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dreamwritesimagines · 3 years

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Twisted 27 - When The War Comes [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, guns, knives, sharp objects, stabbing, hallucinations.

Word Count: 7500

Summary: Who will you become?

You had to control your anger. You had to control the fire in your veins until you were sure that your niece was safe, that your family was safe, then—

Then you would handle this situation. Until then, it had to wait.

All the training your father had given you was basically screaming at you to attack the threat, but you managed to keep yourself from doing so while you followed him through the woods, paying close attention to your surroundings.

The cabin. This was the way to your father’s cabin in the woods.

You had counted ten armed men on the way here but you had to assume there were more scattered along the woods. You stepped over a tree root before you looked up at the night sky and quickly found the stars that would help you. Thankfully it was a clear night, and your father had taught you long before how to read the sky for direction, in case you needed to-

Hunt.

A shudder went down your spine but you quickly shook your head, you had no time for that fear lurking in your head.

Fear could wait until you made sure you and everyone back home survived.

Considering how your family had no boundaries when it came to you, you were one hundred percent sure that by the time tonight was over, they would arrive at your apartment to see where you were.

“So what is your game here?” you moved your wrists that he had bound the moment you two had reached the end of the road and got off the car to walk into the woods, “You take me there and what? You’ll kill me?”

He looked over his shoulder, “How can you ask me that?” he said and you raised your brows.

“How can I not ask you that?”

At least you could leave a note. Lincoln was just that stupid.

“They’ll come looking for me,” you told him as he rolled his eyes, still pointing the gun at you.

“Who, your boyfriend?”

“He works in the FBI, you fu—“ you had to remember to stop yourself. He had access to Lily, so you knew you had to play it along, even if you barely felt anything other than anger. “Yeah. My boyfriend.”

“You broke up with him once, you can do it again,” he said and pointed at the pen and paper on the kitchen island, “Just write you need some time or whatever, he can see it when he gets here. Less suspicions.”

You grabbed the pen and paper, then clenched your teeth, your mind working nonstop.

“I’m waiting, Y/N.”

You stole a look at him, then leaned in to write on the paper;

Hamlet,

I need some time alone.

Ophelia.

Ophelia died in a lake, and you hoped that Spencer could make the connection between that and the time you had told him about Lincoln pushing you into the lake by the cabin.

He took a look at the note, then made a face.

“You call him Hamlet?” he said, shaking his head, “I never really liked that play. Let’s go.”

“Do you seriously think I would harm you, in any way?” he asked when you got to the stone stairs leading to the cabin, “I will explain everything once we sit down.”

“Will you untie me?”

“I’m not an idiot,” he answered as you climbed the stairs after him, his grip on your arm almost too tight and you gritted your teeth to stop yourself from coming up with a comeback. You looked up at the cabin, the memory of the last time you were there hitting you out of nowhere and churning your stomach, but you managed not to throw up as he slightly pushed you through the open door.

Don’t be scared, you commanded yourself in your head Fear is useless.

That was one of the things your father had taught you during those predator and prey games. Prey always got scared, which led them to panic, which led them to making mistakes that would cost them their lives.

You were a predator. You had always been a predator, since you were a child, and there was no fucking way Lincoln of all people could turn you into a prey.

He pulled a chair, then motioned at you to sit down.

“Remember, if you try anything…” he said, “If I don’t send the code to my friend—“

“Yeah, you’ll hurt my niece,” you spat, “Some man, aren’t you? Threatening a kid.”

He untied your hands, then pulled them behind the chair and started tying them again, and you raised your brows slightly.

Rather than wrapping the rope around your wrists separately then pulling them together, he was just tying them together, which was a terrible rookie mistake your father would never have done. Escaping from those, especially with a rope was almost easy with enough knowledge, and you slightly widened the gap between your wrists by pressing your thumbs together, not wide enough to make him suspicious but wide enough to give you enough space to move your wrists when you wanted to get rid of the ropes.

Almost everything was automatic at this point, you were following everything your father had made sure to engrave into your mind.

“There, that’s better,” he said and let out a breath, a small smile pulling at his lips, “Hi.”

You tilted your head, looking at him silently.

“That was a bluff by the way. I would never hurt anyone you love, I thought you knew that by now.”

That seemed to distract you from the fury, “What?”

“Everyone that I killed,” he pulled a seat for himself so that he could sit across from you and leaned in slightly, elbows on his knees, “Everyone, that was for you. I did it for you. Don’t you see that? From that childhood friend to your douchebag ex?”

Oh God you were going to be sick.

Spencer was right. You were sitting with the copycat killer back there, at the charity auction.

“I can’t believe you don’t remember,” he ran a hand through his hair, “You told me what was happening, when we were kids. You told me a week before that night in the graveyard, that’s how your father let me come with you both. My parents had drunk too much at your parents’ party— you don’t remember any of that? I was the one who you shared that sacred secret with, no one else, not even your family. It was me.”

“Sacred?” you repeated, “My father was a monster, Lincoln.”

“Don’t say that,” he shook his head, the glare in his eyes sharpening, “Never say that. He…he is way ahead of all of us, if he didn’t get caught he’d be an even bigger legend than he already is. He brought us together.”

“You brought me here by threatening me and you tied me to a chair. My father is a terrible person, but this right here is your choice you fucking asshole.”

“Because I need you to understand,” he nodded to himself, “You will understand.”

“I will understand what?”

“That I did this for us!” he snapped and he swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath, “That I love you.”

A hysterical laugh escaped from your lips and you gawked at him.

“You love me,” you repeated, “You— you have been terrorizing me for months, you killed people, you fucking destroyed my life because you love me?”

“I’ll set you free,” he said, “Free of all these bounds everyone else put you into. I’ve seen your potential back when we were still kids, then after your father was arrested they turned you into something else, some shadow of what you’re capable of. Then I came back and you…” he ran a hand over his face, “You decided to get into an agent’s bed.”

“Don’t even—“

“He would try to change you,” he cut you off, sniffling, “He would, Petal. He would smother you with these stupid ethical rules and all that bullshit, but I’ll— we’ll be free together.”

If your last encounter with your father had taught you anything, it was that delusional killers didn’t exactly react well to a reality check. You moved your hands under the ropes, pulling at them just a little.

You would just have to play along until you were free, then you could be out of there.

The more you know about your prey, your father’s voice echoed in your ears, The easier it will be to take them down.

“How about your girlfriend?”

His head shot up and he shrugged,

“I mean,” he trailed off, “She thinks she’s my girlfriend.”

You gritted your teeth. “Erica,” you said, “Right. My girlfriend doesn’t have the same financial status as we do, huh? My fucking assistant, Lincoln? What did you offer her?”

“Offer her?” he asked, “I didn’t have to offer her anything. Who did you think your father’s outside source was?”

You pulled back slightly and he scoffed a laugh.

“I know,” he said, “She wants to kill you, not that I would ever let her, but she can believe that for the time being. I know you feel betrayed honey—“

“Don’t call me that.”

“But we only need her until a point, after she makes a phone call to get your family off our backs, she will be my gift to you.”

You dug your fingernails into your palms to remind yourself to focus, “Your gift?”

“There’s nothing like killing someone you know,” he dragged the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, “It’s not like strangers, not at all. That shit’s special, Petal. You’ll see when the time comes.”

Before you could even think of an answer, you heard the footsteps coming closer and the door opened, making you turn your head to see Erica who almost looked intimidated for a moment upon seeing you, but she managed to pull herself together.

“You might want to check out the west team,” she told Lincoln and he paused.

“Can I trust you with this?”

Erica frowned, “You can trust me with anything, you know that,” she said softly and you closed your eyes for a moment, pulling at the ropes tight enough to hurt before you felt it get loose just a little. The rough material of the ropes almost burnt your skin the more you kept moving your hands, but you gritted your teeth, trying to ignore it.

You heard the door close and the lock sliding into its place as you opened your eyes, and saw Erica putting the key into her pocket.

“I like your dress,” she said as she sat down, “Too bad it’ll get bloody.”

“You were my father’s outside source?” you asked, trying to ignore her comment, “You?”

She gave you a bright smile, and rested her arm on the back of the chair, making herself comfortable.

“That’s right.”

“Whatever he’s paying you—“

“He’s not paying me,” she spat as if she was insulted at the implication, “You ungrateful little bitch. I’m doing this because I want to, because I respect him. I believe in what he stands for, not like you would understand.”

“Jesus, you’re one of those freaks,” you muttered to yourself, tugging at the ropes around your wrists, “Serial killer groupie huh?”

“I’m not a groupie,” she spat, “I respect your father, not just any serial killer. It’s him. No one in your family deserves him, much less you, and—“ she shook her head, “The way you disrespect him and his name…”

“Disrespect him?” you let out a laugh, “Oh that’s rich.”

“He was right, you know?” she said, “Only the smart and strong is supposed to survive in this world, not weak. And he tried to raise you to follow in his footsteps, but you were too weak to do so. He just doesn’t see that.”

You clicked your tongue, “But you see that?”

“If he were my father,” she leaned in, gritting her teeth, “It doesn’t matter. By the time this is over, after I get rid of you and prove myself, he will see me as a daughter. Not you. You’re not strong enough to survive in our world. Lincoln agrees—“

“Lincoln is using you,” you cut her off, “He’s going to get rid of you as soon as he’s done. Let me guess, he told you you could kill me?”

“We’ll make you regret disrespecting father’s name first, then I will kill you, yes.”

“Yeah that’s not gonna happen,” you said, “Face it, you fucking idiot. He’s using you, just like my father is using—“ you didn’t get to finish your sentence when she lunged from her seat and slapped you across the face, her ring splitting your lip. You made a face, and spat out the blood filling your mouth, trying to ignore the sting on your tongue upon biting it.

“You know what?” she asked, “Lincoln always said no for some reason, but if you keep going like that, I can make you hurt really bad.”

“Aw sweetheart, you don’t have enough training for that,” you cooed, “What, you did some google search, looked up my father’s methods and now you think you can torture people? You think that’s how it goes?”

“I didn’t say it’d be physical,” she curled her lips, “You wouldn’t want your family to get hurt, do you?”

Your eyes snapped up to hers, that fire awakening at the pit of your stomach. She tilted her head, obviously pleased with your reaction.

“I suggested Lily instead of your ex….Anthony, was it? I said we should kill her and put her in the middle of your living room back then, but Linc said no. He said it’d hurt your father too.”

A numbness spread over your forehead, then went to the back of your head, reaching your spine as you blinked a couple of times.

“You were going to kill my niece?” you heard yourself ask and Erica crossed her legs.

“I bet that would’ve made you think twice before you disrespected John.”

You could almost feel it. Feel the fury taking over, that anger your father had always insisted you possessed roaring through you until it reached your heart, wrapping itself around it tighter and tighter.

Let the predator come out Petal, your father used to say Let it come out.

You rolled your shoulder back and cracked your neck with your eyes closed, an exact copy of your father as you twisted your hands under the ropes before you opened your eyes again to look at Erica.

“You don’t deserve him,” she insisted, “You all—you all just locked him away and forgot about him until Linc came back, until we started this. He will see soon that blood means nothing, me and Linc are going to be his legacy, not you.”

You tugged a little harder around the knot, then turned your wrist and managed to pull it out of the tight rope even if it scratched the skin over your wrists, making the burn spread over your arm.

“He taught you some stuff, big fucking deal,” she said, “I learned by myself. Without anyone to help me. Without someone else holding my hand.”

You clenched your fists, trying to ignore the throbbing as you slowly pulled your other hand out of the knotted rope.

“Yeah you missed a rule though,” you asked, dragging the tip of your tongue over the dried blood on your lip, “You’re not supposed to make them bleed unless you can kill them.”

Erica pulled her brows together, then a shriek escaped from her lips as soon as you let the rope fall, raising your hands in a mocking manner so that she could see.

“You chose the wrong victim, baby,” you said and she kicked the chair at you, then darted for upstairs, screaming while you just raised your brows, rolling your eyes.

Panic always led to mistakes like these, like rushing to somewhere one couldn’t escape from.

Upstairs was always a bad idea.

You made your way to the kitchen and pulled open the second drawer where your mother used to keep the knives, then grabbed a huge knife before you flipped it in your hand.

“Erica,” you called out, “Get back here, you’re fucking fired!”

She slammed a door upstairs and you scoffed a laugh, adrenaline pulsing through you as you dragged the tip of the knife over the walls, climbing the stairs.

“You know, if you give me the key I might make it quick,” you flipped the knife again, playing with it before you ran it over the steel staircase finial, letting her hear the sharp noise, “No promises though.”

Silence.

“I know you’re in here,” you sang, looking into the dark. Your father had taught you this long ago, if you couldn’t see, you had to make sure how to listen in the dark to find the location of whoever you wanted to hunt.

You took a deep breath and held it, not even moving a muscle and sure enough, a very faint creak reached your ears and you turned your head.

Second door to the left.

It used to be Mina’s room.

You let out a whistle echoing in the otherwise silent hall, disappearing into the dark before you stood in front of the door and ran the tip of the knife over the wood, almost relishing the slight whimper coming from the other side of the room.

“You were going to go after my family?” your voice rose as you kicked at the door, and Erica let out another scream.

“Lincoln!”

“Oh come on, where’s that strong survivor you’ve been telling me so much about?” you taunted, kicking at the door again but it didn’t open. “Hm? I thought you were going to prove yourself?”

“I-I swallowed the key, I can’t give it to you!”

“Ah well, I guess I’ll have to cut you open!” you shouted and kicked at the door once again and at last, the lock broke with a click and the door swung open, hitting the wall. Erica grabbed the chair closest to her, holding it up.

“Don’t!”

You flipped the knife in your hand, the grinned and took a step to her, so focused on adrenaline pulsing through your system that you didn’t even notice her eyes focusing on something over your shoulder until it was too late. Before you could even turn around, someone pulled you back, expertly avoiding the knife by bending your arm back and pressed a cloth over your mouth and nose, that sharp scent making you gag.

Chloroform.

Lincoln.

A tingling reached your head and that fuzzy warmth reached the back of your head, then closed your eyes shut.

***

You had no idea how long it took you out, but when you opened your eyes, it was still night. You grabbed at the side of your head and sat up in the bed, the whole room spinning around you.

Your childhood bedroom. You were in your childhood bedroom in the cabin.

“Hey,” Lincoln’s voice reached you and you turned your head to see him leaning on the doorframe.

Shit.

That was a mistake. Of course that was a mistake, and you couldn’t even believe yourself just how stupid you had been to act so careless.

“Easy, chloroform messes you up,” Lincoln said, “I’d stay in the bed for a while if I were you. You can’t attack anyone like this, you know?”

You weren’t supposed to follow your dad’s example in a situation like this. There was a reason why he was locked away, a reason why people had caught up with what he was doing, he was way too impulsive, way too destructive in terms of physical means. You had been so focused on protecting your family and going after the nearest threat that you had forgotten who you were.

You weren’t just your father’s daughter, you were also your mother’s.

And this right here? It wasn’t your father’s expertise yet, his time would come when you would have to fight your way out.

It was your mother’s.

Manipulation.

It was time to channel her, not your father.

“What happened?” you asked and Lincoln heaved a sigh, then pushed himself off the doorframe.

“You went after Erica,” he said, “She’s pretty shaken, but I told you Petal. You need to be patient, we just need her up to a point. After that, she’s all yours.”

You narrowed your eyes and slowly swung your legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through your hair.

“And how much longer will I be subjected to this humiliation of yours? Can you give me an exact time or should I just wait here?”

He stared at you for a moment, trying to understand what you meant and you just arched a brow, a look of completely nonchalant sneer flashing over your face, the exact same expression you had seen on your mother countless times.

“I’ll take this silence as a no.”

“Humiliation?” he repeated, “When- how did I humiliate you?”

“How did you humiliate me?” you scoffed a laugh, “Are you serious right now?”

Jesus, your head was absolutely killing you but you had to focus.

“I’d never humiliate you, I love you.”

“Yeah yeah,” you waved a dismissive hand in the air, “You love me, we’re supposed to be together. I guess I’ll have to take your word for it while ignoring your actions, is that it?”

“My actions? Y/N—“

“So you bring me in here,” you cut him off, glaring at him, “You give me this whole speech about how you’d do anything for me, how we’re—we’re meant to be, and then you leave me in the same room with your ex so that she can boast about you? How you two are in love, how you two are together?”

“I told you, we just need her until—“

“That’s your love?” you interrupted him again and pushed yourself to stand up, crossing your arms while looking him dead in the eye, “Is that the proof of your love? Rubbing your girlfriend on my face? All the while she talks about how you two are going to be my father’s legacy together, like I don’t exist?”

“She just thinks that, I made her think that so that we can use her—“

“And then,” you said through your teeth, “You stop me and knock me out while I’m going after her to get rid of her?” you clapped your hands slowly, “Yeah. Proclamation of love right there Linc, congratulations.”

He licked his lips, obviously taking aback. “Y/N, we need her for now.”

“Mm hm, exactly,” you shot him a sweet smile “Looks like you need her a lot.”

“Not like that,” he shook his head, “Not what you think, I swear. She’s nothing.”

“No, I think she’s not nothing,” you clicked your tongue, “I think you formed some sort of attachment to your prey—“

“I didn’t!”

“Because you grew soft for her, and now you’re confused whether you want me more or her.”

He strode to you in three steps and pulled you closer, tilting your head up, and you had to command yourself not to make a face.

“I want you,” he said, “I always have, you know that.”

“Bullshit.”

He groaned, “Y/N-“

“No, it’s fucking bullshit.” You pushed his hands away, and searched your mind for the final nail on the coffin.

“Did you sleep with her?”

The expression on Lincoln’s face shifted and he averted his eyes.

Bingo.

“Did you? While you were in love with me, while you knew that we were meant to be, did you or did you not sleep with her?”

“You slept with that agent,” he shot back and you shook your head.

“I didn’t know you would do anything for me,” you insisted, “I had no idea—you said you had a girlfriend, I barely remember anything from my childhood let alone sharing so much with you and you didn’t tell me. But you knew,” you dug your finger into his chest, “You knew everything and you kept it hidden from me, so answer me this, did you sleep with her? While you knew you were in love with me?”

He swallowed thickly and opened his mouth, then closed it again, and you took a step back, trying to look heartbroken.

“Wow.”

“Y/N.”

“Wow. You actually did.”

“Listen to me, she doesn’t mean anything, I swear to you. It was just to manipulate—“

“Get out of my room.”

He frowned, “What?”

“Get the fuck out of my room and leave me alone until you’re ready to show me you actually love me.”

“You don’t mean that,” he started and took a step towards you, but you grabbed the nearest object which turned out to be one of your old dusty plushies and threw it to him.

“Get out!” you yelled and he took a step back, raising his hands.

“I’ll… I’ll come back when you’re calmer,” he said and closed the door behind him, and you lost your balance, falling on your knees.

People were just so easy to manipulate, thanks to your mother.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, “Thanks mom, time for dad’s turn.”

Weapons.

You reached under your bed to take a look at the secret compartment that your dad used to make you put your knives, but it was of course empty. Lincoln was stupid when it came to you, but he wasn’t a complete idiot, apparently. You pushed yourself off your knees and stood up, then closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, trying to clear your mind.

Your father had taught you this long before, in every room, there was something you could use as a weapon or turn into one.

You took a deep breath, exhaled it and opened your eyes.

It would have to be something precise, Lincoln had a point, you were in no shape to get into an actual fight with him. So you would need something sharp, and something that you could hide in either your sleeve or somewhere easily reachable. Something that Lincoln wouldn’t see until the next time.

You could tear down the bed to get to the bed springs, but it would take a long time and there was the danger of him walking in on you.

There was a chair and your post-its, some tape, small notebooks by the corner, hair ties and a music box on the desk in front of the window—

The music box.

The music box had a mirror.

“There you are,” you muttered to yourself as you took the music box, then grabbed the tape and your hair ties. You checked the door, then sat down, covered the mirror with the long skirt of your dress, then pushed on it with your elbow until you heard the small noise of the mirror breaking. You pulled back and uncovered it, then grabbed the longest shard, ripped out a couple of pages from your notebook and started taping it around the shard before you wrapped your hair ties around it so as not to let it slip or hurt your hand.

By the time you heard Lincoln’s footsteps coming upstairs, you had spent almost an hour preparing your weapon. You looked up, then closed the music box and put it back before tucking your newly made weapon under the lacy sleeve of your dress, and got on the bed, leaned your back to the bedframe and crossed your arms.

“Petal?” Lincoln called out and you gritted your teeth and turned your head when he peeked his head in.

“Hey, do you want to join me for some food downstairs?”

You narrowed your eyes, “Depends. Will your girlfriend be joining us?”

“I knocked her out and put her in your dad’s basement,” Lincoln said, “She will stay there until you feel like getting rid of her, and I won’t stand in your way this time. Okay?”

He offered you his hand and you eyed it, then pushed it away and managed to stand up on your own.

“Still dizzy?”

“A little,” you confessed, “Still angry too.”

Lincoln chuckled and heaved a sigh, “We need to talk about this jealousy of yours babe.”

You managed to control your expression and ignored him as you went downstairs. The rug was pulled to the side so that you could see the hidden door to the basement, but it was closed. You looked at the table in the middle of the living room that was covered in food, and there was a vase of jasmine flowers between the lit candles. You were still sure that you couldn’t engage in an actual fight until the chloroform was completely out of your system, but you didn’t have to worry about it since Lincoln seemed not to put any knives on the table. Your dad’s old vinyl was playing by the corner, the soothing melody creating a complete contrast with what was happening.

“A dance before dinner?” he asked you, “Come on. That dress needs to be used in a dance, don’t you think?”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders and took his hand, then wrapped your arms around his neck as he pressed his hands to the small of your back, pulling you closer before you started swaying with the melody.

You just needed an exact time for him to lower his defenses completely, because you only had one shot at this.

Stab the prey, twist the knife, pull it back and watch them bleed.

“You have no idea how much I waited for this,” he said, “When I was in Italy, I would….dream of this at night.”

You didn’t answer, you just made sure to keep your wrist at an angle so that the mirror shard wouldn’t slip.

“And when I came back and saw you for the first time in that red gown…” he murmured, “I thought I would drop dead. You were even more beautiful than I pictured.”

“Why didn’t you tell me back then?” you asked absentmindedly and he shrugged.

“I didn’t know how you would react.”

“And all those people who died?”

“Some of them were diversion,” he said, “Some of them were chosen. I promised myself no one could make you sad, ever. I would’ve killed that agent too if he was the one to break up with you, but then you said it was your choice, and… I don’t know. I thought it’d raise suspicions.”

Spencer.

He had considered killing Spencer.

Goosebumps rose on your skin but you reminded yourself to stay calm and focus, you had already slipped once because of your anger, you wouldn’t get a second chance.

“What about Anthony?” you asked, “You killed him… was it to frame me?”

“God no,” he said, shaking his head, “Of course not. Erica thought it was revenge for how you were treating John, but I wanted to make you remember how it felt to be in the scene of your father’s doing, how….how powerful it made you feel. I thought that would make you see how everyone around you was trying to make you into something you’re not. Deep down, Y/N, you’re just like me. That’s why we will be legends.”

A bitter taste appeared at the back of your throat and you swallowed thickly.

“And my father?”

“He knew we were supposed to be together,” he said, “He knew you would need a…companion in this. Us, free together. That’s why your father failed, because he couldn’t share who he was with your mother. It won’t happen with us, ever.”

Stab the prey, twist the knife, pull it back and watch them bleed.

You moved your wrist so that the shard could slip low enough for you to hold it and Lincoln leaned in slightly, his eyes closing.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips and you smiled.

“Oh Lincoln,” you murmured, your heart beating in your ears, “You should’ve known better.”

With that, you drove the shard right into his stomach, making him gasp and open his eyes. Betrayal was written all over his face, it was very clear he hadn’t expected it as you twisted the shard, making him lose his breath before you pulled it back, blood splashing over your face and your dress. You shoved him, making him lose his balance and fall down, taking the coffee table with him, causing some noise and as if on cue, Erica started screaming his name from the basement.

“Erica, shut up before I come down there and break your fucking neck!” you called out and the screaming stopped.

“Thank you,” you said and turned to grin at Lincoln who was breathing hard, his face pale.

“Y/N—“

“Oh don’t worry, you won’t die right away,” you said, “Dad taught me that one, ages ago. I stabbed you in the stomach, and it’s a pretty thin shard, so it’s not the blood loss that will kill you. It’ll be the toxic shock, because right now everything in your stomach including acid is contaminating your system. Should be fun, huh?”

“Why did you—“ he coughed, and you snapped your fingers.

“Hold that thought, I gotta get something from the kitchen,” you said and walked to the kitchen to open the drawers, then grabbed some knives and scissors before you want back to the living room, “Yeah, you were saying?”

“We’re meant to be,” he managed to say, trying to breathe and you hopped on the table before you cut the floor length skirt, ripping it out.

If you were going to run through the woods, you needed to be in something you could easily move and fight in.

“Nah we’re not,” you said, “You’re delusional, that’s it.”

“Petal—“

“See, I could’ve gone easy on you,” you said, wrapping the cloth around your injured wrist, “Really. I could’ve just escaped and handed you to the FBI and be done with it, but no. You two had to bring my family and Spencer into this so now,” you tut-tutted, “Now you get to suffer.”

“He doesn’t understand you,” he said, pressing on the wound and leaning his head back to the wall, “He never will, not like I do. We’re meant to get rid of every weak person in the world, everyone who deserves to die.”

You let out a laugh, now wrapping the cloth around your knuckles, “Uh huh.”

“You’re meant to be the legacy.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just meant to be a wedding planner,” you pointed at him with the knife and walked to him to grab the key from his pocket, then you pulled his boots off his feet, took off your heels and started getting into his boots.

“Petal, we’re supposed to be together.”

“Because my insane sadistic father said so?”

“Because I know you.”

You looked up from the boots you were tying as tight as possible, “Hm? You know me?”

“I do.”

You put two of the knives in each boot and jumped down to rock on the balls of your feet, trying to see if you could move well.

“That’s your first mistake buddy,” you said, now wrapping the rope over your boots, “See if you knew me, you wouldn’t be so careless, would you? You took me here and what? You didn’t think I’d kill my way out? You didn’t think I’d turn you and your serial killer groupie partner into my prey?” You pulled at the rope, “Honestly, you two fucked with the wrong legacy.”

“I don’t—“

“My father raised me to be unstoppable,” you said, “And apparently you know that. So you should’ve considered that it’d take more than two copycats to take me down, and—“ a manic laughter escaped from your lips, “Did you seriously think you could beat me at my own fucking game?”

He coughed, making a face and closed his eyes.

“You have hours until you die, but if I make it out on time, maybe I’ll send some medics here. Maybe. Depends on if I feel merciful, who knows?” you grinned, “Your survival depends on my mood, isn’t that ironic?”

“There are ten men between here and your weekend house, you’d never make it out.”

“I’m not going north,” you said and Lincoln frowned.

“South? That’s just woods.”

“No, it’s a longer way than north, but there’s a road at the end. Dad once made me find my way through the woods.”

“You can’t leave me behind,” he coughed again, “We’re meant to be together. We’re meant to work together and kill together, that’s our love story.”

You pursed your lips, then grabbed a jasmine from the vase and walked towards him.

“Even if I wanted to follow in that monster’s footsteps,” you said, looking down at him, “Even if I wanted a companion, it wouldn’t be you. You’re fucking dead weight, Linc. You don’t have what it takes.”

With that, you let the flower drop on him, unlocked the door and stepped outside, the chill air filling your lungs. After looking around to see whether it was safe, you went to the back of the house, and looked up at the stars, calculating which way to go.

Then, you tied your hair up and started running.

***

As it turned out, Lincoln had fewer men on the south of the woods, but there were still people. You had gotten rid of two of them and tied them up with the rope you had taken with you, but it would take one mistake for them to drag you back to the cabin, so you couldn’t take any risks.

You heard the faint noise of a radio and looked over your shoulder, then climbed up to the nearest tree, keeping as silent as possible. The light of a flashlight soon lit up under you and a man came into your view.

“South number five is clear,” he said into the radio and as soon as he put it into his pocket, you jumped down silently, standing behind him for a moment before you smacked his head into the tree, making him pass out. You unwrapped a part of the rope and tied his hands and feet before you stuck the cloth around your arm into his mouth so that when he woke up he wouldn’t be able to ask for help. You let out a breath and walked deeper into the woods, but as soon as you jumped over a tree root, someone grabbed you by the hair and slammed you head first into the tree. A ringing echoed in your ears, getting louder and louder but you managed to pull the knife from your boot and drive it into his leg, making him grunt and you used your whole body weight to turn around with his arm around you, popping it out of its socket and he dropped you with a yelp, kicking you in the ribs and a fire spread from your ribs into your whole body, making you stop the scream at the last minute.

“You fucking bitch-“ he said but as soon as he grabbed you again, you managed to push yourself up and grab the rest of the rope you had left. You kicked him back and jumped on his back, wrapping the rope around his neck as he tried to get you off.

“I’m not killing you you fucking idiot!” you grit out as he slammed back into the tree to get you off, “I’m making you pass out, that’s all!”

Soon enough, he dropped to his knees and fell to the ground while you tried to catch your breath, but everything hurt. You wiped at the blood that was seeping from the cut on your forehead, drenching your face and your dress but managed to tie him up and get away from him.

It didn’t take you long though. It felt like the whole forest was spinning around you and you felt someone pulling the ground from under your feet before you fell back, your eyes closing.

You had no idea how long you stayed there unconscious but the unmistakable sound of a shot being fired made you open your eyes with a gasp as you winced at the pain pulsing through your whole body.

“It doesn’t sound so good.”

You slowly turned your head to see your father sitting by the tree, his arms crossed and you let out a groan.

“Is this hell?” you asked, “I just died and it’s hell, right? There’s no way I’m hallucinating about you.”

“You didn’t die yet,” your father said as he looked at the way the shot was fired. “I assume you didn’t search for Lincoln’s gun before you walked out of the cabin?”

“Lincoln can’t move,” you said and your father tut-tutted.

“Erica could move just fine the last you saw her though.”

“Shit.” You closed your eyes for a moment and your father heaved a sigh.

“So what do we have here?” he said, “Head injury, concussion, loss of blood, and that guy over there just broke a rib or two, right?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, you wouldn’t stand a chance against someone coming at you with a gun when you’re like this.”

You swallowed thickly, your eyes burning.

“I can’t move,” you managed to say through your teeth, “It hurts.”

“Does it hurt enough to kill you? Because that’s what will happen if she and her men find you here.”

You tried to blink back the tears, “What if it’s supposed to end this way?”

“Supposed to end this way?” your father stood up and glared down at you, “Petal, I didn’t spend years to train you just so that you could die in a forest in the middle of nowhere. Get up.”

“Dad, I tried to survive, okay?” you said, “I tried—”

“Well, that’s not enough right now, is it though?” he asked and snapped his fingers, “You’re a survivor, your mother and I made sure of that. Stop acting like a prey, get up.”

“Dad-“

“Get up!” his voice shot through your head and you opened your eyes again, coughing, that ringing in your ears due to the pain blocking out everything but the gunshot that sounded much closer than before. You dug your fingernails into your palms and pulled yourself up by grabbing at the nearest tree, then wiped the blood off your face again.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, “Okay, Stop acting like a prey. Which way to go?”

You looked up at the night sky and found the star you were looking for before you started making your way through the forest, even if it felt like you could pass out any second. You had no idea how long you had been walking when all of a sudden the brightness of flashlight entered your vision, making you hold your breath and grab the handle of your knife tighter, thinking that it was Lincoln and Erica’s men.

It was only when you saw a very familiar face wearing an FBI vest that you let out the breath you were holding, the knife slipping from your grip.

“Spencer?” you rasped out and he just stared at you before he started running to you.

“You’re alive,” he managed to say before he pulled you into a tight hug, making you wince in pain. He pulled back immediately, his hands cradling your head.

“Are you—“

He didn’t get to finish that sentence. It happened in less than a second, but the sound of a gunshot that rang through the forest echoed in your ears before blood splattered over his face, making you stumble as if someone pushed you from behind.

“Why is there blood?” you managed to ask before a fire spread through your chest, taking your breath away and Spencer’s eyes widened as he lowered them to the gunshot wound bleeding on your chest. Everyone ran past you, yelling something into the radio and shooting their guns at someone behind you while the fire made its way through your whole system, the ringing in your ears getting worse.

The last thing you remembered was Spencer catching you before you hit the ground but whatever he was saying to you got drowned out in the loud noise of the helicopter flying above you. The lights of it got brighter and brighter before a warmth pulled you out of the pain and surrounded you.

Then everything went black.

Chapter 28

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer #reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #twisted

1K notes · View notes

drawlfoy · 3 years

Text

detention, retention, and draco malfoy being a little shit

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no not really

summary: golden trio friend y/n y/l/n tries to extract information out of draco malfoy after being placed in detention together.

warnings: swearing, panic attack kinda stuff, just the dark war things that would come w having the task that draco does

a/n: ayo so i started this as a fic i was originally planning on writing in a week. i discontinued it bc i didn’t think anyone was that interested, but i’ve written for it on and off. it’s about 16k words right now standing, but i’m reposting this as a 2 part series. here are the first ~12k words....enjoy :) IMPORTANT: if you’re like “hey i started reading this in october why tf are you reposting the first two parts” just keep reading ok lmao i promise there’s more there’s about through part 6 in here hehe. i just wanted new readers to be able to pick up on it without being turned off by the fact that it was part 3. this will b e 2 parts and at least 20k words

word count: 11.6k

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell

happy reading y’all

For legal purposes, the york pudding she lobbed at Pansy Parkinson’s head on Monday evening was simply meant to be a joke. She didn’t know that her aim was bad enough that it was going to get in Snape’s hair instead--honestly, it wasn’t even supposed to get past the Ravenclaw table, much less veer to the left to make a beeline for the professors--but no matter how much she tried to explain this to McGonagall, her sentence remained the same: detention every Friday. For two months.

Her life was ending for sure.

“I honestly don’t know what you were expecting,” Hermione told her as she gently wiped off the nib of her quill later that night in the common room. “Even if you had hit your mark, that’s still technically assault.”

“Did you even hear what she said to me? She told me that I looked like the type of kid that bit people in primary school,” complained Y/N. “I didn’t even think she knew what primary school was!”

Hermione snorted. “How long ago?”

“Two days. I’ve been waiting until there was something throwable on the dinner table.”

“How very analytic of you.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“And you wonder why you’ve got detention.” Hermione tsk-ed at her, her face stone serious but her tone light hearted. “Maybe take this as an opportunity to, I don’t know, do your homework for once? So you won’t have to have a breakdown over the next Potion’s essay and beg me to write it for you?”

“I’m going to go to sleep and think terribly mean thoughts about you.”

“Have fun.”

Detention.

Something that Y/N wasn’t completely unfamiliar with--she’d done her time organizing Snape’s cabinets, just like every other Gryffindor--but it was different when it came to McGonagall. An impressive old lady, she thought that McGonagall saw something in her. She was always the first to chuckle at Y/N’s jokes and hesitated to reprimand her stupid behavior. And she never gave Y/N detention.

Until now, she supposed. 6th year was changing a lot of things--even their Potions professor--so McGonagall turning a new stone shouldn’t have been anything shocking.

At least, not as shocking as the first thing Y/N saw as she walked into her house head’s office.

“Malfoy?” she spat.

The platinum blonde didn’t even bother to look up from his desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall chided. “I think we would all prefer if you restrained yourself from getting into any more physical altercations with Slytherins.”

She huffed, plopping down in the chair furthest away from that foul git and reaching for her satchel.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” said the elderly professor. “If I hear anything, and I mean anything, other than the sound of studying, consider your sentence doubled.”

With a swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving her with Malfoy.

“So what’d you do to get in here, huh? Did the administration finally get a hold of that video of you licking Voldemort’s toes?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” he snapped, whipping around to glare at her.

“‘s just a joke,” said Y/N. “Like--how everyone says your family houses him and everything--but whatever. I can tell it’s a sore spot.”

His gaze, never withering in intensity, remained trained on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently so. What’re you here for?”

He exhaled sharply. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me think?”

“No promises, but maybe.”

“Late work. I forgot to turn in the Transfiguration exam last week.”

She made a tutting sound as she lazily shuffled through the crumpled parchment in her satchel. “I expected more from you. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I wound up here?”

“No. I am going to ask you to stop talking now, though.”

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hermione said over breakfast the next morning. Ron and Harry were nervously chit chatting at the other side of the table over the Saturday Quidditch game against Hufflepuff--supposedly it was supposed to be quite a high stakes match. Not like Y/N cared much, though.

“Yeah! And the worst part was that he won’t even tease anymore. Like, he just sits there all broody and woe is me. We’re all witnessing our nation’s descent into war--he’s not special!”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just Malfoy,” said Y/N. “We have detention together with McGonagall. He’s such a nasty little greaseball, don’t you think? I mean, look at him right now, glowering over his cereal.”

“Wait! That’s it!”

“What’s it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s genius, really,” he said. “Y/N has to spend time with him alone every week, and we know that something is up with him. Malfoy is absolutely a Death Eater and has connections to You-Know-Who, but I just need to find a way to prove it.”

“I vaguely forecast where this is going, and I hate it already.”

“Listen, Y/N. It’s not for that long, and it’s for the health of the wizarding world. If you just get to know him--”

“Ick!”

“If you just get to know him, maybe get him to trust you and find out his secrets...we’d finally have enough to turn him in and throw him out of Hogwarts for good.”

“Is that really necessary, Harry?” Ginny butted in from her seat further down next to Dean. “Malfoy’s probably just exhausted like the rest of you. 6th year is difficult, and we have no solid evidence that he’s a Death Eater. I’m sure being stuck in a room with him for 2 hours is hard enough without pretending to be nice to him.”

“But what if Harry’s right?” said Y/N. “What if he is actually a Death Eater? What if he’s an active danger to the student body?”

“Exactly!” The joy written across Harry’s face at the prospect of someone else finally agreeing was infectious. “So will you?”

“Er…” She dragged her spoon across the top layer of her porridge. “In theory, sure. In actuality, I’m not sure how I could do it. Malfoy doesn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

“Love potion?” offered Ron.

“I don’t care how much of a prat he is, I’m not roofying him.”

“I rarely agree with you, Y/N, but I think you’re right. If you want to do this, you need to get him to trust you for real.”

“Your back-handed compliment skills never disappoint, Hermione. Do you think you could help me out with a plan?”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face as she nodded. “That’s my strong suit.”

The plan they laid out over the remainder of the day was ambitious but at least do-able. Each week was split into different subtasks, the end goal being a somewhat tentative friendship between the two.

“If you can flirt with him and get him to have a crush on you without scaring him off, you’d be in the best possible position,” Hermione told her as they walked back from the Quidditch pitch among the screaming Gryffindor fans. They’d won--yet again. “Obviously I don’t foresee that being likely, but if you pull it off somehow he’d probably be willing to tell you anything. The fact that you’re a pureblood is going to carry you through this whole ordeal. He’ll at least be accepting of your existence in the wizarding community.”

The bitter edge in Hermione’s tone made Y/N’s blood boil. There was no reason for Malfoy to be as prejudiced as he was--he’d spent his adolescence in Hermione’s academic dust. She was obviously smarter than him.

“You got it, ‘Mione,” she said. Her voice barely carried over the cheers of her peers as they ascended the steps to the common room. “We’ll take this little ferret down. I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get too cocky, now.”

The Gryffindor after-party was crazy...per usual. The charmed self-filling goblets, the blasted playlist of Wizpop pumping through the air, and the buzzing energy of the room was giving Y/N a giant headache. She stood with Hermione and Harry by the edge of the crowd, watching Ron get hoisted up on the shoulders of the chasers.

“No wonder the Slytherins think we’re Neanderthals,” Y/N mused. For once, Hermione didn’t respond. “Hermione? Is everything okay?”

The second she turned away to look at her best friend, gasps and whistles filled the room. She whipped back just in time to see Lavender Brown, a sweet but slightly ditzy girl in their year, pull away from a kiss with Ron.

“Oh shi--Hermione!”

Harry and Y/N shared a glance before darting after the witch--who had impressively already made it to the door.

“Hermione, wait!” Y/N called as they jogged after her, throwing open the common room entrance and finding her sat by the tapestry on the other side of the hall, knees to her chest.

“‘Mione, what’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“Don’t be daft, Harry,” said Y/N. “You saw exactly what the rest of us did.”

“I don’t understa--”

“Harry.” Her voice was taut. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I think that it might be best if you let us be. Go back and enjoy the party.”

He gave her a tight, grateful smile before darting back through the door. Y/N wasted no more time in walking over to Hermione and throwing her arms around her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hugging her tight. Hermione made no move to detach them, so she continued. “Ron is an idiot. You deserve so much better--your first kiss was Viktor fucking Krum, after all. You’re hot stuff and this place is just unfortunately running dry of men who are impressive enough for you. Once you’re out of here and working in the Ministry, you’re gonna have the time of your life with men actually in your league.”

Hermione managed a sniffly laugh as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just so fucking embarrassing, you know. Like, I have a crush on him because I think he understands me and I smelled him in my Amortentia and I thought he’d like me back, but…” She hiccuped. “Then he goes off and kisses Lavender Brown, of all people. There’s nothing particularly wrong with her or anything, but she’s so different...I’m so bookish, and she’s so girly and everything I’m not…”

Y/N took the opportunity to tuck a lock of Hermione’s hair behind her ear as she listened.

“And it can’t help but make me think--was I ever anything to him but a friend? If the girl he ends up choosing is the opposite of me?”

“Girly, don’t think like that,” murmured Y/N. “He’s a teenage boy. They don’t think of love the way that we do--to them it’s a game of availability, not of choice. At least for Ronald. You intimidate him, and by extension, you’re not available.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“You’re right. It shouldn’t.” Y/N drew a long breath. “So you should find someone who always has you as their first choice--someone who isn’t intimidated by your intellect. They’re out there. I promise.”

Hermione managed a shaky smile. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. Do you mind if I have some alone time? I don’t think I’m ready to go back to the party but I just want some quiet.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need me,” she said, brushing herself off and making to walk down the hall.

“You’re not going back to the party?”

“Nah. It hurts my head and I want fresh air. If I’m not back here in a half hour, assume that I’ve been kidnapped.”

With that, she started her walk. She wasn’t planning on going on a long stroll--there was a small balcony that she often went to when she needed to clear her head. It was beautiful, especially on a snowy night like this.

But the walk was creepy.

There was only one way in and out--a narrow, damp hallway that had absolutely no light fixtures. If Y/N really wanted to, she could cast a quick lumos, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see what lived on the walls. The stairs were steep, too, but she managed to bound up all 40 of them in record time.

“Who’s there?”

The sudden voice ripped a scream out of Y/N’s throat as she reached the top, catching a glimpse of the shadowy figure at the edge of the balcony that spoke. She clasped her hand over her mouth and she crept forward to the opening, getting a better look at the person that was in her secret spot.

The clouds shifted in the sky to allow more moonlight to cast a soft glow on Malfoy’s face, hardened with irritation.

“Malfoy?” Y/N asked, rather dumbly.

“What stellar observational skills,” he drawled.

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “What are you doing here? This is part of the Gryffindor tower. Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know...playing hide and seek with the sewer rats in the dungeons?”

“Very funny.” His flat tone exposed the fact that he did not, in fact, find it very funny. “There’s no rule barring me from coming up here.”

“But why? This is my spot!”

“Because I wanted to get out. Now, I was here first, so unless you want your detention extended, I suggest you leave.”

Y/N bit the fiery comebacks on the tip of her tongue as the memories of her plan with Hermione began floating back to her.

Week 1 -- Hold one neutral, civil conversation with Malfoy.

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here,” Y/N decided upon. leaning up against the balcony. The rogue snowflakes that made it past the overhanging roof melted on her cheeks.

“That isn’t a suggestion,” said Malfoy. “I’m demanding you leave.”

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Y/N asked, pointedly ignoring his words. “I’ve always loved the snow. It’s so quiet.”

“And it would be even quieter if you left.”

“Aren’t you the conversationalist?” said Y/N.

“If you don’t leave, I will hex you,” Malfoy told her through gritted teeth.

“I just love how the moonlight reflects off of the snow,” continued Y/N. “It’s so...pure.”

“Please leave.”

On her walk back down the dank stairwell, she allowed herself a little smile.

Task 1? Technically done.

The first week went largely as planned. Malfoy was cold and certainly suspicious of her, but he wasn’t completely venomous when Y/N asked where he got his quill from in Potions. It was silver, charmed to shimmer with flecks of forest green. He told her Barnaby’s in France, and that was that. She walked away from his table with all of her limbs attached. Perhaps that was all the progress she was going to make in the next few weeks, but the task at hand certainly made the prospect of her lost Friday afternoons more bearable.

Harry was going completely batty, rambling on about how Malfoy was behind the mysterious cursed objects that had been floating about the castle without explanation.

“And why would Malfoy bring cursed objects to Hogwarts if he has aspirations other than being expelled?” Hermione would ask over their books.

“You don’t understand, Hermione! You girls need to be careful walking around at night--especially you, Y/N. I don’t want you going missing after detention because of that slimeball.”

Y/N always gave him a laugh, berating him for his slight misogynistic commentary and turning back to whatever her task was, but the truth was that she was worried for him. The mental weight of the impending war and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it was certainly getting too difficult for him to bear. It was heartbreaking to see the vivacious boy she’d grown up with crumble under the responsibilities of something he should never have to worry about in the first place.

Friday came much sooner than expected, and Y/N reluctantly left her friends in the common room to trek to McGonagall’s office. The walk was frigid and the wind bit at her cheeks as she rounded the last outdoor hall.

Why was this castle so dark?

A thump behind her made her jump, and Harry’s words came floating back to her.

Remember all those cursed objects? What if there’s someone just...stalking the school grounds, waiting for someone like me to snatch?

She shivered, throwing herself at the office door and slamming it behind her.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall greeted, her eyebrows raised in amusement. “Something giving you trouble?”

“No, Professor,” she answered, setting her bag down on the desk next to Malfoy. He sent her a curious look as well. “It’s just cold outside.”

She chuckled. “I need to go speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. I expect that, upon my return, you both are in one piece and alive.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the one who needs to be given that speech,” said Y/N, bored and testing the waters.

“She’s right, Professor,” added Malfoy. “There’s no projectiles here.”

McGonagall exhaled a long, shaky breath before brushing herself off. “Please. Behave yourselves.”

“You got it, boss,” she said as she watched her Professor walk out the door. ��So, Malfoy. How was your week?”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’d way prefer if you didn’t speak to me,” he said, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m not up to anything! We’re in detention together and, I dunno, since I see you sometimes at balls, I thought it’d be nice to be on good terms.”

“Good terms?” He scoffed. “You’re a Gryffindor. I’d rather you be a bloody Hufflepuff.”

“How about neutral terms?”

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she could catch a glimpse of him rolling his eyes. “If neutral terms mean you being quiet, then, yes. Please.”

“I’ll be plenty quiet. After I hear about your opinion on what happened in Potions today with Brown and Weasley. When Snape yelled at them for holding hands.”

He let out a sharp sigh. “Believe it or not, I actually have better things to do than keep up with whatever stuff your house does.”

“But…?” Y/N pressed. She may not’ve spent her time at Hogwarts as Malfoy’s best friend, but she had grown up with the boy, and she could tell when he was holding back.

He stared blankly at her.

“Come on. I’m literally the only person in my house who’ll openly admit that they’re disgusted by that dynamic. I’m begging you.”

She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a flicker of amusement dance across his face for a moment. “Your house sounds more like a cult than a student group.”

“Oh, says the one from Slytherin,” said Y/N.

“We only act like that because our families are close. What’s your excuse? Hormones and Quidditch culture?”

“Touché.” As much as she wanted to fight back, she bit her tongue. Whatever she was doing was making progress, and quicker progress than she was expecting. Her next task was to make him laugh, and she was emboldened by the fact that she could potentially be able to kill two birds with one stone.

They sat in silence for a little bit, but this time, it was a comfortable silence. Malfoy wasn’t staring at the clock on the wall or rolling his eyes at her every move, so she had time to plot.

On one hand, she could make a fool of herself--drop her inkwell, say something stupid in class, fall down the stairs--but she had a sneaking suspicion that her sorry attempts at slapstick humor wouldn’t land well with Draco anymore. He’d become so serious lately, so solemn. This was the most light hearted she’d seen him, even compared with how he acted with the rest of his Slytherin lackeys.

On the other, she could try to sell out her friends. She could confide in him how “big” Hermione’s teeth were (they weren’t even big) or tell him that Ron smelled of eggs (true, but that was a low blow). Something told her that this would be much more successful, but she wasn’t willing to turn to that so quickly--she was already a week ahead as it was.

“What is it?”

Malfoy’s bored drawl cut through her flurried thoughts. Her cheeks turned pink as she blinked, noticing that she’d been staring at him for far too long. “Nothing. Sorry. I just spaced out.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, giving her another suspicious look before turning back to his work. “Can you maybe space out somewhere other than my face?”

“Where’s your vanity, Malfoy?” she pressed as she leaned back in her chair, hair swinging over the back.

“Shut up,” he snapped. She could tell that whatever connection they’d had in the fleeting moments beforehand was being burnt by the second, but her embarrassment and pride drove her forward.

“Merlin, what’s got you so wound up?” she prompted, noting how deliciously unraveled he looked at this. “Where’s my cool, collected Slytherin?”

He slammed hands on his desk at this, whipping around to glare at her. “What’s your angle, Y/L/N?”

“What?”

“Why are you bothering me?”

“Because I want to.” She beamed.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the usual neat manner in which it normally laid on his head. “Compelling. What do you want from me?”

“What do I want…?” She tilted her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “What?”

“You never talk to me,” he explained. “Obviously, I prefer it like that. I can’t help but wonder why suddenly you want to be making small talk. So, what is it you want from me?”

“Malfoy,” she said. “I think you’re a spoiled prick who thinks far too highly of himself and drives me insane. But I also think that you’re funnier than what my friends give you credit for. Granted, you’ve always been annoying, but I don’t want anything from you. I just want to, I dunno, make these next few months less insufferable.” Somehow the lie slipped through her teeth easier than any of her previous bluffs.

He frowned, his mouth opening once before firmly screwing shut into a scowl. “Oh.”

“No offense, Malfoy, but what else can you offer me other than your dazzling personality?” she teased. “You know my family. I don’t need to blackmail you to pay for jewelry I’ve had my eye on or anything.”

He scoffed. “As if I’d say yes.”

“Exactly my point. It’d be fucking weird. Merlin, I’m not trying to butter you up to buy out Borgin & Burkes for me. Do I give off gold-digger vibes? Is that what this is about?”

“Fucking hell.” Malfoy turned to her in disbelief. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Answer my question. Or better yet, pull out your wallet. Wait, did I say that out loud?” She mimed surprise and covered her mouth. “Oh no! What will my mother say now that I’ve squandered my last chance of hitching you? There’s no way I can go home for Christmas break now.”

He rolled his eyes so hard she found herself worried for a moment that they were going to just permanently get stuck in the back of his head. “Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t really have a shot to begin with.”

Ouch.

She huffed and dramatically flopped over the back of her chair, hoping he couldn’t see that she’d flinched. “So you don’t think I’m pretty??”

“Y/L/N,” he snapped, his voice a low warning. “Can I please just work? What is with you today?”

Y/N sent him a sour look before giving her Charms work another look. Malfoy was awfully quiet, and when she snuck any glances at him later on, he was angled to face away from her.

Why did she feel like such shit all of a sudden? She cataloged the past events, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that her stomach dropped. It all made sense when the words “You didn’t really have a shot to begin with” echoed around her head once again. She’d failed Harry. She’d failed Hermione. There was no way that she was going to be able to get him to reveal his secrets now--it’s not like he was confiding in even his closest friends as Harry made apparent when he explained how vague his statements were to his fellow Slytherins on the train. Her only chance would’ve been to somehow get him to fall for her, and that wasn’t going...great. And it had been a pipedream to begin with.

When McGonagall swished back into the classroom to dismiss them, Y/N shot out of there without even looking at Malfoy again. It felt like something was lodged in her throat and she was not going to cry in front of him. No, no. She had to make it to Hermione to tell her what was going on.

“Y/L/N?”

Malfoy’s voice made her pause in her flee as she nearly rounded the corner in front of her, but she refused to look back. It was far enough away that it was possible she didn’t hear him.

“Wait!”

She was up the stairs and speed walking as fast as her legs could carry her to the Gryffindor tower before he even saw which way she went.

“I don’t think you understand,” Y/N wailed by the fire as Hermione rubbed her shoulders and Harry sat awkwardly perched on the couch. “I can’t do this. The only way this was going to work was if he had a crush on me, and I don’t think he ever will. I fucked it up! The one time you guys need me, I fuck it up! I let you down!”

Hermione’s left hand stopped its rubbing to rest firmly on her shoulder. “Please don’t be upset. You didn’t let us down. Plus, you’re only, what...two weeks in? You don’t need him to like you to make it work. Just getting him to trust you will be enough, and you’re good at that.”

“I don’t think so,” continued Y/N. “Harry said that he wasn’t even that open on the train when he overheard him talking to all of his friends. And those are purebloods that he likes! That he’s trusted and known for years and years! I’m a friend of you guys, and he knows it. I think he’d figure it out quick.”

“We should take every chance we can get,” said Harry from his spot a few feet away, his eyes lazy and unfocused on the fire crackling in front of them. “You won’t let us down if you can’t get anything, Y/N, you know that! But if you got anything from him, it’d be incredible. It’s a win-win. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said, her tone becoming defensive. “I just...don’t want to mess this up. I know how much it’d mean if I succeeded.”

“So just try!” Hermione said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m sorry he was kind of mean to you today, but I don’t think that should bother you too much. He should be more afraid of what you’d say if you didn’t care about being a good person.”

“Fucking right on there,” she said, wiping away the frustrated tears. “If I was honest with him, he’d leave crying. He should be grateful that I’m taking this bet so I actually have to be nice to him.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harry leaned over to smack her back like he did his Quidditch teammates after a winning match.

After they’d parted their ways with Harry, Hermione and Y/N made their way slowly up the stairwell to the girls’ dorms.

“Y/N?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think, er…” She paused. “Do you think you were really upset about failing us today? Or was it something else?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t see what else it would be.”

“I’m sorry,” responded the bright witch. “Forget I ever asked. It was a stupid thing to wonder about.”

“Weirdo,” she teased as she waved her a goodnight and made her way to her dorm.

The next morning, Y/N busied herself with revising her Charms essay over her breakfast--a cup of tea and a half-buttered piece of toast--while Hermione leaned over her shoulder, nodding or grimacing at the corrections she made.

“Did you work during detention? Like, at all?”

“‘Mione,” moaned Y/N. “It’s too early for this. I don’t want a lecture. I just couldn’t focus.”

Her warm brown eyes narrowed as they bore into Y/N’s face. “Why were you distracted?”

“Oh, I, uh…” She stumbled over her words as Hermione drew closer. “Merlin, Hermione. I told you last night. I just felt like I was letting you all down.”

“Mhm,” was all she got in response before her best friend tilted her head back down to the parchment in front of her.

Y/N sat, completely puzzled. What was Hermione on about? She’d been straightforward with what was hurting her--she didn’t want to mess up the only task the Golden Trio had ever given her--and, even if she hadn’t been, Hermione was smart enough to deduce things for herself. So what was she thinking about?

Her eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table where the usual 6th year pureblood gang loitered about, drinking black coffee and sulking--but Malfoy was not to be seen. She jumped when her eyes met Parkinson, her dark eyes burning into her soul as a deep scowl was written across her face.

“Malfoy, what the fuck do you want?” Ron’s voice pulled her back to reality to see him glaring somewhere behind her.

“I wasn’t here to talk to you,” a familiar voice drawled.

She turned to see Malfoy standing behind her, a sneer written all across his stupidly pretty face.

“Miss me already?” asked Y/N as she raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side.

“For fuck’s sake, stop doing that,” he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and throwing a box at her. “You forgot your quill. I took the liberty of properly storing it, because it seems like you lot like to just throw them in your bag. Makes me physically ill to watch.”

“Oh.” Y/N studied the intricate box in her hands before tucking it away in her knapsack. “Thanks? I guess?”

He nodded curtly, contorting his face into one last scowl to send to Ron before turning and leaving,

“So,” Hermione began, cutting her omelet at a much brisker pace, “I think we need to have a little chat. About...all of this.”

“Why?”

“Not right now,” she said, her voice low and her eyes flicking at Ron and Harry sitting across from them. “I don’t think it’d benefit us for them to hear.”

“Ok?” She cautiously took a bite out of her toast and continued staring Hermione down. “You’re scaring me.”

“It’s...I don’t know. I thought I was crazy for thinking this, but it seems like we need to talk about it anyways. For this little mission of yours to work, we need to be totally open and honest with each other.”

“Sure.” Y/N took another bite. “I honestly have no clue what’s got you so on edge, though.”

“Who’s on edge?” Harry asked, leaning over the table and stealing the croissant on Y/N’s plate.

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Do you not see the entire plate of them over there?”

He laughed, sending her an easy grin and dunking a piece into the hot chocolate in his mug. “Finders keepers. Say, Y/N, are you busy next weekend? Ron and Lavender are going to Madame Puddingfoot’s together, and I know Hermione isn’t going to want to take a weekend off studying to go to Hogsmeade, so I thought that maybe we could go cause some trouble at the Cauldron.”

“If you stop stealing my food we can talk about it,” replied Y/N, the corners of her lips tugging up into a grin.

“Deal.”

Hermione tugged at her arm. “I just realized I need to get something out of my room before we watch the Quidditch game. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

“Sure!” said Y/N. “Gee, I’m rolling in invitations today.”

Once they exited the dining hall, though, it immediately became evident that they were not actually heading up to the dorms. Hermione dragged her into the nearest bathroom before casting a quick silencing charm.

“Myrtle! Are you in here?” Only when she was sure silence was the only response to her question, she seemed satisfied to turn to Y/N and begin talking. “When were you going to tell me that you have a thing for Malfoy?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Y/N felt the heat that had risen to her cheeks from the last quill-encounter re-emerge.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” said Hermione. “Are you seriously going to expect me to believe that you nearly sobbed over some random pureblood git telling you you never had a chance with him because it might slow down your progress with helping us? Actually? I’ve seen you look more ecstatic about hearing that your dear granny passed away.”

“To be fair, she had really good life insurance,” Y/N cut in. “And she was an old hag. Never had a nice thing to say to me.”

“Life insurance or no life insurance...you can’t seriously expect me to believe that you were just upset about not being able to help us as much. That was ridiculous. I don’t buy it. And the way you blushed like crazy when he came over to talk to you--the way you try and pretend like you can flirt...please. Y/N, it’s clear as day. I know you, and I know you have a crush on him.”

“Hermione!” hissed Y/N. “You have no clue what you’re talking about!”

“Yes, I think I do,” she pushed. “And you need to be honest with me if you want to be of any help right now.”

Her bossiness lit a fire of rage in Y/N’s chest, but she sucked in a deep breath, shutting her eyes before releasing it. “Believe me when I say I haven’t ever acknowledged any feelings I may or may not have towards him.”

“Ok.” Her face softened. “I know it might take time, but I honestly do think I’m right. Please just...be careful. This is a really odd situation to get caught up in if you actually have feelings for the other person. You’re trying to manipulate him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“And if I have these feelings for him, I’ve done a pretty damn good job of suppressing them for however long they’ve been here.”

Hermione sighed. “That’s true. I’m just saying that spending this much time with him is probably only going to make things worse. Will you please tell me if anything changes between the two of you?”

“Anything changes?” Y/N’s voice was dripping in disbelief. “You’re joking. Even if I was obsessed with him I don’t think there’s ever a chance of hell in anything ‘changing’ between us. He said it himself.”

“You know what I mean, Y/N,” responded Hermione. “Just promise me, ok?”

“Ok,” said Y/N. “I promise.”

That seemed to satiate Hermione as she nodded approvingly at her friend. “I think it goes without saying that Ron and Harry shouldn’t hear about this.”

“There’s nothing to hear about, but yes.” She shuffled her feet before meeting Hermione’s eyes again. “Er, I’m sorry for this being a weird question, but would you mind coming along with me and Harry to Hogsmeade? I don’t really see him like...that...and I don’t want to read into it too much and reject him if he is doing it just platonically, but just in case. Y’know.”

“Sure,” said Hermione, even though her face took on that curious expression yet again. “Anyways, you actually did forget something--you’re not wearing a single piece of Gryffindor colors for our game today. You should probably run back to your dorm before Harry and Ron notice.”

After they said their goodbyes, Y/N found herself turning over the things Hermione had said to her in her head. Did she like Malfoy? No, no fucking way. But a part of her really did think he was funny. And of course it was natural to feel rejected when anyone insinuates that they’d never consider you as a romantic interest without jest.

Once she’d made it up to her room and grabbed a few scarves, Y/N made to put her red cloak into her satchel. Her fingers ghosted over the box that Malfoy had given her and scoffed once she saw the Malfoy crest engraved into the rich wood.

Narcissistic snot.

Her curiosity got the better of her as she reached over to open up the elaborately decorated box. What met her was not just one quill but two--one of which was most certainly not her own.

She took them both out, tossing the old one in a pile with her other trusty familiar white feather quills and picked up the other one. It looked familiar--identical to the quill that she’d complimented Malfoy on in Potions about a week ago. Butterflies began to flutter like crazy in her stomach as she turned it over in her hand, watching the gray and green glitter together and the magic sparkles cast a gentle light over her bed. She generally avoided dipping into her family’s pockets to get school supplies any more than she had to--it’s not like it made her friends feel good about themselves when they were reminded how rich her family was--but this might be what she could consider to be an exception. She hadn’t even liked his quill all that much when she first saw it in Potions--but it was one of those things that was so noticeable that it made sense to compliment him.

She gave it one last look before tucking it back away into the elaborately decorated box. Perhaps she had spoken too soon when she’d told Hermione all hope was lost.

When Monday morning Potions class with the Slytherins rolled around, Y/N wasted no time. Malfoy was alone--even his Slytherin lackeys seemed to know not to bother him. Just what she needed.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, setting her bag down on his table and looking him dead on. He raised to meet her eyes, his eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

“I just wanted you to know that I also really like your immense fortune,” she said. “And your manor.”

“Well, a lot of people do,” he mumbled as he looked away to dig through something in his bag. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was blushing.

“I’m just letting you know,” she continued. “In case you were wanting to give them away. It worked for the quill, so I thought, well, why not?”

He exhaled, a deep and annoyed sound escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “I knew I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I was getting sick of it,” he told her. “I never can stick with one quill for too long, and I thought it’d be a shame to toss it. I thought it’d be better to be charitable--it’s not like your family could get an appointment at Barnaby’s if they tried.”

“Hey!” Y/N said indignantly. “You don’t know that!”

“I’ve heard your parents try to speak French,” he said. “If you’re anything like them, you'll be barred from ever entering the country.”

“Malfoy!”

His lips turned up into a smile, a soft laugh escaping his lips. Y/N suppressed the urge to grin in return. Task 3? Done. “What?”

“I can’t even argue with you,” she said. “It’s tragic.”

She stared at the empty stool next to him, wondering if she should just take the leap and sit with him. Malfoy seemed unbothered by her presence as he opened up his Potions book and set it next to his cauldron. “Do you want a partner?” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

He cast her a curious look before glancing at the empty stool. “It depends. Are you going to be annoying?”

She gasped in faux-offense. “What makes you think I could ever be annoying?”

“On that note, I think you better get back to Potter.” He motioned with his head towards the side of the room where most of her Gryffindor friends were chatting. Harry was staring at her, his fists clenched by his side.

Y/N smirked and sent him a wink.

“On that note,” she said, careful to imitate Malfoy’s drawl and sending him a smug grin, “Maybe I better sit here.”

“Hm.” He awarded her one more uninterested look before rolling up his sleeves and setting out the ingredients for the potion they were brewing--Amortentia.

She tried not to make it too obvious that she was staring at his left arm, but there was nothing on it like Harry had told her. It was just pure, unblemished pale skin that shimmered under the light. Before he could catch her looking, she quickly sat down and started pulling out her own things. After a short pause, she decided to take out the silver quill. She’d left his box back in her room--she wouldn’t be caught dead with something that had the Malfoy crest on it--but she’d wrapped it in a pouch with her own family’s emblem on the front, shimmering in gold and red.

“Why don’t you just buy your own charmed quills?” asked Malfoy after they had chopped all of the gillweed.

“You already know. We’re an abomination to the French. We aren’t allowed entry.”

“That’s not what I mean.” His tone was meant to read as exasperated, but his words still seemed good-natured.

“I...well.” She frowned. She’d never confessed this to anyone, but she supposed that Malfoy wasn’t going to find a way to use it against her. “I don’t like to flaunt my family wealth. I think it makes people, at least in Gryffindor, like me less. I learned that pretty early on.”

He hummed something in response before sliding all the gillweed into the cauldron, turning the clear liquid into a bubbling forest green.

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” she asked.

He took his time finishing the note he was jotting down before he answered. “I’m not being nice. It’s just called being civil. You said it yourself, we see each other at balls sometimes.”

“We probably won’t anymore, though,” she mused.

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, but his voice remained low and steady. “No. I suppose that we probably won’t. Is your family part of the Order?”

“Hm. Are you a Death Eater?” she asked brazenly. He had no business asking her something like that, and he knew it. Especially not with his family connections.

“What do you think?” he drawled, waving his bared left arm in front of her face.

“Bullshit. That doesn’t mean anything after we learned Glamour spells last year.”

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me, then,” he responded, focusing intently on the bubbling liquid in front of him instead of her face.

“I guess so,” she replied. The weight of her Glamour comment began to sink in--she was right, after all. How had she not thought of it before?

But he was right when he told her she just had to trust him. Could she? Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her propped hand as she watched him work. A piece of disobedient moonbeam blonde hair dangled over his forehead as he diced up the unicorn tail, his eyebrows furrowed in focus.

“Is this why you want to be my partner?” he finally asked after a few moments of silence. “So you can just stare at me while I do all the work?”

“There’s the vain Draco I know,” she said, grinning as she leaned over to punch his shoulder.

He rolled his eyes again, scooting out of arm's reach before flipping back to Amortentia in his book. “You’re insufferable. And it’s Malfoy to you.”

“Fine, fine, Malfoy,” said Y/N. “What do you want me to do, then?”

He shoved his cutting board towards her, the half-diced unicorn tail staring up at her. “Finish dicing this and then stir it in. 9 times clockwise. I did almost all of the work, but it should be finished after that.”

Y/N sent him another glare before doing as he said. The glittering quill kept catching her attention from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was writing with just a plain white quill for the time being. HE really did just give it to me.

After the final ingredients were diced, she began to stir, each rotation around the cauldron turning the potion to a different color. It began as the bubbling green, then a deep sea blue, then a royal purple, a crimson blood red, a glimmering gold--before settling into a pale silver.

“Wow. It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s like...liquid starlight.”

“All thanks to me,” said Malfoy. “You didn’t even have to crush the Mandrake root.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Malfoy.” Her voice dripped in fake sincerity. “So, what do you smell?”

Y/N was expecting him to scowl at her and tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, but he actually leaned over the cauldron and shut his eyes.

“I’ve never been good at explaining what things smell like.”

“Fair.”

Once he leaned back, she took his place, shutting her eyes and breathing in a tendril of the beautiful potion. “Whoa.”

“What’s it for you?”

“I don’t...know,” she admitted. “It’s not something I can describe note by note. It kind of reminds me of something, though.”

“Something with Potter, I presume?” he said, casually twirling his generic white quill around his fingers.

“No,” she answered, surprised at how honest she was being. “It’s…I’m trying to think. Er, it’s very lavish. It reminds me of when I was younger and my parents would drag me to galas and balls and whatnot.”

He stared at her in silence.

“What about you? Does it remind you of anything?”

“Yeah.” Malfoy reached forward to put a lid on the cauldron, effectively shutting out the steam from reaching either of them.

“Ooh, have you figured it out yet?” she teased, crossing her legs and turning to face him head on. “Let me guess. Is it someone like…”

She paused, a wicked smile stretching across her face. “Oh my god, is it Hermione? Or Luna? Or...help me out here!”

“No.” His voice was sour.

“Ah, it’s Parkinson then, isn’t it? Tell her I’m sorry for throwing food at her if you ever have the chance. Make sure to add the part where I’m more sorry that I missed.”

“Y/L/N!”

“It’s okay. I’d be a little let down, too.”

“Can you please just…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please just stop. I haven’t figured it out. Okay? Happy now?”

“I’ll leave you alone,” said Y/N. “Under one condition. You give me a hint. I’ve given you everything I know! This isn’t fair.”

“This doesn’t have to be fair,” he hissed.

Y/N kept the easy smile plastered on her face while she waited, her eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“You’re not going to let up until I tell you, are you?”

“You’d be right on that,” she said, sugary sweet.

“Fine. It’s something kind of floral.”

“How descriptive,” she snorted as she slumped back in her stool, thinking hard. Where had she smelled it before? Y/N shut her eyes, leaning her head back and trying to immerse herself into the memory that had surfaced. It smelled like grandeur, like an open ballroom full of guests wearing expensive perfumes. She could feel spinning, spinning like she was with a dance partner. Who was it? She couldn’t quite remember--the last ball she’d been to had been years ago--but after she leaned forward and smelled the Amortentia once more time, she came to a conclusion.

“I had to have danced with him at a gala before,” she announced to Malfoy, who was looking quite unimpressed. “So I know it’s no one from Gryffindor.”

“Interesting,” was all he said before turning to his parchment and jotting something down.

Late that night, while Y/N was settling into bed, a strange idea struck her. Sure that the thought that was nagging her was completely fruitless, she had no trouble with reaching into her desk and pulling out the Malfoy box. She just had to check if she wanted to sleep well.

Here goes.

She closed her eyes, imagining the expensive scent of her Amortentia. Then she opened it, stuck her nose into the fabric, and breathed in.

Well, fuck.

The internal debate going through Y/N the next day at the breakfast table was intense. On one hand, she really, really wanted to just tell Hermione that Malfoy had been in her Amortentia and she was completely fucked, but on the other…

She glanced at the witch next to her as she methodically sliced her toast into perfect, equivalent squares before dunking them in jam. Y/N liking Malfoy was not going to fit into her toast cubes. If she said anything, she would lose her excuse to talk to her about him. And her excuse to try and get close with him.

Perhaps I can figure it out tomorrow.

When tomorrow came, she still hadn’t made progress. Y/N was beginning to think that her so called “revelation” after they brewed Amortentia was truly just complete and utter bullshit. So what that his quill box smelled like it--all rich people kind of smelled the same at some points, and so did their houses. There was a reason why she couldn’t immediately pin the scent to anything--it wasn’t like she even knew what Malfoy smelled like.

But the truth remained that she was still attracted to someone who happened to be a rich Slytherin--so naturally, her mind began to wander. There’s no way it was Zabini--his mother owned a fragrance line, and she would’ve instantly recognized the cologne that she knew Mrs. Zabini made him wear--and there was absolutely no way that it was Crabbe or Goyle, so the only other Slytherin it left was...Nott? But that didn’t make sense either--she’d never spoken to him before in her life, even less than Malfoy. So perhaps it would be better if she didn’t think on it.

The next day of potion brewing came on a stormy Wednesday. Malfoy and Y/N worked silently together to brew a Draught of Dreamless Sleep. She was surprised to see how practiced his movements were--he didn’t even have to reference the book to recite the exact measurements and directions.

“Do you have bad dreams or something?” she asked, mostly as a joke. He didn’t seem to pick up on the light-heartedness and stiffened up.

“No?”

“Gee, you’re talkative today,” Y/N said, trying to ignore how her hand brushed his by accident when she added the scoop of anjelica.

“Excuse me for not entertaining you,” he drawled. “I wasn’t expecting to have such a needy potions partner today.”

“I am not needy!” she gasped, smacking his arm. “I’ve sat in silence for a full hour!”

He rolled his eyes (he was always rolling his eyes) and gave the potion one more final stir before setting the lid on the cauldron. “Think you can do that again? It needs to simmer for that long.”

“Just because you’re so sweet to me,” crooned Y/N before pulling out a heavy book from her satchel. Her Charms exam was tomorrow, and, naturally, she had decided to save all of her revising work until the night before. The textbook stared back at her as she jotted a few notes onto a previously blank sheet of parchment. The quill in her hands was light and glided across the paper like the tears of Merlin, something that she had forgotten quills could do. All of her familiar basic quills were okay, but they were prone to skidding and breaking. This nib hadn’t worn down in the slightest, still at a smooth and defined peak.

Y/N couldn’t believe that, out of all people, the person to give her such a thoughtful gift was Draco Malfoy. She tried to sneak a glance at him then, moving her curtain of hair away from her face. It took all she had in her to not be startled at the fact that he was already looking back, a slightly concerned expression etched into his face.

“Is something wrong?”

He snapped out of it the moment the words left her lips, his face hardening. “No.”

“Forget I ever asked,” she responded, turning away from him for good and focusing on her textbook. No, there was no way he could be what she smelled in her Amortentia. She liked to think that her subconscious wasn’t secretly a masochist.

Friday evening swung around again, much to Y/N’s dismay. She’d had a talk with Hermione later on in the week, confirming that no, she did not smell Malfoy in her Amortentia, and that yes, she was still abiding by the plan that Hermione had so carefully laid out for her. It did bother her a bit that she could be lying to her on both fronts--but at the end of the day, she was going to get the answers that Harry wanted, no matter what.

She just had to get through the scary ass castle first. She’d forgotten how spooky Hogwarts was after her previous sprint to the door, and this time she was positively trembling by the time she turned another dark corner on her way to McGonagall’s office. Yet another cursed item had been found in the girl’s lavatory on the 3rd floor, right by some of the classes that she had taken earlier in the week. The fact that whoever was out there was capable of dark magic and actively wanted to hurt people terrified her, all that Gryffindor bravery be damned.

So when she heard footsteps suddenly right beside her, it was no wonder that she jumped feet in the air.

“Fuck!” she sputtered, turning to see a very familiar blonde in Slytherin robes. He was frozen in place, curiously looking her up and down.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Malfoy,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to melt into a puddle of relief at the sight. This wasn’t right--wasn’t he a suspected Death Eater? “You scared me.”

He scoffed, digging his hands into his pockets. “You’re supposed to be the brave ones, right?”

“Huh?”

Malfoy motioned to her Gryffindor jumper.

“Oh.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized what he meant. “I dunno. I just get jumpy around the castle at night.”

“No shit.” They’d begun to walk now, side by side. Y/N couldn’t remember ever walking with him before--she’d always been late. “Do you think I forgot the way you screamed when you saw me at the tower?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, reaching over and giving him a healthy shove.

They walked in silence together. Malfoy moved noticeably slower than he normally did so he wouldn’t leave Y/N’s shorter legs in tow. McGonagall seemed pleasantly surprised to see Malfoy hold the door open for her.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” she said, giving Y/N a hesitant nod before grabbing the stack of papers on her desk. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

After she exited the room with a swish of her deep maroon robes, Malfoy turned to her. “Are you scared of the dark or something?”

She turned, ready to send a biting retort his way, before she noticed how gray his pallor looked...and how big the circles under his eyes were. “You look like shit, Malfoy. Is everything okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh. Um…” Y/N pause before deciding that the little tidbit of information she was about to reveal wasn’t that important anyways. “I’m just on edge at night at Hogwarts is all. Especially with all that weird shit going on with all the cursed objects. So I kind of hate walking to and from detention.”

Malfoy let out something that sounded like a strained laugh.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is everything okay?”

“None of your business,” he snipped. “I just had a bad night.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” she asked, unable to keep herself from prying.

“Something like that.”

“Have you tried lavender?”

“I’m sorry?” He frowned.

“Lavender. Like the essential oil. It’s nothing magical,” she explained. “I just like to spray it in my bed sometimes before I sleep. Or I’ll use a few drops in a diffuser. I have trouble sleeping too, all the time, actually.” She shut her mouth before she had any chance to ramble further.

“It sounds a bit too floral for my taste.”

“Here.” Y/N dug around in her satchel, searching for the tiny spray bottle she kept with her at all times. “Borrow this and spritz your pillow with it before you sleep, and then tell me it’s too floral. I promise it helps.”

He glared at her. She extended her hand with the white bottle that was covered in purple decor, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “I won’t tell anyone that you have it if that’s what you’re worried about or whatever.”

“Fine,” he snapped, snatching it from her hand and dragging his fingers over her palm for just a second. “Don’t expect me to actually try it, though.”

“Just give it a sniff.”

He huffed, but to her surprise, he actually uncapped the top and held the spray hole up to his nose, inhaling in once.

The effect was immediate. Malfoy’s face completely drained of color, becoming even grayer than he’d been when she first saw him under the light. The briefest expression of surprise fleeted over his face before he wiped it off, replacing it with something unreadable and tossing it back at her. “I’m not using this.”

“Why not?”

“Not quite my taste,” he spat.

Y/N was shocked by the sudden outburst, watching as he continued to glower at his desk. “I don’t understand. It really does help you sleep. I know it seems stupid, but I...really think you should try it. Just once, if anything.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because I--” Y/N stopped herself before she let her mouth run without check. “I know what it’s like is all. I feel like shit if I don’t sleep. Plus, I have to spend time with you every Friday. I imagine that you’ll be slightly more tolerable if you sleep more.”

“Hm.” He sent her a particularly venomous glare. “Thanks for your concern. Consider me uninterested, though.”

“You break my heart,” she teased, pulling back her hand and placing the bottle on the corner of her desk. An idea struck her.

“And just what are you smiling about?” Draco said. His lips were turned into a sour frown.

“Nothing, nothing,” she responded, her voice adopting a sing-song quality. All she had to do now was wait.

He exhaled, a deep and exasperated sound. Then he turned back to whatever was in front of him.

McGonagall entered the room a few minutes later, nodding cordially at the comfortable silence the two students were in. What she didn’t know was that Y/N was waiting, just waiting for Malfoy to dig through his satchel and stop paying attention to his quill.

She got her opportunity a few minutes later, when McGonagall called him up to look over his latest Transfiguration homework.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m happy to see that you’re taking more initiative in getting your assignments done...I have to say that you had me a bit concerned…”

While her professor kept Malfoy occupied, Y/N darted over and grabbed his quill.

Ha.

Malfoy frowned down at his desk when he returned, giving Y/N a suspicious look.

“What is it, Malfoy?” she said, hoping her voice conveyed nothing that might hint that she took something of his.

“Nothing.”

“Hm.”

The rest of detention passed without any more discussion. Y/N was eager to run up to her dorm and set up her plan to be carried out the next morning, but she calmed her bouncing leg and forced herself to keep a straight face when McGonagall dismissed them.

“Got somewhere to be, Y/L/N?” Malfoy’s voice called after her as she sped down the hall towards the Gryffindor tower.

“What’s it to you?” she fired back.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his pace until he was walking next to her.

“Aren’t the Slytherin dorms the other direction?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Are they?”

She allowed herself to be amused by the way words flowed out of his mouth when he was slightly out of breath. “Why are you walking with me?”

“You said it yourself.” He kept his eyes cast on the cobblestones below them. “You don’t like walking alone at night.”

“Uh...oh.” Against her will, her feet froze and she was glued to the ground. “You’re joking, right?”

If the lighting wasn’t so dim, Y/N would have good reason to believe he was blushing with how intently he was studying his fingernails. “By all means, I can be.”

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Er...I’d like you to. If you want to, that is.”

He shrugged, an elfish expression spreading across his face as he took in how nervous she was. “Well, come to think of it, you didn’t ask me to. I suppose I better get back to the Slytherin dorms anyways. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Gryffindor Tower right now.”

“Why?” she squeaked.

“Oh, you know, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that most of the cursed things showed up on your side of the castle, yeah?”

She gulped.

“I gotta get going. Don’t want to stand around here too long. This place gives me the creeps.” With that, he turned and began walking away.

“Malfoy?” She hated how timid her voice sounded. “Consider this me asking you to walk with me.”

He slowly faced her, a sly grin plastered all over his face. “Oh? Did I hear that correctly? Do you want me to?”

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and trying her best to look intimidating. “Walk with me. Please.”

“I guess I’ll take it.” Malfoy glided down the hallway to her in just a couple steps, sending her yet another smug look.

“You made up that whole ordeal about Gryffindor Tower being targeted, didn’t you?” asked Y/N as they rounded the corner to reach the staircase leading up to the common room.

“You bought it, didn’t you?”

“Who says I didn’t just want you to walk with me?” pushed Y/N. This was as close to flirting as it would ever get for her--but it looked like, somehow, things were falling into place. The heat in her cheeks must’ve been from the excitement of making progress.

Malfoy’s toe caught on the first stair and, if it weren’t for Y/N’s steady grip on his arm, would’ve made him go sprawling across the stone steps.

“Merlin, Malfoy,” she said, immediately dropping her grip from his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

He responded with an unceremonial snort and a withering glare. The rest of the walk was done in silence, and Y/N noted how careful his footwork became around the Gryffindor steps.

“This is me,” she finally said once they reached the tapestry for the Gryffindor dorms. He seemed surprised, and only then did it strike her that he’d probably never seen the entrance himself before. “Thanks for being such a gentleman.”

“I live to serve,” he drawled.

And just like that, he was gone.

Her plan was simple. She had located an extra monogrammed pouch in her cabinet, a rich mahogany color with her family crest in a vivid gold, and placed both his quill and the lavender bottle. She would corner him after breakfast or follow him out of the Great Hall and show him then.

However, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Malfoy was not coming to Saturday morning breakfast. Many people didn’t, but Y/N had never known him to miss it. His normal spot was vacant, and it certainly wasn’t a house-made decision as all of his Slytherin friends were present and accounted for. Y/N couldn’t say for sure, but she could see Parkinson turning her head to the entrance every time the doors thudded open before glancing back to Malfoy’s empty seat when it turned out to be someone else.

Where was that loser?

“Excuse me,” she said to the trio as she stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I think I’m going to go get some fresh air. I have a bitch of a headache.”

Hermione and Harry expressed their sympathies while Ron gave her a characteristic mumble through his mouthful of bread, and she was off with the pouch secured in her cloak pocket.

It was a clear November morning, clearly Mother Nature’s attempt to slowly move the world from the crisp autumn to a cold winter. The sky was clear and the sun’s rays warmed her skin at a slanted angle, casting weak shadows across the courtyard.

If I were Malfoy, where would I go to sulk?

The obvious answer was either the Slytherin common room or his own dorm, but that was without a doubt out of question for her. She wasn’t even sure if she possessed the knowledge to guess which corridor the entrance was in, much less work out the password herself. Beyond that, just getting into the common room and waiting would be...She shivered. It would be a terrible idea while she was clearly wearing a cloak in Gryffindor red and gold trim.

As she continued her aimless wander around the castle, she heard the slightest sound from the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. It wasn’t ever really in use--no one came in there to actually use the loo unless they wanted Myrtle to materialize and tell them her supernatural troubles while they were in the middle of their personal business--but it was often the source of strange happenings.

Like the cursed objects she thought to herself, her nails digging into her palms. But did she care about that right now? Surely cursed objects seemed somewhat...suspicious. Dark magic was difficult to hide, and to a pureblood eye that grew up around magical objects, cursed things shouldn’t be impossible to spot.

And, plus, it was Malfoy she was looking for. None of the students had died from the curses so far, and if she was able to break through and learn something, or at the very least gain his trust, the reward to the Order would be more than worth it.

She stepped in, expecting to see an entirely empty bathroom with perhaps a ghost rattling around at the sink. Instead, a different sight awaited her.

Draco Malfoy was clutching the edge of the cracked sink basin in front of him, rocking himself back and forth and shaking. From her vantage point, she could see that he was dressed in his normal garb--a black ensemble--but his hair was unruly and messy, sticking up in the back like he’d hurriedly tugged something over his head.

A strangled gasp grounded her and halted her curious observations. Malfoy began to make these awful sobbing sounds, like he could barely manage to breathe.

Y/N was frozen in place as she surveyed her options. If she stayed and tried to talk to him, he might react in anger or hurt her. But if she just left him, like this, all alone...She swallowed once before stepping forward.

“Malfoy? Are you okay?” Obviously he’s not, you bint said a voice deep in her brain. She pushed it aside as he swung around, his wand raised and his eyes blazing. “Whoa! I’m not going to...Put your wand down!”

He stared at her, his eyes wide with horror as he continued to shake, so much so that his wand slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. Without thinking, Y/N reached into her pocket and flung her wand away, holding her hands up.

“I’m not going to try anything. I promise.”

As she drew closer, she could see the remnants of tears on his wet cheeks and the way that his silver eyes were rimmed with a bloodshot red.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed, his voice weak and cracking.

“Neither should you. This is the girl’s bathroom.”

final a/n: ok so lmk if you guys wants me to continue. i really did not edit the last half fjkdsal;f also kinda made this an au where malfoy tried to assassinate dumbledore. with more than one cursed object but dw it’ll all make sense ill clear that up 😭

#draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x you #draco #draco malfoy x you #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x oc #draco malfoy x oc

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bbyboybrock--archived · 3 years

Text

Happy New Year (Colby Brock Imagine)

Summary: *REQUEST* Can you do one where they are strangers and meet each other during a new years eve party and then end up kissing each other when the ball drops and make it super romantic (not in covid times) pretty please

Written: 2021

Word Count: 2,040

Warnings: Swearing, mention of being roofied, breakup

Masterlist

I sit in the uber, waiting for everyone to get out. Maybe they’ll be too excited about the party to realize that I went home. Maybe I should escape out the other door and disappear into the night. I didn’t even want to come out tonight in the first place. After the year I’ve had, going to an influencer party is the last place I want to attend. Unluckily for me, my best friends were tired of me staying in my apartment all day, every day, and refused to let me ring in the new year alone. Sadly, this meant that I had to go with them to a party because my apartment gave off “depression vibes” and that “wasn’t the move” for 2021. That’s the only thing that I agreed with them on, the vibe thing, not going to a party.

After nearly a year of quarantine and processing a breakup, my place is a bit of a disaster. If it wasn’t for Janie ambushing me every day last week to help/force me to clean up, my apartment would still look like that cave where the grinch lives— minus Max. There were various alcohol bottles collecting dust on the counter. Not in a “she’s spiraling very rapidly” sort of way, but in a way that you could tell that I had a rough few weeks and the occasional wine night with the gals. There were boxes, mostly from March and April, that I still had yet to throw out after impose buying a bunch of stuff. My closet had turned into my bed because that was the only safe space that wasn’t cluttered with food packaging or tainted by memories that no longer bring me joy. I hadn’t properly seen my floor in months until we pulled back the layer of filth. I forgot that I had carpet. Still, after all that, I managed to make videos every week without fail.

“Y/N, c’mon, you’re not escaping this time. Let’s go so you can forget that asshole and that backstabbing bitch.” Persephone begs as she pulls me out of the car. Once out of the car, she adjusts her long, dark brown curls and smooths out her dress before reconnecting to her boyfriend’s hip. They both match with their gold and black outfits. All of my friends and their significant others match. Ophelia and her girlfriend are wearing silver and blue while Janie and her boyfriend are wearing maroon and gold. They all look like gods and goddesses and here I am wearing green and sliver on my own. Could I be anymore single?

“I’m not going to do it, I was just thinking about it. Don’t worry. I have to get footage for the vlog anyway. Gotta prove that I did something other than stay home this year. My fans are getting concerned.” I pull out my camera and get a few clips of everyone.

“Might as well get some pictures then so people will believe you.”1 Ophelia winks before grabbing me and leading us to what I’m assuming is the designated photo spot. There’s even a line. This is going to be one of those nights.

****

“Aw, fuck…” I mutter to myself as my drink gets knocked out of my hand. This house isn’t big enough for the number of people that were invited.

“I am so sorry! Here, let me help you.” The guy who bumped into me extends his hand for me to grab. I’m sober enough to know not to take completely random strangers' hands at parties, especially in LA, but I’m also drunk enough to not care. He looks nice enough and I can spot Ophelia and her girlfriend Zoe keeping an eye on me from the corner of the room. I guess everyone is taking turns to make sure I don’t bail.

Against better judgment, I take this beautiful stranger’s hand and let him guide me out of the house to the backyard. It’s less crowded out here, maybe because there are more activities to do inside. Out here, I can actually breathe even though people are smoking and vaping out here. The music is quieter. The music is still loud, but like it would burst your eardrum like the music inside. I get a better look at the guy who brought me out here. He’s not bad looking, and I really hope that’s not the alcohol talking. He has the most relaxing blue eyes I’ve ever seen on a guy. His hair is dark brown with a bit of, I think, purple in the front. He looks as threatening as a pug, but looks can be deceiving.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get any on you did I?” He asks as he scans my body, not in a creepy way. Which is a nice change of pace.

“My feet but they’re just shoes so I don’t care. I call these my going out shoes, they’re made for moments like this so you’re all good. I’m Y/N by the way.” I stick my hand out for him to shake. He looks at it puzzled for a second before it registers and he grabs my hand and gives it a firm shake.

“Right— I spilled your drink on you and basically kidnapped you from the party and you don’t even know my name. It’s Colby, Colby Brock.” Colby shakes my hand a little too long before quickly pulling it away.

“I’m Y/N, you can get the last name later,” I bite my bottom lip, close my eyes, and mentally slap my head. “That was lame, wasn’t it?”

“It’s fine. It’s a thousand times better than anything I would have come up with. Just blame it on the alcohol.”

We both laugh before Colby singles that he’ll be right back. I watch as Colby disappears a small group of people. I take off my shoes and walk to the pool, dipping my feet in as I sit. The cool night air is soothing me. It’s a nice change from the stale scent of my apartment and the sweaty bodies inside the party. I look up to the night sky. The light pollution makes it impossible to see what stars and constellations are above us. Whatever I’m staring at right now feels peaceful, like they are aligned or not in retrograde. I have no idea what any of that means, but I do know that I’ve been around Ophelia too much.

Colby taps my shoulder when he gets back. He kicks off his shoes and socks before joining me in the pool, not even rolling up his pant legs. He’s going to regret that in a few hours. He hands me an unopened can of Truly. I take it from him and open it myself. At least I know he’s not a creep. He opens a can of White Claw and sips it before breaking the silence.

“I have to be honest, Y/N.” Colby looks forward, taking another sip.

“Oh no, what is it?” I ask nervously.

“The real reason I dropped your drink is because I saw some asshole slip something in your drink.” Colby finally looks at me and I can tell he’s serious.

“Wait…what? Someone tried to… Any you thought the best was to inform me was to spill my drink all over me?” I’m more taken aback by the idea of me almost getting roofied than anything. That would have been the perfect way to end this shit storm of a year.

“In hindsight, I planned to spill your drink. I didn’t mean to get any on you. I’m not a hundred percent sober right now so that was the downside of my plan. Don’t worry about the guy, my friend Corey went after him.”

“Wow— Uh, thank you. I mean it. I don’t think I could have dealt with… that on top of everything else I had to handle this year.” I take a sip of my drink and swing my legs in the water.

“Do you want to talk about it? I’m not big on talking about serious stuff with strangers, so I’ll understand if you don’t want to. However, we’re both getting hammered, if we aren’t already, so the likely hood of us even remembering this conversation tomorrow let alone who we are slim. So if you need to vent, vent.”

I weigh the pros and cons of actually venting everything to this beautiful stranger. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but I decided to say fuck it. The year is almost over anyway, might as well get rid of this baggage and start the year fresh.

“Long story short: after months of quarantining together Axl, my boyfriend of 10 years, cheated on me. The entire time we were in quarantine. With my younger sister, who I let quarantine with us so she wouldn’t be alone and not have to fly back home to be with our parents. And to top it all off, I found out about it on my birthday when I walked in on them fucking each other on my bed.” I take a larger sip of my drink before leaning back and staring back at the virtually starless sky.

“Holy fucking shit,” Colby leans back to join me in looking at the sky.

“Yup! We met in preschool and started dating when we were 13. She’s four years younger than us to that’s annoying.”

“Not to be that guy, but I don’t know what you expected when you started dating a guy named Axl.”

“… You’re right, that is a pretty douchey name. I literally ignored the biggest red flag in my entire life.”

Colby and I laugh again until it fades. I don’t think I’ve laughed this much, like actually laughed, in months. It feels good. Inside the house, the crowd starts counting down from 15. Colby must have heard it too because I watch him turn his head from the corner of my eye. I turn my head to face him. He really does have beautiful eyes. Like the ocean.

“This may be a dumb idea and I know we don’t know each other, but do you want to be my new years kiss?”

“I may regret this in the future, but what the hell.” We both sit up and adjust our clothes.

It might be risky to just kiss a random stranger at midnight, but who cares. We’re most likely not going to be in each other’s lives after tonight anyway. But by God, I could do much worse than kissing Colby. Unless I’m very drunk and the drunk goggles are seriously fucking with me. It’s not like I’m going home with him, my friends won’t let that happen. Maybe after this party, we’ll go our separate ways and never see each other again. Maybe we’ll run into each other in a random store in LA or at some creator convention.

The drunken yells of party-goers inch closer and closer to midnight.

“Three,” Colby whispers, moving his hair out of his face.

“Two,” I take one more small sip before finally setting my drink down. Colby does the same. My heart is beating a loud, steady rhythm in my chest like it’s about to burst.

“One,” We whisper at the same time before slowly leaning in.

As our lips touch, it felt like time had stopped. The beating intense beating in my heart only intensifies the longer our lips stay pressed together. One of Colby’s hands finds my face why the other reaches for my thigh, but I can only focus on how soft his lips are. My stomach starts forming knots as he tries to deepen the kiss. I don’t know if it’s everything I drank tonight coursing through my veins or the fact that I haven’t been kissed in months, but I slightly part my lips. The mixture of Colby’s scent and his body heat wash over me like they’re intoxicating my senses. The kiss ends just as suddenly as it started. We both pull away and just stare at each other in awe.

“L/N,” I breathe, fixing my hair.

“What?” Colby takes another sip of his drink.

“My last name is L/N.”

#colby brock #colby brock imagine #colby brock imagines #imagine #imagines #sam and colby imagines #sam and colby imagine #colby #fluff #fluff imagine #fluff imagines #colby brock x reader #sam and colby

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hwrryscherry · 3 years

Text

The one where Y/N is a princess.

characters: HARRYxPRINCESSY/N

blurb: Y/N is the youngest daughter of Prince Charles and Princess Diana which makes herself the youngest sister of William and Harry(the duke of Sussex). Harry(Styles) and she meet at the Dunkirk premiere when Y/N attended with her brother Harry. This time, Harry(Styles) is in London and show Princess Y/N what it feels like to be just a girl called ‘’Y/N’’ for a day.

word count: 2.4K

warnings: fluff, a little sad in the end.

author’s note: I received a request about Y/N being a heiress and my mind just go directly to royalty so I guess this could be cool? I tried lol. If you’re british and you felt ofended by any way while reading this I’m extremely sorry!!!! I hope you guys like it as much as I do. And also, I just wanted to share that I wrote this listening to ‘’Ophelia’’ by The Lumineers and ‘’The Book of You & I’’ by Alec Benjamin.

You and Harry scheduled to meet in the British Museum situated in the Bloomsbury area of London even though it was a public space, it wouldn’t be a surprise as people already knew that you and harry new each other. You both met on the Dunkirk premiere which you attended together with your brother Harry. Harry(Styles) was such a gentleman, he actually were nervous. As a British man he respects the royal family as much possibler than he can, and he would never want to make neither you nor your brother to feel uncomfortable.

But anyway, you both scheduled there because Harry had been in England for a while and as you stayed friends it just felt right to meet up. You actually felt really tired, emotionally tired. You were so used to traveling the most amazing places with friends and now being basically locked up at The Buckingham Palace because of the corona virus felt draining for you. So when Harry came up with the meeting you were so glad to finally be leaving home, and Harry has always been the type of person who you felt like you could talk openly and be exactly who you want to be, and we don’t even have to say that the British museum it’s probably one of your favorite places in London. You were enamored by art, and there were so many interesting things in there and every time you’ll go there you’d find something new.

It was 9am and the museum it’s actually closed now but you did have some perks. You were in the Egyptian part accompanied by your bodyguard Jasper, when you suddenly listened the rough voice of you dearly friend coming closer to you making you turn yourself to look at him getting closer. He greeted you with a simple hug in which you reciprocated by opening a slight smile looking at him.

— Hello, darling — Harry said while using his hands to style his short and messy hair with a smile on his face. — How are you?

— Hi, I’ve been good, just tired! But what about you? — You asked as you both started to walk through the beautiful masterpieces — How’s your mom and Gemma? — You had that really strong British accent, which Harry understood completly, and he really likes it. He thinks it’s the cutest thing. Actually, Harry thought everything about you were extremely cute, you both have a little crush on each other but as you already told him a lot of times before, just the thought of how many things he’d have to leave for because of the royal regulation made you sad for him. You’d never ask him for something like that.

— They’re good but... — Harry stopped walking looking fixedly to your face trying to analyze your emotions by their expressions — Why are you tired? I mean, I understand it must be really bad living in a castle but anyway, what happened? — Harry said smirking at you and your reaction of laughing and rolling your eyes at him.

— Haha, really funny! You should be a humorist — You answered mocking a bit and running your right hand through your hair as you started walking again — And I asked you how were you, you won’t answer? I’ll lock you in the dungeon for your audacity! — You both always joked like this because when you first started being friends, Harry had all that idea about the old royalty with dungeons and prisoners so you’d always make fun of him for that.

— Alright, alright! I'm good, they're good, we're all good. Now, tell me! — Harry said putting his right hand slightly on your shoulder making you stop walking and look at him with all your attention. You sighed trying to form your words to explain exactly what you were feeling to him.

— I don't know, I'm just... I'm so tired of the routine, you know? I wish I could just go out to do the craziest things and not be recognized. — You were looking straight to Harry's green eyes, it felt like they were watching your soul because e was giving you his full atention. The boy really did care about you. He stayes quiet for a while in complete silence, it was a comfortable silence though. It never felt like you and Harry needed to talk all the time when you got together because it was nice just to stay together and enjoy each other's company.

— Let me take you out! — Harry suddenly said after a few seconds making your eyes widen up as you looked at him.

— Excuse me? — You asked.

— Let me take you out! We can put on some disguises and take the best London tour we can find, I bet you've never done it! — Harry said with a little smirk in the end. He was right, you never took a tour through your own city which seems crazy — You know... I really like you and if you wanna have fun this could be great! You'll be just a girl called Y/N and I'll be just a boy called Harry. — He said trying to argue with your thoughts thinking if this would actually be a good thing to do. But you didn't really have anything to lose, did you? — So, do you wanna do a bunch of fun things with me today? — Harry held out his right hand to you indicating that as soon as you shake his hand you would leave that museum and probably have the best day of your life, and so you did.

So as soon as you could, you both were out of that museum with the most ridiculous disguises, if I might say. Harry changed his fashionable clothes for some neutral grey hoodie and you changed your cute black dress to a jeans and hoodie as well. Your heart raced a bit when you both left that museum, the fear of being recognized was in you. It's not that you don't love the people of this nation, it's just... a day off could fit you pretty well.

It was hard to convince Jasper to leave you both alone though, it was his job to keep you safe and actually you don't even remember the last time you left your home without him, you just needed freedom for a while but you did convince him. He spent some minutes actually talking to Harry tons of rules about keeping both of you safe and how he couldn't risk your life and all that stuffs.

For the first time in your life, you were on those big, red and popular British bus. You and Harry entered by the back door and within minutes, you both were on the upon side of it on the last chairs. You looked through the window admiring this city and thinking about how much you would never want to live anywhere else. Harry was making a lot of dad jokes beside you though. You tried to laugh as lowly as you could but it was almost impossible, come on “What's the name of a man with a rubber toe? Roberto” it's so bad that it turns out to be funny. But anyway, the bus took both of us to King Cross where you entered a very popular fast-food place called “Five Guys” as Harry guaranteed you was the best he'd ever had and even though you'd doubted it so much, you agreed to go with him. When you were there, you ordered the biggest burger it had on the menu, which actually surprised Harry, but he surprised it too as he ordered it on the name of “Archie and Eleanor” so you could maintain your disguise.

— So.. Archie and Eleanor? — You asked smirking when you finally took the first bite of your burger. It was delicious but Harry was definitely lying, this is not the best one ever, but yep, all for the experience.

— Come on, you loved it! It's very charming, don't you think? — Harry asked as he took a sip of his coca-cola. It's crazy how these stupid disguises was working, is it really that impossible to recognize someone with a hoodie, cap and sunglasses? You didn't want to know because you were having a nice time.

— You know what, I think we need to get those Chinese cookies because I wanna read my luck! — You commented making him shook his head in reaction to your ask.

— Ok so we need to dinner Chinese food so bad! — You argued taking Harry from surprise as he didn't thought you'd stay this late with him.

— You'd have to buy actual Chinese food, you can't just buy the cookie! — He answered raising his eyebrows at you taking his last bite of his burger.

It didn't take much long for you both to be moving again. It was definitely the best day you've had in a while. You both went to Kensigton High Street and bought the most stupid UK theme hats. Harry bought a fake glasses too; it was blue and had a UK flag handed on it making you laugh every time you looked at his face.

— Come on, I still look cute! — He said putting his hands on his hips and posing like a model, on the middle of the street.

— If you say so!

Next you both went all your way up to Abbey Road which is the famous street from The Beatles photo, and you and Harry as the great fans you are had to copy them. You asked to a random person to take a photo of you two with the best American accent you could impersonate to her. The photo looked so cool and a car almost hit you two but you were fine and for some reason you both laughed and ran to the woman with your phone.

— Oh, to be drunk in love! You both are a really cute couple. — The old lady said giving your phone back to you and walked away before any of you could contest her. You both looked at each other and Harry smirked at you.

— Oh, we're such a cute couple! — Harry said blinking his eyes on a very cute way and you just rolled your eyes at him and started walking again.

— Come on, Styles! I wanna go to the Queen's Gallery — You said walking your way up to the bus stop. Harry had a big smile on his face, he didn't remember the last time he actually had that much fun. He loved England. He loved those places and he loved having this much fun with you.

In the Queen's Gallery, you and Harry tried to not make that much of a noise, it was a museum right? But it felt hard to keep it quiet because you both were taking the weirdest and funniest photos with the arts in there, for a moment you even thought you both were going to be expulsed of the location, but you didn't. None of you realized how much the time was flying and it was probably 3 pm now.

The next step was the Columbia Road Flower Market. It was probably the coolest thing of your day. You both ran around taking a lot of photos and videos. You bought one of the most delicious breads in there. You were looking at some flowers when Harry came back to you with a bunch of pink tulips on his hand, it was your favorite flowers and he knew it.

You both went to so many places actually; you went to HMS Belfast, Battersea Park, Albert Memorial, Old Spiralfields Market, Serpentine Lake, Carnaby Street and Holland Park.

When it was closer to the sunset, you went to Princess Diana Memorial Garden. It was a hard place for you. It has always been and Harry even asked if you really wanted to go there, but you did. You needed to sit down for a moment on your life and miss your mom. You were little when she died so you're probably the only one of your brothers that remember her the least.

You both lied down on the grass. It had a fresh breeze in the air, but the sun was still out, it was that golden hour moment. You rested your head on Harry's thorax looking up to the sunset orange sky above you.

— You know this can be great... If we're willing to try! — Harry said in a very low tone. He was caressing your hair with his hand analysing your face, so he could get any reaction for you.

— It would be for a while. — You said sitting up to look at his face, your faces were a few inches apart, the golden coloration on his face giving him the glow he did have naturally — But what would happen 3 years from now when someone tells you that you couldn't perform anymore? Or you couldn't release your songs? It's not right, I can't ask you this! — Harry looked away for a moment, probably trying to contain his emotions and think, just think — But we have today, we have now. Maybe we should just enjoy what we have now!

He looked back at you, directly into your eyes and again, comfortable silence. The comfortable silence Harry thought was so overrated felt right any time he was with you. He put himself closer to you if that even it's possible. His ring handed touched your cheek, eyes never distracting, you leaned in and your lips touched his. It felt magical, it felt quiet and it felt right.

The sun was out now, bringing the night and the sky full of stars. You both were by The Mall avenue, running, and dancing to the song playing backwards; it was Ophelia by the Lumineers, after that day, this song was your song and any time any of you listened to it, each other was brought up to your minds. You called it a night when you both were by the top of the London Eye, where all the big lights inspired you. When the cold breeze hit your hair and the height scared you but Harry made you feel safe.

Harry dropped you off at the castle's gate at midnight, just as he promised. You stayed by the balcony of your room until the sunrise looking at the sky because you knew that Harry was on the other side looking at the sky too thinking about how you'd never get to finish the book of you and him, and if you weren't faded to end together at least you had today.

#harry x reader #hwrryscherry #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry and y/n #harry styles and y/n #hwrryscherryxreader

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avengerscompound · 3 years

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Until the End of the World - 15

Until the End of the World: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 1767

Rating: E

Warnings: pregnancy, canon typical violence, mentions of torture and human experimentation

Synopsis: Four years after Steve and Bucky got to the bottom of the HYDRA conspiracy that had led to you and your son being hunted for the first three years of his life, you, Bucky, and Steve have carved out a nice life together. Things are calm and you feel like a family unit. When Geo starts calling Bucky and Steve ‘dad’, a decision is made to try and add to your family.

Things aren’t as calm as they seem. When your pregnancy hits the papers, HYDRA rears its head once again, and Steve and Bucky need to track you down to protect the family they had created.

Chapter 15

The line between unconscious and conscious was hazy. You couldn’t quite hold on to reality but you knew you needed to wake up. There were flashes. Being bumped around in the back of a van. You remembered the smell of antiseptic and cool steel and lights burning bright in your eyes. There had been needles and people talking, sometimes not in English.

As you slowly pulled yourself back to consciousness, the only clear memory you had was being dragged out of your car kicking and screaming by men in green uniforms.

The morning hadn’t been so strange. Chaotic sure, but that was all as expected for a family of four expecting another child. You’d ridden in the back of the town car with Geo, on the way to drop him at school. It hadn’t even felt strange when the car had been diverted down that alley. It was New York, shit happening that required traffic to be diverted was hardly unusual. When the van had blocked the road and those men had piled out, it had been a shock. You’d reacted quickly, locking your doors and getting you and Geo on the floor. It didn’t help. Even with the bulletproof glass and casing on the car, they’d quickly ripped the doors off. They had zero preservation skills and were willing to take the bullets from the driver so that the people behind them could take him out.

You’d had Geo ripped from your arms and a needle shoved into your neck. That had been it.

You forced your eyes open, though everything was blurry and seemed to move in slow motion. You couldn’t quite absorb what you were seeing. The room was completely white and chrome. You were on a bed that was bare except for a thin mattress, but thankfully lying on your side. You tried very hard to focus, but the more aware you were of how bare everything was around you, the more panic started to set in.

You tried to push yourself up, but the mixture of drugs in your system and the shackles around your wrists and ankles made that impossible.

“Geo…” You had meant the sound to be a scream, but instead, it came out as a faint croak. You struggled and blinked your eyes, trying to break out of the drugged-up fog that was holding you down, but you couldn’t seem to be able to do it.

There was a series of sharp beeps and the hiss of an automatic door. You turned your head to see a tall woman with long black hair and deep green eyes stepped into the room. She seemed familiar but the drugs were stopping the connections in your mind from being made and you couldn’t seem to place her. You knew it was bad but for some reason, you couldn’t think of why.

“Ahh good,” she said, in a thick Hungarian accent. “You’re awake.”

“Where’s Geo?” You croaked.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she said, standing back as a couple of what you could only assume were doctors came and looked you over. “Your boy is safe. After your lover destroyed all our stocks of IGH we need him to start from scratch again. That little boy is the key to that.”

“No,” you choked, as everything clicked into place. This was Ophelia Sarkissian - Viper. The woman who had been running HYDRA. The one who had been ordering people to hunt you and Geo down. You had sat at her trial and given evidence to make sure she’d get put away for life. You had no idea how she could be out now. “No, you can’t.”

“You evaded us for a long time,” Viper said as she looked you over. “I applaud you. I must say that when your precious Captain America tore apart our warehouses and stripped me of my crown, it was a little bit of a setback. But he made three rather large mistakes. The first was, he made it very clear that you specifically were off the table. We weren’t allowed to hurt you. That made me believe that you were special in ways that weren’t just about the test IGH had run on you. You were special to Steve Rogers. That was confirmed while I was locked up and the tabloids started showing pictures of you together. Don’t you just love tabloids? Always invading people’s privacy and spreading all over the place for everyone to see? You’d think that would be illegal? But no… it’s encouraged even.”

She took a few steps closer to you and had a look at the chart one of the doctors handed her. “The next was, he seemed to think that HYDRA was just the palace in Madripoor and a few warehouses. That was the basis for all our IGH manufacturing and distribution, I’ll give him that, but HYDRA is so much bigger than that. He was successfully able to scrub all references to you from our files, but there was his last mistake.” She moved in close, so her face was right up in yours. “He didn’t erase me.”

“He’s going to kill you,” you rasped.

She laughed and stood up straight. “While I’ve been locked up I’ve been running things behind the scenes. Getting a place prepared for you and your little technopath. It is cut off from communications down this deep. He won’t be able to send for help. And they won’t be able to find you. But don’t worry. We have some of the friends from the experiment we ran on you. You see, now we know that when two of you breed you get something special, we thought we’d run our own little breeding program with some of the others. And won’t you believe our luck? You’ve been running your own with a super-soldier no less.” She tapped your baby belly and you started shaking your head.

“No, no, no, no no,” you groaned. “You can’t have them.”

“We already have them. You’re due any day now, correct?” She taunted. “You’ll be delivering here, and then we’ll see what happens if you mix IGH with Super-Serum.”

You shook your head, still feeling completely out of it and unable to process what was happening to you. There was a loud and painful part of you that couldn’t see any way out of this. If they had kidnapped other people and no one had noticed - if you were really cut off from any computers, then this was hopeless. They’d never find you. Yet a smaller part of you didn’t seem willing to give up hope that the men you had chosen to make a family with would ever stop looking for you.

“I want to see Geo,” you whispered.

“We’ll see. If you’re very good for us and do exactly as we say we might let you see him,” she said. “Thought we might reprogram him, much like we did with your friend the Winter Soldier. Having Geo so young and with such a useful power, he could be quite the asset for us.”

“No,” you said and jerked feebly against your bonds. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Now, now,” Viper taunted. “That’s not behaving yourself. You don’t want to get all worked up and hurt your baby, do you? Where will that leave us?”

You started crying and Viper smirked and handed the files back to the doctors. “You can unfasten her bonds and let her drugs wear off. She was always the runner, never the fighter. I think given we have her boy she’ll behave herself for us.”

She left the room and the doctors unfastened the bindings on your wrists and ankles. They left you there alone in the bright white room. As the drugs began to wear off more you sat up. Your mouth was dry and tacky and you wanted a drink. You slowly surveyed the room. It was more of a cell than a room. The wall that had the automatic door looked to be a thick one-way glass. There was a shower head, toilet, and sink on the far side of the room. You were worried about getting up yet, but you really needed a drink.

You carefully got up, leaning on the bed while you judged whether or not your legs could hold you. When you felt confident that they would, you made your way over and drank as much as you could before using the toilet and washing up. You took a moment to check how well-sealed the door was and when it wouldn’t budge at all, you made your way back to your bed. It was hopeless. After all these years they’d finally caught you and this was it. All the things you’d done to protect your son had been for nothing.

Part of you wished you’d never met Steve or Bucky, but even thinking that made your heartbreak and you’d start crying again. This wasn’t their fault and trying to pin it on them was putting the blame in the wrong place. This was Viper’s doing and no one else's. She’d hunted you and Geo. And she used Steve’s fame to finally catch you when you were at your most vulnerable.

You lay down and curled up. There were no blankets and no pillows, but you were able to doze lightly. The lights dimmed, and just as you were on the brink of a really deep sleep, the doors hissed open again.

You sat up quickly expecting the worse. Of all the people you had thought would walk through the door, your seven-year-old son was right at the bottom of the list. “Mommy? I’m scared,” he whispered.

You jumped down off the bed and rushed to him, crouching down as best you could in your heavily pregnant state and pulling him out of the doorway. “Geo? How did you get here?”

“Where are my dads?” He whispered. “I wanna go home, mommy.”

“G, I need you to listen, bud. We’re in trouble. I need to know how you got out?” You asked.

“Mommy, the machines helped me,” he said. “They always do.”

You nearly laughed at how stupid you’d been. Of course, he’d be able to get out of the cell. It was locked electronically. They must have found out that Geo was a technopath and thought that meant computers only, when in fact, if there was any sort of processing system, even if it was just to open and close doors it would do what he’d say.

“G, listen to me very carefully,” you said. “I need you to do something really important.”

// NEXT

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #pregnancy #until the end of the world

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marvels-writings · 4 years

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Make it Right

Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow) Masterlist

Requested by @sg00 : Can you do a Natasha×fem!reader with 4-19-40 angst questions, please happy ending😊

4: “Do you know what it’s like?”

19: “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

40: “How could you do this?”

Word Count: 1,557 (Longish, angsty but happy ending!)

A/N: This is one of my fav Nat things I’ve written, hope you like it!

“How could you do this?” You demanded, running your hands through your hair as you paced through your home.

This wasn’t the first time Natasha’s work had become more important than her family. You knew for a fact it won’t be the last. But this was the worst of it. Your wife was missing her only daughter’s seventh birthday because of a mission. Your daughter had been looking forward to it all month, wondering when she would get to spend time with her mama again.

“It’s not like I wanted to,” Natasha argued, throwing her hands up exasperatedly.

The redhead felt as bad about it as you did. She had seen how excited your daughter was to spend the entire weekend with her. It was breaking both of your hearts to have this conversation.

“Then explain to me why the hell you’re taking a mission on our daughter’s birthday?!” You shouted back, furious with your wife.

There were unshed tears in both of your eyes. You hated shouting at her, it always caused her to grow more defensive and push you away. But you couldn’t help your anger, it was your only daughter’s birthday she was missing.

“Because they need me!” The redhead fired back, knowing this argument wasn’t going to end soon.

“And she doesn’t?!” You demanded, gesturing in the direction of your daughter’s bedroom.

“Mama?” A voice interrupted your argument.

You turned to see your daughter standing at the bottom of the staircase, clutching the stuffed unicorn Natasha had brought her from a mission. One hand was rubbing her eyes while the other held onto the unicorn’s horn with a tight grip. Emma looked exhausted but also concerned somehow.

“Hey, what are you doing up?” Natasha asked, voice soft as she moved to kneel in front of your daughter.

“I heard you shouting,” Emma answered, hand coming away from her eyes and clutching the unicorn as she looked from the redhead to you.

“It’s nothing sweetie,” Natasha assured, smiling down at her and lifting Emma so her head was on the redhead’s shoulder.

“Nothing,” You scoffed quietly, not loud enough for Emma to hear.

Natasha threw you a quick glare over her shoulder while leaning against the couch. You scoffed and moved to stand next to her, brushing the hair out of your daughter’s face.

“You’re coming to my birthday, right?” Emma asked excitedly, turning to face Natasha. Your heart broke at the look of pure excitement on her face. Natasha wore a look of pure regret, she didn’t want to break her daughter’s heart. Again.

“I-,” Natasha began.

“We don’t know yet,” You cut her off, determined not to make your daughter cry before she went to sleep. Natasha noticed and let you take your daughter from her and walk towards her bedroom.

“Why don’t you go to bed then you can find out tomorrow?” You asked, faking excitement while you walked up the stairs to put your daughter to bed.

Smiling, you told your daughter a bedtime story, watching her fall asleep through half of it. You stayed there for a few minutes, knowing Natasha was waiting downstairs to talk to you. But you just wanted a moment of peace to look at your daughter. Emma looked so peaceful while she slept, she was so excited for her birthday tomorrow.

It was going to break your heart to tell her her mother couldn’t be there.

You kissed her forehead, pulling the blanket closer to her shoulder and closing the door with a quiet click. Sighing, you made your way downstairs to find Natasha pacing. Your wife’s hands running through her red hair as she paced. When she noticed you standing there, she stopped and started fidgeting with her fingers.

“Do you know what it’s like?” You asked, voice wavering as you climbed down the last few stairs. Natasha opened her mouth to ask you what you meant but stopped when she saw you weren’t done.

“Do you know what it’s like to put her to bed every single night you’re gone only for her to ask where you are?” You asked, blinking back tears as you stood in front of your wife.

The hurt in your chest increased. The pain of seeing your daughter miss her mother more than anything was breaking you. It was breaking you to put her to bed every single night when all she wanted was for Natasha to tuck her in and stay with her.

“I, I’m sorry, I’ll try harder,” Natasha stuttered, reaching forwards for your hands. You didn’t pull away yet.

“I’ll do more,”

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” Tears slipped down your cheeks, you pulled away from Natasha and ran one hand through your hair. A sob broke through your chest.

“Our daughter can’t even, I can’t even remember the last weekend you spent at home.” You stuttered, voice breaking as sobs were breaking out of you.

“Can you even remember the last time you were able to tuck your daughter into bed without leaving the next morning?!” You demanded, gesturing towards your daughter’s bedroom.

For the first time in months, Natasha truly understood what she was putting you through every single day she was gone. She finally understood her job wasn’t worth what she was forcing you and your daughter to go through every day.

“I…” Natasha trailed off, tears glazing her emerald eyes.

“I don’t want your apologies,” You stated flatly.

You waited for your wife to say something. Anything. Beg for you to forgive her, call the mission off, anything to show how much she cared. But Natasha just stood there, stunned.

You scoffed and left towards your bedroom, leaving Natasha to do as she pleases.

The redhead stood there, unsure of what to do. This wasn’t the first time she didn’t know what the right thing to do was. Every mission she sacrificed your family over had confused her on what the right thing to do was. But somehow she had convinced herself that helping others was the right thing to do.

Licking her lips, she decided to sleep on the couch. Trying to sleep in your shared bedroom would set off another argument which both of you were too tired for. But before she could settle to go to sleep, the bright red colors on the dining table caught her eye.

Walking over to the table, she lifted the piece of paper to eye level. It was a drawing, a rather simple one. It had your name written over a stick figure on the right. with hair/color hair. On the left, there was Natasha’s name written. A large stick figure with bright red hair and a black suit on. ‘Emma’ written over the smaller stick figure in the middle of the two large ones.

It was a drawing of her family. The same family she was tearing apart.

————

You woke up to an empty bed, which didn’t surprise you. You didn’t expect Natasha to spend the night in your shared bedroom after your argument. Noises from the kitchen caught your attention. You left the room in a hurry, scared it would be someone here to hurt you.

But what you saw surprised you. It was Natasha, wearing the same clothes from last night. One hand crossed around her midsection while one handheld the phone. The same phone she was shouting into while her back facing you.

“I could give less shits about missions Steve, I’m taking the month off.” Natasha hissed into the phone.

You heard a little more chatter but you zoned out. You had never expected your wife to take the chance to change. But she did, she was finally doing more than she had promised.

“Hey,” Natasha said, drawing you out of your thoughts as she approached you on the staircase.

“You finally did more,” You chuckled, voice gravely from sleep.

“Did you expect me not to?” Natasha asked, eyebrow-raising in mock offense.

“A little,” You confessed, shrugging as Natasha took your hands and pulled you towards the dining table.

“Don’t. Look…” Natasha trailed off, unsure of how to apologize to you.

Her eyes looked down at the ground, you hooked one finger under her chin, guiding her face to look at you. The redhead took in a deep breath and started on the apology she had been practicing all night.

“I’m sorry about everything,” Natasha apologized, licking her lips and rubbing circles in your hands. “I just got so caught up in clearing my ledger and helping other people I forgot about my family who was helping me all along.”

By the end of the apology, your wife was tearing up. You smiled softly despite the circumstances. It made you fall in love with her all over again to see how much she cared about you. You pulled her into a hug, hand coming up to cradle her head as you rubbed her back.

“Hey, shh,” You whispered.

Natasha wrapped her arms around you, head buried in your shoulder as hot tears soaked your t-shirt. You started swaying from side to side, trying to comfort her. A piece of paper on the dining table caught your eye. Moving towards it, you saw it was a drawing of your family. There were small, barely noticeable, tear stains on it.

“It’s okay, you made it right,”

A/N: Thoughts?

Tag List: @capcarolsdanver, @versdan, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught, @lovebotlarson, @dhengkt, @hstoria, @natasha-danvers, @veryfunnyal, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx , @ophelias-heart , @never-didbefore , @justarandomhumanhere, @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all , @thatssocamryn , @lesbian-x-blackwidow , @marvelbbyx , @wlw-imaginesss , @hcartbyheart , @summergeezburr , @imnotasuperhero , @dversstark , let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

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hostess-of-horror · 3 years

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Phantom X Peach (again)

Me: "Alright, let's get right back into my current project!"

[sees posts of Phantom and Princess Peach]

My Brain:

Me: *defeated sigh* *clicks Create New Post*

Welp, here we are again! Another Phantom X Peach story! I can't help myself, I absolutely adore this ship. 💜

Since the last story was hurt/comfort themed, I figured I'd continue this trope by switching the roles! Both Princess Peach and Phantom have their bad days, and this time it's poor Phantom.😔

For @salamifuposey, @kindpopstar, @strawbunniiee and everyone else who wants to read it!

[Content Includes: Themes of Depression and Anxiety and Suggestive Flirting (no smut!)]

---

It was a slow day at the Mushroom Kingdom. Nothing special was happening. At least there were no surprise kidnappings from Bowser or any other signs of danger. Princess Peach, not wanting to sit around all day, decided to take a walk outside. She ensured the people within her castle that she will be safe and will be only admiring the land. Of course, this was partially true. She will be safe, but not while within her own kingdom. Instead, Peach followed the path that led all the way to Spooky Trails. When she arrived at Phantom's theater, she was greeted by a familiar face.

The red-haired woman at the masquerade. The peasant woman from that very night.

---

Peach: "Hello?"

[The red-haired woman notices Peach, gives her a warm smile, and waves.]

????: "Good afternoon, your highness. I wasn't expecting you to come over. My name is Salome. I didn't get to properly introduce myself to you last time we met."

Peach: "It's nice to meet you, Salome." *bows* "May I ask if Phantom is inside?"

Salome: "Yes, he is. In fact, I'm so glad you came! Our master has become terribly upset all of a sudden."

Peach: "Oh no! What happened to him? Is he alright?"

Salome: "I'm not exactly sure. He has had these moments before, but almost none of us know exactly how to completely help him out. Our master was last seen entering into his boudoir. He didn't say a word to any of us. I don't believe he is physically ill, but it is some sort of sickness. Perhaps you can help him? No, wait - I shouldn't do that to a guest, especially one that's royalty."

Peach: "No. No need to apologize. If Phantom is distressed, then I'll do my best to help him feel better."

Salome: "Ah, you're so kind, Princess. Just like how he describes you."

[Salome invites Peach into the theater, entering down into the underground lair where Phantom and his theater troupe reside. Once again, Peach is inside the large and luxurious hallways of the lair, this time going down to Phantom's Boudoir. The door to this room is just as massive as the Ballroom entrance. Salome knocks.]

Phantom: *from behind the door* "Leave me be!"

Salome: "Master, is there something wrong?"

Phantom: "I'll be fine... I just need some peace and quiet."

[Peach approaches the door and knocks gently.]

Peach: "Phantom? It's me. Salome told me what happened... are you sure you're okay?"

Phantom: "Princess?"

[A moment of silence.]

Phantom: "Salome, if you don't mind, would you kindly let the Princess in? I want to see her in private."

Salome: "Yes, Master."

[Salome pushes the door just slightly, so that Peach can enter the Boudoir. The door closes behind and Peach is inside the room. The Boudoir is just as beautiful as the rest of the lair. Lavish decorations fill the walls, from portraits to curtains to ornamental decals. A multitude of candles light the darkness, all of them leading up to a massive pile of pillows and blankets. There lying in this pile is Phantom, his head placed in between his crossed arms. His cobalt blue coat and red vest are gone. The only thing he’s wearing is his ivory poet blouse, slightly unbuttoned, revealing his shoulder and upper chest. Peach couldn’t help but stare. She has never seen Phantom without his coat and vest before. As she approaches him, Phantom lifts his head to look at his guest, revealing his weary, tear-stained eyes. Peach stops. She recognizes those red eyes from the first night they reunited.]

Phantom: “Ah, my love... Do forgive my appearance. I should have freshened up a bit before you came in.” *softly chuckles*

Peach: “Phantom, what’s wrong?”

[Phantom slowly rises from his position. Peach walks up to him, reaching out for his cheek.]

Peach: “Have you been crying?”

Phantom: *takes a deep breath* “Oh, just a little bit, that’s all...”

[Peach awaits his answer. Phantom looks into her eyes, taking another deep breath.]

Phantom: “... I had another breakdown. I was outside before you came here, to get some fresh air. This place gets stuffy once you’ve spent many days inside. I thought maybe I could venture outside Spooky Trails for inspiration. But instead, I found... memories.”

Peach: “Memories?”

Phantom: “Reminders, more like it. They mock me, even after all this time. They appear in my mind every now and then, but... this time was worse than before.”

Peach: “Tell me about them.”

[Lifting her arms up, inviting Phantom to come into her arms, Peach gives him a pitiful expression. Phantom slowly crawls, wrapping his arms around her and placing his head onto her lap.]

Phantom: “These memories... they remind me of my loneliness. My strangeness. How I was - is - met with rejection by my fellow Rabbids. When I was outside, I found a few Rabbids playing, mindlessly causing havoc as usual. I could do the same, but in the end, I found such activities to be senseless. I find no real purpose doing those things. But, as I was watching them, I could not help but yearn for such a connection. Yes, I have my theater troupe, but...”

[Phantom pauses. He looks up at Peach.]

Phantom: “Oh, I don’t believe I’ve told you about them.”

Peach: “What about them?”

Phantom: “They are not real, exactly. I made them.”

Peach: “Wait... you made these people?”

Phantom: “Yes. Along with making masterpieces, I study magic on the side. Since the... battle years ago, I discovered that I have more powers than I initially thought. I guess it makes sense, considering that I am not only part Rabbid, I am also part Boo.”

Peach: “Hmmm... Boos do have many magical abilities, but it varies from each individual Boo. I learned about them when I was a little girl. I agree, it does make sense.”

Phantom: “Dolores, Stefan, Natasha and Ophelia, Salome... all of them are not real. They’re actually mannequins - puppets controlled by my magic.”

Peach: “So my eyes weren’t deceiving me back then! I was going to ask you after that masquerade performance, but... well...” *blushes*

Phantom: *lifts one eyebrow* “Hehe... but you were overwhelmed?” *caresses her cheek down to her chin* “With passion?”

[Peach’s face becomes even redder. Phantom softly laughs at her bashfulness.]

Phantom: “You are so precious! Ah... I could just kiss you!”

[Suddenly, Peach is pulled into Phantom’s embrace, her lips being locked into his. She melts, sinking deeper into his kiss. Then Phantom rolls over, landing on top of her. He finally stops, taking a moment for both of them to catch their breath.]

Phantom: “My apologizes... I... got carried away.”

Peach: “I see you’re feeling much better.”

Phantom: “I am.”

Peach: “Phantom...” *holding his face close to her* “You are not alone. You may be different, but I would not say you’re ‘strange.’ ‘Unique’ would be a better term. Others may not understand you, but I do. I understand you, even if there’s plenty of things I haven’t learned about you yet, Like your magic. In fact, if they give you a chance, I believe you would be accepted outside Spooky Trails.”

Phantom: “....”

Peach: “What you call ‘strangeness’ is what I call ‘wonderful.’ Amazing... Alluring... Beguiling... Captivating... Enchanting.”

Phantom: “Ah, Princess! Now you’re making me blush! That is supposed to be my job!”

[Peach laughs, a huge smile across her face.]

Peach: “Don’t you know? I hold magic abilities as well! I can make even the most powerful gentlemen fall to their knees.”

Phantom: “Oh?”

Peach: “Yes, and I just did.”

Phantom: “Well, how can I disagree? How can I be so powerful when you make me so weak?”

[They lock themselves into a passionate kiss again.]

#phantom of the bwahpera #phantom #tom phan #Phantom x Peach #Princess Peach #mario rabbids kingdom battle #mario rabbids #Mario +Rabbids kingdom battle #OTP #ship #my writing

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musicfren · 3 years

Text

They’ve got a bad reputation (they’ll get a standing ovation) part 2

HI HAVE I, TOLD YOU, THAT, @nottesilhouette IS THE MOST FRIGGEN AMAZING WRITER IN THE WHOLE WORLD? God...why do we do this to ourselves, friggen 3400 word story in the span of 2 days...this is entirely exclusively my fault pay no mind Read part 1 here. Happy @felinettenovember y’all, time for slep!

...oh, dear gods, why is Felix here? The spotlight burns into his face like shame, regret bubbling up in his stomach. He doesn’t remember challenging Marinette but he has, apparently, and now everyone’s watching and he has to-- he has to-- fight. Defend himself.

Or breathe, if he can manage it.

One seems easier than the other. Well, here goes nothing. Felix steps forward and calls engarde.

“Ophelia did nothing but obey the men in her life!” He cries, stepping forward, gesticulating wildly. The crowd gasps, and Felix doesn’t understand why until he realizes he's still holding the sword prop, white-knuckled grip around its hilt. Marinette’s eyes go wide with surprise and Felix nearly blurts out an apology right there. But then a glint of something sharper flashes in her gaze, burning with determination and suddenly Felix isn’t feeling quite so confident. It’s too late to quail now. He steps forward and matches her, still talking. “She’s hardly enough of an independent person to qualify as a character.”

“What would she be, then?” Marinette’s voice is steady, calm, and Felix is wildly, irrationally envious of it. He can’t work out how to make his statements come out smooth, suave like she’s managed, so he goes for the next best weapon: rage.

“She’s little more than a symbol, a prop,” he spits, and the crowd reacts appropriately. Something in his chest loosens at the idea that he’s performed correctly. Something in his heart wrenches.

Marinette sends him a snide look. “You would know. You’re a model mannequin.”

They’re circling each other now: Felix is brash, forceful, cutting broad slashes through the air with each sweeping generalization he makes. Marinette is steady, precise, pulling apart the stitches of his defense with needle-fine precision. His pulse quickens; a glance at the audience shows she’s winning their favor. This isn’t the clever riposte and quick banter they expected, and Felix is coming across as dim-witted at best.

“Well, what is she then? You have so many judgements, it’s time you raised an opinion of your own-- or do you have no policy but to raze mine?” Felix pushes her back, scrambling for repost. He needs to be interesting, he needs to be clever, he needs to-- turn it back onto Marinette before the crowd realizes he’s faking, that he doesn’t want to be here, that he’s… scared.

His tongue sours at the words, and he hates himself for saying them. Marinette shoots him a glare full of challenge, and for an instant he considers conceding right there. Marinette believes so strongly in her cause, and Felix is desperate to apologize, to reconcile, to just acknowledge the points she’s making. But he’s trapped now, caught in the reputation he’s built for this audience and his own pride, and he has nowhere to go but forward.

Or backwards, apparently, because with each point Marinette makes, crisp and concise and clear, Felix finds himself frantically retreating further and further.

“Ophelia is the only person in the play who recognizes that Hamlet needs help.”

“That’s not true--”

She cuts him off with a slice. “She’s the only person who notices and tries to stop him, who cares enough to call him out on his actions, to hold him accountable to the promises he made before his mad plan, to who he used to be.”

“The entire argument is milquetoast--” He stabs desperately.

“They speak of beauty and reputation, of expectations and the way one’s actions will never outweigh the image others have of them.”

“They speak of madness and prostitution!”

They’ve become locked in combat now, their blades darting in the scant space their words leave behind. The crowd presses forward, squeezes the stage almost to bursting. Nino presses his face to the camera lense, not wanting to miss an instant.

“The argument is framed against women but its themes are centered on Hamlet’s own realization of the position he’s found himself in. It breaks the adrenaline rush long enough to show him, in all his grief and desperation, the reality he’s constructed for himself. They speak of agency!”

“Ophelia has none!”

“Ophelia reminds him that he does!” Marinette’s voice finally raises. “Ophelia reminds Hamlet who he is, what he has, if only for a moment. Ophelia grieves for him, for his loss: of his father, of his sanity and dignity and agency. She acknowledges that he is a liar, but remembers the man he used to be, the person he put work into being.”

“She laments the loss of his attention, nothing more.”

“To write her statements off as such discounts the tone and the manner with which they are intended; she is returning his madman’s accusations with compassion and reason, she is the only person who has done so, who will ever do so.”

“Why should I take her seriously when no one else does?!” It’s a mad, desperate response as he finds himself teetering at the edge of the stage, and he’s unbalanced. He swings again, unhinged.

“None of the men in her life-- not her father, not her brother, not god himself-- take her seriously until she dies.”

“She trips into a river.” Finally, Felix is in charge of this conversation; this, Marinette cannot deny. It is his strongest point, and the only point that matters. He steadies himself, holds his sword like a shield to defend his statement.

“Her death is not an accident. Her death is the culmination of the climax. Her death is the reason anyone stops long enough to notice how far gone Hamlet is! Her death tethers Hamlet to the person he used to be, who loved her once, who remembered what it felt like to choose what he did and who he was.”

“That makes her nothing more than the physical manifestation and harbinger of Hamlet's descent into madness,” and Felix puts on a smirk because he knows he should.

Felix wishes he was being honest, passionate the way Marinette is being. Felix wishes her voice didn’t seem so far away, calling from a world he remembers existing in but can’t find his way back to anymore. Felix wishes he was talking to her in a realm even close to reality instead of the mirage he’s operating in, desperate not to fall through.

Instead, he steps forward from the edge of the stage and keeps his sword aloft. “She’s trapped in the societal confines of traditional womanhood. She’s nothing more than a woman in a world where that doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right.”

Marinette stops moving forward to meet him, drops her arm. Felix is thrilled, and sick and confused, doubly so when he notices the ferocity in her expression. It is not one of someone who has given up. It is one of someone who is about to pounce.

“You’re right, she is nothing more than a woman in a world where that doesn’t matter. No one cares what she has to say. So she makes it matter. She dies, and she is finally heard. You’re right, and she’s a genius for the way she wields it like a weapon.” Marinette smirks, matching his smugness with self-assured pride, and taps his wrist with her sword. His own slips easily out of his grasp, and he trembles; with what emotion, he cannot place. “Being able to do the work of all these men in 58 lines doesn’t make her less of a character, Felix. It makes her more of one, and more power to her for what she’s able to notice that no one else will. It’s not her fault men can’t manage it.”

Felix finally snaps. “My sense is not less than yours!”

Marinette pauses, and very very slowly, grins. It’s terrifying, predatorial. She rakes her gaze down his body, and he shivers. “I had thought to agree but this battle of wits has proven very much so the opposite. When she blows him a kiss and winks, Felix collapses where he stands.

It’s over. The tension the assembled students have been holding in their collective lungs for the last five minutes erupts into cheers and thunderous applause.

“Bravo, bravo.” says Nino, pushing through the crowd, most of whom are still frantically scribbling in their notebooks. Felix can scarcely bring himself to look up, his face burning with humiliation. The room around him is rapidly becoming a confusing blur of angry lights and prying eyes.

“You guys were amazing, I’ve never seen anything like that before! Honestly I should turn this in just like that.” Nino moves around to get a few more shots of their faces, lit up under the harsh theatre lights.

“No way!” shouts someone from the crowd, “I’m turning it in first!” “--can’t believe how easily Marinette just eviscerated Felix! I thought he was good at literature but--” “--she’s so clever, he could barely keep up--” “--he’s not very good at this, is he--”

Someone else laughs and soon the whole crowd is bickering, arguing over who will lay claim to Marinette’s mental prowess and Felix’s mortification.

“Enough, ALL of you! That was completely uncalled for. This wasn’t for you to take advantage of. None of you-- none of you-- bothered to state your own position, your own opinion. All you did was encourage my attacks, which were honestly in poor form.” Marinette hardly stops to breathe. “And anyways, I’m only more coherent because I’ve done weeks of research on this character. Felix kept up to someone who wasn’t just thinking on her feet, and his points still had credibility-- do you know how many literary analyses I’ve read on his position just to try and work out how to defend mine?” Marinette leans over and offers Felix a gentle smile and an outstretched hand. He gratefully accepts.

Felix takes her hand and pulls himself up with it, and stands shoulder to shoulder with her, looking out at the sea of chastised faces. “And now you think you can turn in our work-- her work, really-- and our performance as your own as if you have any claim to it-- it’s disgusting. Marinette poured herself into caring about this, and… and I should’ve listened to her, but I don’t get to take credit for the work she’s done to be this person. I need to do the work myself. You’re manipulators and thieves if you think you deserve any part of what she’s done.”

“Hey, everyone is manipulated by something. Hamlet, Claudius, Horaito… you would know, right?” Marinette looks at him again, soft and shy and concerned through her lashes.

Felix swallows hard, glances at the cameras still rolling. Yeah, he would know.

“Thank you.” He says, stumbling and trying to hide the way his legs are shaking. “I, um… I guess I’d better put these swords away before someone stabs themselves.”

Nino slaps a hand on his shoulder so hard he nearly falls back down again. “Felix, my man! Get that grumpy black uniform off you!”

“Um… what?” Felix turns in confusion, head still spinning.

“You, my friend, are stage-hand no more! We’re still missing a Hamlet, and I know I’ve found the perfect one right here!”

“...WHAT?!?”

As the world around him starts to blur, Marinette slips her hand into his and squeezes, shooting him a fond, amused grin. “You’re going to do great, Felix. I’ll see you on stage.” She presses her lips to his cheek, soft, warm, and… the scene fades to black to the sound of cheering.

#felinette #battle of wits #felinette november #felinette month 2020 #MusicFrenDoesWords #aaaaaaaa #nottesilhouette is just hamelton #but a good person

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mysterytickingegos · 3 years

Text

The Dream Team

Pairing: Mayor Damien x Reader

Genre: Fluffy beginning, then Angst.

Word Count:2,965

Summary: The newly elected mayor and district attorney were set to change this city for the better, perhaps as more than friends. Alas, fate (or at least, Mark) had different plans. Once-good people make a mistake, and upon striking their final deal in an effort to protect their friends, they instead set themselves on a tragic path for vengeance.

Anonymous Request: So for the request things, maybe 12, 43, and 44 with Damien? Maybe during WKM with female or gender neutral pronouns? (Thank you! I’m super excited to see your writing!)

Authors Note: Thank you for being my first request!

Want to read more?

[Image Description: A gif of Mayor Damien from chapter one of who killed markiplier, walking our of frame while bidding goodbye to the viewer. End Description.]

You stepped out of your car, almost in awe of the manor before you. At the bottom of the stairs stood a familiar raven-haired young woman, who upon hearing you coming up behind her, turned around.

“Tsk tsk, is this the kind of punctuality we should expect from our new district attorney?” She asked, crossing her arms as she bit back a smile.

“Ophelia, I never pegged you as a hypocrite.” You shot back at her, leading to her holding her hand over her heart in mock offense before you both broke into laughs. “Is your uncle inside already?”

She sighed, “Yes, why do you think I’m still out here? Postponing the inevitable lecture.”

You started to nod in agreement, then stopped. “Do you...really think being even later will help your predicament?”

You could see the wheels turning in her head before she winced through her teeth. ‘Damn.”

The door opened up with the houses butler on the other side, confused to see the two of you lingering outside. He kindly welcomed you and took your invitations, and as soon as he left your line of sight, there was Damien, the other half of your political dream team. Ophelia immediately ducked into the archway to her left, but it was too late, he had seen her.

Luckily for her, you were in a playful mood yourself. Just as he passed you, you caught his hand, bringing him back in your direction. “I just got here and you’re running off already?”

“Of course not, Y/n.” He said with a kind smile, before placing a kiss on the top of your hand. “I’m glad you made it. How have you been settling into your new office? It’s going to take some getting used to I’m sure.”

“Certainly. I still get this strange feeling I’m intruding every once in a while.” You shrugged softly, even with the thought you got a hint of that same feeling in your gut. “But that seems to come with the title in general, to be frank.”

Damien just shook his head, “My dear, there is no one I would rather have alongside me to protect this great city of ours.”

“Well, I appreciate your confidence in me.” You’d been working together for almost 5 years now and yet it still amazed you how well you worked as a team. “You know it’s funny, when we met, this is not where I saw my life going.”

The laugh that got out of him warmed your heart, although not half as much as what he said next; “Hopefully I’ve helped exceed your expectations.”

“Perhaps in more ways than you think.” You couldn’t stop yourself from saying it. As subtle as it may have been, the recognition in his eyes made it obvious to you that you had revealed your true feelings for the man standing before you, at least partially.

Before either of you could speak again, the butler cleared his throat behind you, almost making you jump out of your skin as you instinctively took a step back from Damien. “Champagne?” The tall man asked, seemingly unable to read the room.

“Uh, y-yes, thank you.” You took the small glass he was handing you, and chose to keep your focus there, at least until you heard another voice coming down the stairwell. After the speech that came from the man who invited you, you braced yourself for the rest of the night by downing the glass in one go.

After that, the rest of that night was mostly a blur. All of the usually posh guests loosened up at the table and you had done rather well, getting a rather stubborn detective out of the game early on.

There is one moment, at the end of the night, that sticks out clearly in your memory though. It always will.

You and Damien had left the crowd at maybe one in the morning, choosing to cool down on the balcony off of his room. “I haven’t had this much fun since...well before law school!” You exclaimed, taking another swig from a snagged champagne bottle you’d been sharing up there for a half hour.

“You were incredible down there. I mean- pft - his-” Damien erupted into a fit of the giggles, and you couldn’t help but follow suit. “Abe’s face when you put down that awful hand!”

“God help me if I ever need his help in court...” You sighed, and then you both lost it again.

Finally, when you had both calmed down, caught your breath, you locked eyes. You could’ve sworn that time slowed down just for the two of you. He pushed the hair out of you face, gently resting his hand on your cheek. “You know, you never cease to amaze me, Y/n.” With those words you both began to lean closer, and as you closed your eyes you could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

His lips had just barely ghosted over yours when he pulled away from you, wincing. You opened your eyes to your friend ghostly pale, gripping onto the rail of the balcony for support. “Woah, Damien are you alright?”

He had trouble even looking up from the ground, making it clear how the world must’ve been spinning in his perspective. “I...I don’t feel well.”

“I think you’ve just pushed yourself a bit too far tonight,” You reassured him, gently trying to guide him away from the balcony.

“No, this is...is...” He stopped to catch his breath, as though he had been holding it throughout the conversation. He then shook his head, a forced smile at his lips. “...Nevermind, it even sounds mad in my mind. I’m sure you’re right.”

“Come on, you should rest.” You brought him inside, surprisingly sobered after seeing the look on his face. As you shut the door to the balcony, the lights to the room flickered and stayed dimmed afterwards.

Damien groaned in pain, holding his hand to his head. “You do that?”

“No...” You stepped over and noticed now that Damien was also in a cold sweat. “Oh, goodness. Perhaps you’ve caught some kind of bug.”

“In that case I apologize for kissing you.” The joke just barely got a laugh out of either of you, him in too much pain and you far too concerned for his well-being.

“I’m going to go downstairs and see if-”

He was the one to catch your hand this time. “No, no, Y/n I’m- I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry so much.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes...You should go off to bed as well, it’s so late.”

You were hesitant to leave him, but chose to trust him. If it was that bad, he would tell you, right?

So you bid him goodnight, told him to get help if he needed it, and did as he said despite the pit in your stomach.

The next day it was as though nothing had happened at all, he seemed to be in perfect health as he greeted you on the staircase, not saying a word about his illness or anything else that had happened before then. You felt strange of course, and had plans to speak to him in private, but those plans vanished in a cloud of smoke when the body of the host of this event fell flat in front of you. Naturally, that remained at the forefront of your mind.

Even later as you began to notice your good friend acting slightly off, you ignored it. After all, he was grieving, you told yourself. He was still processing all of this and the best you could do was be there for him. Besides, you had your own troubles to deal with today, the investigation becoming more and more bizarre with every passing minute.

All of it seemed to boil over with you trying to calm an impossibly chaotic situation; a screaming match between the very panicked and very guilty looking colonel, a young woman demanding answers as to what happened to the only family she had, and a stubborn detective who just wouldn’t stop pushing all the wrong buttons...until he was shot. After that, you made an attempt to disarm William before he could hurt anyone else.

This was the next-to-last poor decision you would make.

Yet another gunshot rang through the old manor alongside a horrible shriek from you.You clutched your stomach as your body jerked backwards into the railing that was just low enough to bring about another tragedy. Regret immediately flashed over William’s eyes, he dropped the gun and both him and Ophelia tried to reach out for you once they saw you were falling backwards. It was too late, your body hit the ground with an awful crunch and your sight went black.

And then...and then you were floating. In some kind of void, you started to move forward until a body fell in front of you for the second time that day. “It’s not fair, is it?” It hissed at you.

No, it wasn’t.

Tears began to sting at your eyes but you held them back. In the distance you could hear voices, voices that were too familiar, and began to move towards them.

“He took everything from us.” The first voice started, “He trapped us here with this broken shell and no way out!”

“This whole time I thought it was the house, but I never thought he’d fall this far.” The second voice began to crack, laced with pain and guilt.

“And we played right into his hands. He’d been planning this for years and now that son of a bitch is out there walking around in my body!”

You approached two figures, with two auras, red and blue. The woman surrounded by red, a psychic you had met just hours before, glanced up at you. “Damien we can’t do this right now...” She warned him.

“Why not?! From where I stand we seem to have all the time in the world!” She rolled her eyes and nodded in your direction, and the moment he laid eyes on you the rage turned to sadness. “Y/n...”

You didn’t hesitate to go to him and he pulled you into his arms, the both of you having thought you’d lost the other forever. “Damien, is this...” You paused, having to push for the next words to come out of your mouth. “Are we dead?”

“It would seem so.” He said quietly. Once your fears were confirmed you broke, letting a sob escape as tears ran down your face. “Don’t cry, darling, we’re going to be alright.”

You laughed in disbelief. How? How could either of you be alright?

“You will be, death doesn’t mean the same thing here.” Celine’s voice echoed through the nothingness.

You pulled away from your friend to look at her, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“What Celine means by that is, this doesn’t have to be the end. You are trapped in here just the same as us but...your body, broken as it may be, it’s still out there.” Damien attempted to explain.

“Mark is not the only one who can use this place to his benefit. The same way I brought you here, is the way that I can send you back.”

“Send me back? I understand you want to help but that is just...unnatural.” You told the psychic, thinking back to the way you had passed.

“It wouldn’t be merely selfish. William and Elli are still in that house, clueless as to what’s really happening. And if William doesn’t pick up on it soon, well you’ve seen first hand he is just as dangerous as Mark.” Damien explained.

You nodded, beginning to understand. “So somebody has to stop the madness.”

“But... I’m afraid you won’t be able to survive on your own.” He started, taking your hand in his. “You are dead after all. But if you trust me, if you let me in, we can fix this together.”

“Together? So we’ll both be...”

“In your mind, yes. It won’t be pleasant, but it’s only temporary.”

You nodded again. Of course you trusted him, after all these years you had no reason not to. Celine began to push you to reality, a rush of wind surrounding and spinning around the two of you. ‘Damien?”

“Yes y/n?”

“...I’m Scared.”

“...I am too. But we’ve got this, we’re going to make things right.”

And in the blink of an eye you were back on the floor of the manor, gasping for breath as you felt unimaginable pain throughout your body. Yet the pain was overwhelmed by the shock of hearing two separate trains of thought in your head. Two separate voices commanding your body to sit up, to find your friends. Far as you could tell though, yours was still the one in charge. And of course you reminded yourself that this new voice belonged to Damien, that it was okay.

You pulled yourself up off of the ground and did not need to venture far, seeing William on a loveseat just a few feet away as well as Ophelia sitting in the archway with her knees tucked to her chest and a red blotchy face. Both were staring at you, one in awe and the other in terror. Every breath you were taking felt like you were inhaling glass, and you struggled to speak.

William sat up, holding his hand out to show he was unarmed in an attempt to comfort you. “We thought you were dead,” He barely muttered out. “I-I mean of course you’re not dead. How could you be dead? I wouldn’t have killed you. I didn’t kill you. I mean of course I...I...”

Your emotions kept twisting and turning and shifting. From concern and compassion for the person who seemed to be unraveling in front of you, to a sick, burning rage at the fact he was going through this at all. You wanted to reach out for him, but everything felt so heavy. Every movement you made came with stings and aches that shot through you. You instead remained blank, unmoving as you listened. Ophelia had begun to approach you cautiously. “I think you should sit back down Colonel.” She told him softly. The thought crossed your mind that this poor girl was never going to recover from today.

“I’m fine! Everyone is fine!” The Colonel exclaimed, setting Damien's cane down and running his hands through his hair. “I didn’t kill anyone I...ha! It was all a joke! Of course it was all a joke! Oh, Damien put you two up to this, didn’t he? Of course he did!” He waved you both off, wandering off almost with a drunk-like sway to go find his lost friends.

You realized your fists were clenched at your sides, and released them. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, though it wasn’t all you could hear. Damien was trying to comfort you as tears stung your eyes and the unbearable pain left you shaking.

It was so difficult just to stand. Your head was pounding, it was too full. Too much happening at once.

Ophelia hesitantly placed her hand on your shoulder, an attempt to get your attention surely. “Y/n? How...how did this happen? I mean, you were gone. Cold.”

You held back a wince at her gesture, even that soft a touch was making you want to scream. The ringing in your ears was getting louder, screaching.

You tried to ground yourself to reality, to her voice, “Y/n, can you hear me?”

“Go get in your car Elli, get away from this place.” You finally managed to speak, your voice coming out shaky and low through gritted teeth.

“What about you?”

The words that came out next were not your own, that you were sure of. “I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

“Hold on just a minute.”

“Go.” Your voice dipped down to a growl and she was more scared now, looking at you as though she was pondering whether or not you had come back fully human. You weren’t quite sure either. After she rushed out of the house with the door slamming behind her, you braced yourself on the accent table in the hall. You now felt as though you were fighting for dominance of your own mind. You knew what you wanted, and that was to find Mark, no matter how long it took. Your better half disagreed. You wanted out of this house as quickly as possible, and grabbed the cane in front of you to support your broken body.

Wrong move.

Feeling chills up your spine at what you had caught a glimpse of in the corner of your eye, you looked up into the mirror, and saw a reflection that did not belong to you. Instead it belonged to the man you loved. Or at very least, a shell of who he was the night before. He gave you a sad smile, then closed his eyes and against your will your body moved, your head tilted to one side, then the other with harsh cracks coming from your neck. On the second, the mirror broke, nothing but static in the missing pieces. Static that resembled all of your buried thoughts in your mind. Instead of your confused pleas and questions as to what was happening, you heard his voice.

“It’s okay, my dear. You should rest.“

The very last thing you managed to get through, before the pain faded away completely; “Damien, please, don’t leave me.”

But as you already know, that plea landed on deaf ears.

You already know that he pushed you out.

That he left you behind.

That he let the darkness consume him in an effort to save you anymore pain.

So much for the dream team.

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