max.

i’m tired multifandom || requests closed

[maxsimagination]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ she was a story,

not an epilogue ɞ˚‧｡⋆

MAX ౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ — twenty, istj-t, she/her

🪴: tlou, hotd, slytherin

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.

18+ blog, MDNI

woso | wnba | asoiaf | tlou

wednesday | slytherin

જ⁀➴ if any of the links on here don’t work, please tell me! i will try to keep on top of them.

[maxsimagination]

EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES 𞠬 b.z

summary: step one, argue with a slytherin. step two, forget how to breathe

𖦹 masterlist

IF PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL EVER wondered why gryffindor and slytherin shouldn’t be forced to share transfiguration lessons, today would’ve been all the proof she needed.

blaise zabini was smirking again. the kind of smirk that could start wars—or detentions.

our assignment was simple: transform a quill into a rose. the slytherins had, of course, turned it into a competition.

“try not to stab yourself with the stem this time,” blaise said lazily from the next table, wand spinning between his fingers.

“try not to flirt with your reflection in the inkpot,” i shot back. “wouldn’t want it to get jealous.”

his eyes met mine, amused and unbothered. “you sound jealous.”

“of what? your ego?”

he grinned. “exactly.”

i muttered the spell again—“floriferum.” the quill shuddered and half-transformed: petals, ink stains, and a very un-romantic hiss of smoke. blaise leaned closer, inspecting it like a critic at an art show.

“creative,” he murmured. “it’s giving ‘tragic floral death.’ very you.”

before i could respond, my quill burst back into feathers, shooting a puff of soot directly at him. his face was dusted with gray. the class erupted in laughter.

i bit my lip, trying not to smile. “oops.”

he blinked through the smoke, wiped a streak from his cheek, and said with infuriating calm, “you’re enjoying this.”

“maybe a little.”

the smirk returned—slow, dangerous. “good. i like a challenge.”

by the end of class, we were still glaring across the aisle like rival duelists. professor mcgonagall dismissed everyone with a weary sigh, but as i was packing up, blaise’s voice drifted over again.

“you know,” he said casually, “your form’s all wrong.”

i froze mid-movement. “excuse me?”

“your wand form,” he said, stepping closer. “that’s why your transfiguration keeps collapsing. here—”

before i could protest, he was behind me. his hand hovered near mine, not quite touching, his voice low enough that i could feel it rather than hear it.

“you flick too sharply,” he murmured. “it’s not a duel. it’s… persuasion.”

i turned my head slightly. “you think you’re the expert?”

“i know i am.”

his confidence was maddening. i stepped forward to put space between us, but he followed, calm and deliberate.

“you could just admit i’m better,” he said.

“in your dreams.”

he smiled faintly. “that’s fine. you visit them often enough.”

i spun to face him, heat rising to my cheeks. “you—”

that was when i realized how close we were. barely a breath apart, his cologne faintly smoky, eyes glinting like he knew exactly how flustered i was.

“careful, gryffindor,” he said softly. “you’re blushing.”

“i’m angry.”

“sure,” he said, leaning in a little closer. “let’s call it that.”

the argument that followed wasn’t really about wand technique anymore.

it was about everything else we’d refused to admit all term—the looks, the smirks, the electric silence when we passed in corridors.

“you’re impossible,” i said.

“and yet you keep rising to the bait.”

“because you’re infuriating!”

“and you’re adorable when you’re furious.”

i turned to grab my bag, intending to storm out before i said something truly stupid. but blaise’s hand shot out, catching my wrist—not roughly, just firmly enough to stop me.

“hey,” he said quietly. “don’t walk away.”

“why not?”

he hesitated, eyes flicking between mine. “because I’m not done proving my point.”

“and what point is that?”

“that you lose focus when i’m this close.”

my breath caught. he wasn’t wrong. the air between us felt thin, humming with tension.

“this is for educational purposes,” he added, tone mock-serious.

i laughed despite myself. “educational?”

“purely. you’ll learn better if you can concentrate.”

“oh really?”

he nodded solemnly, eyes alight. “observation helps retention.”

“and what exactly am i supposed to observe?”

he leaned in until our noses nearly brushed. “me.”

for one suspended moment, everything went still—the dust in the air, the distant sound of students in the corridor, even my heartbeat.

he wasn’t touching me, not yet, but it felt like the entire castle was holding its breath waiting for him to.

“blaise…” i started.

“mm?”

“this isn’t—”

“educational?” he finished, grinning. “maybe not anymore.”

his hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from my face. the touch was light, almost tentative, and that tiny bit of hesitation was what broke me.

i laughed, soft and disbelieving. “you’re ridiculous.”

“maybe,” he said. “but you’re smiling now. lesson complete.”

before i could respond, footsteps echoed in the corridor. we jumped apart just as professor mcgonagall returned for a forgotten notebook. her sharp gaze swept over us—me flustered, blaise suspiciously composed.

“still here?” she asked briskly.

“finishing up, professor,” blaise said smoothly. “just helping yn with her technique.”

her eyes narrowed. “mm-hmm. see that it improves, then.”

the moment she disappeared again, blaise turned to me, expression wicked.

“see?” he said lightly. “we make a good team.”

“you’re impossible,” i muttered, gathering my things.

he followed me to the door, still grinning. “and yet you’re still here.”

“only because i want to hex you.”

“careful,” he said, voice low and amused. “that’s how relationships start in your house.”

i rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “this isn’t a relationship.”

“not yet.”

he winked, and before i could come up with a retort, he was already walking down the corridor, hands in his pockets, leaving me flushed, fuming, and more than a little intrigued.

later that night, when i picked up my quill to write my transfiguration notes, a small folded parchment fell out of my bag.

in blaise’s handwriting, it read:

“homework: practice control.

next lesson—same time, same place.

for educational purposes, of course.”

[maxsimagination]

MINOR HEX, MAJOR TROUBLE 𞠬 l.b

summary: one spell gone wrong, one slytherin who won’t let you forget it

𖦹 masterlist

I SWEAR IT WAS AN accident. mostly. maybe.

okay, fine — i meant to hex the exploding ink bottle next to lorenzo berkshire’s desk, not him. but apparently, my wand had other ideas, because one mispronounced incantation later, lorenzo’s robes were smoking, his hair was sticking up in every direction, and the entire class was staring at me like i’d just declared war on slytherin house.

“merlin’s beard,” he spluttered, blinking through a cloud of purple smoke. “was that supposed to be an attack or a love confession?”

half the room laughed. i wanted to sink into the floor.

“sorry!” i blurted, rushing over. “i didn’t mean to—”

he grinned through the chaos, clearly enjoying himself. “—hex me? or flirt with me via combustion? either way, i’m flattered.”

i groaned. “berkshire, shut up.”

professor flitwick’s squeaky voice cut through the laughter. “miss yn! ten points from your house for reckless spellwork! and please see the hospital wing for a burn salve, mr. berkshire.”

lorenzo clutched his chest dramatically. “i think i’ll need emotional support too, professor.”

“out,” flitwick sighed. “both of you.”

ten minutes later, i was sitting outside the hospital wing while lorenzo received treatment for what could barely qualify as an injury.

he emerged with a small bandage on his wrist and the world’s most irritating smile.

“So,” he said, hands in his pockets, strolling toward me like he’d just survived a tragic war. “do you make a habit of attacking handsome classmates, or am i just lucky?”

i crossed my arms. “you’re lucky i don’t hex you again.”

“violence and denial,” he said with a teasing sigh. “textbook signs of affection.”

i rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “you’re insufferable.”

he tilted his head, eyes glinting. “tell me something i don’t know.”

❀

for the rest of the week, lorenzo acted like i’d mortally wounded him. he’d limp dramatically down hallways. sigh loudly when i passed. once, he even held his hand in front of his heart during lunch and said to blaise zabini, “she doesn’t even care, mate. look at her. no remorse.”

blaise didn’t even look up from his food. “you got a papercut, lorenzo.”

“from the hex,” he insisted.

after three days of this nonsense, i snapped.

“fine!” i shouted across the courtyard. “what do you want from me?”

he blinked innocently. “am apology.”

i narrowed my eyes. “i already apologized.”

he smirked. “a proper one.”

i folded my arms. “define ‘proper.’”

“over dinner,” he said smoothly. “you can make it up to me in hogsmeade this weekend.”

my mouth fell open. “you want me to take you on a date because i hexed you?”

he shrugged, lips twitching. “i believe the term is ‘accidentally seduced via spellfire,’ but yes, that’s about right.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“yet strangely irresistible,” he said, already walking away. “i’ll see you saturday.”

❀

saturday came faster than i expected. i told myself i wasn’t actually going. that i’d cancel, or pretend to be busy, or just hex him again until he got the message.

but then i found myself standing outside the three broomsticks, heart hammering, wearing a jumper that suddenly felt too tight.

he was already there—leaning against the wall, casual as ever, green scarf around his neck, hands tucked into his coat pockets.

“you came,” he said, eyes glinting.

“don’t sound so surprised,” i said.

“oh, i’m not surprised,” he said. “just impressed.”

i rolled my eyes. “you’re lucky i didn’t bring my wand.”

he grinned. “you’re lucky i didn’t bring mine either. you’re dangerously cute when you’re flustered.”

i hated how easily he could make my face heat.

we went inside, ordered butterbeer, and somehow ended up talking for hours. about quidditch, about classes, about the absurdity of hogwarts life. he was… funny. softer than i expected.

every time he laughed, it was warm and low, the kind of laugh that made you want to hear it again.

somewhere between mocking each other’s wandwork and debating whether professor snape secretly liked cats, i forgot that this whole thing had started as a joke.

until he leaned forward, voice quieter now. “You know,” he said, “i wasn’t entirely kidding about the hex.”

i frowned. “what do you mean?”

he smiled, tracing his thumb along his butterbeer glass. “you have this fire about you. it’s… unexpected. half the school plays it safe, but not you. you aim straight and damn the consequences.”

“apparently not straight enough,” i said dryly.

he laughed. “maybe not. but i think i liked where it landed.”

my pulse quickened. “you’re flirting again.”

he leaned back, smirking. “maybe i am. maybe i’m serious.”

i didn’t know what to say to that. for once, lorenzo berkshire had managed to leave me speechless.

❀

by the time we walked back to the castle, the sky had gone dusky purple. our hands brushed once, then again, and neither of us moved them away.

when we reached the courtyard, he stopped and turned to me. “so” he said lightly, “do i get my apology now?”

i looked up at him, half exasperated, half something else entirely. “you’re really not going to drop that, are you?”

he shook his head. “not when it’s this much fun.”

i sighed, pretending to think. “fine. lorenzo berkshire, i am deeply, deeply sorry for hexing you.”

he smirked. “and for falling for me?”

i blinked. “i didn’t say that.”

he stepped closer, his grin softening just enough to make my stomach flutter. “you didn’t have to.”

my breath caught. for a moment, all the teasing was gone—just him, eyes dark and sincere in the moonlight.

then, before i could overthink it, i kissed him.

it was quick, impulsive, a spark that turned the air electric. when i pulled back, he looked stunned for half a second—then grinned, all confidence again.

“i’ll accept that as an apology,” he murmured.

“you’re impossible,” i said, trying not to smile.

“and yet,” he said, taking my hand as we started walking, “you still showed up.”

“remind me why again?”

“because,” he said, giving my hand a gentle squeeze, “you secretly like me.”

i scoffed. “don’t push your luck.”

he smirked, that familiar dimple appearing. “you did hex me, yn. i think i’ve already used up all my luck on you.”

and just like that, lorenzo berkshire had turned my worst mistake into something i’d never regret.

[maxsimagination]

THE BET 𞠬 t.n

summary: sometimes losing means winning something you never expected

𖦹 masterlist

IF I’D KNOWN THEODORE NOTT was capable of smirking like that, i would’ve started avoiding him weeks ago.

it started at breakfast in the great hall, the kind of morning where the sunlight hit just right, and everyone was half-awake and pretending to care about homework. i was spreading marmalade on toast when i felt eyes on me. not the casual kind, either. the intentional kind.

theo was sitting a few seats down, flanked by blaise and draco, looking maddeningly unbothered. he didn’t say anything—just raised a brow, like he was studying me. then blaise leaned in and whispered something that made draco choke on his pumpkin juice, and all three of them started laughing.

i didn’t know what they were laughing about then. i do now.

❀

the first sign should’ve been the way theo suddenly decided to talk to me.

not flirt, exactly—theo wasn’t like draco, with his sharp-edged charm, or blaise, who could make flattery sound like poetry. theo was quiet, observant. the kind of person who made you feel like he saw right through your nonsense but wouldn’t call you out unless it amused him.

he’d appear beside me in the library, asking to borrow a quill he probably already had. or walk with me between classes, pretending it was coincidence. at first, i assumed he needed something.

“what’s your angle, nott?” i asked one afternoon when he slid into the seat across from me in the courtyard.

“no angle,” he said, leaning back on the bench. “can’t a man enjoy good company?”

i raised an eyebrow. “you’ve ignored me for six years.”

he smiled faintly. “correction—i’ve observed you for six years. ignoring would’ve required indifference.”

i blinked. “was that… supposed to be a compliment?”

“maybe,” he said, lips curving. “did it work?”

“not even close.”

he only smirked. and that’s how it began—the banter, the teasing, the late-night study sessions that weren’t really about studying.

it became a routine. he’d show up where i least expected him—leaning against the library shelves, lounging on the common room sofa, sometimes tossing me a chocolate frog without explanation.

and slowly, infuriatingly, i started to like it. the way he listened when i talked. the way his eyes softened when i laughed.

until one night, it all unraveled.

i was heading back to the dorms when i overheard voices coming from the slytherin common room—blaise and draco, low and amused.

“merlin, theo, i didn’t think you’d actually pull it off,” draco drawled.

“yeah,” blaise added. “she’s practically glowing when you’re around. didn’t think she’d fall for you that fast.”

my stomach turned.

theo’s voice was quieter, but i heard it—steady, controlled. “it wasn’t supposed to go that far.”

draco snorted. “so you’re backing out now? the whole point was to prove you could charm someone like her. the bet’s over. you won.”

the bet.

my breath caught.

theo didn’t answer immediately. “right,” he said finally, voice low. “i won.”

something in his tone cracked on that last word, but i was too angry to care. i left before they could see me, my heart pounding so hard it hurt.

❀

the next morning, he found me in the courtyard, as usual. “hey,” he greeted, that easy smile still in place. “i’ve been looking for you.”

“congratulations,” i said flatly.

he frowned. “for what?”

“for winning your little bet,” i snapped.

he froze. for the first time since i’d known him, theo nott looked lost for words.

“who told you?” he asked quietly.

“i overheard it,” i said. “draco, blaise—ring any bells?”

his jaw tightened. “it wasn’t—”

“don’t,” i cut him off. “don’t lie. i was stupid enough to believe you actually liked spending time with me.”

“i did,” he said instantly, and it hit me—because he sounded so sincere.

but i was too hurt to listen. “save it, nott. next time you want to boost your ego, pick someone who doesn’t fall for your act.”

i turned and walked away before he could answer.

❀

for days, i avoided him. he didn’t chase me down the hall, didn’t try to explain. just… disappeared.

part of me wanted him to. the other part—traitorous and tired—missed him.

then one evening, i found a note tucked into my potions textbook. my name, written in neat handwriting. inside, a single line:

meet me where the stars are closest.

it took me a second to realize what he meant—the astronomy tower.

against my better judgment, i went.

he was there, leaning against the stone railing, the night wind tugging at his hair. he turned when he heard my footsteps.

“i know you have no reason to believe me,” he started, voice soft. “but it wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

i crossed my arms. “you’re right—it wasn’t supposed to be anything. i was a bet.”

he shook his head. “it was a bet. in the beginning. they said i couldn’t make you fall for me. and i—” he broke off, jaw clenching. “i was arrogant enough to try.”

my throat felt tight. “and when you did?”

he met my eyes, something raw flickering there. “i lost.”

i frowned. “that makes no sense.”

he stepped closer, slow enough that i could’ve walked away—but didn’t. “because somewhere along the way, i stopped trying to make you fall for me,” he said quietly. “i was too busy falling for you.”

the words hit me like a jolt. no smirk. no charm. just truth.

i wanted to stay angry. i really did. but his expression—earnest, fragile in a way i’d never seen—made it impossible.

“you’re an idiot,” i murmured.

“i know,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “but i’d like to be your idiot, if you’ll let me.”

i stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. “you owe me more than one apology.”

“i plan on spending the rest of the year delivering them.”

before i could respond, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out—a small piece of parchment. written on it, in his handwriting:

i bet i’ll never stop loving you.

i rolled my eyes, but i couldn’t stop smiling. “still gambling, huh?”

he grinned, that soft, knowing grin that used to undo me. “only when i’m sure of the odds.”

and when he leaned in, the kiss tasted like quiet victory—warm, hesitant, real.

when we pulled apart, i whispered, “so… does this mean you lost the bet?”

he smiled. “maybe. but it’s the first loss i’ll never regret.”

and for once, theodore nott didn’t look like a mystery to solve. he looked like the answer.

[maxsimagination]

AFTER HOURS 𞠬 d.m

summary: getting caught after curfew was bad enough. getting stuck with draco malfoy was even worse — or so i thought

𖦹 masterlist

I KNEW SNEAKING BACK to the common room after curfew was a bad idea. i just didn’t expect the universe to punish me this badly.

“out after hours, are we?” filch’s gravelly voice cut through the corridor like a curse. i froze, the flickering lanternlight catching on his yellowed grin. “and what’s this? a pair of troublemakers.”

pair? my stomach dropped as i turned and saw him—draco malfoy, looking equally displeased to see me. his robes were immaculate as always, silver and green crest gleaming in the dim light. of course he’d manage to look perfect even while getting caught.

“brilliant,” he muttered under his breath, eyes flicking to me with a sneer. “just my luck.”

“believe me,” i hissed back, “the feeling’s mutual.”

filch’s cat, mrs. norris, wound around our ankles, tail twitching like she was enjoying this far too much.

“detention,” filch croaked gleefully. “tomorrow night. both of you. greenhouse four. professor sprout’ll find some use for your idle hands.”

❀

the next evening, i trudged toward the greenhouses, already regretting every life choice that had led me here. the door creaked as i pushed it open, warm, humid air hitting me like a wave. the scent of soil and strange herbs filled my nose.

draco was already there, of course—leaning against a workbench, looking bored and vaguely irritated, as if the plants themselves had offended him.

“you’re late,” he said, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“you’re insufferable,” i replied, dropping my bag with a thud.

he smirked. “accurate, but not relevant.”

professor sprout appeared then, cheerful as ever, despite our misery. “good evening, dears! you’ll be re-potting these bubotubers. mind the pus—it’s excellent for treating acne but terrible if it touches your skin. i’ll be back in an hour.”

she disappeared, leaving us alone with rows of dangerous-looking plants that oozed green slime.

“fantastic,” i muttered, pulling on a pair of dragon-hide gloves. “exactly how i wanted to spend my evening—covered in bubotuber pus and malfoy’s ego.”

he gave a short laugh, surprisingly genuine. “careful, someone might think you enjoy my company.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” i said, prying a stubborn bubotuber from its pot. “i’d rather spend the night with a blast-ended skrewt.”

“i’m certain they’d be better conversationalists,” he shot back smoothly.

we fell into a rhythm of bickering, the tension between us thick but—annoyingly—almost entertaining. every so often, i’d catch him glancing at me, though he’d quickly look away whenever i noticed.

after a while, i pulled a bubotuber too hard, and green slime splattered across my sleeve.

“ugh!” i groaned. “perfect.”

draco snorted. “elegant as always.”

i glared. “you could help, you know.”

he raised an eyebrow. “and deprive myself of the entertainment? not a chance.”

that was it. i grabbed the nearest handful of soil and lobbed it at him. it hit his shoulder dead-on.

his mouth fell open. “you didn’t just—”

“oh, i did.”

before i could blink, he scooped up a clump of dirt and threw it back. it missed by inches, splattering the bench behind me.

“childish,” i said, even as i reached for another handful.

“you started it.”

the next few seconds were chaos—soil flying, laughter breaking through the usual barbs, until we both stopped, panting and covered in dirt, when we heard a faint pop from one of the bubotubers.

“oh, no—”

a stream of green pus shot out, splattering us both.

i froze. draco stood there, dripping in slime, staring at me like he couldn’t decide whether to hex me or laugh.

and then, impossibly, he laughed. not the arrogant smirk i’d grown used to—but a real laugh, sharp and startled, like he hadn’t done it in a long time.

“merlin,” he said between breaths, “you look ridiculous.”

“me?” i spluttered. “you look like a slytherin swamp creature!”

that made him laugh harder, and before i knew it, i was laughing too—loud and unrestrained, the tension between us dissolving into something else entirely.

when the laughter finally faded, the greenhouse felt quieter, almost… softer. he wiped a bit of slime off my cheek with his gloved thumb, his touch lingering just a second too long.

“you missed a spot,” he said quietly.

i swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he was. “thanks,” i murmured, though my voice sounded foreign to my own ears.

for a moment, we just looked at each other—really looked. his usual sharpness was gone, replaced by something unreadable, something raw. the air between us felt heavy, electric.

then, footsteps echoed outside.

we sprang apart just as professor sprout returned. her eyes widened slightly at the mess.

“oh dear,” she said, surveying the disaster. “looks like you two had… quite the productive evening.”

“yes, professor,” draco said smoothly, straightening his robes like the perfect student. “we were just—experimenting with re-potting techniques.”

i bit back a smile. “hands-on learning,” i added.

sprout sighed, clearly unconvinced but too tired to care. “just… clean up and you’re free to go.”

when she left again, i turned to draco. “nice save.”

he shrugged, a hint of a smile still tugging at his lips. “you’re welcome.”

we worked in silence after that, though it wasn’t the uncomfortable kind anymore. every so often, our hands brushed over the tools, and each time, my chest tightened just a little.

when we finally finished, i started toward the door, but his voice stopped me.

“hey,” he said softly. i turned.

there was dirt smudged across his cheek and a streak of green still staining his collar, but somehow he looked—different. human. real.

“that wasn’t… terrible,” he said, as if the words physically pained him to admit.

“careful, malfoy,” i teased. “people might think you enjoyed spending time with me.”

he smirked faintly. “don’t push your luck.”

but as i passed him, his fingers brushed mine—brief, deliberate, and enough to make my heart stutter.

“see you around,” he murmured.

i walked back toward the castle, still covered in dirt and pus and something that felt suspiciously like butterflies.

and i couldn’t help thinking that maybe—just maybe—detention with a malfoy wasn’t the worst thing in the world after all.

[maxsimagination]

dear author,

may i humbly ask for more agnes de mille content😔

-sincerely a reader who has an eye for underrated characters<3

THE QUIET ARTIST 𞠬 a.dm

summary: she drew everyone but herself, until i showed her what she looked like

𖦹 masterlist

I’D SEEN AGNES DE MILLE almost every day since i arrived at nevermore, and somehow, she still managed to feel like a stranger.

she sat near the window in nearly every class, sketchbook always open, head bowed, pencil whispering across the page. she wasn’t loud or flashy like enid, or darkly magnetic like wednesday. agnes existed in the in-between—a shadow in a world of extremes.

but the thing about shadows is that they’re easy to miss until you start looking for them.

and lately, i’d been looking.

❀

it started in art class. mrs. rothschild had assigned a portrait project—“capture the essence of your subject,” she’d said—and everyone else paired up immediately. i got stuck sketching by myself until i noticed agnes sitting alone at the end of the room, quietly shading the outline of what looked suspiciously like wednesday’s face.

when i sat beside her, she glanced up, startled. “oh. sorry. is this seat taken?” i asked.

she shook her head, quick and silent, before tucking a strand of copper hair behind her ear. “you can sit,” she said softly.

her voice was so quiet it almost didn’t reach me, but there was something about it—like a secret told under candlelight.

we worked in silence for a while, but i couldn’t help glancing over. her sketch was astonishing—delicate, precise, almost alive. the shading around the eyes was perfect, down to the faint irritation that wednesday always seemed to carry.

“you’re really good,” i said, meaning it.

agnes froze, her pencil halting mid-line. “thanks,” she mumbled, ducking her head.

i smiled, trying to catch her eye. “you’ve drawn everyone, haven’t you? i’ve seen you sketching in the quad.”

her shoulders tensed. “it’s… just practice.”

“still. it’s amazing.”

she didn’t answer, but i caught the tiniest flicker of a smile. it vanished as quickly as it came, but i’d seen it.

❀

after that, i started noticing her more.

at breakfast, she always sat at the edge of the table, sketching between bites. in class, her notebooks were half filled with doodles of her classmates’ faces. once, i caught a glimpse of enid laughing in one of her margins, and i wondered if agnes ever drew herself.

so, one afternoon when she was sitting by the lake with her sketchbook, i asked.

“do you ever draw… you?”

her head snapped up, startled. “what?”

“yourself,” i said. “you draw everyone else. don’t you ever make yourself part of the picture?”

her fingers tightened around her pencil. “no.”

“why not?”

she looked back down at the page. “because… i don’t know what i look like anymore. not really.”

there was no self-pity in her voice, just quiet honesty. it made something in my chest twist.

i sat down beside her. “then maybe you should start with how you feel instead of how you look.”

agnes blinked at me, as if i’d just said something she hadn’t considered before. then she gave a tiny, unsure nod.

❀

a few days later, she didn’t come to breakfast. or lunch. or dinner.

by the time curfew rolled around, worry had carved its way into my stomach. i wandered toward the art room, thinking maybe she’d gotten lost in another sketching frenzy.

the lights were off, but the door was cracked. i peeked inside.

agnes was sitting on the floor, surrounded by drawings—dozens of them. some pinned to the walls, others scattered across the floor like fallen leaves.

every face in nevermore was there—wednesday, enid, ajax, kent, even principal weems. each one drawn with exquisite precision.

and then i saw it.

a sketch tucked halfway under her knee. one i almost didn’t recognize.

me.

sitting by the lake, smiling, sunlight catching my hair. it wasn’t perfect, but it was… gentle. alive.

“agnes?” i said softly.

she jumped, clutching the paper before realizing it was me. “i—sorry, i didn’t mean—”

“you drew me.”

her eyes darted down. “it was just practice. i draw everyone.”

“no,” i said quietly, stepping closer. “this is different. you actually saw me.”

she hesitated, eyes flicking up to meet mine for the first time that night. they were bright, nervous, searching. “you… noticed that?”

“i notice you, too.”

the words hung between us, fragile and real.

she exhaled, shoulders dropping slightly. “no one ever says that.”

i smiled, kneeling beside her and taking the drawing gently from her hands. “then maybe they should.”

she studied my face, her pencil still in her lap. for a long moment, neither of us spoke. the air smelled faintly of charcoal and lavender soap.

finally, she said, “i didn’t know how to draw myself until you said that.”

i looked down at the papers scattered around her—every face but her own—and then back up. “then maybe it’s time you tried.”

agnes bit her lip, hesitating. “would you… stay? while i do?”

“of course,” i said.

so i sat beside her as she turned to a blank page. her pencil trembled for a moment before she began sketching—slowly, carefully, her reflection coming to life in faint graphite lines.

when she finished, it wasn’t perfect. but it was her—soft eyes, small smile, a bit of uncertainty in the tilt of her head.

and for the first time since i’d met her, agnes looked proud.

❀

we left the art room just before midnight. she walked beside me, clutching her sketchbook close, her steps light.

at the door to her dorm, she hesitated. “hey,” she said quietly. “thank you.”

“for what?”

“for seeing me.”

i smiled. “anytime.”

she smiled back—small, real, radiant. and then she was gone, leaving me alone in the hall, heart beating just a little too fast.

when i got back to my room, i found something tucked under my door.

a sketch. freshly drawn.

agnes and me, side by side, smiling.

at the bottom, in small letters, she’d written:

now i know what i look like.

[maxsimagination]

MIDNIGHT SNACK 𞠬 m.r

summary: a late-night study sesh and a bout of munchies sends yn to the slytherin kitchen, where someone else also happens to be

જ⁀➴ dracotok is back and so am i 😋 (kind of)

𖦹 masterlist

IT WAS LATE AND i was hungry.

snape had us cramming for an exam tomorrow morning and i was not about to fail his class, of all classes.

so, with blurry eyes and tired legs, i quietly crawled out of the nest i’d made in my dorm room. i was careful not to make a noise as a i tiptoed down to through the common room and to the kitchen.

i was only looking for something small, a snack to help ease my mind. but clearly someone else had the same idea.

i pulled open the pantry and reached for a packet of oreos that i knew were still there - i’d stashed them yesterday in case pansy tried to steal them again. just as i closed the door ever so quietly, i spotted another figure lurking in the corner.

“couldn’t sleep, princess?”

mattheo.

i don’t know how i didn’t notice him when i first entered, probably something to do with my tired eyes.

“no- well, kinda.”

i raked my eyes over his frame, taking in his pyjama pants that hung low on his hips and his shirtless abdomen. he caught me staring and smirked, he knew he looked good - even at midnight.

“see something you like?”

he pushed off of the bench he was leant against and walked closer to me. it was only then i realised how much taller he was.

i tilted my head upwards to look him in the eye, deciding to play his game.

“so what if i do?”

i could feel the tension get thicker, and mattheo all but grinned at my response. his hand came up to brush the side of my face, then raking his fingers through my hair.

“mm, well, i can think of a few things that might solve that problem.”

his voice was low, gravelly, but slightly breathy, as he leaned down to graze his lips against mine. my body moved on instinct as i lifted my head to fully meet his kiss.

i went to pull away, but was caught by his hand that had come to grip the back of my neck.

“not so fast, love. i’m taking my time with you.”

i could feel him press closer, his thigh easily slotting between my legs and his spare hand grasping my hip. my hands had come to rest on his stomach, tracing the outline of his abs and feeling them flex under my touch.

he kissed me hard, his lips moving with an almost desperate intent. i let out a soft moan, my mouth falling open in the process. mattheo pulled back for a split second before kissing me again.

he slowly started to kiss down my chin to my neck and collarbone, where he suckled little bruises into the skin.

“m-mattheo…”

“shhh, darling. let me take care of you.”

he kissed lower and lower, along the hem of my night shirt. i started slowly moving my hips against his thigh, willing him to continue. his hand trailed down from my hip to my ass, squeezing the flesh, before helping me grind against him.

“why don’t we take this to my room? don’t want anyone else to hear your pretty moans.”

i nodded along with him, my mind foggy with need. mattheo grabbed under my thighs and picked me up, wrapping my legs around his hips and my arms around his neck. he quietly walked back through the common room and up the stairs until we found his room.

i slipped down off him and followed him inside. shutting the door, he walked closer to me with a smirk, backing me towards his bed.

“now where were we?”

[maxsimagination]

❀.·:¨༺ “

slytherin masterlist

” ༻¨:·.❀

MATTHEO RIDDLE

🝮 midnight snack

DRACO MALFOY

🝮 after hours

THEODORE NOTT

🝮 the bet

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

🝮 minor hex, major trouble

BLAISE ZABINI

🝮 educational purposes

PANSY PARKINSON

🝮 coming soon

© maxsimagination - all works are owned by me. please do not copy, translate or transfer my work to any blogs or websites, or claim as your own!!

[maxsimagination]

TRUTH OR DARE 𞠬 k.f

summary: kent fisher could charm, but that kiss proved he could also wreck me

𖦹 masterlist

I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN that playing truth or dare with kent fisher would end in disaster. i just didn’t know whose disaster it would be.

it started innocently enough. the dorm common room was dimly lit, a few candles flickering on the low tables, and a small circle of students had gathered for a late-night game. the rules were simple: truth or dare, and nobody could back out.

kent was sitting across from me, legs stretched out, his smirk practically daring me to pick dare every time. i should have read the signs.

“truth or dare?” he asked, voice lazy and teasing. his blue eyes glinted under the candlelight.

i picked truth. probably a mistake.

“do you like someone?” he asked, eyebrow cocked.

i froze. heart hammering. he grinned knowingly. “answer honestly. i promise not to tell anyone… for now.”

i swallowed. “maybe.”

he leaned back, clearly amused, but before i could recover, the circle moved to me again. dare. of course.

“dare,” i said reluctantly.

kent’s smirk widened, slow and deliberate. “i dare… you… to kiss me.”

the room went quiet for a fraction of a second, long enough that my stomach dropped into my shoes.

“kent…” I stammered, eyes wide. “seriously?”

“seriously,” he said, voice soft but teasing. “or… you could chicken out. totally your call.”

i glared at him. “you’re insane.”

“insane enough to dare you,” he said, shrugging. “go on, then.”

i hesitated, my mind spinning. my heartbeat was a drum in my ears, my palms slick. i could feel his gaze on me, warm and expectant, but there was that mischievous glint that always made me doubt everything. was this a trick? was he going to—

then my resolve snapped. i leaned forward, and before i could overthink it again, my lips met his.

the kiss was electric, fleeting but intense. i felt his hands hover near mine, then his arms, then nothing—he didn’t move, didn’t guide, didn’t pull me closer. he just… let it happen.

and then, almost immediately, he pulled back, as if shocked, his blue eyes wide, sparkling with something i couldn’t read.

“oh.” he cleared his throat and leaned back casually, smirking like nothing had happened. “that… was unexpected.”

i blinked, caught between outrage and disbelief. “unexpected? i kissed you! you dared me!”

“i didn’t… i mean, i did dare you, but…” he waved his hand, as if brushing off the significance of the moment. “you know. just testing the waters.”

“the waters?!” my cheeks heated, burning red. “kent, that’s cheating!”

he laughed, leaning back in his chair with that infuriating, easygoing charm. “cheating? nah. you took the dare. i never said i expected you to go through with it. surprise!”

i groaned, covering my face with my hands. my heart was still racing, and now i had to deal with his smug satisfaction on top of it.

“you’re unbelievable,” i muttered, peeking through my fingers.

“you love it,” he said, voice teasing but with just a hint of something softer underneath. “admit it. you love that i’m unpredictable.”

i shot him a look. “i do not.”

“mhmm,” he said, grinning wider, clearly thrilled that i didn’t argue. “but that kiss… not bad. not bad at all.”

heat rose to my ears, and i looked away, trying to focus on anything other than the lingering warmth of his lips against mine. anything except the way my stomach fluttered when he smirked.

“so… do i get to pick dare again, or do i get to choose truth this time?” he asked casually, as if nothing had just happened.

i narrowed my eyes. “don’t you dare—”

“don’t worry,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “i wouldn’t want to make things too complicated. but… maybe you liked that kiss as much as i did.”

i felt my chest tighten. “you’re impossible.”

“maybe,” he said with a shrug, still leaning back like a king on his throne. “but that’s the fun part. isn’t it?”

i groaned again, rubbing my face. “fun is the last word i’d use to describe this.”

“come on,” he said, leaning slightly closer, voice softer now, lower. “don’t tell me you didn’t feel that spark.”

i didn’t answer immediately. i couldn’t. my heartbeat was still thundering, my cheeks still hot. and the truth was… i had.

“you’re not supposed to tease me like that,” i said finally, keeping my voice steady despite everything.

“i am,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “teasing is kind of my specialty.”

i rolled my eyes, but i couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at my lips. “you’re terrible.”

“terribly charming, you mean,” he corrected instantly, smirk returning full force.

i groaned again, collapsing back into my chair. somehow, this boy—or siren, i reminded myself—managed to make my heart race and my head spin, all while grinning like he was the most innocent person in the room.

kent leaned back casually, hands behind his head, and gave me a look that was both infuriating and endearing. “so… your turn again. truthfully or dare?”

i glared, but my heart refused to calm down. “dare. but i swear, if it’s another kiss…”

“maybe not a kiss this time,” he said innocently, eyes twinkling. “maybe something worse.”

i groaned again, already knowing i’d lose the next round, just like i’d lost this one.

and maybe, i realized with a mixture of panic and thrill, that i didn’t mind losing to him at all.

[maxsimagination]

STUDY SESSION 𞠬 d.f

summary: she was supposed to help me conjugate verbs, not my feelings

𖦹 masterlist

IF I’D KNOWN AGREEING to study with divina would involve less “studying” and more “trying not to combust,” i might have said no.

maybe.

she sprawled across my bed like it was hers, textbook open but completely ignored. her hair—perfect, always perfect—tumbled over my blanket, and she was twirling a pen between her fingers like it was more entertaining than conjugating french verbs.

“you’re supposed to be helping,” i reminded her, pointing at my notebook. “not… whatever this is.”

she smirked, propping her chin on her hand. “what, you don’t think this counts as help? moral support, maybe?”

“flirting isn’t moral support.”

her eyes glittered mischievously. “depends on how motivating you find it.”

i rolled my eyes and forced myself to look back at the page. “page seventy-four. irregular verbs.”

“ugh,” she groaned dramatically, flopping onto her back. “why learn french when i already know the language of love?”

i snorted despite myself. “that’s the worst line i’ve ever heard.”

“and yet you laughed.” she shifted onto her side, propping her head on her hand so she could watch me. “you always laugh.”

my pen paused on the paper. “maybe i’m just laughing at you, not with you.”

“maybe i don’t care, as long as you’re smiling.”

i froze for half a second too long, and she grinned like she’d won a round i didn’t realize we were playing.

“you’re impossible,” i muttered, scribbling down another verb conjugation.

divina stretched, rolling onto her stomach, her hair spilling like liquid sunlight. “so. do you think about me when i’m not around?”

i glanced up, startled. “what kind of question is that?”

“a serious one,” she said, sing-song, tapping her nails against the page of her untouched book. “i know i think about you. a lot.”

my face heated instantly. “divina—”

“what?” she leaned closer, tilting her head, her voice dropping into a mock whisper. “it’s not like it’s a secret.”

i shook my head, desperately pretending my heart wasn’t doing somersaults. “shouldn’t we be conjugating ‘avoir’ right now?”

she leaned in even closer, until i could smell the faint, sweet trace of her perfume. “i’d rather conjugate us.”

my pen slipped, dragging ink across the page. “you’re insufferable.”

“you adore me.”

i tried to glare, but she looked so smug and radiant that it crumbled into a half-smile. “you’re supposed to be helping me pass french, not making me fail faster.”

“maybe i want you to fail,” she teased. “then you’ll need more tutoring. with me. obviously.”

i shoved her shoulder gently, and she collapsed dramatically onto the bed like i’d wounded her. “rude! you’d push away your only lifeline in french class?”

“you’re not a lifeline,” i said. “you’re an anchor. dragging me down.”

her laughter was soft but warm, curling around me like waves. “an anchor keeps you steady, actually.”

i looked at her then—really looked. the way she was smiling, the way her eyes softened when she wasn’t putting on a performance. and suddenly, studying french verbs felt like the least important thing in the world.

“you’re ridiculous,” i whispered.

“maybe,” she said, voice lower now, “but you like me anyway.”

silence stretched between us, thick and charged.

finally, i set my pen down. “yeah. maybe i do.”

her grin softened into something almost shy, though still laced with mischief. “took you long enough to admit it.”

before i could fire back, she reached across my notebook, lacing her fingers through mine like it was the easiest thing in the world. her thumb brushed lightly over my knuckles, distracting in an entirely different way.

“still think i’m not helpful?” she asked.

i squeezed her hand gently, heart racing. “you’re the worst tutor i’ve ever had.”

“and your favorite.”

i couldn’t argue with that.

homework was officially forgotten.

[maxsimagination]

NOT HER, JUST YOU 𞠬 a.dm

summary: i didn’t want wednesday’s shadow — i wanted the girl behind it

𖦹 masterlist

I’D NEVER MEANT TO spy on agnes.

honestly, i was just passing the empty practice room on my way back from fencing. the door was cracked open, light spilling into the hallway. at first i thought it was another student sneaking in late, but then i heard her voice.

or—what i thought was her voice.

the cadence was unmistakable. flat, sharp, deliberate. the kind of voice that cut through the air like a scalpel.

wednesday addams’s voice.

i hesitated, then peeked in. agnes stood in front of the full-length mirror, hands clasped behind her back, spine rigid. a cheap black wig hung limp over her red curls, and she wore an oversized blazer like armor.

she tilted her head just so, lips curling into a deadpan line. “i find social interaction exhausting. please remove yourself before i remove your head.”

the imitation was uncanny. it was also heartbreaking.

agnes adjusted her posture, muttering to herself. “no, no, that wasn’t sharp enough. wednesday doesn’t hesitate.” she tried again. “i’m not lonely. i just prefer solitude.”

her reflection stared back at her, unsmiling.

i knocked lightly on the doorframe. “practicing for an audition?”

agnes whirled around, color draining from her face. for a second she actually flickered at the edges, like her instinct was to vanish completely. “what are you doing here?”

“i was walking by.” i stepped inside, careful not to spook her further. “sorry. i didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“you weren’t supposed to see that,” she muttered, tugging off the wig and stuffing it behind her back. her posture collapsed in an instant—shoulders rounding, eyes dropping to the floor.

“agnes…” i said softly.

“it’s stupid, i know.” she let out a bitter laugh. “i’m not her. i’ll never be her. but if i could just… get it right, even for a moment, maybe people wouldn’t ignore me.”

my chest ached. this wasn’t the smug mimicry people sometimes joked about. this was raw, desperate yearning.

i crossed the room until i was standing in front of the mirror with her. “you don’t need to be wednesday.”

she shook her head, hugging the wig like a security blanket. “she’s everything i’m not—confident, fearless, impossible to overlook. i’m… the opposite. invisible, literally and figuratively.”

“you think copying her will make people see you?”

“wouldn’t you?” her voice cracked. “nobody notices me until i’m the punchline of a joke. at least if i’m like her, i’d matter.”

i caught her gaze in the mirror. her eyes, usually skittish, burned with frustration.

“i notice you,” i said simply.

that made her blink. “you—what?”

“i notice when you doodle in the margins of your notes. when you hum under your breath during labs. when you make sarcastic comments so quiet nobody else hears.” i smiled faintly. “you’re already interesting, agnes. you don’t need to borrow someone else’s skin.”

she stared at me like she didn’t know whether to believe me. “that sounds nice. but nice things aren’t real.”

i took the wig from her hands gently and set it aside. “then let’s make it real. show me you. not wednesday. you.”

her throat bobbed. “i don’t know how.”

“start with posture.” i nudged her shoulders back—just enough to straighten her spine, not lock it like she’d been doing. “not stiff, just… grounded. own your space.”

she obeyed hesitantly, her reflection shifting into something less rigid, more natural.

“good,” i encouraged. “now, your voice. say something you actually believe.”

she chewed her lip, then said, “i’m… tired of being invisible.”

i nodded. “say it again. louder.”

“i’m tired of being invisible.”

“again.”

“i’m tired of being invisible!” her voice rang out, startling even herself. her snakes of red hair shimmered in the mirror’s light.

for a moment, she looked like someone entirely new.

her hand flew to her mouth. “sorry, that was—”

“perfect,” i cut in. “that was you.”

her eyes flickered to mine, searching for sarcasm. but i meant it. every word.

slowly, she smiled. not the cold smirk she’d practiced, but something small and real, almost shy. “i… kind of liked how that felt.”

“good. because that’s the person i want to know.”

the room fell quiet. i realized my heart was hammering as loudly as hers must be.

agnes looked down, twisting her fingers together. “you really mean that? you’d… rather see me than wednesday?”

i reached for her hand, gently uncurling her fist. “always.”

her breath hitched, and she squeezed my hand back like she was terrified i’d disappear. for once, she wasn’t the invisible one.

we stood in front of the mirror like that, her reflection finally her own.

and for the first time, agnes didn’t flinch from being seen.

[maxsimagination]

TONGUE TIED 𞠬 a.j

summary: when ajax psyched himself out, thing stepped in to play cupid

𖦹 masterlist

I FIRST NOTICED AJAX acting weird in the weathervane. and that was saying something, because ajax was already a little weird.

he’d come in with xavier, plopped down at a table, and spent the next twenty minutes staring at me like i was about to sprout a second head. whenever i glanced over, he’d panic and look away, nearly spilling his soda at least twice.

at one point, xavier leaned across the booth and muttered something to him, and ajax groaned, covering his face.

i wasn’t sure what was going on until later that week, when thing decided to get involved.

❀

it started in the quad. i was sitting under one of the stone arches, flipping through my notes, when a tapping noise made me look up.

thing was crawling across the wall toward me, scuttling like a crab with a mission. he slapped down onto the bench beside me and tapped his fingers impatiently.

“uh… hi?” i asked, closing my notebook.

he pointed dramatically toward the courtyard fountain.

there was ajax, pacing like a man preparing for execution, muttering under his breath and running a hand through his curls.

thing smacked the bench, then gestured wildly in ajax’s direction.

“you want me to… what? go talk to him?”

thumbs up.

“why?”

thing rolled his knuckles against his palm in an exaggerated heart-shape.

i blinked. “…wait. he likes me?”

thing slammed his fingers against the bench like, finally, you get it. then he crawled off, presumably to torment someone else.

❀

after that, i started noticing more. ajax would wave when we passed in the halls, then immediately stumble into a locker. he’d sit near me in the library but never say a word, just pretend to read while sneaking glances.

it was almost endearing, the way he seemed constantly on the verge of speaking and then backed out at the last second. almost.

finally, one friday evening, i decided to put him out of his misery.

❀

i found him in the common room, slouched on the couch, fiddling nervously with a rubik’s cube. his snakes twitched like they were just as restless as he was.

i sat down beside him. “hey.”

he jolted so hard he nearly dropped the cube. “oh—uh—hey! didn’t see you there.”

“we’re on the same couch.”

“right. totally knew that.” his snakes flicked their tongues as if rolling their eyes.

i tilted my head. “so… are you going to ask me, or should i keep pretending i don’t notice?”

ajax blinked. “ask you what?”

i raised a brow. “you know what.”

he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “thing told you, didn’t he? i knew that little traitor couldn’t keep a secret.”

“pretty sure thing was just trying to help.”

“i was gonna do it myself,” ajax muttered, voice muffled. “but every time i try, my brain goes, ‘nope, terrible idea, abort mission.’ and then i panic. and then xavier laughs at me. and then i panic more.”

i fought back a smile. “ajax.”

he peeked at me through his fingers. “…yeah?”

“take a breath.”

he inhaled shakily, exhaled, then dropped his hands into his lap. his snakes had gone still, watching me curiously.

“okay,” he said, like he was psyching himself up. “so. uh. i like you. like… a lot. and i was wondering if maybe, you know, sometime, if you’re not too busy, if you wanted to… go out? with me. on a date. or… something.”

the words tumbled out in one messy rush, his cheeks turning redder with every syllable.

i let the silence hang for a second, just to watch him squirm. his snakes hissed nervously, clearly aware of the stakes.

finally, i smiled. “yes.”

his eyes widened. “wait—seriously?”

“seriously.”

“like… you’re not messing with me? because i would totally believe you’d mess with me right now.”

i laughed, shaking my head. “i’m not messing with you. i’d like to go out with you, ajax.”

for a moment, he just stared, stunned. then the widest grin spread across his face, and even his snakes seemed to perk up, curling in excitement.

“holy crap,” he breathed. “thing was right.”

“thing is always right,” i said. “you should’ve listened to him sooner.”

ajax laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah. guess i just… didn’t think someone like you would say yes to someone like me.”

“someone like you?” i asked.

he gestured vaguely at his snakes. “you know. gorgon. accidentally-stones-his-friends kind of guy.”

i nudged his shoulder. “well, good thing i like you anyway. even if you’re a danger to mirrors everywhere.”

that made him laugh for real, the sound bright and a little surprised, like he wasn’t used to feeling that light.

❀

we ended up talking on the couch until curfew, the rubik’s cube forgotten between us. ajax rambled nervously about ideas for dates—movie nights, snack runs to jericho, maybe even stargazing if the weather held.

and the whole time, i couldn’t stop smiling. not because of the date plans, or even because of thing’s meddling, but because ajax looked at me like i was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

maybe, in that moment, i thought he was the best thing that had happened to me, too.

❀

later, as i headed to my room, thing scuttled across the hall in front of me. he wiggled his fingers expectantly.

i gave him a thumbs-up. “mission accomplished.”

he flexed his hand in triumph, then darted off into the shadows.

and for once, i was glad he’d meddled. because ajax petropolus, awkward gorgon and all, was absolutely worth saying yes to.

[maxsimagination]

RAINBOW RINK 𞠬 e.s

summary: i thought i was falling on skates, turns out i was falling for her

𖦹 masterlist

WHEN ENID SINCLAIR BURST into my dorm room one saturday afternoon, i should’ve known she was about to drag me into something i couldn’t refuse.

she stood in the doorway, practically bouncing on the balls of her sneakers, a rainbow scarf hanging loosely around her neck. “okay,” she announced, “fun bonding time. you, me, and the roller rink in jericho.”

i blinked at her from my desk. “roller rink?”

“yes! it’s retro, it’s neon, it’s cheesy in the best way possible. and you’re coming.”

“i can’t skate.”

“that’s perfect,” she said without missing a beat. “i’ll teach you.”

i groaned, already defeated. nobody said no to enid sinclair’s enthusiasm—not for long. it was like trying to say no to a golden retriever with rainbow fur.

❀

the rink smelled like popcorn and floor wax, music pulsing from overhead speakers. neon lights glowed across the shiny wood, bouncing off the glitter in enid’s hair.

she tugged me toward the rental counter, chatting animatedly with the bored teenager handing out skates. within minutes, i was wobbling on wheels that felt more like death traps than footwear.

enid, of course, was a natural. she zipped around me in a circle, grinning. “see? easy!”

“easy for you,” i muttered, gripping the railing for dear life. “i was not built for balance.”

she laughed, bright and warm, then skated back to me. “here. hands.”

“what?”

“give me your hands. come on, trust me.”

reluctantly, i let go of the railing and placed my trembling hands in hers. hers were warm, steady, with just enough pressure to ground me. slowly, she began to glide backward, pulling me forward.

“see?” she said. “you’re doing it.”

“i’m doing something,” i muttered. my legs wobbled dangerously, and she squeezed my hands tighter.

her grin widened. “i won’t let you fall.”

something about the certainty in her voice made my chest tighten.

❀

after a few shaky laps, i was… slightly less terrible. enid didn’t let go the entire time, though. she skated backward effortlessly, blonde hair catching the neon glow, laughing whenever i stumbled.

“you’re actually not bad!” she said as i nearly crashed into the wall.

“liar.”

“okay, maybe a little bad. but adorably bad.”

i rolled my eyes, trying to hide the heat rising in my cheeks. “you’re enjoying this too much.”

“of course i am! you look like a newborn deer.”

despite myself, i laughed. and when i laughed, she smiled—really smiled, the kind of smile that made the rink lights look dull in comparison.

❀

at one point, a slow song came on. couples glided past us, hand in hand, the rink bathed in soft purple glow.

enid tilted her head. “you wanna keep going?”

“i’ll die if I stop moving,” i said, half-serious.

she laughed, tugging me gently. “then don’t stop. just… stay with me.”

her words made my heart stutter, but i followed. our hands stayed linked, palms warm and fingers laced without me even realizing when it happened. my balance improved—whether because of practice or because she was holding onto me, i wasn’t sure.

we skated like that for what felt like hours, laughing whenever i stumbled, steadying each other when the crowd jostled us. every time i looked at her, she was already looking back, eyes sparkling under the neon glow.

❀

eventually, we collapsed into one of the booths along the edge of the rink, skates kicked up onto the seat. i was breathless, legs aching, but grinning like an idiot.

“see?” she said between sips of soda. “wasn’t that fun?”

“fun is one word for it,” i said, massaging my sore ankles. “terrifying also comes to mind.”

“you survived. that’s what matters.”

“and only because you didn’t let go of me once.”

her expression softened. “well, duh. i told you—i wasn’t going to let you fall.”

something unspoken lingered between us then, the noise of the rink fading into the background. i realized our hands were still close on the booth seat, fingertips brushing.

“enid,” i said slowly, “was this… really just fun bonding?”

her cheeks flushed pink, and she fiddled with her straw. “mostly. maybe also a little… date-y?”

my stomach flipped. “date-y?”

“yeah.” she looked at me, eyes wide and earnest. “i like spending time with you. like, a lot. and i figured… roller skating was safer than, i don’t know, confessing in the middle of class.”

i stared at her, words stuck in my throat. then i laughed, shaking my head. “you could’ve just said so.”

she grinned nervously. “so… is that a bad thing?”

i reached over and laced my fingers through hers, the same way we had on the rink. “no. not a bad thing at all.”

her smile then was brighter than all the neon lights combined.

we skated a little more before heading back, but neither of us cared how clumsy i was anymore. my hands were steady in hers, and that was enough.

by the time we walked back into nevermore, my legs ached, my feet throbbed, and I was exhausted. but enid looked at me with that same bright grin and said, “next time, i’m teaching you spins.”

i groaned. “you’re going to kill me.”

“maybe,” she said, bumping her shoulder against mine. “but at least you’ll die holding my hand.”

and i realized that maybe i wouldn’t mind that at all.

[maxsimagination]

A RARE EXPRESSION 𞠬 w.a

summary: wednesday addams doesn’t smile — except when she does

𖦹 masterlist

I HAD BEEN AT nevermore long enough to know that wednesday addams didn’t laugh. she didn’t giggle, didn’t chuckle, didn’t even allow her lips to twitch unless it was from disdain.

but she did smile—rarely, faintly, and only when something dark enough cut through her armor.

i found this out by accident.

it was during one of our endless group projects in history class. everyone else had flocked to their chosen partners like pigeons scrambling for breadcrumbs. somehow, i’d ended up sitting across from wednesday at the long oak table, books stacked like walls between us.

she wrote with quick, sharp movements of her pen, as if stabbing the page into submission. i, on the other hand, had been staring blankly at the assignment prompt for fifteen minutes.

“the salem witch trials,” she said finally, her tone clipped, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “what angle do you propose we take?”

i sighed, leaning back in my chair. “well, i was thinking… maybe we could start by pointing out how ridiculous it is that people thought floating meant innocence. i mean, if i were accused, i’d definitely sink. i can’t swim.”

the corner of her lip twitched. barely. but it was there.

encouraged, i pushed on. “actually, if i ever get burned at the stake, i hope it’s at least for something impressive. like… starting an undead army or stealing the pope’s hat. something worth the roast.”

this time, her pen stilled, and her eyes locked on mine. for the briefest of moments, her lips curved upward. not wide, not bright—just a tiny, sinister little smile.

it was enough to make my heart stutter.

“finally,” she murmured, almost to herself. “someone with a sense of humor that isn’t dulled by mediocrity.”

i swallowed, heat creeping up my neck. “so… you admit that was a smile?”

her expression flattened immediately, and she returned to her notes. “you must have imagined it.”

but i hadn’t. and i decided right then that i wanted to see it again.

❀

the following days became a mission.

every time we crossed paths, i tried a new line, a new joke, a new morbid thought dressed up as humor.

in fencing class, as our classmates clashed swords, i muttered, “do you think they’d let us keep the loser’s corpse for study?”

her blade paused mid-parry. a flicker of amusement sparked in her eyes before she struck back harder.

at lunch, stabbing at the questionable mystery meat, i sighed, “if i keel over from food poisoning, please promise to dissect me before the coroner ruins all the fun.”

her fork hovered for half a second. Her lips pressed together, like she was fighting the urge to give me what i wanted.

it became a game. one i wasn’t sure she even knew we were playing. but i was determined to win.

❀

one evening, i found her in the library, alone at a corner table, candlelight throwing shadows across her face. she was writing in her notebook, her black ink bleeding across the page in neat, merciless strokes.

i sat down opposite her without asking. she didn’t look up.

“if you’re here to distract me, i’ll have you know i already have a shovel and a plot picked out,” she said.

“good,” i replied smoothly. “just make sure the headstone says something flattering. like: they died doing what they loved—annoying wednesday addams.”

that was it. the smile returned. this time, it lingered.

the faintest curl of her lips, her dark eyes gleaming as if she couldn’t quite help herself.

my chest tightened at the sight. it was like glimpsing a rare creature in the wild—fleeting, dangerous, and absolutely worth the chase.

“you’re insufferable,” she said finally, closing her notebook with a snap.

“but i made you smile,” i shot back, triumphant.

“once again, a hallucination,” she deadpanned, standing and gathering her things. but as she brushed past me, i swore i saw it again—small, sharp, just for me.

❀

after that, i stopped keeping score. it wasn’t about winning anymore. it was about those rare, stolen moments when her mask slipped.

in class, during walks through jericho, in the quiet corners of nevermore—sometimes, if i said the right thing, i could coax that secret smile to the surface. and each time, it felt like discovering a new universe.

she never admitted it, of course. wednesday addams didn’t do admissions. but she didn’t shut me out either. she let me sit with her, talk to her, match her sharp words with sharper wit.

and slowly, i realized it wasn’t just the smile i wanted. it was everything that came with it—the rare softness, the flicker of trust, the way her eyes seemed to linger on me just a second too long.

one night, as we walked back from jericho under a pale moon, i tried again.

“you know, if we ever get murdered out here, at least it’ll save us the trouble of finishing tomorrow’s homework.”

she glanced at me, her expression unreadable. then, slowly, her lips curved.

this smile was different—still dark, still wednesday—but warmer somehow, almost conspiratorial.

“i suppose you’re right,” she said softly.

and just like that, i knew. i’d keep chasing that smile for as long as she let me.

[maxsimagination]

COFFEE & CONFESSIONS 𞠬 t.g

summary: sharpie lines, shaky hands, and something stronger than caffeine

𖦹 masterlist

THE FIRST TIME I met tyler galpin, it was because i was trying to fight off the jericho cold with caffeine.

the bell above the weathervane’s door jingled as i stepped inside, shaking snow from my jacket. the place smelled like cinnamon and espresso, warm and familiar even though it was my first time there. behind the counter, a boy with messy hair and a crooked half-smile looked up from the espresso machine.

“hey,” he said, voice casual, like he’d been expecting me. “what can i get you?”

i muttered something about a black coffee, more focused on the way his eyes seemed to catch the light than on the menu. he nodded, wrote my order down, and when he handed me the cup a few minutes later, i noticed there was writing on the side—scrawled in black marker, just beneath my name.

‘first timer. survived jericho’s worst snowstorm to get here. respect.’

i laughed under my breath, clutching the warm cup as i walked to a table. i hadn’t expected a coffee order to come with commentary, but it made the drink taste better somehow.

❀

the second time i came in, tyler remembered me.

“back again,” he said, brushing hair out of his face as he rang up my drink. “guess the snow didn’t scare you off.”

this time, when i got my cup, the note said:

‘warning: caffeine addiction begins now. no refunds.’

i smirked into my sleeve, shaking my head as i walked out.

it became a pattern after that. every time i came in, there was a new note waiting on the side of my cup. sometimes it was a joke:

‘careful. this cup may contain traces of happiness.’

sometimes it was a fake fact:

‘studies show drinking coffee here improves overall coolness by 87%.’

and sometimes, it was just… personal. little pieces of him slipped between the sharpie ink:

‘you always look like you’re carrying the weight of a novel in your head. i kind of want to read it.’

i never said anything about the notes, but i always read them, always smiled when i did. and tyler always noticed, even if he pretended not to.

❀

weeks passed like that—coffee, notes, stolen glances. i started timing my visits around when i knew he’d be working. the bell over the weathervane door felt like the beginning of something each time it chimed.

sometimes, if the place was slow, he’d lean on the counter and talk to me while i waited. about the new horror movies at the theater, about the regulars who always ordered the same thing, about how he wanted to get out of jericho someday but didn’t know how.

and i listened. i found myself wanting to know more.

one evening, near closing, i came in just as he was wiping down the counter. he gave me a tired smile, rang up my order, and disappeared into the back to grab something. when he returned, he slid the cup across to me with a little more hesitation than usual.

“careful,” he said. “might’ve gone a little heavy on the sugar.”

i nodded, fingers curling around the cup. the heat seeped into my palms as i turned it in my hands, and then i saw the note.

this one wasn’t a joke.

‘i think i like you. scratch that—i know i do.’

my breath caught, the words blurring as my fingers trembled slightly against the cardboard. for a second, all i could hear was the soft hum of the espresso machine and the faint music playing from the old radio in the corner.

when i looked up, tyler wasn’t smirking like he usually did. he was leaning against the counter, hands shoved into his apron pockets, watching me like he was waiting for a verdict. his confidence was thin—just a layer stretched over nerves.

“really?” i asked softly, lifting the cup like evidence.

his mouth twitched into a nervous half-smile. “yeah. really. figured if i was gonna keep writing on your cups, i might as well stop hiding behind jokes.”

the room felt warmer suddenly, not just from the coffee. my heart thudded against my ribs, part shock, part something softer i’d been ignoring for weeks.

“i was starting to wonder when you’d run out of fake statistics,” i teased, though my voice was quieter than usual.

his laugh came out relieved, low and genuine. “guess i finally did.”

we stood there for a beat, just looking at each other. the kind of silence that wasn’t empty at all—it was full, charged, humming with possibility.

“you know,” i said, holding the cup close to my chest, “you could’ve just asked me out.”

his brows lifted, the smile growing wider. “oh? and what would you have said if i did?”

i let the words hang in the air a moment before answering. “probably yes.”

tyler’s shoulders relaxed, the tension slipping out of him like melting snow. he laughed again, softer this time, running a hand through his hair.

“okay,” he said, the word almost disbelieving. “then… do you want to? go out, i mean. with me.”

“yeah,” i said, the smile tugging at my lips impossible to hold back. “i’d like that.”

he grinned then—bright, boyish, unguarded—and it was the kind of smile that made you feel like you’d just been let in on a secret.

i sipped from the cup, the sharpie letters pressing into my palm where i held it, a reminder of everything that had led to this moment.

and for the first time since stepping into jericho, i didn’t feel like an outsider. i felt like i belonged.

❀

i kept the cup.

not because it was practical—ink smudged, cardboard crumpled—but because it was the first time tyler galpin had stopped hiding behind his jokes. the first time he’d told me something real.

and it was the start of something i wanted to keep unfolding, one note at a time.

[maxsimagination]

❀.·:¨༺ “

wednesday masterlist

” ༻¨:·.❀

TYLER GALPIN

🝮 coffee & confessions

WEDNESDAY ADDAMS

🝮 a rare expression

ENID SINCLAIR

🝮 rainbow rink

AJAX PETROPOLUS

🝮 tongue tied

AGNES DE MILLE

🝮 not her, just you

🝮 the quiet artist

DIVINA FISHER

🝮 study session

KENT FISHER

🝮 truth or dare

© maxsimagination - all works are owned by me. please do not copy, translate or transfer my work to any blogs or websites, or claim as your own!!

[maxsimagination]

SLIP UP 𞠬 i.m

summary: between the lights and lies, the truth slipped out anyway

𖦹 masterlist

THE LIGHTS ARE HOT. too hot. they’re beating down on me like miniature suns as i shift in my chair, trying not to look as stiff as i feel. the studio is buzzing—camera operators adjusting angles, the host checking notes, a pr manager lurking just offstage with a tight smile that says don’t mess this up.

isabela sits to my left, all confidence and ease, her smile bright enough to outshine the lights. she’s good at this. she’s been doing it longer, maybe, or she just knows how to make people fall for her without even trying. me? i’m still learning how to keep my hands from fidgeting in my lap.

the host leans forward, grinning. “so, first off, congratulations to both of you. the show has been huge. fans are loving your dynamic on screen.”

“thank you,” isabela says smoothly. she crosses one leg over the other, glances at me, and adds, “it’s been an amazing experience—especially getting to work with her.” her chin tips toward me, and my stomach flips.

i nod quickly. “yeah, the response has been incredible. we weren’t sure how people would take our characters, but… it’s been really rewarding.”

the interview flows for a while—talk about the challenges of filming in the rain, what it was like shooting with prosthetics and infected extras, how surreal it feels to be part of the last of us universe. i manage to sound collected, though every time isabela laughs, i lose my train of thought for a split second.

then it happens.

the host tilts his head, eyes sparkling like he knows he’s about to stir something. “the chemistry between your characters has been one of the standout parts of the show. fans are already shipping you two. how did you build that connection so naturally?”

i open my mouth, but isabela beats me to it. “well,” she says, leaning back in her chair, “we didn’t really have to build it. we already… kind of had that.”

her voice is casual, offhand, but my heart slams against my ribs.

the host’s eyebrows lift. “oh?”

isabela flashes that damn grin, the one that’s gotten her out of a million tight spots. “yeah. i mean—look, we’re close. i spend more time with her than i do with anyone else, honestly. it wasn’t hard to translate that into something on screen.”

i can feel the pr manager glaring daggers into us from offstage. my palms go clammy. i force a laugh, trying to play it cool. “yeah, we’re pretty comfortable with each other. which helps. a lot.”

but the host isn’t letting it go. “comfortable enough that it didn’t even feel like acting?” he prods, clearly delighted.

isabela tilts her head, pretending to think. “yeah. exactly. i mean… she’s basically my favorite person. so it just came naturally.”

my breath catches. the room tilts for a second. favourite person.

the host grins wider, sensing blood in the water. “that’s adorable. fans are going to eat this up.”

i try to laugh again, but it comes out weak. “yeah, well… hopefully for the right reasons.”

the interview keeps moving—thank god—but my brain doesn’t. not really. i’m stuck replaying her words over and over. she’s basically my favorite person. it’s harmless, technically. something a co-star could say about another co-star. but the way she’d said it—like it was obvious, like it was true in ways she didn’t bother hiding—made my pulse skip every other beat.

by the time the cameras stop rolling, i’m practically vibrating with nerves. the second we’re off set, the pr manager swoops in, muttering something about “phrasing” and “twitter’s going to explode.” isabela just laughs, brushing it off like it’s nothing.

when we finally step outside into the cooler air, i can’t help it—i turn to her. “you realize what you just did, right?”

she looks at me, all faux innocence. “what?”

“‘favourite person’? you practically fed the internet a four-course meal.”

her grin is maddening. “oh, come on. It’s true.”

my chest tightens. “isabela—”

“relax,” she says, bumping her shoulder against mine as we walk toward the waiting car. “let them spiral. it’s not like it’s a bad thing.”

i rub a hand over my face, groaning. “you don’t get it. there’s already so much speculation. now it’s just gonna—”

“blow up?” she finishes for me, her tone amused. “yeah. probably.”

i stop walking. “you’re not even worried?”

she turns back, her expression softer now, the teasing fading from her eyes. “no,” she says simply. “because it’s not like i lied.”

the words hang between us, heavier than they should be. my heart thuds loud enough I’m afraid she’ll hear it.

“isabela…” my voice comes out quiet, unsteady.

she steps closer, close enough that the street noise dulls and the world narrows down to just her. “look, you can freak out about pr and twitter and whatever else. but i meant what i said.” she shrugs lightly, though her gaze doesn’t waver. “you are my favorite person. on set. off set. always.”

i can’t breathe for a second. not with the way she’s looking at me, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

the car door clicks open behind us, breaking the spell. the driver clears his throat politely.

isabela smirks, slipping into the backseat. before i can follow, she leans closer, her breath brushing my ear. “besides,” she whispers, “let them spiral. maybe they’re not wrong.”

my stomach flips, heat crawling up my neck. by the time i slide into the seat beside her, my phone is already buzzing with notifications—twitter, instagram, texts from friends with screenshots.

i glance at her. she’s lounging like she hasn’t just set the internet on fire, scrolling calmly through her phone.

when she catches me staring, she flashes that same grin she wore on camera. only this time, it’s just for me.

and suddenly, i don’t care what the internet thinks.