know, rubbing them together or something. It’s not like it can go wrong. If it doesn’t work, I’ll fuck you like that again and you can cum, I’m getting the hang of it, I think. Please. For the love of science?”

“We’re going to a magic school,” she teased, standing up shakily and making her way towards your bed.

“Well, that certainly felt like magic, hon’.”

She smiled shyly, letting herself down with one leg over yours on the red covers, watching closely as your sexes edged closer.

“Okay, just…”

The effect was immediate, and you weren’t prepared for feeling so good yourself.

Your gaze flicked back and forth between the squirming mess where your bodies connected, soaked to the brim, and this beautiful woman as naked as anything, jaw dropped in concentration and pleasure.

“F-Fuck,” she cried out, tensing yet again. On any other occasion you would have teased her for using a ‘bad word’, but now wasn’t the time.

Your stomach was doing somersaults. Your lungs burned with the effort of humping against her. Your legs had about as much idea of where they were as a bear in the Sahara desert.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, ‘Mione,” you groaned, a guttural noise that had her throw her head back. No answer met your comment but high-pitched ‘ah’s strung an unstoppable melody from her mouth.

You were so close, she was tensing, so close, so close, so close-

You both came simultaneously, a mess of limbs as she climbed over you to slump on your body, flush against you. After what you had just seen the other do, there was no more shame. Yet, perhaps.

“Oh, God, that was so good,” she whined, almost bumping your abdomen at the mere thought.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to answer, simply pulling the blanket over the two of you to keep warm. Not that the hot flush would die down any time soon.

“So, uh,” she started unsurely, at once glad she was hidden under the covers, even if her knee was at your groin and your breasts were practically entangled. “Would you say we’re attracted to other girls?”

“Fuck, ‘Mione,” you cursed, feeling the need to fuck her all over again. “Yeah. I think it’s pretty clear we’re both very capable of being attracted to other girls.”

“I thought so.”

You pulled her even closer, relished in the smell of sweat and sex and her vanilla perfume.

——————

I hope this is something like what you wanted :)

#fanfic #fanfiction #harry potter #hpff #new chapter #hermione fanfiction #hermione granger #hermione x reader #x reader #oneshot #romance #smut #wlw

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graves4girls · 1 year ago

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Jealous johnny cage one shot?Preferably rock star fem reader

☆ chemical kids and mechanical brides | johnny cage

✮ wc. 1.01k ⚠︎ warning(s): fem!reader the hardest part of this was finding a good enough title i stg. i'm still iffy about it but wtvs ⟡ be sure to check out my work on ao3 → gravesforgirls !!

The adrenaline from the show is still running through your veins as you pack up your kit, humming to the song blasting from the stage as you brush away the hair sticking to your face. There were significantly more people in the stands than your last show, probably due to the leaked photos of you and Johnny cuddling up to each other at one of his movie premieres. It wasn't long after that people found out who you were, and your band's popularity sky-rocketed in the following weeks.

You shove the duffel bags and drums into the back of the van, a smile cracking your tired expression when your eyes fall on him.

"That was fuckin' amazing."

His hands encase your face, littering your face in kisses as you laugh quietly, weakly pushing at his chest.

"Don't, I'm all sweaty."

He sticks one more kiss to your lips, big grin plastered to his face as he looks at you. "Arguably hotter."

You roll your eyes, shoving his hands away and pushing the doors closed with a sigh. "I almost don't even want to go to the club. The excitement is wearing off and now I'm just exhausted."

He steps closer to pull you into his chest, hands grabbing at your hips to keep you in place as he presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"You and I both know damn well they'll chew you out if you ditch 'em. Y'know, for a rockstar, you sure are a goody two-shoes."

You punch his chest lightly before slinking your arms around his neck, pouting a bit. "Am not. I just like to sleep."

You huff quietly when the van's horn blares, reluctantly pulling your arms away.

"Beat it, Cage! You're holding up our drummer!"

"Fine. She's all yours." He waves at the girl hanging out the passenger window, dropping one more soft kiss to your lips as he lets you go. "I'll meet you there. Don't have too much fun without me."

You're ushered toward the bar as soon as you step into the lounge, opting to sit on one of the stools and wait for Johnny while your friends disappear into the crowd. You busy yourself with your phone, and you fail to notice someone staring at you from across the room, slowly approaching you through the sea of people drunkenly dancing.

"Hey."

You jump a bit at the voice, eyes finding a man suddenly taking up the space in the previously empty seat beside you, but you shoot him a tight-lipped smile despite the spook.

"Hi."

"You're from that new punk-rock band right? The tough…tough something?"

You perk up a bit, eager at the opportunity to meet a fan. "Ruff puppies, yeah. Spelled r-u-f-f."

He nods with a small laugh. "Right. Not the best with band names. But yeah, I've heard a ton of your songs. Shit's sick."

"Thanks. We actually just came from a show a couple blocks down."

He hums, waving down the bartender. "What's your preference?"

You shake your head with a small smile, waving a hand in the air. "Oh, I'm not drinking tonight. I'm just here for moral support."

"Let me buy you something else then. How about a coke?"

You shrug. "Really, it's not necessary–"

He orders a beer and a coke, shooting you a warmer smile. "This is probably the only time I'll ever get to buy the pretty drummer from Ruff Puppies a drink. I'm gonna take it."

You flush the slightest at the compliment.

"Your latest album by the way? Best shit I've heard in the scene in a hot minute. And, from one drummer to another, you're insane."

You spend the next few minutes shooting band recommendations and techniques back and forth before his eyes wander behind you, mouth falling open a bit, and you follow his gaze to find Johnny ambling over to you, the traces of a scowl on his face.

"Holy shit. You're Johnny Cage, right? Man, I love your movies. Ninja Priest was so good."

"Yeah. I appreciate it." He turns to you, snaking a hand around your waist. "Can I talk to you real quick?"

You knit your brows together, but you nod all the same, excusing yourself and following him into a secluded corner of the club, tilting your head as you look at him.

"What's up?"

"Who was that?"

The wrinkle between your eyebrows deepens. "You're talking about the kid? He's a fan of the band. He was just asking about my drumming."

He huffs a bit. "If he's a fan, he should know you have a boyfriend."

"Johnny."

His eyes aren't on you, instead drifting over your shoulder to glare at the person in question. "He bought you a drink."

You roll your eyes, slipping your fingers into his belt loops and pulling him closer. "It's just a coke, Johnny. Don't be like that." You press a kiss to his chin, leaning against him.

"Be like what? I'm not being like anything. 'M just not crazy about random dudes flirting with my girlfriend."

You bite back a laugh, hooking a finger in the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, kissing him softly. "You're cute when you're jealous."

He grumbles as you draw back, hands resting on your waist as he continues to avoid your eyes. "I'm not jealous. And I definitely wouldn't be jealous of that little rat."

"Mhm…whatever you say, babe." He finally looks at you fully, softening a bit at your smile. "I think you need to loosen up a bit. On me?"

You drag him back to the bar, and you're about to sit back down when he lifts you from the stool, taking your spot and pulling you down into his lap instead, and you fight against his strong hold in a weak attempt to get away.

"You're so embarrassing. Let go."

His arms tighten around you, and any attempt to pry them from your waist is futile, hiding your flushed face in your hands as he chuckles.

"I just wanna make sure everyone here knows you're already spoken for."

#j.cage #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mk #mk1

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disturbnot · 3 months ago

Text

——— VERSES

main / pkmn — if you think you don't know him, you've probably seen him somewhere without realising it. he's your champion! he's your chosen one. he's your saint and saviour. or is he really the reason the world around you is shivering apart, little bit by little bit? he couldn't tell you as a child, and he still couldn't tell you now. this beleaguered old legend still ambles from lead to lead on his path to some kind of ultimate understanding, some kind of zenith to his messianic condition. he doesn't know what he's for, but that's okay, he knows you don't know what you're for either. the learning curve never ends. this ash can be encountered almost anywhere in the pokémon world, known to regularly drift from region to region, gig to gig, battle to battle, apocalypse to apocalypse. surely, one day, this curse will lift ... won't it?

supernatural — ash is a drifting, wayward hunter from the south-west, son of a hunter and a restaurant owner. his father passed when he was young, and during the same incident, ash became the willing vessel of the god quetzalcoatl, granting him vast power and a unique kinship with the natural world. he seeks vengeance for his father, but has become cognizant of the primordial gods' schemes and also seeks to confront and punish them.

the boys — think pokémon if they were just v'd up animals - that's it. ash grew up in a suburbian town in japan, near the site of a vought international r&d lab headed by his best friend's grandfather, and found out a little more than he should have as a young child. during an intrepid peek into oak's research lab, ash not only received a hefty dose of compound v, but managed to free one of the animals the lab had been experimenting on; a large, semi-sentient mouse with the power to conduct and discharge electricity. this event forced ash's mother (also being targeted by the yakuza for business protection) to take him away on the run. he and his mother have been weaving in and out of encroaching threats from vought and other bodies of organised crime ever since. ash seeks vengeance upon vought, both for his accidental exposure to v, and for the disappearance of his father (who may have been an unfortunate test subject in the 90s). ash has gained powers from v that seem to amplify with time and training. the simplest way to explain him would be if goku swapped out the disciplined martial arts training for slugging whiskey and throwing caution to the wind.

star trek — half-human, half-klingon, all golden retriever energy. this gung-ho starfleet prospect has never passed an exam, but exceeds in idealism, imagination, and practical xenozoology. all he's ever wanted is to see the stars and to see all of the fantastical creatures roaming out there in space ... sadly, his exam results never quite etched that fate into the stars for him. working the bars of various low-tier starships will have to do.

modern / fandomless — maybe you saw him on your tv in the early 2000s, one of the many pro wrestlers that lit the world on fire during the height of the craze. it's a pity that impassable injury cut his tenure in the ring all too short. this retired fighting performer has relegated himself to a steady but uneventful life helping his beloved mother run her snack bar, wishing that he'd taken up a career in animal care.

cowboy / western — nobody can really give you an exact date of when ash rolled into town, or when his local ranch practically bloomed out of the arid ground, but it seems like he's been there since anyone can remember. he's never done any harm, he's a kind and hardy man, known mainly to mind his business and ranch his prized cattle. rumour has it though, his ranch house is simply teeming with animal life; from his herding dogs, to his ratting cats, to his hunting birds. some say there are creatures in that home that man has never seen before, but hey, that's just a local rumour spun by bored tavern-wives... right?

new verses to be added! (rgg, monster hunter, and star wars verses coming soon)

#▸ lord rid me of my word vomit. / ooc #verse time #god FINALLY i scratched these up #we've got. spn. the boys. star trek. and some other fandomless stuff!#one more menial back office task scratched off the list. can i get a helled yeah

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sisterspooky1013 · 1 year ago

Text

Gaslight, Chapter 11/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

PART TWO

Roxborough Memorial Hospital, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

When he wakes, his very first conscious sensation is that his head feels like it’s full of concrete.

He winces and peels his eyes open, blinking rapidly to adjust to the midday sun pouring in through the window. The hospital window.

It comes back in little flashes: an angry client, an unsuccessful attempt to de-escalate the situation, and ultimately a hard shove into the bookcase in his office.

He groans as he slowly sits up, the change in posture making him aware of his very full bladder. He gingerly makes his way to the bathroom, resting a hand on the nearest surface for balance as his bare ass flaps in the breeze through the open back of his hospital gown. After relieving himself, he washes his hands and catches sight of himself in the mirror.

His chestnut hair is wild and unkempt, sticking out in all directions and reminding him that he needs a haircut. His square jaw is rough with second-day stubble and his already-hooded eyes are swollen. He leans toward the mirror and uses his thumb and forefinger to pry his eyes open wider, examining his irises. As expected, their typically greenish color is muted to something resembling hazel, which is often the case when he is unwell.

He hears the door to his room click open, and then a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh no,” a small voice murmurs.

There are a series of clipped steps over the linoleum, and then the door opens and closes again.

He ambles back to the bed, already feeling less unsteady, and spots a plastic bag labeled “personal belongings” on a chair in the corner. He dumps out his rumpled navy suit and brown wingtips, then sifts through to find boxers, his undershirt, socks, and slacks. Just as he discards the hospital gown in preparation to dress, the door clicks open again.

“He was just here twenty minutes ago—oh!”

The twentysomething nurse covers her eyes with one hand, and Diana peeks around her and rolls her eyes.

“He looks just fine to me,” she says dryly, flashing her eyes down to his groin and throwing him a wink.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Spender,” the nurse says, her hand still covering her eyes. She’s tall and broad-shouldered, and wears her hair in a messy bun at the base of her neck. “When I came to check your vitals you weren’t in your bed, and I thought you’d…wandered off.”

He pulls on his boxers and slacks, then sits on the end of the bed.

“I’m decent,” he tells her, and she slowly pulls her hand down. “I was just in the bathroom. Sorry to scare you.”

Diana approaches and stands a foot or so away from him, her arms crossed over her chest.

“How do you feel?” she asks, eyeing him appraisingly.

“Like shit,” he says flatly, tugging on one sock and then the other.

“You look like it,” she remarks, and he shrugs.

“Am I free to go?” he asks the nurse, who has been watching the exchange uncomfortably.

“Oh, that’s really not for me to say,” she tells him, her eyes pinned to his shoulder. “I’ll go get Dr. Phan for you.”

He follows her gaze to the shiny pink scar just beneath his clavicle and infers that she’s wondering how a clean-cut, suit-wearing professional such as himself came to have a scar from a gunshot wound.

“Bank robbery gone wrong,” he tells her, and her eyebrows lift. “That’s why I don’t rob banks anymore,” he adds, and her mouth falls open with surprise.

“Would you go get Dr. Phan, please?” Diana asks the nurse in a forced dulcet tone, and she nods and hurries out of the room. Diana steps closer to him, her knees brushing against his but her arms still crossed. “Was that absolutely necessary?” she asks, looking at the scar and then back to his face.

“It just sounds so much cooler than ‘I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,’” he defends, and she sighs while quirking a knowing smile.

There is a knock at the door and the nurse re-enters, followed by a slight Vietnamese woman wearing square-rimmed glasses and a black dress and heels beneath her lab coat.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Phan,” she says as she approaches the bed and offers her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I took a bookshelf to the head,” he quips, shaking her hand. “But otherwise fine.”

“He’d like to be discharged as soon as possible, please,” Diana tells the doctor, who nods in understanding.

“That’s a possibility. We’d just like to check your vitals again and ask you some questions to be sure you don’t require further monitoring.”

Dr. Phan motions to the nurse, who wraps a blood pressure cuff around his arm and presses her stethoscope to the inside of his elbow.

“All right,” Dr. Phan begins, readying her clipboard. “Can you tell me your name, please?”

“Jeffrey Gerhard Spender,” he answers. “That’s an easy one, doc, throw me some hardballs.”

Dr. Phan smiles thinly and continues.

“Date of birth?”

“October 13th, 1961.”

The nurse slips off the blood pressure cuff and clips a pulse ox monitor to his index finger.

“And what’s today’s date?”

“Uh…April 7th?”

“And the year?” Dr. Phan prompts him.

“Two thousand,” he says confidently.

“And who is this woman?” the doctor asks, gesturing to Diana with her pen.

“This is my lovely wife Diana,” he says fondly, looking at her. Diana’s expression remains neutral, but she gently bumps his knee with her own in acknowledgement.

“Are you in any pain, Mr. Spender? Dizzy, lightheaded, visual disturbances?” Dr. Phan continues.

“I have a bit of a headache,” he admits, “but otherwise I feel fine. I could go for a cheesesteak, though.”

“Okay,” the doctor says, tucking the clipboard under her arm and returning her pen to the pocket of her lab coat. “Assuming all your vitals are normal, I’ll go ahead and discharge you.”

The nurse holds up a penlight and he tracks it back and forth with his eyes.

“Everything looks good,” she tells the doctor as she takes a step away from him.

“All right then, you should be home in time to have that cheesesteak for dinner, Mr. Spender.”

He watches out the passenger side window as the Schuylkill River morphs into West Conshohocken, then Gulph Mills. By the time they enter King of Prussia, he can’t decide if he’s more sleepy or more hungry.

When they pull on to their street, he frowns at all the perfectly mowed lawns and carefully trimmed hedges. By comparison, their modest brick home looks bedraggled and overrun with crabgrass.

“Did the lawn guy not show up again?” he asks, and Diana sighs.

“I don’t know, Jeff, that’s your purview,” she says, disinterested.

She parks in the garage and opens her door, then at the last minute turns back and gives him an appraising look.

“Do you need any help getting inside?” she asks, and he shakes his head.

She disappears into the house and he takes his time unfurling himself from her sedan. He feels achy and stiff, and the side of his head just above his ear is throbbing. When he walks through the door and enters the laundry room, he hears the skitter of claws on the hardwood and smiles. A blonde lab comes tearing around the corner, her wagging tail tucking between her legs as she collapses at his feet and rolls onto her back.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, getting down on his knees and scratching her belly. “Did you miss me?”

“She pooped in the office,” Diana calls from the kitchen, and he rises to his feet before making his way in to join her.

“When?” he asks accusingly.

“I don’t know, sometime between when you left this morning and when I came home for lunch,” Diana says as she pours two fingers of Glenlivet into a rocks glass.

“Did you clean it up?” he asks, and she shoots him a look.

“She’s your dog, Jeff,” she says plainly, and he sighs, grabbing a roll of paper towels before heading to the office.

They chose the home for its proximity to the city and its relative simplicity. A kitchen with a breakfast bar, living room, office, and powder room downstairs, and a large master suite enveloping the entire second floor. As a childfree couple with no inclination towards formal dining and a shared distaste for overnight guests, it met their needs and didn’t break the bank. Not that they couldn’t have afforded something more ostentatious on Diana’s law firm salary, but she prefers to spend her money on travel, and he on collecting rare books.

He cleans up after Frenchie and checks his email, then remembers that he’s hungry when his stomach gurgles loudly. Back in the kitchen, Diana is perched on a bar stool with her drink and a salad, a copy of The New York Times open on the counter beside her plate. He touches her shoulder, waiting until she looks up at him to drop a quick kiss on her mouth, which she accepts with a hum.

“There’s leftover Charlie’s in the fridge,” she reminds him, and his belly growls again at the prospect of reheated pasta carbonara. “I picked up your prescription; it’s on the microwave,” she adds, and he pops his food in before twisting the bottle open and dispensing one into his palm. “You need to take that more consistently,” Diana lectures, watching as he swallows the pill with a glass of water. “Your blood pressure was high when they first brought you into the hospital.”

“Point taken, however I would argue that getting the shit kicked out of me by a client probably had something to do with it,” he retorts.

“Please just remember to take them, Jeff. I worry about you,” she says softly, and he smiles at her uncharacteristic show of affection.

It’s not that she’s cold or unloving, but that her way of showing him that she cares is more subtle than most people might notice. You won’t catch her kissing him or holding his hand in public, but she makes sure that he’s taking care of himself, physically and mentally, and she always indulges his spontaneous ideas, like driving out to Atlantic City just to take in a show.

And there’s so much history between them, so much they’ve both been through that no one else could understand. The first day he laid eyes on her at Quantico they connected, and she wasn’t put off by his interest in the strange and unexplainable, didn’t see him as an oddball like everyone else has always seemed to. When he expressed having second thoughts about joining the Bureau and whether it was the right path for him, she supported his decision to drop out of the Academy without question. He did the same when she began to consider pursuing a law degree, and together they moved from Virginia, to Cambridge, to Boston, and finally Philly. For all the tumult in his life in the years after they lost Samantha, Diana has been the one person he always knows will be there at the end of each day.

It’s a typical evening, though it may not have been a typical day. He watches TV while Diana reads, then takes Frenchie for a walk while she takes a bath. They crawl into bed and he curls up behind her, accepting her invitation when she takes his hand and pushes it down between her legs. The side of his head aches, but he ignores it as he brings her to orgasm with his mouth, then conceals his disappointment when she yawns and tells him she’s exhausted, asking for a rain check on reciprocating.

He lies awake, listening to Diana’s even breathing and Frenchie’s little woofs as she dreams about whatever dogs dream of. As he sometimes does when the daily routines of their life are thrown off kilter, he feels a little bit of longing. A quiet, unobtrusive question floating around the edges of his mind asking him to consider if there is more to life than this. He chastises himself, feeling guilty for being ungrateful when he has so much to be thankful for.

And yet, he still wonders about another life, another path, one that’s exciting and unpredictable and uncharted. If he hadn’t left England after college, if he’d finished his FBI training, if Diana weren’t so firm on not wanting children.

Another life, another path, the one untraveled. He’s content, and yet—

He wonders.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #dana scully #txf #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files

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strangerstilinski · 1 year ago

Text

SELENOPHILES OF BEACON HILLS | Teen Wolf Rewrite

Stiles Stilinksi/Original Female Character

chapter eleven

fic summary; after an already traumatic evening involving the unfortunate discovery of a gruesome scene, amber is convinced to hike through the woods with her two best friends in search of the other half of a dead body. but it's not as if she could ever say no.. not when stiles looked at her like that.

chapter word count; 12,383

chapter notes; the argents are desperate to find out who the alpha and mystery beta are. winter formal is right around the corner. amber has a bit of a rough night.

masterlist

c h a p t e r e l e v e n

co-captain

After school on Friday, Scott insisted they stalk Jackson's whereabouts around town all afternoon. Amber didn't see the point, but Stiles had climbed into his Jeep with a nod of approval and that had been that.

Around four-thirty, after an hour and a half of tailing Jackson as he ran menial errands around town, Amber had pouted until Stiles was convinced to take a short break to swing by the diner downtown.

Scott had frowned at them in annoyance from across the car, but he'd still been the one to amble into the diner without complaint to buy her a milkshake, making his way back out to the vehicle quickly to hand the contraband over to his friend.

When they pulled back out onto the road, Scott immediately thrust his head out the window. Amber snorted at the sight and sipped from her drink, watching Scott take a deep breath through his nose while his hair fluttered in the breeze from the moving car.

"You're really leaning into this whole dog thing, aren't you?" She called out to him amusedly over the wind.

Scott ignored her joke, "He's not in town anymore," He announced, "He headed out toward the old factories."

"Why would he-" Amber started.

She was cut off when Stiles took a sharp turn to head in the direction Scott's nose had told them to go. Her grip on her styrofoam cup slackened in surprise and she rammed into Scott uncomfortably as she was thrown off balance. His hand saved the beverage from spilling all over his lap, but only managed to do so by swiping at it and shoving it out the open window.

"No!" Amber cried, turning around in her seat to look out the back window. She caught sight of her milkshake splattered sadly on the pavement as they drove away, "Stiles-" She whined quietly, nudging his arm in annoyance.

"I'm sorry!" Stiles apologized earnestly, reaching out to take hold of her hand for a moment in consolation. He sped up as they raced down a lane between buildings, "But we're on a stakeout here, Amber."

As they pulled up at the edge of an abandoned building, they spotted Jackson's Porsche parked a few hundred yards away, Chris Argent's large SUV idling right beside it. Stiles swerved into the empty parking lot where the confrontation was taking place and slammed on the breaks as they reached the vehicles.

Amber's body continued forward with momentum as the Jeep jerked and Stiles reached out to brace her back against the seat as the tires squealed to a stop.

He leaned forward to peer around her and Scott, "What's up?" He asked Jackson and Mr. Argent casually, arm still thrown across Amber's sternum, his hand wrapped lightly around her bicep.

"Everything okay?" She asked through the open window with an eager smile.

"Hey, Scott." Mr. Argent greeted with a suspicious grin, "Your friend here was having car trouble. We're just taking a look."

"Oh!" Stiles exclaimed in feigned interest.

"There's a shop right down the street," Scott piped in, pointing behind them with his thumb, "I'm sure they have a tow truck."

"Yeah!" Amber nodded, "You want a ride?" She asked Jackson pointedly, eying the uncomfortably narrow sliver of space between him and Allison's dad.

Scott threw the door to the Jeep open and Stiles dropped his arm from Amber's chest to lean forward against the steering wheel after a moment, "Hey, come on, Jackson. You're way too pretty to be out here by yourself." Stiles joked.

Jackson nodded silently and took quick steps in the direction of the Jeep while Scott hopped out of the vehicle to make room for Jackson to climb into the back, stepping to the side as the other boy approached.

"Hey, boys and girl!" Chris Argent suddenly called out. He walked over to the driver's side of the Porsche and leaned into the car, turning the key in the ignition and bringing the engine to life, "Told you I knew a thing or two about cars." He announced as he rose to stand again, returning to his own SUV without another word and taking off quickly.

"Well, that wasn't creepy at all." Amber stated.

Jackson turned to Scott with an angry scowl, "What, are you following me now?"

The door of the Jeep slammed shut and Amber flinched back against Stiles' shoulder as Scott stormed toward Jackson.

"Yes, you stupid freakin' idiot! You almost gave away everything, right there!" Scott yelled.

Stiles pulled open his own door and he and Amber climbed out and rounded the vehicle to join where the boys were arguing.

"What are you talking about?" Jackson asked with an eyeroll.

"He thinks you're the second Beta!" Scott yelled at him.

Jackson's face contorted in genuine confusion, "What?"

"He thinks you're me!" Scott yelled, turning to smash his fist against the door of the Jeep aggressively.

"Dude, my Jeep-" Stiles said futilely, lifting a hand as he winced.

"I can hear your heart beating from a mile away," Scott told Jackson. Jackson's eyes drifted over to Amber and he looked at her questioningly for a second before his attention returned to Scott's shouting, "Literally! Now, he thinks that there's something wrong. And now, I have to keep an eye on you so he doesn't kill you too!"

Scott yelled out in frustration and moved to punch the vehicle behind him again. Both Stiles and Amber stepped forward, but Amber's arms wrapped around Scott's shoulders first, urging him back a step to put some distance between him and the Jeep.

"Okay, how about we step back from Stiles' Jeep before he has an aneurysm-" She suggested, patting Scott's arm as she released him.

"You know, what? This is your problem! Not mine, okay!" Jackson shouted, "I didn't say anything. Which means you're the one who's gonna get me killed! Okay? This is your fault." He emphasized his words by shoving Scott back against the Jeep with a loud thud.

"Can we stop hitting my Jeep!" Stiles yelled as Scott shoved Jackson back in retaliation, "Yo, alright!" He said loudly, pushing the two boys away from one another.

"Guys! Stop it, okay?" Amber scolded as she stepped up beside Stiles, tugging on the sleeve of Jackson's leather jacket to tug him back from Scott. She watched the two boys breathe heavily for a few seconds as they got a grip on their anger.

"When they come after you, I won't be able to protect you," Scott told Jackson, "I can't protect anyone." He admitted despondently, looking between Stiles and Amber in anguish.

"Why are you looking at us?" Stiles asked nervously, the back of his hand slapping at Amber's wrist unseeingly until she tangled their fingers together.

Scott continued to look at them sadly until Jackson interrupted the moment in frustration, "You know, now you have to do it." He told Scott, reiterating his desire to become a werewolf himself, "Get me what I want, and I'll be fine protecting myself."

Scott looked at him in annoyed disbelief, "No you won't! Just trust me. All it does is make things worse-"

"Oh, yeah? Really?" Jackson scoffed, "Y'know, you can hear everything you want and run faster than humanly possible. Sounds like a real hardship, McCall."

"Yeah, I can run really fast now," Scott admitted, "Except half the time I'm running away from people trying to kill me! And I hear things like- Like my girlfriend telling people that she doesn't trust me anymore, right before breaking up with me. I'm not lying to you! It-it ruins your life."

"It ruined your life." Jackson corrected, "Y'know, you had all the power in the world and you didn't know what to do with it. Y-You know what it's actually like? It's like you turned sixteen and someone bought you a Porsche, but they should've started you out with a nice little Honda." Jackson said condescendingly and raised his eyebrows, "Me? I drive a Porsche."

Jackson turned and stormed away, climbing into his sports car and taking off.

The three friends stood in silence for a minute, unsure what to do next.

"I think that went well." Stiles announced sarcastically.

Stiles was standing in front of the refrigerator taking a swig of orange juice from the carton when he turned and caught sight of his dad sitting at the dining table, the surface looking as if a tornado had torn through the large collection of case files. There were piles of papers strewn around him haphazardly, his glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose as he read through a file with a look of determination.

"Whatcha doin?" Stiles questioned, stepping up to lean against the doorway between the two rooms.

"Work." His dad answered without looking up.

"Anything I can help with?" Stiles asked hopefully.

"You know, if you poured me an ounce of whiskey, that would be awfully nice."

Stiles rushed to throw the juice back into the fridge. He dashed over to the other side of the kitchen to grab the bottle of whiskey and a glass, running them into the dining room only a couple seconds later.

"Any leads?" He questioned, sitting down at the table beside his father and reaching for the file in front of him.

"Hey." The Sheriff scolded, slapping his son's hand away, "You know I can't discuss that with you." He wagged his pen at him with a serious look. Stiles unscrewed the cap from the bottle of whiskey and his father didn't look up from the paper in his hands as he spoke, "Not too much."

Stiles poured the liquor into the shallow glass and measured out what he approximated to be an ounce before pausing. He glanced up at his dad's distraction and hesitated for only a second before adding another large helping into the glass.

"Okay," Stiles said slowly, pushing the nearly full glass into his father's unsuspecting hand, "There you go, dad. Bottoms up."

"Thanks." His dad said quietly, bringing the glass up to his mouth as he focussed on the paper in his other hand. Stiles watched with wide eyes as he downed the entire drink in one go before setting the glass back down on the table and returning to his work. "You know," His dad said suddenly, already slurring his speech, "Derek Hale would be a hale of a lot.. A Hale of a lot?"

"Hell of a lot?" Stiles supplied helpfully.

"Hell." His father repeated, giving his son a thankful thumbs up and nodding, "Yes. He would be a hell of a lot easier to catch if we could get an actual picture of him."

Stiles looked up in confusion, "How do you not have a picture of him?"

"It's the weirdest thing. Every time we tried to get a mugshot, it's like two-" He paused in thought and Stiles tore the photograph out of his father's fingers to look at it himself, "-Laser beams were pointing at the camera."

"Nice.." Stiles commented in a fascinated whisper, looking at the blurry image of Derek.

"Oh, my god." His dad said suddenly, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face. "That ounce hit me like a brick," He turned his attention on his son and blinked slowly, "And I have said way too much.. If you repeat any of this-"

"Wh- Dad." Stiles defended weakly, "It's me! I'm not gonna say anything. Come on."

Before his father could think about it too long, Stiles snatched up a file buried at the center of the table and pulled out a report about a dead deer. The picture showed a large spiral carved into the animal's side and Stiles dropped the page before digging for another.

"See, the thing is, they're all connected," His dad told him, leaning onto his elbows on the table, "I mean, the bus driver that got killed; He was an insurance investigator assigned to the Hale house fire."

Stiles peered over to look at the file in front of his dad, "'Terminated under suspicion of fraud.'" He read from the page.

His dad shook his head in thought, "Exactly."

"Who else?" Stiles asked quickly.

His dad picked up another file and handed it over easily, slurring as he explained, "The video store clerk who got his throat slashed; He's a convicted felon. History of arson."

"What about the other two guys?" Stiles questioned, "The guys who got killed in the woods?"

His dad waved his hand dismissively, "Priors all over their records. Including-"

"Arson." Stiles finished quietly. His mind was reeling at the influx of information, "So, maybe they all had something to do with the fire." He whispered to himself. He desperately needed to know more and his attention snapped up to his dad as he got an idea, "Another shot?"

"No, no, no. No more." His father said.

"Dad. Come on. You work really hard, alright? You deserve it." Stiles insisted.

His father sighed with a small smile, "Oh my god, I'm gonna have such a hangover." He told his son, gesturing for Stiles to refill the empty glass in front of him.

"You mean you're going to have such a good night's sleep." Stiles corrected with a small grimace. He leaned over to fill the glass with whiskey underneath the cover of the table and swallowed guiltily, "And I'm gonna have an eternity in the lowest circle of hell.." He whispered.

Stiles had refilled his father's glass three times by the time there was a quiet knock at the front door. Stiles' gaze snapped over to the entryway in surprise. When he peeked look at this dad, the man looked unbothered, as if he hadn't even heard someone at the door.

Easing out of his seat slowly, Stiles dashed to the front door and pulled it open to reveal Amber standing on the other side, waiting for him with a heartstopping smile. She went to speak but Stiles pulled her into the house and lifted a finger up to her lips as he shushed her.

"What?" She whispered, looking around the house cautiously.

"I got my dad drunk so he would talk to me about the case." He admitted quietly.

She blinked in confusion, "Which case?"

"All of them." He told her quietly, "Everything to do with Derek and the Hale fire and the attacks."

"Do you want me to go?" She asked in a whisper, pointing back toward the door.

Stiles shook his head, grabbing her by the shoulder and steering her into the mess in the dining room.

"Dad! Look who's here to help." Stiles announced with a flourish, pushing Amber to sit down in the chair across from his father.

Sheriff Stilinski glanced up to peer at her over the brim of his glasses with a dazed look in his eyes, "Amber. Hi, kiddo."

"Hey.." She said quietly, reaching out across the table and pulling Derek's arrest report toward herself slowly, watching for the Sheriff's reaction.

His dad's gaze didn't drift toward her hand. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his palms into his eyes over the table, "Guys, there's just. There's so many unanswered questions."

"Like what?" Amber asked gently as she poked through the file in her hands.

"Like, if Derek wanted to kill everyone involved with the fire. Then why start with his sister? I mean, she had nothing to do with it." His dad slurred quietly, "Why make it look like some kind of animal did it? When that- When that cougar ended up in the parking lot, I checked with animal control." He said, pointing toward Amber across the table as he spoke, "You know instances of wild animal reports were up seventy percent over the last few months? It's like they're just going crazy. Running out of the woods."

Stiles leaned back in his chair and looked at Amber. Her eyes were round in realization and Stiles shook his head as he spoke to her quietly, "Or something's scaring them out."

"You know, I miss talking to you." His dad suddenly spoke quietly, attention focussed on his son, "It's like we never have time-"

Stiles wasn't listening. He dug his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone quickly, rising to stand, "Dad, you know, I have to make a call. I'm sorry." He caught the sad look of disappointment Amber was sending him as he stepped back from the table and his stomach turned guiltily, "I'll be right back."

"I do. I miss it." His dad whispered as Stiles took a step into the living room, "N' I miss your mom."

Stiles' steps faltered and he spun around slowly, "What'd you say?" He asked quietly.

His dad picked the whiskey up and made to pour himself another glass, but Stiles darted back over to the table to take the bottle from his fingers. He screwed the cap back on and set it down on the cabinet behind him.

"Thanks." His dad told him quietly.

Stiles risked another glance over at Amber and saw a pained look of grief on her face that he was sure matched his own.

The room sat in silence for a long minute before Amber stood from her chair, "Wow, it's almost eleven o'clock already-" She fibbed easily, watching for the Sheriff's reaction.

His eyes widened and he moved to check his watch but Stiles was quick to grab his wrist to pull him to his feet instead.

"Eleven o'clock?" Stiles' dad repeated, "Jeez, we should get to bed."

"Yes we should." Stiles agreed quickly, gently pushing his dad toward the staircase.

He urged his dad upstairs and waited patiently until they heard the click of his bedroom door before he turned to Amber with a dejected sigh.

"You okay?" She asked quietly.

"I'm a horrible person." Stiles admitted, his eyes drifting back toward the mess on the dining room table. His focus caught on the empty glass at his father's seat and his stomach churned with guilt.

His attention was pulled when he felt Amber's fingers against his cheek. She gently turned his head back toward her and squeezed his face with a thumb pressing into the skin on his jaw.

"You are not a horrible person." She told him seriously, hazel eyes flicking slowly between his.

"God." He whispered, "He- he never talks about my mom. Not really. It makes him too sad. And now I've got him drunk and telling me how much he misses her-" His voice catches but before Stiles had time to be embarrassed about it, Amber had pulled him into a hug.

Her arms wrapped around his neck and Stiles could feel her face pressed into the column of his throat. He took a deep breath as he reigned in the urge to cry, his arms wrapping tight around Amber's waist and turning his face into her hair, taking in the scent of her fruity shampoo as he calmed himself down.

After a long minute, Amber's hand drifted up to the nape of his neck and her fingers stroked softly along the short hair there in a soothing motion. When her next breath huffed out hotly over the skin of his neck, Stiles took a shaky breath for an entirely different reason. His stomach tightened in arousal at the realization that he could feel the soft press of her lips against his skin. When her warm breath exhaled slowly over his throat again, his arms tightened around her for a brief second before his eyes shot open in awareness and he stepped back, releasing her.

Fighting back a flush on his cheeks, Stiles forced himself to look Amber in the eyes as they pulled away from one another. He searched her face for any indication that she'd noticed his excitement pressing against her during the tail end of their embrace, but he found nothing but concern in her expression.

Just as he was about to speak, his phone rang out loudly. He scrambled to answer it before it could wake his dad and he nearly dropped the device as he accepted the call.

"Scott, what's up?" Stiles answered purposefully, alerting Amber to who was on the other line.

"Dude." Scott said frantically, "I need you and Amber. Like, now."

Stiles frowned, eyes locking with Amber's as she frowned worriedly in response to seeing the expression on his face.

"What-"

He was interrupted when Scott continued, "My mom just left to go on a date-"

"Dude, that is so not an emergency. You made it seem like-"

"She left to go on a date with Peter Hale!" Scott interrupted again, voice shrill and panicked.

Stiles almost dropped his phone again in surprise, "With Peter Hale? Scary, murdery, miraculously no longer burnt to a crisp, Alpha, Peter Hale?" He asked in alarm.

Amber's eyes widened at the small bits of information she was getting from just one side of the phone call.

"Yes! That Peter Hale!" Scott yelled into the phone, "I need you and Amber to go and stop the date! I don't know how and I don't care, but if he bites or kills my mom-"

"We're not gonna let that happen, man." Stiles promised, already pulling Amber toward the front door and grabbing his car keys out of his pocket, "We're on it. Alright?"

Stiles hung up the phone as he pulled the door open. It was starting to rain and they both ran toward the Jeep quickly to avoid getting soaked.

"What's going on?" Amber asked worriedly as they climbed into the vehicle.

"Scott's mom just left for a date." Stiles told her as he turned the key in the ignition, "With Peter."

"Scott's still following them on foot." Amber told Stiles as she read the text message on her phone, "He says they're sitting at the corner of Elm and West Main."

Stiles nodded his assent and took the next left, turning onto Elm Street heading North. Amber squinted out the windshield to focus on the dark road through the light rain, searching for any sign of the Alpha with Scott's mom.

"No, no, wait! I think we just passed them." Amber said quickly, spinning in her seat to try to catch another glimpse of the nice black car parked on the other side of the road.

Stiles cursed under his breath, did a quick u-turn, and began to backtrack down the street.

"So, what's the plan?" Amber asked nervously.

"Don't have one." He told her.

She turned her head sharply to look at him, "You don't have a plan?" She repeated frantically.

"Not really." He said weakly, allowing the Jeep to slow down to a crawl, "Should I just pull up next to them and-"

"Stiles. Floor it." She said quickly as they approached the parked car.

He looked over at her in confusion for a brief second, "What? Why? We need to-"

"Floor it!" She insisted in a rush, reaching out to wrap her hand around his own on the steering wheel.

Stiles pressed his foot back down on the gas. Amber tightened her fingers around his and at the last second cut the wheel to drive the vehicle directly into the bumper of Peter Hale's parked car. They both jerked forward against their seatbelts painfully as the Jeep came to an unexpected stop. The adults climbed out of the car in front of them and Amber and Stiles shared a brief look of panic before both tumbling out from the vehicle and into the rain.

"Are you kidding me?" Melissa McCall was saying as she checked for damage on the back of Peter's car. Her gaze caught on the two teens stumbling out in front of the Jeep and she glared at them in disbelief, "Stiles!" She scolded the boy, eyes drifting over to the girl beside him, "Amber. What the hell are you two-"

"Ms. McCall?" Stiles said in mock surprise.

"Gosh, Ms. McCall, we are so sorry." Amber apologized weakly, eyes drifting over to where Peter was standing beside the woman.

Scott's mom glared and Stiles took a step toward Amber to drop an arm over the girl's shoulders as casually as he could manage, "Wow. This is- This is just crazy! What a coincidence, huh?" He asked Amber.

"Such a weird coincidence!" She nodded emphatically, wet strands of hair beginning to stick to her cheeks from the rain.

"Ha ha." Ms. McCall laughed dryly, not looking at all amused by the situation.

"I mean- I do not know what happened," Stiles explained, tightening his arm around Amber's shoulders, "You guys just came out of nowhere-"

"Totally outta nowhere." Amber agreed, looking at Stiles with faux surprise, "One second, empty road. And the next-"

"Out of nowhere?" Ms. McCall repeated in a shout, "We were parked on the side of the street!"

"Yeah.. How crazy is that?" Amber shook her head in what she hoped looked like disbelief.

Stiles nodded, "Y'know, we should probably call the cops.. Do one of those accident report things-"

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary." Peter said quickly, looking out through the rain falling around them.

"Are you sure?" Stiles asked quickly, letting his arm drop from Amber's shoulders and beginning to rub at the back of his neck, "I think I'm feeling a little whiplash-"

Amber gasped in feigned concern and turned to stand in front of him. She brought one hand up to his shoulder and cupped the other softly over the back of his neck.

"Whiplash?" Ms. McCall was repeating incredulously at them in a shout as Peter Hale stepped away toward the front of his own car, "You hit us!"

Stiles craned his neck to the side and winced, "I don't know, there's definitely something wrong with my neck-"

Amber frowned in sympathy and rubbed his shoulder reassuringly, "Yeah, we should probably call someone so you can get checked out by a doctor or an EMT or-"

"He doesn't need a doctor!" Ms. McCall told her in annoyance.

Peter Hale rejoined them after a moment and he looked between the teens with a calculating stare before he spoke, "Look, there's no real damage to either of our vehicles. Why don't we do a rain check on dinner," He turned to face Melissa, "And I'll call you a cab to take you home."

"Stiles' neck-" Amber protested quietly.

"I'm sure the boy will recover." Peter told her in barely concealed irritation.

Amber nodded and pulled Stiles a step away from the werewolf, "Right. Sounds good to me. Does that sound good to everyone else?"

Stiles nodded quickly, "Sounds like a solid plan. You call that cab and we'll-" Peter's glare made him falter before continuing, "And we'll get out of here."

Peter pulled a cell phone from his pocket with a displeased frown and made the call, despite the pinched look of disappointment on Melissa McCall's face.

Once Ms. McCall's ride had been called, Stiles and Amber rushed back into the Jeep to escape her wrath and sat inside until they watched her say goodbye to Peter Hale and climb into a cab.

Amber let her head drop back against the seat with a sigh, "Mission accomplished?"

Stiles reached across the vehicle to lay his hand over hers on the bench seat, "Mission accomplished." He told her, "For now, at least."

"That's very reassuring." She laughed sarcastically, turning her head to look at him in the dark of the car.

He shrugged with a grin, "What can I say?"

"Well, you could let me believe for ten seconds that everything is gonna be okay." She joked.

"Alright." He nodded, starting the vehicle up again, "Everything is gonna be okay."

Everything was decidedly not okay.

On Sunday, Amber laid on her back on Scott's unmade bed, anxiously tossing a lacrosse ball up in the air above her head. She was increasing the height of her throws in small increments in an attempt to see how far she could throw it and still manage to catch it in her hands. She'd started the action hoping to distract herself from worrying about Derek.

It wasn't working.

Scott squatted down at the side of the bed and threw the dangling blankets up to cover Amber's feet as he poked his head underneath the bed frame.

"Call it again." Scott demanded without looking at where Stiles was straddling a chair across the room.

"It's not here." Stiles told him for the twelfth time.

"So, you lost your phone again, what's the big deal?" Amber asked, taking a deep breath and throwing the ball above her face again, "Shouldn't we be worrying about-"

Scott suddenly rose to frantically search the blankets around Amber's body. She yelped as he knelt onto the mattress and rolled her to the side carelessly. The lacrosse ball came falling back down and Amber only narrowly avoided falling off of the bed, the ball dropping onto the end mattress before rolling to the floor from Scott's wrestling with the duvet.

"Yeah," Stiles agreed as he watched his friends, "Why don't you just get another new one?"

Scott crawled over Amber's body, his knee digging uncomfortably into her thigh in his haste to climb back to the floor. She squeaked in pain but he was already on his hands and knees on the hardwood again, digging through a pile of discarded shoes at the end of the bed.

"I can't afford a new one!" Scott told them anxiously, "And I can't do this alone! We need to find Derek." He pushed up from the floor and paced the room again as his eyes looked for someplace else he could dig around in search of his phone.

"Okay 'A', You already know I want to find Derek," Amber told him seriously as she sat up, "But how are we supposed to do that?"

Stiles rested his arms on the back of the desk chair he was straddling and he cut in quickly before Scott could respond, "And 'B', didn't you say 'Derek walked into gunfire'?" His eyes drifted to Amber with a shrug, "He sounds pretty dead to me."

Amber leaned over the side of the bed to grab the fallen lacrosse ball and quickly threw it across the room where it smacked loudly into Stiles' chest before he could attempt to catch it.

"Derek is not dead." She told Stiles with a glare as he rubbed at the spot where the ball had hit him.

Scott peeked his head into his ensuite bathroom as he spoke over his shoulder, "Argent's plan was to use him to get to the Alpha. They're not gonna kill him."

"Alright." Stiles conceded, "So then, why don't we just let them do what they're planning, you know? They use Derek to get Peter.. Problem solved."

"We are not letting them use Derek to do anything." Amber looked at Stiles in bafflement.

"Yeah. Especially not if Peter is going after Allison to get to Derek!" Scott interjected anxiously, throwing a pile of laundry across the room and rushing over to his bookshelf to shuffle things around, "I can't protect her on my own. Which means, we need to find Derek first."

Amber looked between her best friends and shook her head in irritation, "Also because, lord knows what the honest to god werewolf hunters are doing with Derek right now?" She prompted. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting from the two of them, but it definitely hadn't been so little compassion. She waved her hands around emphatically as she continued, "Y'know, pain, torture, cutting him open to leave trails of blood for the Alpha to follow-"

"Can you both just help me find my phone?" Scott interrupted, "Now? Please!"

"Y'know, you probably lost it when you two were fighting." Stiles told Scott as he looked between his best friends, "You both remember that? When Derek was trying to kill you, Scott? After you interrupted him trying to kill Jackson?" Stiles turned to Amber with an incredulous look, "Are you starting to see a pattern of violent behavior here?"

Scott spoke before she could, "He wasn't going to kill anyone." Scott insisted.

"And we are not letting him die." Amber said firmly.

Stiles gripped the back of his chair and shook it with a distressed whine, "Could you both at least think about letting him die?" He pleaded, "For me?"

"No." Amber kicked her foot out and pushed at Stiles' chair, rolling him back and sending him crashing into the wall.

Scott suddenly paused in his search for the first time in two hours, tilting his head toward the window as he listened to something only he could hear.

"What?" Amber asked Scott quietly, curious about what was happening but not wanting to disturb what he was listening to.

"My mom just got home from work." He said sadly, still looking out the window, remaining focussed on what his mother was doing outside for a long minute.

"Is she okay?" Stiles asked after he had righted himself in his chair again, "What's she doing?"

"Did something happen?" Amber continued quickly.

Scott shook his head unhelpfully, "She-She's crying."

He sighed and came over to the end of the bed, dropping down to sit beside Amber.

She reached an arm around his back and nudged her knee against his thigh, "Scott.. You-you can't protect everyone from everything." She told him cautiously, her eyes bouncing between the Stiles and the side of Scott's head.

"I have to." He told them determinedly.

As Stiles drove Amber home at dinner time, she allowed the soothing movements of his driving distract her from the ever present pang of worry in her chest for Derek.

His right hand had a loose grip where it rested loosely on knob at the end of the gear lever and she watched the effortlessly smooth movements of Stiles shifting between gears as they moved along the dark roads.

Every once in a while, his lips pursed unconsciously as he got lost in his own head and Amber spared a fleeting thought to how much she'd like to kiss those lips for real. She wanted to kiss him for more than some childhood game, or for more than a passing second on accident. She found herself wanting desperately to kiss him until her own lips were reddened and sore from it.

Stiles straightened his fingers out in a stretch the next time he shifted between gears and he used the ball of his hand to push the lever up. Amber tipped her head back against the metal of the window frame and found herself transfixed as she stared at the long line of his fingers.

His eyes flicked over to her for a moment, too quick for her to hide the way her own gaze rested on him obviously.

"Why are you staring at me?" He asked, attention flicking back and forth between her and the road in front of him.

Her cheeks heated at being caught watching him so blatantly and she shrugged before realizing he hadn't seen the action, "I dunno. 'S just.. relaxing."

"What's relaxing?" He asked as he shifted down and made a turn.

"Watching you drive." She admitted, "It's like, you don't even have to think about it- Like somehow you know when you need to change gears before the car does." She shifted in her seat, "It's not like that when I drive," She laughed quietly, "You make it look so effortless." And hot, she thought silently.

"I've got more experience than you," He told her easily, eyes drifting over to her again, "But you're still making me nervous staring like that."

"Sorry." She apologized softly, still not averting her gaze.

Stiles shook his head fondly and remained focused on the road as they neared her house. He turned to park in the driveway and she bent to unbuckle her seatbelt as they came to a stop.

"Thank you for the ride." She said as she pulled open the passenger side door.

"No problem." He told her, watching her close the door behind herself and giving her a small nod.

She tapped her hand against the window frame in silent goodbye before turning and heading up toward the porch.

She gave him a wave over her shoulder as he backed out of the driveway, pulling her keys out of her pocket. When she turned her house key in the front door, she frowned in confusion at the distinct lack of a click that usually signaled the release of the lock. She slowly swung the unlocked door open, pulling off her zip-up sweatshirt and hanging it on the peg beside the door as she stepped into the entryway.

"Jase?" She called out to her brother curiously, as she wandered further into the house, "You home?"

She pulled her phone out of her pocket to check the time in confusion. Jason had only left for the station that afternoon and he wasn't set to be off shift for another twenty four hours, at six o'clock the following evening.

When the house around her remained silent she stepped into the kitchen and tried again, "Derek?" She called out this time, "You here?"

She still didn't get a response and she moved toward the archway leading into the living room. Her heart was pattering nervously in her chest as she imagined turning a corner to suddenly find the werewolf bleeding out and dying.

"Derek?" She called again.

There was a quiet creak of a floorboard from behind her, in the hallway between the kitchen and the staircase. She jumped at the sound but she was grabbed by the shoulders before she could turn around to face the noise.

She let out a small squeak of surprise but the noise was muffled as a rag was pressed firmly over her mouth and nose. She thrashed her body in an attempt to dislodge the arms around her but her head grew fuzzy as she was forced to gasp in breaths through the fabric over her face.

She whined in fear and reached backwards, fingers catching in the long hair of the person behind her. Amber tightened her hand into a fist and pulled as her vision swam slowly, knees wobbling with her next breath and her grip loosening on her attacker as her eyes slipped shut and she fell unconscious.

The first time Amber woke, she was laying against a cold hard surface. She blinked sleepily and tried to focus her eyes, but she felt herself doze back into unconsciousness against her own volition.

She woke up like this several more times. Groggily looking at the dark empty room around her, but slipping back into sleep before she could make herself move much more than lifting her heavy head a few inches from the ground.

When she finally woke more clearly, there were a pair of hands beneath her armpits, dragging her across a cold stone floor. Her hands had been bound behind her back and she pulled weakly at the restraints. The material of whatever fabric was holding her hands together was soft and didn't seem to hurt despite being wrapped and tied off firmly.

She tried to lift her head from where it was limply hanging between her shoulder blades and she groaned quietly at the throbbing headache she was harboring from whatever had caused her to pass out in the first place.

"Oh, good. You're awake." A chillingly familiar voice said before roughly dropping Amber to the ground in a heap, "Pulling your dead weight has been a real pain in the ass."

The girl let out a quiet gasp of pain as her hands and arms were pinned uncomfortably between her body and the cement beneath her. The feeling only lasted a moment and then she was hauled up aggressively until her feet were unsteadily underneath her. Amber stumbled and her knees buckled, eyes blinking rapidly in an attempt to steady her hazy vision while her captor jostled her with hands on her shoulders.

Amber continued to stumble as she was led down the long dark passage through some sort of underground cellar. As her brain cleared, she turned her head to get a look at the woman behind her.

Kate Argent continued to push the girl forward, looking frighteningly beautiful and shooting Amber a sly smile when she noticed the girl's now-attentive gaze.

"Der!" Kate called out teasingly in a singsong voice, "I have a surprise for you!"

Kate tugged Amber to a stop just outside a slightly more well lit room, the brightness leaching out through the doorway and into the dark corridor.

At the annoying nickname for Derek, Amber's heart had begun to pound in her chest and she opened her mouth to speak, but was stopped when one of Kate's hands reached up to cover her lips firmly.

"I don't care." Derek's voice snapped, words coming slowly.

Kate peered into the doorway, holding Amber against the wall just outside with her hand over the girl's mouth. The woman smiled, "Oh, play nice, Der. After all, I did bring your girlfriend for a visit."

Her words were punctuated by sending Amber into the room with a hard shove. Without her hands to brace herself, when Amber's feet caught underneath her from the unexpected push, she was sent to the ground and onto her knees. She winced at the impact against the stone floor but quickly shuffled to get back to her feet, her eyes darting around anxiously. Kate was hovering close by and Amber took a nervous step to the side as her gaze caught on Derek.

The werewolf was shirtless and bound to a tall metal grate with cuffs around his hands and ankles, his face pale and sweaty from whatever abuse he'd endured over the last forty-odd hours.

Amber's chest tightened with anxiety and her hands pulled feebly at the binds around her wrists without thought.

"Derek-" His name fell from her lips in both relief to see him alive and panic at seeing him so helpless.

"It's funny," Kate interrupted, draping a hand over Amber's left shoulder and pushing down until her legs buckled and the girl fell to her knees again, "Y'know, I could've sworn you had a thing for older women," Amber looked up to see Kate grinning at Derek, "But it looks like you're interested in girls a little younger, these days."

Amber frowned but Derek simply growled and pulled at his restraints. Whether he was trying to break free to get to Amber or Kate, it was hard to be sure.

"I'm here because you think I'm Derek's girlfriend?" Amber asked, her stomach dropping at the realization that the woman had to have somehow gotten the information from Allison, "I-I'm not- I'm not Derek's girlfriend-"

"Oh, sweetie, you don't have to lie," Kate told Amber while patting her on the head in a way that felt condescending, "I know he slept with you just the other night. Tell me, what would your big brother think if he found out you were screwing a guy his age?"

"We're not." Derek grunted. "I am nothing like you. You're wrong. So just, let her go." His words came out slowly, as if each one was causing him pain.

It was only then that Amber felt the everpresent charge of electricity in the air. Her eyes caught on the cables attached to the metal grate Derek was chained to and she traced the path of the cables over to where they connected to some sort of large control panel. The knobs on the panel were all turned halfway up on a dial that went to ten; If having them set to five out of ten had Derek weak and in pain, Amber worried what would happen if Kate were to crank the dial up all the way.

"Oh, Der. I can't do that quite yet," Kate responded to Derek's statement, "Before we really get started, let's just get Beta suspect number one out of the way," She pulled Amber back up with a hand fisted in the girl's hair.

Amber gasped as she was tugged to her feet again and before she could process what was happening, something sharp sliced across the side of her stomach through the fabric of the tshirt she was wearing. "I can't imagine you're only pretending to be this weak and helpless, but.. Well, you can never be too sure, can you?"

Amber's hair was released and she strained against her binds again as she looked down at the blood beginning to seep through the gray cotton of her shirt. Her hands itched to reach down and touch, to relieve some of the achingly sharp sting from the deep cut. She watched the fabric darken and stick against her skin as she bled, her mind blank as her heart pounded in her ears.

"You think I'm a werewolf?" She squeaked incredulously after a moment.

Kate shrugged, wiping the blood from the small blade in her hand with a cloth, "I'm starting to doubt it. But, let's check, shall we?"

Kate resheathed her weapon and reached out to pull Amber's shirt up a few inches to reveal the three inch cut along the side of her lower abdomen. The wound was quite obviously still open and bleeding steadily. It dripped down to stain the light wash denim of her jeans a dark red.

"Hm," Kate hummed in disappointment, shoving Amber back down onto her knees with a tight grip at the back of the girl's neck, "Alright, Derek. It's not your girlfriend-"

"I'm not his girlfriend." Amber repeated frantically, heart pounding in her chest. She looked up from the blood soaking into her clothes and watched Derek's angry glare as he continued to pull weakly at his restraints.

Kate rolled her eyes, "Alright, sure. You're 'not his girlfriend.' But, one, if not both of you, knows who the Alpha and the other Beta are and I'm gonna need you to tell me."

The three of them settled into an uncomfortable silence and Amber took a shaky breath and shifted on her knees to relieve some of the pressure from where they were already beginning to ache from their repeated impact with the hard floor.

Kate sighed before continuing, "Derek here won't tell me.. He's a tough one to crack, but you," Kate clicked her tongue and tilted her head at Amber, "I think you might be more willing. With a bit of persuasion, of course."

Amber slid a small step away on her knees to put distance between Kate and herself, "You don't need to persuade me because I don't know who they are." She lied quickly.

Before she could say another word, Kate had shoved Amber onto her back on the hard floor. The woman straddled her and brought the back of her arm to rest over Amber's throat, applying just enough pressure that the girl struggled to pull in oxygen on her next breath.

"Are you sure about that, sweetie?" Kate asked innocently, raising her eyebrows and pushing her arm down that much harder against Amber's windpipe.

"I don-" Amber's words came out choked and incoherent, and Kate let up a fraction so that the girl could speak, "I don't know. I don't know who the Beta is. Or- Or the Alpha. I swear."

Kate squinted down at her in scrutiny before lifting her gaze up to Derek, "I guess you're gonna have to tell me, Derek."

"Derek, don't worry about me, okay? Please don't-" Amber's desperate pleas were cut off when Kate pushed the back of her forearm down against the girl's neck again.

Amber's arms were pinned to the cold floor beneath her back and her lungs were already beginning to hurt from the lack of oxygen. Her throat ached and her face felt too hot as she suffocated. Just when she was beginning to wonder whether Kate was truly intending to kill her, the woman above her was gone.

Amber coughed, rolling onto her side to gasp in deep breaths, head swimming as she recovered.

Kate was crossing the room to stand behind the control panel on the table along the wall, giving both Derek and Amber a smile before she cranked the knob up slowly. Derek took in pained shallow breaths as the electricity flowing into his body increased and Amber's jaw trembled from how tightly she was clenching it shut.

Shifting her focus onto Amber, Kate smiled as she turned the knob up that much more until Derek's whole body was tight with agony.

Amber got to her knees and yanked uselessly once more against the cloth wrapped tightly around her wrists. Her eyes burned with tears as she was forced to watch Derek pull on his own restraints and groan angrily.

"We don't know!" She cried, sitting back on her feet as she took in a heaving breath, "We don't know who they are, please. Please, stop-"

Kate pursed her lips and turned down the controls again. Amber watched Derek's body relax slightly at the decrease of electricity rushing through his body and she too sagged in relief.

"Alright, alright." Kate held up her hands in mock surrender. She made her way over to the teenage girl and pulled her back to her feet with a hand around her bicep, leading her over toward the table by the door. Standing pressed against her back, Kate grabbed a small slip of paper with a phone number written on it and slipped it into the front pocket of the girl's jeans. "I just want you to remember; Every second that you're at home. At school. Cozied up in bed.. I want you to remember what I'm doing to Derek. What I'll continue doing to Derek until we find the other Beta and the Alpha." Kate spoke softly with her lips pressed against the shell of Amber's ear, "Call me. If you figure anything out and you decide you want to put an end to poor Derek's pain and suffering."

And with that, Kate's hand lifted to press a citrusy smelling bundle of cloth back over Amber's mouth and nose. Amber's eyes went to Derek in panic. She didn't want to leave him here by himself to be tortured. The girl thrashed her body violently in an attempt to loosen Kate's hold on her but she only succeeded in exerting herself and pulling in deeper breaths of the chemical coating the rag.

The last thing Amber saw as her vision blurred, was Derek's face, pinched tight in pain and what the girl thought might have been worry.

In the locker room after free period on Monday, Stiles nudged Scott's shoulder, "Have you seen or heard from Amber today?" He asked as he checked his phone again.

Scott shook his head with a shrug, "No phone, remember? And I haven't seen her. But that doesn't mean anything bad, alright? She probably just isn't feeling well."

Stiles frowned worriedly and slipped his phone back into his pocket, "I don't know, man. It just doesn't seem-"

"I think I'm gonna have Jackson take Allison to formal." Scott interrupted, already looking across the locker room over his shoulder.

Stiles blinked in surprise at the change in conversation and shook his head in disbelief, "Dude. Jackson's not going to do you any favors. Even if that favor is taking Allison to formal."

"I have to try," Scott told him determinedly, "I have a D in three classes. If Coach won't let me go to the dance, someone has to be able to protect her in case anything happens."

Stiles shrugged and shook his head as he and Scott approached Jackson at his lacrosse locker.

"What do you two dickwads want?" Jackson rolled his eyes, pulling his backpack off of a hook in his locker.

"I want you to take Allison to the dance." Scott told him.

Jackson didn't immediately answer and Stiles slammed the boy's locker shut before leaning against it to watch the trainwreck unfold.

"You want me to take her to formal?" Jackson finally asked for clarification.

"I don't want you to. I need you to." Scott said honestly and Stiles looked around them as the locker room began to clear out.

"Screw you," Jackson told Scott before turning to Stiles, "You know what, screw you too. In fact, screw each other." He said, gesturing between them.

"Hey, you know he saved your life, right?" Stiles reminded him, thinking back what he and Amber had been told about when they and Derek had been ambushed on Friday night.

"He left me for dead." Jackson said.

Scott looked at the boy in disbelief, "I got shot for you."

"Oh, yeah?" Jackson asked, looking between them, "Show me the bullet wound."

"You know it healed." Scott defended quietly.

"Mm," Jackson hummed, pulling on the strap of his backpack, "Convenient."

"Just, do it for Allison," Scott pleaded, "Okay? She's in serious danger. I'm talking around-the-clock danger. She needs someone to keep an eye on her at the dance."

Jackson looked at Stiles in disbelief and Stiles averted his gaze, leaning his head back against the lockers to look at the ceiling.

Jackson spluttered quietly, "Have her dad do it. Okay? He's the one actually equipped to handle this."

"How am I supposed to do that and.. And keep him from finding out about me?" Scott asked quickly.

"Not my problem." Jackson told him, shaking his head and going to push past them.

Scott's arm shot out to block Jackson's path and slammed against the locker beside Stiles. Scott waited until Jackson took a step back before he spoke.

"You're her friend too." He told Jackson, "You are. All that time you spent with her to get to me.. You can't tell me that you didn't get to know her and like her. It's Allison. It's impossible not to like her. You can't tell me you don't care if she gets hurt."

"What if I get hurt?" Jackson questioned.

Scott didn't hesitate before answering, "Then it's worth it."

Jackson shook his head, "Not to me." He said, pushing between them and heading toward the front of the locker room.

Stiles made a face and turned to watch him go, "I'm not going to say 'I told you so'.." Stiles said before licking his lips, "'Cause that's not strong enough. How about, 'I'm always right, and you should listen to whatever I have to say and never disagree ever. Ever, ever. For the sake of your wolflihood.'"

He blinked at Scott and awaited a response.

Scott's eyes narrowed in determination, "I'm not done." He told Stiles before moving to follow after Jackson.

"You're not done." Stiles repeated quietly in exasperation. He leaned back against the locker with a loud thump, "Okay."

There was a crash from the front of the locker room and Stiles scrambled to round the corner of lockers and see what was going on. Scott had thrown Jackson against the locker room door and was holding him up off of the floor easily with his wolfy-strength. Jackson's fear-filled eyes met Stiles' over the top of Scott's head and he pulled at the hand fisted in his shirt.

"Okay, okay!" Jackson agreed frantically, "I'll take her to the dance! Just put me the hell down!"

Rather than simply let Jackson's feet back down onto the floor, Scott tossed Jackson to the side where he slammed into a row of lockers with a bang. The boy scrambled to pick up his bag and pull it back onto his shoulder.

"Ask her now." Scott told him.

"Okay, alright. I'll go ask her now." Jackson said quickly before rushing through the door and out into the hallway.

Stiles came to stand beside Scott and they both followed behind at a leisurely pace as they stalked Jackson down the hall.

"So, that worked." Stiles observed amusedly.

Scott pulled him to a stop and the two of them peered around the corner to look at where Jackson was talking to Allison in front of her locker. He was sweating and smiling nervously and Stiles shook his head with a roll of his eyes at the lack of subtlety. Jackson and Allison talked for a long minute, and while they couldn't hear what was being said, all seemed to be going according to plan.

"Hey," Stiles said quietly, nudging Scott, "Don't worry. I'll be there too."

"I'm still going." Scott told him as they watched Allison take Jackson's arm in her grip and lead him away down the hall.

"Is that such a good idea?" Stiles asked, "Do you even have a date?"

"Not yet." Scott said.

Stiles pursed his lips, "Do you have a suit?"

"Not yet." Scott repeated in annoyance.

"Do you have a ticket to the formal?" Stiles questioned dubiously, "A ride there?"

Scott sighed, "No. And no." He shrugged and looked at Stiles as his face broke into a grin, "Did you ask Amber yet?"

Stiles frowned and readjusted his backpack over his shoulder, "Not-not in so many words.." Scott raised his eyebrows and Stiles shoved his shoulder, "-Or in any words. Look, I'm working on it. And besides, we're not talking about me. We're talking about you."

"Okay." Scott surrendered, raising his hands in submission.

Stiles nodded before giving his sarcastic approval, "So, you. You're gonna ride your bike to a dance that you're not even allowed to go to without a date, a suit, or any way in.. With werewolves and werewolf hunters all out to kick your werewolf ass."

"Yeah," Scott agreed, "You gonna help me?"

Stiles grinned and grabbed Scott by his shoulder, "Hell yeah."

When Amber woke again, it happened slowly — much the same as she had the first time around. She regained consciousness a handful of times, not managing much beyond looking bleary-eyed around her living room in confusion before she drifted off again and again.

When she finally woke with minimal fuzz clouding her brain, it was to the realization that she was laying on her living room sofa, the bright daylight streaming in through the windows urging her to sit up slowly.

A quiet whine of discomfort slipped past her lips when the movement both caused her brain throb painfully in her skull, and pulled painfully at the cut she was still sporting across her stomach. Her hand went down to lift the hem of her tshirt and she found that the movement had torn open the scab that had dried over the wound at some point, a slow trail of blood once again making it's way down toward her already stained jeans.

On unsteady feet, she moved toward the kitchen, gaze catching the clock on the wall as a wave of nausea washed over her. It was after three o'clock in the afternoon already. Her stomach churned anxiously at the knowledge that she'd spent a majority of the last twenty hours unconscious.

She spotted her phone lying on the kitchen floor where she must've dropped it the night before and bent to pick it up but she was forced to place a white-knuckles grip onto the counter top of the island when the action caused a violent wave of dizziness. Trying desperately not to puke, she pulled in a deep shaky breath and unlocked her phone to find two text messages from Lydia, and four texts along with two missed calls from Stiles.

Shaky fingers fumbled to click on Stiles' contact as she slid to the kitchen floor and leaned her back against the cabinets. Her knees drew into her chest as she listened to the loud ringing and waited for him to pick up, her hand trembling where she held the phone up to her ear.

"Yo," Stiles answered the phone casually, the barest hint of worry in his voice, "Where were you today? I've been texting you."

"Stiles?" Amber breathed in quiet relief, "Are- are you with Scott?"

"No, I just dropped him off at home," Stiles said in confusion, "Why? What's wrong? I can go pick him back up-"

"No!" She told him quickly, taking a slow breath before continuing, "No, don't get Scott. Can you- Can you just come get me?" She asked in a soft whisper.

She had a brief thought about going upstairs to get clean clothes, but when her eyes drifted up to the doorway where Kate had surprised her the night before, her heartbeat picked up in her chest.

"Yeah, 'course. Why- Are you at home? What's goin' on? You're making me nervous." Stiles rambled off quickly on the other end of the phone.

"I'm home," She told him, eyes raking over the room around her.

The room that Kate had infiltrated and waited patiently in so that she could ambush her in the dark–

"But I-I don't wanna be here. I can't-" A small sob interrupted her and her eyes welled with tears.

"Hey, no. No, don't cry," Stiles pleaded quickly, "I'll be right there okay? Just- Just give me five minutes. I'll be right there."

She tried to make a noise of acknowledgment but all that came out was another small sob. She curled in on herself as she cried, the cut on her stomach stinging in protest as she did so. She didn't end the call, but she let the phone fall from her ear as she leaned her face into her knees and wrapped her arms around her head.

She cried for what had to have been five minutes, because the next thing that she was aware of was Stiles' voice shouting out to her from the front of the house.

"Stiles?" Amber called out, voice hoarse from her sobs.

He ran around the corner and skidded into the kitchen, only hesitating in the doorway at the sight of her for a second before he dropped to his knees in front of her.

"Hey, what's going on? What happened?" He asked worriedly, gently prying her hands away from her face.

She took a shaky breath and his eyes caught on her fingertips. He pulled at her wrist to lift her hands between their faces and show Amber the dark red smudges on the fingers of her left hand.

"Is this blood?" Stiles asked quickly, "Amber, is this your blood?"

She sniffled once and dropped her left leg to the floor, revealing the rip and dark stain in the light fabric of her shirt. Stiles' eyes widened and he looked up to meet her gaze quickly before leaning forward to reach for the hem of her shirt. He lifted it slowly to expose the bloody wound on her abdomen.

"Amber, what the hell?" He exclaimed worriedly, "What- What is this? What happened?"

"Kate Argent." She said quietly, leaning her head back against the cabinets again when her head throbbed, "She thinks Derek and I- She wants to know who the Alpha and the other Beta werewolf are. She-she wanted me to tell her about Peter Hale and Scott and she took me to see Derek-"

"So Derek is alive?" Stiles interrupted.

"She's torturing him," Amber cried quietly, "She wanted to prove I wasn't the Beta, so she cut me to see if I'd heal. She-She wanted me to tell her about Scott."

Stiles reached up to rub her shoulders, "Did you?"

"No!" She told him quickly, "No, of course not! I-I told her I didn't know who they were."

"Okay." He said quietly in thought, "Okay."

"When I got home last night, she was here." She whispered, her eyes drifting over toward the doorway again, "She was waiting for me and she drugged me but- But I don't know where she took me. Derek was right there in front of me but I still don't know where he is-"

"Hey, it's okay." Stiles assured her, "You're okay."

She let out another small sob, "What do we do? We need to keep Scott safe but Derek-"

"We're gonna figure it out, okay?" He promised, "We'll talk to Scott and-"

"No!" She told him quickly, "We can't tell Scott what happened."

"What?" He asked incredulously, tightening his grip on her shoulders, "Amber, we have to tell Scott."

She shook her head, "We can't. Stiles, he's already distracted worrying about Allison. I can't have him worried about me too. If he's not focused he's gonna get hurt."

"You're already hurt." He defended.

"Exactly." She told him, sitting up straighter, "There's nothing we can do about it now, right? We can't tell him. If he's worried about me and something happens to him.. I can't- I couldn't handle that."

Stiles frowned at her worriedly, pursing his lips in frustration. He lifted a hand from her shoulder to smooth down her tangled hair, securing it behind her ear gently and Amber leaned into the contact and closed her eyes.

Stiles sighed, "Okay."

She cracked her eyes open and looked at him, gripping onto his hand with her right one, "Can we please get out of this house?" She asked quietly.

"Yeah." He agreed quickly, helping her to her feet with gentle hands, "Do you have a bag packed yet?"

She shook her head and Stiles nudged her through the doorway and toward the stairs, nodding his head and releasing her hand.

"Go," He told her gently, "Go pack a bag and I'll be right here, okay?"

"Okay." She agreed quietly.

When her feet didn't immediately obey and walk up the stairs, Stiles gave her another soft push and she took a deep breath before rushing to her bedroom.

She quickly threw things into a duffel bag in preparation to sleep at Stiles' house. She tossed pajamas, toiletries, and clothes for the following day into it carelessly. Grabbing her school bag, she pulled both bags over her shoulder before fleeing her bedroom and running back down the stairs.

When she came to a stop in the hallway that separated the staircase, the living room, and the kitchen, Stiles was nowhere to be seen.

"Stiles?" She called out worriedly, heart beating frantically in her chest.

The boy in question turned the corner from the living room and stepped in front of her. When he noticed the look of fear on her face and her panicked breathing, he moved closer.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He asked quickly.

She took a slow breath, forcing herself to calm down from her overreaction, "I-I came back down and your weren't right here and I thought-"

"I'm sorry." He apologized quickly. He reached up to take her bags, pulling them onto his own shoulder and grabbing her hand to tug her toward the front door, "C'mon, let's go. You really need to clean that cut."

She nodded and squeezed his hand tightly in hers as they stepped outside. She reluctantly released him when they got to the front of the vehicle and split off to climb in on opposite sides.

During the ride to the Stilinski house, Amber tilted her head to rest against the window. The cool glass against her temple was a welcome relief to the pounding headache lingering from the drugs. The seatbelt dug uncomfortably into her hip every once in a while, and when they eventually came to a stop, she sighed gratefully.

The moment they were inside, Stiles pulled her upstairs and pushed her toward his bedroom. He dropped her bags in the doorway and rushed off in the direction of the bathroom. Amber had only made it a few steps over toward the bed before he re-emerged with a small first aid kid gripped in his hand.

He stepped toward her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, pushing her to sit down on the edge of the bed. He knelt down on the floor in front of her and positioned himself between her legs.

"Lemme look at it more closely?" He asked politely, his hands hesitating to lift up her shirt again.

She nodded with a frown and tugged the ruined shirt over her head, dropping it onto the bed beside her.

Stiles swallowed and looked at her bra-clad chest distractedly for a moment. Amber watched his tongue poke out to lick his lips and just as she was beginning to contemplate pulling him up by his shirt to kiss him, he seemed to suddenly snap out of it. He shook his head and moved to rest his hands gently on her hip and stomach, fingers prodding gently at the wound there.

She sucked in a sharp breath and he pulled back to dig through the small plastic box beside him for a moment. He wetted a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol and braced his left hand over her stomach again.

"This is definitely gonna sting." He warned, looking up at her before the cotton could make contact with her cut.

She nodded and pulled her lower lip into her mouth, urging him on.

He took a breath and wiped the damp cotton ball gently over the bloodied skin on her abdomen. She whined quietly at the sharp sting of the alcohol and reached out to wrap her hand around Stiles' left wrist. He removed his left hand from her stomach and tangled their fingers together quickly, allowing her to squeeze his hand tight as he continued to wipe the wound clean.

Once the blood had been cleared away, the cut didn't look nearly as gruesome as it had before. Stiles tossed the small pile of bloodied cotton balls into the garbage can beside the bed and leaned back onto his heels as he seemed to contemplate what to do next.

"D'you want me to put the suture bandages on now, or did you want to take a shower or anything first?" He asked, the thumb of his right hand rubbing softly along the top of her thigh.

"I think I wanna shower." She said quietly. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind, but now that he'd suggested it, she desperately craved the warm water over her skin.

Stiles nodded his approval and moved out from between her legs to give her room to stand up. He followed her into the hallway and went to the linen closet while she dug around in the medicine cabinet for a moment in search of painkillers for her head.

"Are you hungry?" He asked as he handed her a towel.

She shrugged, "Honestly, I- I'm kind of nauseous- From whatever she drugged me with." She admitted quietly.

He nodded, "Okay."

Once she'd been given her towel, Amber took a couple of aspirin and closed the bathroom door before moving to turn the hot water on.

She stripped out of her filthy jeans and removed her bra and underwear before climbing under the steaming spray. She tilted her head back and allowed the water to flow over her face as she held her breath, relishing in the warmth enveloping her.

Washing her hair with Stiles' nearly always full bottle of shampoo, she scrubbed vigorously at her scalp. When she lathered herself up with the body wash, the smell made her stomach flutter even as it dripped down into the cut across her abdomen and stung violently.

Once she was clean, she let herself slide down the shower wall until she was sitting on the floor of the tub. She pulled her knees into her chest and breathed in the cologne scented steam around her, taking long deep breaths until she felt herself begin to calm.

When she wrapped a towel around herself a few minutes later and made her way back into the bedroom, Stiles was sitting up on the bed doing homework, one pencil in his hand and another clenched between his teeth. Amber smiled softly at the sight of him and she hesitated in the doorway distractedly for a moment.

Stiles looked up after a few seconds and caught sight of her, the pencil in his mouth dropping to land in his lap silently as his mouth gaped. Amber stalked forward and grabbed her duffle from the floor to toss it onto the end of the bed, digging around for her pajamas even though it was barely four o'clock.

"D'you mind if I change in here?" She asked as she pulled out her clothing, "It's really steamy in the bathroom and now I'm all-"

"Hot."

Her eyes snapped up to meet his and she nodded slowly, "Yeah. I feel like if I go back in there to get changed I'm gonna burst out of my skin."

Stiles nodded silently, his eyes flicking over her slowly. After ten seconds had passed and he continued to distractedly nod his head, she shuffled on her feet.

"Okay, so can you just.. Put a pillow over your head or something?" She asked in amused confusion.

There was an audible click as Stiles' mouth snapped closed. He quickly grabbed a pillow from behind his back and pressed it over his face with both hands.

"I've been blinded." He announced.

"Thanks so much." She laughed, dropping her towel cautiously and pulling on her underwear.

She tugged on a pair of admittedly very short but also very soft pajama shorts along with an aged band tee that she'd cut off just above her belly button at some point over the years.

Once she was dressed, she tossed her bag back onto the floor and draped her damp towel over the back of the desk chair.

"All clear." She said as she flopped onto her back at the foot of the bed, laying horizontal from where Stiles was propped back against the headboard.

He dropped the pillow and moved his books off to the side of the bed before crawling to sit beside her.

"Did the shower help?" He asked, leaning over the side of the bed to pull the first aid kit up onto the bed.

She nodded her head against the mattress, watching him as he pulled out a box of bandages and began peeling off the wrappings.

He leaned forward slowly, his left hand settling over the fabric of her shorts before sliding up to brush gently over the gash at the bottom of her abdomen. Amber took a slow breath as he pinched the skin together and stuck the first suture to her clean skin. He slowly repeated the process, laying tiny bandages to hold the skin together until she looked down to see a neat row of little white stickies ensuring that the cut remained closed tightly.

"All done." Stiles told her as he collected all of the tiny wrappings to throw into the trash.

She watched as he leaned over the side of the bed to dispose of the garbage and slid the first aid kit along the floor before moving back to grab something from the bedside table, holding it out toward her.

She looked at the package as she took it from his outstretched hand and frowned in confusion, looking up to meet his gaze with a frown.

"I know you said you aren't hungry but then I was thinking about it and you probably haven't eaten since lunch yesterday and.. You had a salad, so." Stiles started quickly, "Well I went to look for saltines or something that would be easy on the stomach but we didn't have saltines. We did have those, though." He gestured to the plastic wrapper in her hands, "I figured graham crackers would probably be good too. Plus the sugar will help I think-"

She dropped the package of crackers into her lap and pulled him forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders, taking a shaky breath against the crook of his neck.

"Thank you." She told him, pulling back with butterflies fluttering annoyingly in her stomach, "You're probably right and I should definitely eat something."

Stiles broke into a gratified little smile at her praise and shrugged before moving to sit back where he'd been doing his homework.

Amber pulled open the packaging and snapped one of the crackers in half before munching on it slowly. She ate a couple as she watched Stiles work but stopped before she could overwhelm her empty stomach.

She crawled up the bed after a while to lay on the pillows beside where Stiles was sitting up and he looked down at her as she settled in comfortably. She blinked her suddenly heavy eyelids and yawned, looking up to watch him fiddle with his pencil and avert his gaze as he focussed on something across the room.

He sighed, "Hey, so.. Friday." Her eyes blinked more slowly and she heard his soft voice continue as she began to drift off, "D'you- d'you think maybe you'd want to go to formal? Like, together. As- As dates.. Incase that wasn't clear-"

But when Stiles risked a glance down at the girl beside him, she was fast asleep.

#stiles #stiles stilinski x oc #dylan obrien fanfic #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #selenophiles #stiles stilinski #stilesfic #teen wolf season one #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf rewrite #teen wolf fic #1x10 #stiles fluff #stiles stilinski fluff #*

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ljandersen · 9 months ago

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hey girl im back again i think abt sideways like evry single day pls pls pls when r u releasing the next update 😞

Hello again! Thanks for checking in.

Unfortunately, I don't have much of an update. I'm still working on my original sci fi series. It's my top priority. I'm almost done with the first book and then I will be focused on posting it.

That said, "Sideways" is always on my mind and heart. It means a great deal to me, and I'm incredibly flattered that you think about it too.

I wish I had better news for where Part 5 stood in the pipeline, but to tide you over, here's an excerpt from it. I opened the fire-proof safe and dragged out the notebooks just for you!

This is from "Sideways" Part 5. I typed it up from the handwritten rough draft. There are no guarantee that it will be close to the final version or that it won't be cut in editing. But, here you go!

“And after that, you’ll be back in this other timeline, hmm?” Dr. Quigley reached for the bishop and then paused. He picked up his tower instead.

The med bay lights always felt extra bright reflecting off the room’s metal surfaces. Shepard squinted at the chessboard on Quigley’s desk. A bold move. Too bold. She had to not be seeing something here.

“You must be good chums with Alenko in this other life?”

“Quite chummy. You’re really buying this story I’m telling you?”

“Naturally.” Quigley rested back in his chair and steeped his hands in front of him. “My most recent head scans for you are a little outdated though. And I do need to inventory the narcs.”

“Not all mental illness is anatomical.” Shepard vacillated with her queen. Two good choices.

“I’m glad you’re giving me more doctor’s advice. We needed this workshop.”

“So,” Shepard said lightly, keeping her eyes on the board. “How’d Kaidan take the news? You told him about the . .. permanent damage.” Whatever medical consequences there were to his Red Death, the doctor had hinted at but refused to tell her.

She set the queen on the black square near his tower. Slowly lifting each finger off, she leaned back in her chair.

Quigley snatched her queen up with his rook.

“Dammit.” She was losing her touch. Or maybe just her concentration. “You can answer my question though, right? I’m not asking what you told him, just the reaction.”

“I don’t see much purpose sharing that.” Quigley dropped her queen beside the board. He made a prompting motion for her to continue.

She gave up any pretense and looked Quigley in the eye. “Was he all right?”

“Seems to be, doesn’t he?” Quigley nodded at the mess hall over her shoulder.

Kaidan stood at the coffee machine, trapped between Cortez and Allison, listening to one of Adam’s tales, replete with exuberant hand motions. Allison seemed to be the only one not anticipating the laugh beats.

Shepard sighed. “Hell. You’re right. I’m being nosey.”

“I'm already sold on you being another Shepard. Saying ‘you’re right’ is just overkill.”

The med bay doors slid open with a hiss air. Cicero cut a clean figure in a well-pressed uniform and pressed-lipped smile.

“Here for medical treatment?” Shepard asked.

He wasn’t, of course. His eyes had zeroed directly on her the moment his squeaky boots hit the threshold.

“I am to understand that you deserve congratulations.” Cicero meandered slowly along the counter toward them.

“I don’t think so. The doc’s beat me. Just took my queen.”

“Ah, that delightful humor.” Cicero tapped a tray of scalpels as he passed it. “Those have water stains.”

“Oh, dear.” Quigley clutched his chest. “I wondered what killed my last patient.”

Cicero ran his hand under the edge of the cabinets and examined it with rubbing fingers. “This whole bay could use a thorough clean.”

“No objection here.” Quigley shrugged.

“Anyway.” Cicero ambled to the desk. “You’re acting counselor or so I heard on ANN.“

“Forgot my tiara and sash downstairs, but yes, you heard right.”

“Congratulations then. I’d share a glass of wine with you, but it’s been adulterated. The antichrist must be aboard. Rather than water to wine, it appears wines can become water.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he was,” she said simply.

“Regardless, a handshake will have to do.”

“Not even that is necessary,” she said begrudgingly, but shook his proffered hand.

She checked her palm after drawing back. There hadn’t been a noticeable sting, but she’d been fooled before with a handshake. Nothing seemed amiss though. He was trying to unsettle her with his politeness.

“I suppose the late Councilor Wilson would be grateful seeing you take bat. He had grown rather close to you and Alenko. That is, before the end.”

“Uh huh.” Shepard’s blood pumped. “If you give me a ‘God rest his soul,’ Cicero, I swear . . .”

“Swear what? I think it’s well-established that attacking me, at least publicly, is not a route without consequence.”

Shepard lurched to her feet, knocking chess pieces over on the desk. “Thanks for the handshake and veiled threat. I’ll see myself out.”

“Ah, ah. Not so fast.” Cicero caught her elbow then quickly let go. “Though my wine’s off the menu, I would be pleased if you’d join me in my cabin for conversation.”

“I’d rather be waterboarded.” She shot toward the door.

“So sure? Well, that is a shame. There’s something you may like to hear.”

Her feet caught.

She urged herself toward the door, even lifted a hesitant hand to the open button. She should have taken Kaidan’s advice the first time. Nothing good ever came out of a conversation alone with Cicero.

“About what?” She couldn’t help herself.

“Dr. T’Soni.”

Shepard’s gut twisted.

“Well, if you change your mind, you know the floor number.” He strolled around her.

Frozen in place, she could only watch his retreating back. He cast a thin smile over his shoulder before disappearing through the door.

#anon ask #on sideways #fshenko #mass effect #fanfic #ask #Part 5 Excerpt #thanks for the interest anon!

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heliads · 2 years ago

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hi again !! person who asked about part 2 4 the benoit blanc fic here !! thank u 4 agreeing 2 write it !!

k so here's my request : it's like half a year after part 1 , and benny n the reader r solving crimes together but they're like ... super awkward with each other . they don't dislike each other , in fact they want to be closer , but r really wants a parental figure but isn't sure how to verbalize that and benoit jus does NOT know how 2 parent.

but then when they r on a case , r gets hurt ( not 2 serious , but enough 2 be scary ) , and benoit realizes how much he actually cares about this kid . n then they have a really sweet moment n decide 2 try n get closer ?

thank you so much !! i'm super excited 2 read this !!

anything for benny

part one / masterlist

Benoit Blanc is lost. Usually, this is not enough to trouble him. Problems are only worthwhile if they take some time to parse out. Benoit has no fondness for pointless mysteries, games in which the end is clear from the beginning and the middle has no value at all. He has always preferred to amble along and seek out clues. That is his best method of solving, it always has been.

It is a confounded issue, then, that Benoit is lost now. He is not in the midst of a crime, nor locked within the confines of a good hoax. He is between jobs at the moment, which usually means that his problem-solving fingers should cease to twitch at his sides, that he would no longer be ready to reach for a hint that will let him catch a killer.

Benoit’s problem at the moment regards his apprentice. He took on a teenager to help him with his cases about six months back, Y/N L/N. They’ve been an excellent aid, no cause for concern there, but Benoit’s judgment is faulty in where he is meant to draw the line between work friend and real friend. Typically, he never runs into this problem because he keeps each case to itself with no overlap whatsoever. By bringing Y/N with him, he now has someone closer than an acquaintance.

The issue is that Benoit would like to go about making their dynamic a little less stilted but he has absolutely no idea how to do it. There are moments when he’s certain that Y/N would appreciate a little parental guidance, for a lack of a better word, but Benoit is few things and one of them is certainly not a father. Thus, he is left grappling with how to indicate that he would like to try having a more central role in Y/N’s life with absolutely no idea how to do it.

Benoit took the idea to Phillip a month or so back to limited success. His partner had been focused on the intricacies of some blasted sourdough starter, his attention more in line with tossing flour to the heavens and whatnot. Benoit had posed the concern of what to do with the L/N kid. Phillip had allowed him to ramble on during the feeding time of the sourdough starter, which was consistently scheduled as if it were some kind of beast in need of a kilogram or ten of raw meat.

Benoit cannot fault his partner for the importance of the sourdough, however. They all need a task, some project in which to throw their focus and only withdraw some time later, wholly spent and perhaps a different man. Phillip finds his outlet with baking. Benoit does so with the lives of other people.

Some would consider that to be a sign of their true characters, but Benoit tries to prioritize the people above the thrill of the hunt. That, in the end, is what he feels separates him from the gaudy treasure-seekers of podcasts and true crime shows. Although he does feel that he would make a superb advice host if the chance ever came along. Phillip has yet to catch on to the idea, but Benoit is giving it time.

The conversation was brief but sincere. Phillip had dashed about a cup of flour into the ominous bowl of starter, then turned to him with a sigh.

“You’re getting in your own way,” he had said simply.

Benoit had spread his hands. “Obviously, but how do I get out of my own way? It is difficult, sometimes, to find one’s path long enough to step aside and let the truth rush forward. Sort of like a child who’s just taken off their training wheels. They can go fast, of course, and wreak havoc throughout the suburbs, but, Lord, they should not be allowed to do so.”

Phillip raised a weary brow. “In this case, I don’t think the issue is that you shouldn’t be able to go fast. You just are afraid to let go of your inhibitions. They’re a kid, Blanc, not a piranha. Although God knows you’d rather investigate a piranha than deal with this.”

“It would be interesting to figure out how a piranha had managed to cross my path,” Benoit had mused. “That isn’t the point, though.”

“No,” Phillip said around another sigh, “it isn’t. You need to find the proper time, then tell Y/N what you expect, plain and simple. There’s no other way around there.”

Phillip was right, as expected. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the advice Benoit had wanted to hear. He would have preferred something along the lines of ‘don’t worry about it, how about you go take another case’ or even ‘wait for them to come to you,’ but life is hardly fair.

“Thank you,” Benoit had said at last, “and for goodness’ sake, stop pointing that spatula at me. I’m going to do it. No threatening necessary.”

Phillip had disagreed on that point, but that was hardly a surprise. Benoit had gone to bed that night wondering how he was going to find the right chance to explain his expectations for the situation between himself and Y/N. In the morning, he woke with a blessing.

Handwritten letters have long been Benoit’s favorite way of hearing about a new case. Typically, he can figure out half the evidence just from studying the correspondence. Is the information scribbled in a hasty scrawl or typed out to avoid giving anything away? Do they mention his prior cases from the papers, and if so, which ones? Are the stamps perfectly organized, the product of a great time for leisure, or slapped on the envelope just before the mailman came?

This letter is no exception. Already, Benoit has a few ideas percolating in his brain even before he starts reading the message. This is a call to arms, to be certain. A murder. A weapon. Several innocents all in the line of fire. An inheritance, ready to fall into the wrong hands. Yes, this is a case for him without a doubt.

Benoit explains the situation to Y/N when she comes back from school in the evening. They discuss initial motives, then agree to respond back in a most reasonable fashion. The police investigations start Saturday, so they’ll arrive early in the morning in the hopes of reaching the family before too much has happened.

The car is studiously quiet on the drive over to the crime scene. A few times, Benoit or Y/N will attempt to bring up a casual source of conversation, but they always seem to lose their nerve before true discourse can occur. Something will happen to make them hesitate, and then the ball is dropped and they’re back to silence.

Benoit is grateful to see the address of the crime scene before long, sparing them from another few unsuccessful endeavors. Half an hour later, they’re so lost in the tangled threads of this particular mystery that they don’t have much time to trouble themselves over small things like whether or not this whole apprenticeship deal was worth it.

By Saturday evening, Benoit feels that he’s got a pretty good hold on the case itself. It seems to be your typical run-of-the-mill inheritance snatch. A primary character is established, the man who would receive the largest cut of a will. They’re then framed for murder, thus ensuring that the bounty will instead fall to the second-in-line, a brother-in-law who only married into the family in the hopes of collecting this sort of bloody check. Very satisfying.

Sunday morning rolls around. After a final late night check with Y/N to make sure their facts are in order, the pair feels ready to present their findings to the police and distraught family. Benoit, always excited at the possibility of an audience, leads with his theory and watches the brother-in-law’s face twist with horror as he realizes he’s been exposed.

All is going according to plan, or at least it has been until the brother-in-law stands up and announces that he isn’t going quietly. The money has already been transferred to his account, much of it withdrawn, and he can live off of it for quite some time. The murderer moves to flee, but when the police start to block his path, he does the unthinkable and grabs Y/N as a hostage.

Benoit has no choice but to watch as the murderer leaves the house, gun pressed to Y/N’s temple as a guarantee that he’s going to remain untroubled. Benoit has been involved in quite a few murder cases over his time, and is no stranger to danger, but this is something altogether different. He is terrified, plain and simple. Terrified that he’ll lose his crime-solving partner before even a year has passed. Terrified that he’ll never get that chance Phillip was talking about.

It occurs to him now that Benoit needs that chance more than anything. If he does not speak with Y/N about the fact that he wants them to be better friends, to rely on each other more than the stilted dynamic they have going on right now, he will carry that regret to his grave.

It is good, then, that Benoit and Y/N had factored in the fact that the murderer would try to run and planned accordingly. The brother-in-law’s car only makes it halfway down the street before the tires abruptly give out and the vehicle screeches to a stop. Y/N was evidently waiting for that moment, because they fling open the door and dive out without a second’s hesitation.

Benoit sprints to their side, pulling them away from the car and towards safety. The police surround the car, and after a few tense seconds the brother-in-law comes out with his hands raised. Benoit only starts to relax once the killer is in handcuffs and he knows for certain that the situation is in the hands of the law.

He turns to Y/N at last, checking for signs of damage. “Are you hurt?” He asks, frantic.

Y/N shakes their head. “No, I’m alright. Just startled, that’s all.”

“You’re a brave kid,” Benoit manages, “I don’t know that many people who would be this unruffled after being taken as a hostage. It speaks to your character. It also reminds me how affected I would be if something worse had happened. You’re not a stranger, Y/N, you’re a friend. I’d like for us to believe in that.”

Y/N starts to smile. “More than normal?”

“Far more than normal,” Benoit confirms, “millions of miles beyond that point. The best partnerships are based on trust. I trust you, Y/N.”

“I trust you,” they respond, “that’s why I was alright. I knew that no matter what happened, even if the tire thing didn’t work out, you’d look for me.”

“You didn’t need me, though,” Benoit argues, “you had the situation handled just fine. You were courageous all by yourself and I am quite impressed by that.”

Y/N shakes their head. “I could be brave because I knew you were there. I trust you.”

“Alright,” Benoit says at last, “we’re good, then.”

“We’re great,” Y/N confirms.

Benoit thinks that he’s going to have to talk to Phillip about this. The plan has gone quite well indeed.

part one requested by @starlit-epiphany, your ideas are very popular around here

knives out taglist: empty for now!

#benoit blanc #benoit blanc imagines #benoit blanc x reader #benoit blanc oneshot #knives out #knives out imagines #knives out x reader #knives out oneshot #platonic benoit blanc #platonic benoit blanc imagines #platonic benoit blanc x reader #platonic benoit blanc oneshot

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devirnis · 1 year ago

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ooo if you do combos - 20 & 45 with some Buck h/c?

thank you for the prompts! I hope you enjoy :)

When Eddie walks into the loft and sees Buck in nothing but a towel at the top of the stairs, he nearly drops his groceries.

But not in a fun way.

“Buck!” he scolds, hurrying to deposit the bags on the kitchen island. “What are you doing up? Why did you have a shower? You’re supposed to keep the stitches clean and dry!”

He catches Buck’s full-body eyeroll as he starts furiously putting things away in the fridge. This is exactly why Eddie dropped Chris off for an impromptu weekend with Pepa – he can’t leave Buck alone for twenty minutes before the man is already ignoring doctor’s orders.

“It’s been forty-eight hours,” Buck calls. “I’m allowed to get them wet now.”

“Forty-two hours!” Eddie shoots back.

Even from down in the kitchen, he can hear Buck’s scoff. “I don’t think six hours is going to make a huge difference, babe.”

Eddie scowls into the fridge as he places Buck’s oat milk on the shelf; he’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much.

It all started two days ago, when Eddie had roped Buck into helping him replace some rotting wood on Pepa’s front porch. The job itself had gone mostly smoothly – thanks in large part to Buck’s previous experience working construction – until the very end. Buck hadn’t been watching where he was walking, texting Bobby about something, and he’d stumbled right into the pile of old, rotten wood that they needed to dispose of. It had almost been hilarious, the cacophony of Buck swearing as the wooden planks bounced hollowly against each other, right up until Eddie had caught sight of the blood.

Buck had added a nasty cut to the collection of scars on his left leg. Eddie had cleaned it and dressed it as best he could in Pepa’s bathroom before taking Buck to the hospital for stitches, but he couldn’t shake the worry from the back of his mind about something nasty lurking on the decaying wood. His fears were proven warranted the next morning when Buck had gone to change the bandages and found the skin around the wound red and swollen.

After that, it was a trip to the doctor’s to confirm what Eddie already suspected: Buck had developed a mild case of cellulitis, because of course he had. Couldn’t just be a simple cut.

The doctor gave him a prescription for antibiotics to kick the infection and a list of at-home care instructions to prevent it from getting worse. Buck hadn’t been worried; Eddie, on the other hand…

Well. There’s a reason he insisted on staying with Buck.

He finishes putting the groceries away just as Buck comes down the stairs in a pair of sweatshorts and a t-shirt – his slight limp not going unnoticed by Eddie. Buck ambles over to the couch while Eddie washes his hands and then gathers the supplies the doctor sent them home with before scuttling over to join him.

When he drops to his knees between Buck’s legs, Buck’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Well hello,” he drawls.

“Don’t get excited,” Eddie says. “I need to cover your stitches.”

Buck huffs and slouches further into the couch, but obediently props his injured leg up on the coffee table. Eddie knows how irritated Buck can get being fussed over, and the fact that he lets Eddie mother hen him without complaint (mostly) makes Eddie’s insides go all fluttery. But that fluttery feeling flies out the window when Eddie runs his hand over Buck’s shin and finds the skin warm to the touch.

Shit, does Buck have a fever? If he does, that’s bad. That’s really, really bad. Eddie really tries to stop himself spiralling, but his mind can’t help but leap to worst-case scenarios: if Buck has a fever, that could mean sepsis, which could mean septic shock, which could mean organ failure.

Buck must read the panic on his face because suddenly there’s a hand on Eddie’s chin, gently turning him to meet Buck’s gaze.

“Do you feel any body aches or chills?” he blurts.

“Eddie.” Buck smiles softly at him. “I had a hot shower. That’s why I feel warm.”

“Right.” He lets out a long, slow breath, willing his galloping heart to calm down. “Right, yeah, that makes sense. Okay, I’ll bandage your stitches now.”

“Hmm, in a minute.”

Buck leans down, and Eddie pushes up on his knees to meet him in the middle. Their lips slot together gently as Buck’s hand slides around to tangle his fingers in the hair at the back of Eddie’s head, sending shivers cascading down Eddie’s spine. He lets himself get lost in the kiss, relaxing for the first time since he took Buck to the doctor’s.

Eventually, Buck pulls away, but not before planting a quick kiss on Eddie’s nose. “Thank you for taking care of me. But you seriously need to talk to Frank about your tendency to catastrophize.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue. Buck might have a point, given that it didn’t take much for Eddie to make the jump from warm skin to organ failure. He carefully covers Buck’s stitches with a new bandage before taping it in place to make sure nothing gets in to contaminate the wound.

“Thank you for letting me take care of you,” Eddie says, getting to his feet. “Now keep that leg elevated while I make us dinner.”

Buck shakes his head in fond disbelief, but reaches for the pillows without protest.

(also on ao3)

#911 ficlet #buddie ficlet #evan buckley x eddie diaz #myfic #Anonymous #ali answers

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v-o-i-d-p-u-n-k · 1 year ago

Text

Further update: they're pan and uses she/they pronounce. Very proud of them

Do you know that stereotype with a queer friendgroup and then there's a token straight.

Fuck that

What about a straight friend group with a token queer friend

#r-amble #no longer in the band sonce she moved due to bullying and dont really talk to the token straight anymore

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leorawright · 2 years ago

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Ok so quick pre(r)amble: I’m really into dnd, and I’ve always had the idea of a ln Overwatch hero who can like summon creatures from the Monster Manual.

So what about Genji, Zanyatta, Lucio(bc of course), and Reinhardt with a teen-aged friend who usually rides an Owlbear into battle?

Maybe for extra tidbits the Owlbear is really protective, but very sweet and snuggly(like a Saint Bernard that thinks it’s a lapdog)?

Oh and for reference, Owlbears look like this and are 10ft tall on average(on all fours- these guys are HUGE)

That... looks... SO DANG COOL I LOVE IT!

Overwatch with s/o who rides an OwlBear into battle

Genji

You've made his day when you introduce him to your owl bear

He's just in awe staring up at this huge creature

Expect to be bombarded with questions as Genji excitedly circles the owlbear to observe it

Let him ride with you into battle he'll be absolutely estatic

Zenyatta

Him and the owl bear simultaneously vibe check each other

Zenyatta finds the owl bear quite beautiful and majestic

The height of the creature is also intimidating especially when compared to Zenyatta's 5ft 7in

He's not a fan of riding the creature into battle but seeing you looking so majestic and powerful would make Zenyatta smile if he could

Lucio

He treats your owl bear exactly like he would a dog without even realizing it

Sometimes when you and Lucio are cuddling and your owl bear joins Lucio is completely swallowed by the owl bears' fur

I mean he's only 5ft 3 inches

Lucio would definitely ride with you and your owl bear into battle but he's not falling off so expect him to cling to your waist

Reinhardt

Reinhardt is very impressed by your owl bear

Unlike the others he isn't completely drowned in fur when your owl bear decides it wants cuddles

Reinhardt would definitely want to ride with you and your owl bear into battle

Reinhardt's desire to protect you paired with your owl bear basically guarantees that nothing is gonna hurt you in battle

#overwatch x reader #genji x reader #zenyatta x reader #lucio x reader #reinhardt x reader

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viacursecasting · 1 year ago

Text

A Sea Of Stars.

An Arte X Ivy Drabble

What the hell is wrong with me?

Restless, the maroon cat tossed and turned well into the deep hours of the silent night. Despite the Alaskan king mattress, despite the Egyptian cotton sheets, despite the mountain of cooling pillows, he couldn't get a wink of shut-eye.

He didn't quite understand it himself, but he craved... something. He wasn't sure what. All he knew was that he had this aching, burning, y e a r n i n g in his chest—like he had a void where his heart should be. He moaned, the pain almost too much to bear as he clutched his beating organ. What was it he longed for?

Perhaps he should be asking not what, but who.

He didn't want to admit it but he had a feeling that the only thing that could fill the space was her. Her radiant ambers, her silky smooth voice, her stubborn yet caring personality. He knew that when she risked her life for him, she was just doing her job as a bodyguard. But those fleeting moments where their gazes would linger, their touches would spark, their breaths would falter...

Was he just imagining those?

He sighed, only to grunt in agony. Then he heard a knock at the door. "Come in," he croaked.

A royal blue spider poked her head in. "Kingsley? Are you alright?"

His heart seized up in that stupid way it did every time he saw her. "Yes, I'm fine." He sat up in an effort to prove it. "Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you."

Ivy nodded once, about to take her leave—

"Wait!" Arte cried.

She did so, looking at him inquisitively.

Shit, he didn't think this far.

"I... can't sleep," he confessed. "Could you keep me company?"

"As you wish." Ivy closed the door behind her before ambling to his bedside. "Is something on your mind?"

He laughed hollowly. "What isn't on my mind."

"Perhaps some fresh air might clear your head." She walked over to the balcony, swinging open the glass doors.

A cool breeze caressed Arte's face, making him feel instantly at ease.

She gawked outside long enough to pique Arte's curiosity. He chimed, "You okay?"

"Hm?" Ivy blinked from her trance. "Oh, yes, it's just... The stars are quite lovely tonight."

Arte was already out of bed, putting on his trench coat and shoes. "If you think that's great, you should really see them from the countryside." He glided past her, hopping on the railing with a devilish smile. "Coming?"

Incredulous, Ivy retorted, "It's the middle of—"

But Arte paid no mind, jumping off the balcony with a charming salute, knowing she would be following close behind.

He led her through a winding path embraced by flowering fields and lush trees until they arrived at a secluded lake, sparkling in the moonlight. When she gazed at the night sky, she was breathless; the stars seemed to shine ten times brighter, singing like beacons of hope. She could even see the cool ethereal hues of the Milky Way.

She wondered how many wishes it cradled.

The feline walked confidently toward the water's edge. Ivy almost stopped him, thinking he was about to get his shoes wet, but then she saw him freeze the surface with snowflake-shaped constructs beneath each footstep, allowing him to walk on water.

Of course. How could she forget he was a cryokinetic?

Ivy called after him, "If you fall, I am not fishing for you."

Arte laughed, a melodious sound. "I think you will be falling. For me, that is," he said with a wink. He then gracefully skated away, wondering if she was blushing beneath her mask.

He put on a dazzling show for her, effortlessly gliding upon his makeshift ice, leaving sparkling snowflakes in his wake. He twisted and twirled, making it look easy, and even made a few impressive tricks in the air, landing flawlessly each time. He rapidly spun on one foot for the finale, posing with an elegant flourish.

He heard the arachnid give a gentle clap before skating toward her, holding out his hand.

Ivy was slightly taken aback. "I've never skated before."

"I've got you," Arte vowed as he constructed ice blades beneath her soles, raising her an inch off the ground. "Just trust me."

Ivy was about to refuse until she peered into his cyan saucers, particularly his deformed pupil. While others might have found it disconcerting, she found it alluring. It seemed to draw her in like a magnet.

She took his hand, cool to the touch. She wobbled a bit before he put his other hand around her waist to steady her, sending chills down her spine.

It was not unwelcome.

Arte guided her gently across the ice until she seemed to get the hang of it, twirling her now and then as if they were partaking in a waltz. There were a few times she thought she would lose her balance and clutched him close, which made him chuckle, a breath that tickled her ear.

Soon their movements synchronized and they used the entirety of the lake as their stage, gliding so fast they were a blur. Their limbs flowed and intertwined as smooth as water. With the twinkling sky above and the glittering lake below, the way the duo kicked up snowflakes made them look like they were drowning in a sea of stars.

The couple slid toward the center of the lake, catching their breaths as they held each other a whisper apart. When Ivy rested her head on his chest, she could hear his racing organ. "Are you alright? Your heart rate..."

"I'm more than alright," Arte confessed, lifting up her chin with a featherlight touch, "now that I'm with you."

Ivy's own pulse quickened as she read his eyes, which were completely sincere. She saw him glance at her mask, and watched his muzzle tint.

He asked under his breath, "May I?"

Just as she reached up, she felt faint, becoming limp in his arms.

Arte held her upright, nearly stumbling, as his face washed over with concern. "Ivy? Ivy! What's wrong?"

Darkness threatened to overtake her vision as she fought to keep it at bay, but with one last shiver she slipped into unconsciousness...

The light of dawn greeted her when her eyes flickered open. She was blanketed with multiple layers and a heating pad. When she sat up she noticed the thermoregulating gauze around her waist and hands.

"You're awake!"

She looked over to see the cat bringing her a warm cup of green tea. "Kingsley? What am I doing in your bed?"

"Recovering, I hope," Arte replied sheepishly. Then he grew solemn. "You passed out from a mild case of frostbite."

Ivy took the cup, glancing at her downcast reflection in the liquid. "Oh."

Arte took a seat beside the bed. "I'm sorry. It was stupid of me to keep you so close, especially since you're immunocompromised."

"It was an accident," Ivy reassured him.

"Yes, but..." Arte groaned in frustration, dropping his gaze in shame. "You're always looking out for me. It didn't occur to me that I should be doing the same for you." He tightened his fist. "I won't be so selfish anymore."

Then he stared at his hands as if they betrayed him. "When I realized why you fainted in my arms, I felt so guilty. I didn't realize I could be such a danger to you."

His eyes started to well with tears. "Perhaps you're right, Ivy. Perhaps we shouldn't be togeth—"

He was caught off guard when an ebony web strand yanked him toward her, landing him on top. He reddened furiously. "I-Ivy—!"

"I was wrong," Ivy admitted. "Despite your ice, you showed me something I've never experienced before."

Arte blinked. "Skating?"

Ivy let out an amused huff. "No," she corrected. "Warmth."

The cat felt that very warmth in his cheeks.

Ivy smiled, reveling in his embarrassment. She touched a curled finger to his chin. "Keep me company?"

Arte chuckled, wondering who the real boss was. "As you wish."

#via's cursed cast #arte the cat #ivy the spider #arrive #sonic oc #sth #via writing #tl;dr arte simping so hard it's painful #arte kingsley

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yunhsuanhuang · 1 year ago

Text

You Look So Good In Blue | Y.H. Huang

Inspired by Child Ballad 16.

When a teenage fling mutates into something vast and terrifying, two seventeen year olds at a certain mid-tier college in Singapore make a desperate plan to control their future, earn their parents' love (or at least respect), and get the hell out of this school for good.

i. the daughter

It's whispered in the kitchen, it's whispered in the hall

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair,

The king's daughter goes with child, among ladies all

And she'll never go down to the broom anymore.

It's whispered by the ladies one unto the other,

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair,

“The king's daughter goes with child unto her own brother–

And they'll never go down to the broom anymore.”

Sheath and Knife, Maddy Prior

/r/sgacads

is st cecilia rly a pregnancy school?? [o levels]

/u/anxiousorange

hiii sorry for the 29583th school admissions post today lol but i just got my o level results back and they’re pretty ok ^_^ so i was thinking of going to st cecilia junior college since it’s near my house but the more i hear about it the more i want to reconsider… like apparently the people are very party type which is not really my thing?? and ofc everyones heard about how its got the highest pregnancy rate in sg o_0

is this true? or just say say one

comments (8)

/u/academicweapon

As a SCian it’s not true LOL none of us get bitches

/u/theatrekidaf

skill issue

/u/sharpsdisposal

we’re too busy failing physics :/

/u/zombiegrave

q: how many scians does it take to change a lightbulb?

a: none. they like it better darker

/u/aw_bass34

Q: What’s the only test SC girls can pass?

A: Pregnancy test :P

/u/gregorythomas91 [s]

Damn old rumour, probably from 1990s, 2000s around there. But it’s not really unfounded. Especially with what happened in 2008.

/u/anxiousorange

what happened? im scared lol

/u/gregorythomas91 [s]

You haven’t heard meh? It was a big deal back then, I'm shocked they've covered it up that well. Let me try and remember.

You never told me what really happened over those few blistering months in 2008, but I guess I wasn’t alone in that. Even when the newspapers shoved a mic in your face, even when you were being grilled by the lawyers, even when you were standing on that trap door, waiting for the drop– what really happened was a secret you’d bring to the grave.

So it’s all inference and extrapolation and linear correlation– sue me. How else am I going to make sense of that moment? How else do I come to terms with why you did what you did? Could I have known? Could I have stopped it? Was I even, when it came down to it, your friend– or was I just somebody who let you copy his lecture notes?

I don’t know. What I do know is this:

It was some mid-week mid-afternoon, indistinguishable from any other. The bell had just rung, and the whitewashed corridors were packed with sweaty kids rushing to PE, squeezing past those dragging their feet from class to class. We were part of the latter group, squinting against the September sun as we ambled across the quadrangle to home class. Above us, the school motto loomed in oversized light-blue letters: Remember you are in the presence of God.

I was mentally calculating how long the Malay stall queue would be when you said, casual as always, “Eh, pass me your market failure notes later, can? I’m yellow-slipping after GP.”

I raised an eyebrow. You weren’t a stranger to leaving school early, but you’d been doing it more and more often lately, and at this point I hadn’t seen you stay for Shooting in ages. As your club captain, I was supposed to be concerned. As a friend– well, I was intrigued. Of course I’d heard the rumours, passed from homeroom to homeroom, Friendster account to Friendster account. Who in St Cecilia’s hadn’t? “Is this related to whatever you and Camilla Wong have going on?”

“Cam’s not my girlfriend,” you said, after a brief, completely unsuspicious pause.

I snorted. “She doesn’t let anyone in this school call her that but you, dumbass. ”

You ducked your head down to hide a smile, your dress-code fringe falling into your eyes. It was a strangely endearing habit. “Fine lah. We’re– seeing each other.” Then you continued, hurriedly, “But don’t let anyone else know, OK?”

“Fine, I'll write you off CCA for today. But don’t make it a habit, ar? Hold pen, not hold hand.” Despite myself, I grinned. Sure, the two of you made an unlikely couple. Wong was an ex-Convent girl and student councillor, all relentless energy and long hair tied so high it was prone to hit people when she spun, while the only time I’d ever seen you really alive was behind the barrel of an air pistol. Back then, I thought it was cute. Opposites attract– wasn’t that the backbone of any drama worth its salt?

I wouldn’t realise, until later, that despite how different the two of you appeared, at the core of it you were the same– pale and skinny and drowning in your school uniform, searching for exits the moment you stepped into a room. Always, always halfway out the door: of your school, of your body, of the life you knew.

But back then it was just a September afternoon, and we were only seventeen. You smiled back at me, all cheer, like you saw something I didn’t, like you saw something I never would.

In the end, though, this isn’t my story. This is yours. So let’s tell it your way.

The newly minted 1T26 trickled slowly from assembly into the classroom, chopeing the best desks and nervously rotating between the same few ice-breakers: orientation, secondary schools, O-Level points. As you entered, you cast a glance over the sea of blue pinafores and green pants. Still reeling from the sheer increase in the female population, you took a desk at the back, between the ancient, peeling noticeboard and the window looking out on the covered tennis courts. You were tall enough to see over all the heads, anyway.

Soon, your home tutor arrived, a round-faced lady toting an oversized Cath Kidston duffle bag, and wrote her name on the board in neat block letters: Mdm Alvares. The class stood to greet her, chairs scraping hurriedly against the linoleum. She beamed back, her smile all teeth, and was busy setting up the visualiser when the door slammed open.

The class spun in their seats. “Sorry,” the intruder sheepishly said, leaning against the doorframe. Some of her hair had fallen half-out of her high ponytail, her pinafore already wrinkled at the hem. A dusting of freckles covered her pink cheeks.

Mdm Alvares squinted at the girl, then the laminated name list. “And you are?”

“Camilla Wong.”

Mdm Alvares looked out over the class, scanning the rows, and her eyes landed on an empty seat in the corner whose sole occupant was your beat-up Jansport. Realising where this was going, you sighed, putting your bag on the floor.

Camilla smiled, made her way in–

and put her bag down at another empty seat, half a class away.

–

There was nothing in this world you hated more than 4PM Maths lectures. That day the aircon was actually working, which you would normally have been grateful for, except for the fact that that sharp, recycled wind was blasting directly at the very back rows of LT5, right onto your face.

You were trying so hard to 1) figure out plane vectors and 2) stop yourself from getting hypothermia that you wouldn't be able to recall, later, the exact moment that Camilla fell asleep on your shoulder.

When you realised this, you froze. Oh, you thought, and didn't know what else to think. On one hand, it would’ve been so easy to wake her. Just a poke from your pen, and she would’ve jolted up almost instantly. On the other hand, though, her long eyebrows brushed against her freckled cheeks, and her chest rose and fell in these small, slight motions, and–

Before, you had only ever seen her as a baby-blue blur in the corners of your sight, always in motion even in the earliest of classes. But Camilla, asleep, tucked in the crevice between your shoulder and neck–it felt fragile, thrumming, tense. Like something made of glass, nestled gently in your hand, that it would only have taken a squeeze to splinter.

The next twenty-two minutes were the longest twenty-two minutes of your entire life so far. Even so, when the bell rang and Camilla pulled herself upright, you found yourself missing it already.

–

After that, it was like a switch had been flipped in your brain. It was only then that you began to really Notice Camilla, capital N, italics. You noticed her with her head bowed in mass, noticed her shoving fishball noodles into her mouth at lunch, noticed her arguing with your classmates over technicalities in GP. But you noticed her the most in Monday zeriod house meetings, when the artificial grass glimmered with dew and the syrupy dawn light made the whole world seem like a Hollywood coming-of-age movie. You watched her toss her braids over her shoulder, wipe the pearls of sweat off her flushed face. Her red, red shirt rode up as she stretched, revealing a sliver of pale flesh above the waistband of her shorts–

It took until then for her to notice you Noticing. Her eyes flickered over to you, she winked, and blew a kiss.

You felt as if you’d walked out onto the PIE and been hit by a truck. It was a wonder every single smoke alarm in the school didn’t go off right that moment–a cacophony of ringing like firecrackers all strung up, exploding pop-pop-pop from the foyer to the science block to the hostel. It swallowed every other sound, every other thought. Then she turned away, a grin still lingering on the corners of her lips.

–

During one of your lunch breaks, Camilla pulled you out of class. She had to ask you something about your PW survey, she said. As far as you were aware, you weren't in the same PW group. You knew this. She knew this. The entirety of 1T26 knew this, too, so you headed down to one of the wooden picnic tables underneath Block D, the one tucked beneath the staircase next to St Pat’s room. Both of you hovered awkwardly around the bench for a moment, doing the calculations in your head–how close to sit? What to say? You shifted from foot to foot.

All of a sudden, Camilla slammed her hand down on the table. You jumped. “Walao eh. I legit can’t do this anymore. Is this a Thing? Are we having a Thing?”

You swallowed, eyes darting.

“Make up your mind, sia.” She rolled her eyes, laughing under her breath. “St. Francis boys, I swear.”

“No, wait, yes–” The words spilled, embarrassingly and pitifully, out of your mouth. You feared you were not beating the all-boys’ school stereotypes that day. “I mean, I did, but, um–” Just stop, your brain chanted. What're you saying? You're only making it worse. Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself.

“So that’s a yes,” Camilla said, and surged forward to shut you up herself.

–

The next thing you knew, you were stumbling into the stairwell together, the door banging noisily shut behind you. “Why–” Camilla started, and you said, “Nobody ever uses Staircase 6. Now come on.” You pushed her up against the curved concrete wall, not caring that the low ceiling scraped against your head. There was that wild, exhilarated look on her face again, like she still couldn’t believe that she was actually doing this. Beautiful, even in the dull grey light. Her nails dug crescents into your skin.

The air was all heat, sweat, too much cherry blossom perfume. You worked at your tie–quicker than you’d ever been able to in all your years of schooling–as she undid the buttons on her uniform shirt, revealing the freckles that dusted her pale shoulders like so many stars. As you unbuckled her bra in one quick motion, she gasped, then giggled. “Damn, Yeoh. You’re good at this. Is there anyone you haven’t told me about?”

In between kisses, you came up for air. You could've made a joke about not having many opportunities to practise in St Francis, but the real truth was that your desperation shocked even yourself– this wasn’t the careful boy that your pastors, parents, teachers, knew. Your heart threatened to burst from your chest like the bullet from a gun. For the first time in sixteen years, it felt– really felt– like you were fully alive.

“Just you, Cam.” You dipped back down. “Only you.”

ii. the yew tree

He's ta'en his sister down to his father's deer park

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair

With his yew-tree bow and arrow slung fast across his back

And they’ll never go down to the broom anymore.

You made close acquaintances with every dark corner of the school. When June came, you merely shifted your meeting points closer to home– behind heartland malls in Tampines or in the nooks and crannies of Cam’s sprawling landed estate along Cluny Road. Neither of you were sure, yet, if you were doing it Right– things like bubble tea dates, strolls in Botanics, or mugging in NLB (god, you should have been mugging, mid-years were in a week and neither of you had cracked a book). But if it wasn’t capital R Right, why did it feel like it was? You thought you had developed a case of myopia–Cam in focus, everything else blurred.

All that to say: the holidays were closer to ending than beginning when you and Cam found yourselves in an overgrown grassy patch tucked somewhere in between a storm drain and the wrought-iron back gate of some minister’s landed property. It had sounded a lot more romantic in theory, but the cloudless sky was the same powder-blue as your school uniforms, and the sun beat down like it had a personal vendetta against you. There was nothing much for shade except for a single banana tree, which you lay crumpled under, sweat-sheened and reddened. The last of the endorphins were beginning to wear off.

Cam’s ringtone cut through the air, a chiptune rendition of some Green Day song. She sighed, then propped herself up on one elbow as she picked up her phone. Her hair was loose, cascading down her back like smooth dark water. You fought the urge to run your hands through it.

“Ba!” she chirped. The cheer didn’t show on her face. “Ba, of course I'm still at the library. I’m with Lucia. Yes, Ba, I’m sure. Don’t call her, can?” She flinched as though she’d been slapped– a familiar, instinctual tic. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll study hard, I promise. Byebye.”

She hung up and sighed, leaning backwards. “I think I’ll need to go soon.”

“Soon,” you promised. You were lying flat on the warm grass, arms crossed over your chest like you were about to be lowered into the grave.

“Soon,” Cam repeated. “Fuck, I hate that we have to sneak around like this, sia. I keep thinking that he’s going to jump out at me from any corner, that any random passerby can tell I’m not where I’m supposed to be. It’s like this whole island has eyes, and maybe it does.” As she lay back down beside you on the grass, her oversized t-shirt–Camp Veritas Counsellor 2007–drooped down to reveal the blades of her shoulder, the ones you’d kissed just moments ago. Her voice lowered. “You know ah, the moment we get our A-Levels back, I’m getting out of this city. Australia, London, LA, anywhere. There’s nothing here for me.”

“No leh.” She can’t say that, you thought, pettily, awfully. She had a mansion and a scholarship and a real iPhone. She had the freedom to just leave. To go somewhere without worrying about the money. You had– what? Parents on the edge of divorce and a bankrupt family business? So much for inheritance. So much for a glorious kingdom. Then you had banished the thought from your head. “You have me.”

“I guess I do.” There was a pause. Then she asked, quick and soft and desperate: “Hey, if I asked you to do something, you’d do it, right?”

You reached over, squeezing Cam’s hand tight in yours. The leaves of the banana tree shivered. “I’d do anything for you,” you told her, and it was true. It was really true.

–

Your grades wobbled, then declined, then plummeted, and you found, to your surprise, that you couldn’t care less. You’d made a lot of bad decisions in your life. Try as you might, you couldn’t count Cam among them.

This, then, might have been why you were lying on your bedroom floor, squinting at your Nokia at four AM on a Monday morning. An empty can rolled lazily from your hand, on an epic journey across the glossy faux-marble floor. The house, for once, was still. Even your parents’ screams had petered off about an hour ago. The silver light from the HDB corridor fell through your windows in slits, providing just enough light for you to see the tiny phone screen. With the phone’s small buttons and your clumsy fingers, it took a long time for you to dial the number, but none at all for her to pick up.

“Cam,” you whispered, “Want to see you.”

“Jesus, Yeoh, it’s a school night.” Her voice was gorgeous like this, low and blurred. She only ever used this voice with you: when her raw-bitten lips were pressed against your chest, your ear, your– You shifted. It didn’t help.

“Cam, Cam, Camilla.” Her name rolled off your tongue like a litany, sharp and needy. “Can talk a while or not?”

“Are you drunk again?” she teased you. On the other end, her sheets rustled as she sat up. Although you hadn’t ever been in her house before, you could reconstruct it well enough from the blurry webcam pictures she’d sent you: piles of assessment books, porcelain cross, ceiling fan. And she– beautiful, beautiful, feet kicked up against her headboard, black hair spilling over the flowery sheets, the smile evident in her voice. “Help lah. How–”

“Miss you,” you murmured, by way of an answer.

“I miss you too.”

“Want to meet you. Want to talk to you.” Then, because you were three cans of beer deep and loved making (aforementioned) bad decisions, you charged on: “You and I, we never talk.”

“I know we haven’t met in a while. It’s not my fault I was sick–” Her voice wavered a little, then bounced back to its chirpy cadence. “But we talk all the time, though. We literally talked in class yesterday. I’m talking to you now.” Cam laughed. Her laugh still sounded to you like the first day of the month– every church across the island breaking into bellsong, light and birdlike in the hot blue air. It was cliché, you knew. You didn’t care. Perhaps you were in too deep to care.

“No,” you insisted, but you didn’t really know what you were saying, or why you were saying it at all. “We don’t.”

“We don’t,” she said, then fell silent.

The funny thing about the two of you was this: Over the past few months, you had seen each other stripped bare, worn to the bone with want, more times than you could count. But the both of you knew, all right, that there were things that you couldn’t– that you didn’t say. Things that were secret even to yourselves. The scars on your forearm, the bruises on hers, the way she looked at you when she thought your mind was elsewhere. Those three words, weightier than any false promise you’d whispered against each other’s skin.

“Staircase. Tomorrow. I need to tell you something.”

–

That night, you dreamt of flying.

You weren’t a bird, weren’t yourself– just bodiless, incorporeal, sweeping through the hallways of the college like a ghost. You phased through the auditorium doors to see the loose ceiling tile, the one that had been hanging over your heads like a guillotine all term, topple to the ground in one fantastic crash, sending students fleeing out the doors and into the foyer. You fled with them, but the ceiling fan in the foyer was spinning just a bit too hard, just a bit too fast, and the students screeched to a halt just in time to catch it falling, an angel with clipped wings. It broke in two over the staircase railing, knocking down the tables and the notice boards, pulling down the ceiling with it. Then the chapel was the next to go, the shattering stained glass catching the light in a thousand colours. As you raced up the corridors, the destruction raced up, up, up, alongside you, past the staff room and canteen to the lecture halls, the classroom blocks, the PAC, every single building in the college folding in on itself like so much wet paper. Block J detached itself cleanly from its precarious perch, tipping head-over-heels into the field. You couldn't hear a thing, but you could imagine what it sounded like: the earth itself breaking, rapture the other way around.

Then you crossed the lower quadrangle, where two little blobs of baby blue lay pressed against each other’s bodies. Even without descending, you already knew who they were. It was strange to watch yourself like a movie. When you were younger, you'd thought that this was how God saw the world, top-down, like a player peering at a chessboard. When you’d failed an exam for the first time, you'd cowered under a table-cloth to escape His wrath. You’d stopped believing in a lot of things as you grew up, but you could never kick that instinct to flee, that inescapable, intrinsic fear that the presence of God really was everywhere: under a table, in a school, in every splitting cell.

The boy on the ground turned his face towards the girl, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. She smiled infuriatingly, endearingly, back at him.

The school came down on them.

–

Most of the morning was taken up by this awful college event that you’d totally forgotten was happening, all cheering and sweat and thirty-eight degree heat. It was only when the day was coming to a close, then, that Cam and you could sneak away past the computer labs and guitar room into Staircase 6. As you entered, Cam pulled out something from the pocket of her sweater–an admin key–and latched the door behind her with a deliberate click. You blinked. “How’d you get that?”

Cam didn’t say anything, just tucked the key in the pocket of her oversized school hoodie. There was something strange and tense about her, stranger and tenser than she had been all term. She walked up to Level 4, where the sky through the grilled window cut long slices of light onto the concrete floor, and sat down on the top step. You sat down next to her.

She breathed, imperceptibly, in and out, looking straight ahead. The question rushed out in a gasp.

“You told me you’d do anything for me, right? I need you to kill.”

iii. the arrow

And when he has heard her give a loud cry,

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair

A silver arrow from his bow he suddenly let fly.

And she’ll never go down to the broom anymore.

WONG CHIEN PING

The New Paper, 1998

WONG: To me, family– family always comes first. My kids always come first. You know ah, I’ve got five children. Four boys, one girl.

INTERVIEWER: Wow.

WONG: [Laughter.] Can be a handful at times, lah, but what can you do? As I was saying, right, when I look at my kids, I’m thinking about everything they could be. Lawyers, doctors, maybe even MPs like me. [Laughter.] And I think about how Singapore’ll change in ten years, fifty years, a hundred years. My youngest, Camilla, she’s going to graduate from university in the 2010’s. In a new century. What’s Singapore going to look like then?

INTERVIEWER: Mhm.

WONG: I want to make Singapore a place where my kids can grow up safely. Where they can have a future.

For a moment, all you could do was laugh. Then you stopped, of course, but the echo lingered. “Cam?”

Without meeting your eyes, she lifted up her sweater. The first thing you’d thought was that she’d forgotten to bring her house shirt– she was still in uniform. Then you realised that her shirt was unbuttoned at the bottom, and her skirt was unlatched, and there was a solid, unmistakable, swell to her stomach.

The world tilted on its axis. There was no way this was happening. This was a really terrible prank. She’d stolen a prosthetic from Drama. It had to be something, something other than this, something other than a child– You made an inelegant noise, some spluttered form of protest. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Cam agreed, unhappily.

You instinctively reached out to touch her bump, like you’d seen in the soapy Mediacorp dramas Ma always watched. You didn’t feel anything. Wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of parental instinct singing to you; love, love, love all through the water and the flesh and the blood?

“Didn’t you listen in Bio? You can’t feel the heartbeat yet. Not for a while, but not for long, either,” she said. “Not until I can’t hide it anymore.”

“Oh.” You didn't know what else to say. You pulled her into your arms, and she pressed herself against you, body against body. Like stragglers hiding from the cold, except it was thirty-five degrees outside, the air the same dull dead warmth that school air always was. She turned her face away, but you could still see her eyes go glossy, hear her take those shallow breaths. "I'm so sorry."

You couldn't begin to imagine what she was feeling, how much she'd lost in that instant when she knew she was carrying a life that wasn't hers: the scholarship, the law school, the clear American sky she'd never see. The future rushed out before you, a landscape vast and desolate, and you found yourself unable to picture it except for your mother's face, crumpling in on itself, her world imploded in a single moment. Thinking: all you had to do was study hard. We gave everything for you, pinned every hope on you, and this is what we get? Saying: stupid boy. Stupid, stupid boy.

You don’t know how you say what you say next, but you do. “So. You want to- to kill it?” It, it, it. Still an it.

Cam laughs wetly. “Almost there. Kill–” the pronoun trips off her tongue– “me.”

ST CECILIA’S JUNIOR COLLEGE

CAMERA 235

12:28:03

YEOH shoots to his feet. WONG does too.

YEOH: You can’t just say that–

WONG: Just shut up for a moment and let me explain, can?

YEOH shuts up.

WONG [with a wince]: Sorry. But you know my father lah. You know how he is. He’ll have my head.

YEOH: What’s the worst he can do ah? Pack you off to some boarding school overseas?

WONG takes a sharp breath.

WONG: It’s not about that. It’s about the fact that he’s worked his whole life for this position. If he ever finds out what we’ve done, his career jialat liao, just like that. Every single day for the rest of my life he’ll look at me and only see a disappointment of a daughter, a stain on the family name. I snuck around and I lied to his face and I bribed my friends for alibis but at least for seventeen years he didn’t know better. He called me his princess, his golden girl, and he meant it. Now all of that’s gone. Or will be gone, I guess. I don’t know how I’d live without that.

YEOH: He doesn’t need to know. You understand that, right? There are ways to get rid of it, I mean, there has to be some way–

WONG: That’s the fucking problem!

WONG turns away, stifling a sob.

WONG: Before I formed you in the womb I knew you–

YEOH [instinctively]: And before you were born I consecrated you.

WONG: This is our child, Yeoh. This is a human life.

YEOH: Better any other life than yours.

A long pause.

WONG [overlapping]: You can’t mean that.

YEOH [overlapping]: I can. I do.

YEOH ascends one step. YEOH stares at WONG as if he’s daring her to say something, until WONG begins to cry. YEOH freezes for a split-second. He reaches for WONG, whispers something inaudible in her ear. WONG reaches up and kisses him in response. After a while, WONG extricates herself with an expression that seems almost like a smile. She walks over to the railing and leans against it. YEOH follows her.

WONG: I’ve always told myself I want to be a good person, but maybe the real truth is that I didn’t want my dad to figure out otherwise. Maybe all of that hiding was for nothing. Maybe it was only a matter of time before he found out who I really was, deep down: rotten. Impure. That woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophetess.

WONG: And, sure, I can sneak away to a clinic, God knows we can afford it, I can do whatever it is girls do in movies with the clothes hanger or the back alley. But if my life after this is all an act– what’s the point, if I already know where I’m going when I go? I’m tired of keeping secrets, trying so hard to keep this part of my life from him– when one day I’ll slip again, I know it, and the whole house of cards is going to come crashing down. If I die now, all my sins are going to die with me. He’d be happy, and I’d be loved, and you–

WONG [almost envious]: You’d never understand.

YEOH tilts his head downwards, fringe falling over his eyes. He starts to say something, then stops.

YEOH: I do understand.

Like so many other people you knew, you never meant to go to St Cecilia’s. Everyone said you could make Temasek, maybe Victoria. Tampines at the very least. And you'd believed it, too, until you didn't anymore, until the college you were going to became the least of your worries.

When did you stop believing you’d ever have a future? It wasn’t a single moment so much as it was a series of them: stepping over the yellow line when waiting for the train, trying to find footholds in the railing of every overhead bridge, your eyes always flicking to every exit you could take. The words you said under your breath in prayers weren’t Our Father who art in heaven but a litany only you knew: I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to keep going. I can leave any time I want. For as long as you remembered, you’d already been halfway gone.

It was a comforting hypothetical, until it wasn’t, and suddenly you found yourself on the bathroom floor at three in the morning, a week before prelims. The cool white light bounced off the tiles, the mirror-cabinet above the sink hung ajar like it was beckoning you, and you were so, so exhausted. Why were you trying so hard? What were you even studying for? No matter what college you went to, the future would always be blurry and grey. Test after test after test, then onto– what, exactly? You’d never been able to imagine yourself past sixteen. You’d never be able to imagine yourself more than half-alive.

You’d tell the psychiatrist later that you didn’t remember the rest of the night, but that wasn’t true. You remembered the pills. You remembered the blinding, fluorescent pain– and through the pain, your father’s face, your mother’s voice. 911 on the cordless telephone. The ambulance. Changi Hospital. When you’d finally woken, there was a split-second where all you could see was white, and all that came to you was a rush of relief– until the white coalesced into white walls and white sheets and a ceiling spotted with air-conditioning vents, and you could almost laugh at yourself for expecting anything different. If you’d succeeded, anyway, it wouldn’t have been white.

So you failed both at dying and at Chemistry. That was fine. You took the two points off for affiliation. You took the 5AM bus. You took the desk at the corner of 1T26. That was fine too. You swore you didn't care about any of it, and you didn’t, you didn’t. Then Cam happened, and suddenly you did.

But you couldn’t shake the memory of that night in the hospital, your parents whispering next to your bed when they thought you were asleep. For once in their life, they weren’t at each other's throats. What’s wrong with him? your father demanded in Chinese, betrayal running like cracks through his voice. I don’t understand why he would do this to me. In response, your mother only sighed. Stupid boy. Stupid, stupid boy.

The story came uneasily to you, like writing an exam for a subject that you hadn’t touched in months. Once you were done, Cam turned to you. If it was anyone else, they would’ve said something benign, something untrue, like, I’m sorry or I’m glad you didn’t die. Instead, because this was the Cam you’d always known, she asked, “How much did it hurt?”

You thought about the answer for a long while. Then you said, “If you do it right, only for a moment.”

She laughed, then, throwing her head back with the force of it. For a brief, blasphemous second, you’d never seen anyone so beautiful: fair as the moon, clear as the sun, terrible as an army all set in battle array. It was the kind of beauty wars were fought over, the kind any man would get on his knees for– to be knighted, to adore. And she’d chosen you (you of all people!) The fact made you dizzy with its weight.

“So.” Her voice brought you back to reality. It was casual as anything, like she was discussing essay outlines or Physics solutions instead of– whatever this was. “I was thinking about the stairs, right? If you pushed me, hard enough, it’d look like an accident…”

Below you, the concrete staircase looped in on itself, down, down, down. Tall, yes, but only three stories, not enough to kill. Not if you wanted to be sure. When you told her as much, she frowned, swearing in Chinese under her breath. The two of you bounced around a few more ideas, but none of them seemed to stick. You fell silent, tapping out meaningless rhythms on the rails, as you considered what you’d been dancing around since she’d asked you to kill. A competition-grade air pistol, a shot at just the right angle– it’d be, well, if not easy, at least simple. Less up to the fates.

There was only one problem with that plan– it’d no longer be an accident. There’d be police, lawyers, fuck, maybe even journalists. Your juniors would whisper about it for camps and camps to come. You couldn’t feign innocence with a shotgun, couldn’t frame the act of pulling the trigger as anything but what it was.

So, fine, they’d hate you. They’d shred all your certificates, put your photos face-down, pretend they’d never had a son. So what? Boy hung from his bedroom fan, boy hung from the prison beam. Whatever formula you used, the result was still the same: you’d be gone, and they’d be free. Besides, there wasn’t any way St. Cecilia's reputation could possibly be worse than it already was.

“I think–” you started, suddenly, “I might have a solution.”

iv. the grave

And he has dug a grave both long and deep,

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair

He has buried his sister with their babe all at her feet.

And they’ll never go down to the broom anymore.

INTERVIEWER: You didn’t notice the keys were gone meh? I thought you were the captain.

THOMAS: The captain doesn’t carry the keys, sir. Um, he was the armourer, sir, he’s always had them. Since the beginning of the year.

INTERVIEWER: So you weren’t aware that Yeoh and Wong entered the armoury at 12.39 PM and retrieved a [pages ruffling] .25-calibre Baikal air pistol.

THOMAS: Of course the alarm went off, lah. To notify the teacher-in-charge. But he told Miss Judith he forgot his water bottle inside, and she was in a hurry anyway–

INTERVIEWER: She believed him?

THOMAS: Miss Judith’s always had a soft spot for him, sir. And we all trusted him. That’s why we made him the armourer. Of course he was quiet, um, but in a calm, reliable sort of way. Out of all of us we thought he’d be the last person to do what he did. [laughter] I trusted him– oh god–

INTERVIEWER: Calm down, boy.

THOMAS: Sorry, sorry.

INTERVIEWER: Can continue or not?

THOMAS: Okay. Can. Go on.

Laughing the loud and triumphant laugh of the already dead, you and Cam crashed back into the staircase landing like you’d done so many times before. How many giggling, short-lived couples had this place borne witness to? The seniors who’d winked and nudged you in its direction must’ve learnt it from their seniors, who’d learnt it from their seniors in turn– back and back it went, a story in two-year cycles, mutating each time it was told. A haunting, a myth, a folk song.

Cam, leaning back against the wall, ran her hands along the sleek pistol. She looked, still, beautiful: even after the run, after the tears, despite the baby. If you hadn’t seen her before, you couldn’t have guessed that she was the kind of girl who would ever cry. “It’s like I’m a spy.”

“I mean, we kind of are, right? People are going to start getting suspicious soon. We should do this quickly.” You shot a furtive glance through the window in the door. The corridor, as always, was dark– the lightbulb had been busted for a long, long time.

“Soon. Won’t take long, right? Just–” She aimed the gun at her temple, mimed pulling the trigger with a grin. Miss Judith had trained you well– your first instinct was one of sheer panic, of tripping over your own feet in your haste to rip it from her hands– but you didn’t do any of that.

Instead you only swallowed, shifted. “Just like that I don’t think is strong enough. It’s not real ah. Can’t do that much damage. Um, can I–”

Downstairs, someone shouted. Cam shoved the gun in her hoodie pocket. You stopped breathing. Something clunky was being dragged across the floor, chatter following in its wake. But no one had opened the door yet, so when the clamour finally died down, Cam removed the gun from her hoodie and passed it to you.

In your hands, the pistol was cool, familiar, deadly in a way it had never been before. It reminded you that despite any pretences to precision or skill or patience, this sport was, at its roots, a killing sport– drawing blood and blood and blood again.

You’d only been a shooter for a few months. You'd always been a chess club kid in secondary school, and in St Cecilia, you’d even applied for Strat Games before you walked into the interview, saw an old classmate, and walked right back out. At least shooting was a singular sport. No emotions involved, no one to fool, no one to ask you what happened.

About a week or two past orientation, you’d hit bullseye for the first time. You didn’t notice, at first, still reeling from the ricochet, until Greg shouted and the club gathered round and you saw that tiny wound on that tiny target, fifty whole metres away. In another few weeks, it’d become routine, but you never forgot that first time: the breath held, the trigger pulled, the bullet sailing through the air. The gun like an extension of yourself.

She must’ve sensed something had shifted, because she hurried out, “If you don’t want to do this, just say, OK? If you really want, we can– I don’t know, figure something out.”

You’d do anything for me, right?

Okay, so maybe you were helping her because you knew what it was like to be so tired that you wanted nothing more than to be gone. You knew what it was like to fail– your mother’s eyes avoiding yours, the flat stinking with shame, cut fruits slid under your door like an apology– and you knew, you knew, out of all the people in the world she didn’t deserve it.

But maybe you were helping her because you’d never known anyone who could go to their grave with a smile quite like her, brilliant and foolish and brave. It was your hand brushing hers under the desk and her laughing with her head thrown back and the two of you sharing earphones on the bus. It was the fact that in life or death, you’d never wanted anyone but her.

So, fine. The moment you’d opened your eyes in a hospital bed, you couldn’t find it in you to care about Heaven or Hell or anything in-between, couldn’t care about a God who’d turned his back to you as you were bleeding out. But even the staunchest of atheists could admit that it was nice to believe that you’d been brought back for a reason; that more than any grade you’d ever gotten or any target you’d ever hit, the greatest achievement of your time in college– okay, your entire short and sorry life– was this: to love her, to kill her, to be loved, impossibly, in return.

You kissed her like it was an answer. Maybe it was. You’d never know.

–

Just like you’d predicted, it wasn’t easy, but it was at least simple:

The muzzle dimpling her button-down shirt. Her heart beneath the gun, frantic and wild. Her smile– smug, inscrutable, like she was getting away with some great and treacherous heist, like she’d stolen something you’d never notice missing until it was too late. Coloured-in Converse perched on the edge of the top step.

A moment to aim. Less to fire.

A crack. A body arching backwards, falling, falling, falling. A body against concrete. A body with its neck all wrong– no, that wasn’t right. Two bodies. One body. But what was the difference, really?

Somewhere, someone was singing.

–

I got tired of waiting

Wonderin' if you were ever comin' around

There was a boy at the edge of the canteen, that isolated corner where the cafe used to be before it went bankrupt and left neon-yellow wreckage in its wake. I could just barely make him out through the other kids who’d swarmed like moths around the speakers we’d looted from the grandstand, a do-it-yourself rave all our own. We were seventeen and free from Promos and knew every word to every song on the radio and there was nothing in this world to worry about, nothing at all.

My faith in you was fading

When I met you on the outskirts of town

My voice faltered as I tried to peer over the heads, earning myself a poke in the ribs from Joshua from 28. The boy was tall, in uniform–on the one day we were allowed to wear house shirts? He’d be sweltering hot. He stared off at something I couldn’t see, collapsing on a bench– and the moment I saw the fringe, I knew who you were.

“Xavier!”

I painfully extracted myself from the knot of students, making my way over to you. You didn’t seem to notice me, didn’t seem to care. There was something red on your face, probably some failed attempt at Go SC! It seemed like the sports leaders had gotten to you. Funny. I’d never thought you were the type.

You turned to me.

“Xavier?”

I broke into a run.

I keep waiting for you, but you never come

Your hands were shaking, your eyes wet. There was red on your shirt, red on the corner of your lips. Shit, there was so much of it. “Are you hurt?” My brain was going at thirty miles a second. “What happened? Did you– are you–”

“I’m fine. I just–” You broke off. Slowly and carefully, like you were explaining something to a very small child, you forced out two more words: “--lost something.”

I cast desperate glances around the canteen. There was something wrong here, something I couldn’t even begin to comprehend, like standing on the edge of a cliff with a sea below you. “It’s OK, bro,” I muttered out, stupidly, awkwardly, “You’ll get it back, whatever it is. Um. You need me check with the GO? Call teacher?”

Through the thin walls, a scream rang out. The singing died a quick, violent death, but the music, still, played on.

I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress

“No,” you said. “No need.”

It's a love story, baby, just say yes.

After everything– after the police, after the trial, after the drop– Wong’s father swept in and gave half of St Cecilia’s a dizzyingly long contract that boiled down to Don’t tell a soul this happened or I’ll kill you myself. Of course I’d signed it. What else could I have done?

In the years to come, I’d want to tell you about so many things: The times we’d instinctively turn in our seats to ask you about homework or classes or anything at all. The two empty desks we’d dodged for the rest of the year, even after we switched classrooms, even after they struck out your names from the class list— as if long before that October afternoon, you were already gone. The shiny, upgraded surveillance system, a threat, an eulogy, as much acknowledgement as they’d ever give you.

Now, though, I want to tell you about the staircase.

When I stepped back into St Cecilia’s for the first time in ten years, so much of it remained the same. The same old coat of paint, the same wobbly tables, the same starched blue uniform. The only thing that’s changed is the kids– how young they seem now, how they call me Mr Thomas when I’m listening and ‘cher when they think I’m not. In the spaces between classes, when the halls are full of chatter, I’ll overhear snippets of their conversation: I’m yellowslipping for Taylor tickets or Walao, my stats really CMI, like this how can pass or Wah, are you going to take her to Staircase 6? That last one’ll be invariably followed by a wink, a nudge, and loud, boisterous laughter, the kind that only teenage boys can summon up. I can’t blame them much for it. Weren’t we once seventeen too?

The staircase isn’t particularly hard to avoid. For the kids, it’s more of a novelty than anything– a quick selfie at the door during Orientation, then it’s out of their minds for the rest of the year, too far from the classrooms to be of any use. Soon enough, though, exam season rolled around, and I was on my first night study shift of the year. I didn’t have to do much– just make sure nobody escaped the well-lit confines of the library, which was just as crowded and chilly as I’d remembered it. But the campus seemed different after dusk, every flickering light a blinking eye, and I felt myself being led down the concrete corridors, past the office and the hall and the lockers, past the bulb they’d never fixed, and I unlocked the door.

It looked, obviously, like any other staircase in the school. The floor was grey, the walls white. I went up to the top floor and to the railing, the security camera swivelling as I walked. Over the railing, the stairs went down, down, down. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t find any part of it that suggested your presence. No pale figure, no blur of light. I felt, suddenly, foolish– what answer was I seeking? Even if you’d lingered, even if you’d somehow escaped where I’d most feared you were, this was the last place you’d want to stay.

Maybe I would never really understand why you did what you did. But I’d known you, even still, and so I could say this with certainty– if there was any justice in this world, you weren’t here. You were somewhere edgy kids couldn’t gawk and giggle at you, somewhere the camera couldn’t find you. Somewhere only you knew.

An engine growled beyond the gates. Sweet and heavy in the air, the scent of flowers lingered.

I closed my eyes.

And when he has come to his father’s own hall,

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair

There was music and dancing, there were minstrels and all.

And he’ll never go down to the broom anymore.

O the ladies, they asked him, “What makes you in such pain?”

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair

“I’ve lost a sheath and knife I will never find again

And I’ll never go down to the broom anymore.”

“All the ships of your father’s a-sailing on the sea

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair

Can bring as good a sheath and knife unto thee.”

But they’ll never go down to the broom anymore.

“All the ships of my father’s a-sailing on the sea

The broom blooms bonny, the broom blooms fair

Can never ever bring such a sheath and knife to me

For we’ll never go down to the broom anymore.”

#child ballads #singlit #songs from saint cecilia's #writing

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