A near-death experience in the cold and the snow causes revelations about you to burn through Natasha's mind…
W.C: 3k
TW: swearing and near death experiences!
Natasha rarely failed at a mission, and when she did, it was always salvageable in some way or another. The consequences rarely affected her directly, and if they did, she’d still get through.
This time, however, she could feel the said consequences in the chill creeping up her spine, in the damp seeping into her feet and numbing every extremity. She didn’t have long left. Her energy was waning, and it was becoming difficult to move. Soon, frostbite would take its hold, sacrificing a limb at a time until the blood froze in her veins and her heart stopped pumping.
She’d racked her brains for every ounce of training, mentally replaying each lesson and experience, but found her preparation for this situation sorely lacking. Natasha had done everything she could. She’d done well to even last this long.
And as her internal organs started to shut down, her brain falling into a freezing fog and quelling down the sense of panic at the prospect of death, she would refuse to admit this was a failure. Natasha had lived longer than she’d expected. During her time at the Red Room, every day felt like her last. Following graduation, each mission risked a swift and merciless end. Her recent role as an Avenger only heightened this possibility. No. Natasha hadn’t failed…
Her eyes had been screwed shut for longer than she could remember, and the snow pelting her face had long since lost its effect. As she huddled, knees to her chest to preserve any remaining body heat, the crude attempt at a shelter collapsing all around her, she realised she felt suddenly warm. Burning up. This was it, the final stage of freezing to death. Yet, she ignored all her mind told her to do, remaining as still as the icicles forming all around her.
And then.
“Natasha!”
A voice on the breeze. A hallucination, surely. Some kind of religious relief beckoning her to the afterlife, hopefully.
“Nat!”
It was familiar to her, but her muddled mind couldn’t quite place why. All sense told her not to move, though curiosity peeked through her survival instincts. Natasha cracked open an eye, feeling like it was defrosting despite the cold air now brushing its surface.
A figure moving towards her. Black against the white snow. A blur of motion. But most importantly, real.
The figure approached her at an urgent pace, snow sent flying all around them as they trudged through the knee-high white blanket. The figure crouched down in front of her, hands reaching out to touch her shoulders, imploring her to move. The touch filled her with life, not warmth, but a cold shake that reminded her she was still alive.
Both her eyes were open now, blinking away the doziness.
“Nat, please. Say something. Do something. Anything.”
The figure was out of breath, fear filling their eyes as they regarded her. God, she must’ve looked rough. She wished colour would return to her cheeks so that they would not be so concerned. Willing her lips to move sent sparks of pain scattering across the surface of her skin, but something deep inside her chest told her she had to reply. Had to soothe your worry.
“I…” Her lips numb, her voice cracking.
You stared at her pleadingly, caringly. Natasha wished she could remember the details lingering just out of her periphery. Deep down, she knew who you were, why you were here, but her brain wasn’t functioning properly.
“Thank you.” Was all she managed instead, watching tears pool in the corner of your eyes and hoping the liquid wouldn’t freeze there.
“Come on.” You moved abruptly, further than she had dared to venture.
She was jealous of how easily movement came to you. Her limbs were stiff, forcing her to be still and save energy. But she trusted you, noticing the care with which you laced your arm under her own, hauled her up from the cold, soft ground, and into the harsh beating of the wind. In the distance, a helicopter, its propellers spinning in a blur of grey, whipping the snow into a frenzy. Finally, her instincts kicked in as she lunged towards it.
“One step at a time.” You chided beside her, rushing forward for support. Without you, she would have fallen straight to the ground. If she did, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get up again.
Each slow step forward was painfully cold, each muscle aching from the endless shivering. You were practically holding her up.
“God, I don’t know how you survived this long…” You murmured. “But not long now, not much further.”
And you were right. A few more stumbling steps that felt like a lifetime, and she was crashing against the vehicle, fingers tense against the cool metal surface. You lifted her up, guided her from hands and knees to collapse against a seat- warm and soft. There was a slam that made her jump as you tugged the door shut, and then, a gentle whirring sound as the helicopter kicked into life.
“How the fuck is she alive?” Another voice, a man’s from the pilot’s cockpit, barely audible.
Natasha was unwilling to grace him with an answer, even if she was mildly offended at the disbelief in his voice. It hadn’t been that long, had it? There was a brush against her ears as she realised you were tugging a pair of headphones over her ears, protecting her from the deafening roar as you took off. She wanted to thank you again, but the heat circulating inside stung her, silenced her.
“Just get us out of here!” was your eventual response, shrill through the microphone, laced with frustration.
“Alright. It’s about a half an hour journey back to base.”
True to his word, the ground was growing further away out the window, transforming into a white blur below. Her sanctuary for the last day was disappearing from view, and Natasha found herself suddenly unmoored. Flashes of memories filtered back into her consciousness, each one a new form of nightmare. The HYDRA base they had been investigating out in the wilderness turned out to be a trap. Natasha’s partners on the mission hadn’t gotten away in time, and she had no choice but to flee, pursued by HYDRA agents further and further into the vast wintry desert. There hadn’t been time to note the direction or distance of travel.
Lost soon became an understatement... But now, the scream of the helicopter’s engine rang in her ears, a stark reflection of the other agent’s final moments. It had been hellish. Her chest hung low with a sense of failure.
Yet, one memory brought back a sense of safety: you. Natasha remembered being endlessly grateful that you hadn’t been selected for this mission. She had a bad feeling about it from the start, proven correct in her instincts. Now, sitting beside her, your gaze was fixed on the window, but she could see you chewing your lip anxiously.
Natasha was tired, but most importantly, she was safe. As sleep began to take its hold, she felt herself leaning into your side. You jolted at first, then, feeling her relax against you, encircled an arm around her waist and held her there tightly.
~~~
The crackling of the fireplace was mesmerising, a warmth reflected in the amber of Natasha’s drink, equally as warming when she tossed back another mouthful. Stark had insisted that escaping near death was drink worthy, even if her eyes were threatening to close with every blink. Snow continued to fall outside the large windows, visible now even long after the sun had set.
Being on the inside looking out was a lot more pleasant than freezing to death, she mused.
While conducting a search party for Natasha, SHIELD had taken over a local ski resort. It was a big empty place, and yet it wasn’t cavernous or cold. The wooden structure perpetuated a homely feel, and the marble floors adorned with large Persian rugs suggested it was usually a retreat for the wealthy. A selection of worn leather armchairs and tattered sofas- the kind you simply melted into- were all arranged around the grand fireplace. There was a reception desk in her periphery, marking it as the foyer.
She had been directed to her private room earlier, normally a suite for some ungrateful millionaire. The bed there was much fancier than the freezing cold ground, the large quilted duvet more appealing than the blanket of snow she had suffered the last few days. She would’ve been perfectly content to collapse and recuperate in there. Alas, the entire Avengers team had opted to pause whatever they were doing and join SHIELD in searching for her. Natasha reluctantly admitted she was touched by the thought.
The SHIELD brigade had since packed up following her return to civilisation, efficient as always. Thus, the building was as drained of life as Natasha felt, leaving only herself, Tony, Bruce, Clint and Y/N to make use of the fireplace. Conversation had dwindled a few minutes ago, melting into a comforting exhaustion. The sensation of sitting down after a long day, knowing that you wouldn’t have to get up again... Except it hadn’t just been a long day. It had been ten days. Natasha had lost all pretence of time out there in the wilderness.
A thorough examination by the top SHIELD medics showed the toll it had taken on her body, and she set herself the task of not dwelling on it, so that her mind would not follow suit.
That exclamation of, “How the fuck is she alive?” was beginning to make a lot more sense.
Reminded of the journey back, Natasha glanced to her left. You were sharing the same sofa, leaning on the far-left side, closer to the fire. Your gaze was determinedly fixed on the fireplace, an attempt to seem nonchalant, but Natasha could see how this was merely an act. Your brow was furrowed, hands were clasped so tightly around a glass that she could see the strained outline of your knuckles poking through your skin.
Apparently, having noticed her staring, you cleared your throat.
“I think I’m going to head to bed.” You started gathering yourself together, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
“Alright...” Bruce was the first to answer.
The rest all watched you stand in a pensive silence. You were often the first to join and the last to leave, basking in the rare time you all got sat together. You were usually chatty, reserved, but funny. Tonight you had been mute.
“Night, guys. Don’t stay up too late.” You appeared to sweep across the room with an easy smile, bidding everyone goodnight, but again you remained unfocused. Your smile was forced.
There was a general murmured response, and then you were gone. Footsteps echoed through the main lobby, and somewhere in the distance, the gentle click of a door shutting. The air besides Natasha was cooler now. She shivered, shuffling closer to the fire, feeling the warmth of where you had been sitting.
“You know…” Clint began, then trailed off, a sheepish expression about him. “Y/N was the last one looking for you.” He confessed suddenly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he continued watching the fire dance and crackle.
Natasha’s lips drew into a taut line as she considered his words, the implication behind them.
Tony nodded, prompting Clint to continue.
“Long after we all thought you were dead. You should’ve been dead.” Clint ranted, assuaging his own guilt more than anything. “I mean, all the experts SHIELD brought in were telling us to presume you were dead. The odds of surviving out there… in those conditions… Well, one in a million…” He fell quiet again.
“Point is,” Tony leaned forward in his seat, catching Natasha’s full attention. “Y/N never stopped looking for you. We were all starting to pack up, and meanwhile, she was bribing a SHIELD pilot to fly her out for one more day. I mean, that’s probably why she’s so exhausted now… When have we known Y/N to be the first one to go to bed?”
Despite everything, Natasha smiled at this.
Being rescued was a hazy memory already, filed away into the part of her brain under lock and key- not to be touched unless absolutely necessary. But in the field of static white, she remembered you. The full black tactical suit a stark contrast against the snow. She ached then with the cold, and now at the concern in your expression. To have caused you such fear, that was Natasha’s greatest failure. Not the mission. Not the near-death experience. But the thought of harming you. The regret that she might’ve died without…
Her brain ground to a halt. She wouldn’t let herself get swept away in such imaginings.
The group had fallen silent again, but now, the pressure of several weighted gazes was resting upon her. She knew what realisation they were trying to push her towards. For all Clint’s hints, for Tony’s teasing and Bruce’s confused stares, none of them were subtle people. Surely, for them to not only notice how Natasha felt about you, but also to push her towards some bigger picture meant you must feel the same?
Natasha found herself sweating. The fire was too hot, the sofa beneath her too soft, and her friend’s persistence too much to handle.
“Well, it’s just as hard being the rescued as it is the rescuer.” She joked. No one reacted.
“I’m going to bed, too.” Natasha stood up, her bones aching from the recent strain. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
If anyone bid her goodnight, she didn’t hear it.
Apart from Tony settling back into the armchair with a sigh, and a murmured, “go get ‘em, tiger.”
At first, Natasha truly did mean to head to her bedroom, but her legs didn’t seem to carry her that way. The gentle sound of a door clicking was a subtle cue, but sufficient to make a gamble as to which room you were staying in. She paced down the corridor, purposefully neglecting to switch on any lights until she saw it: a gentle golden glow emanating from the crack beneath one of the doors. Your bedroom.
She halted in front of it. Gulped and tapped her knuckles against the wood. Two sharp, distinct knocks. Her mind hadn’t quite caught up with her actions yet, but it was too late for change, and too early for regret. All she wanted, all she needed, was you.
A second later, and the door creaked open, your face peeking through the gap. Illuminated by the warm bedside lamp, your face was glowing with a frustration that immediately melted to concern upon realising it was Natasha on the other side.
“Are you okay?” You swung the door open the rest of the way, allowing Natasha to notice that you had changed into pyjamas. Her heart involuntarily skipped a beat, and she found herself unable to answer. Her mouth was dry as she traced over the comfortable, informal clothing. It was a glimpse of you she rarely saw. “Nat?” You called, frown lines deepening.
“Uh, yeah.” Natasha shook her head and clasped her hands together in front of her. You observed every moment closely, as a trained agent should, to look for any sign of weakness. Or in this case, any pain that she might show to justify your concern. “I just didn’t want to be alone.” Natasha’s voice was low, her head bowed slightly.
Nerves weren’t something Natasha gave into often. Even on death’s door, she had felt largely calm. But now, with you standing before her, open and warm, it took everything in her not to shake. The air in the corridor was cold, and snow still fell outside.
“Of course,” you jolted into action, stepping aside, “come in.”
Entering your room was easy, one foot over the threshold at a time. Though it did nothing to lessen her nerves. If anything, they were heightened by your proximity. Liking someone wasn’t a sensation Natasha had ever experienced, let alone given in to. It was all unfamiliar territory. Yet, with you, warm familiarity bloomed throughout her body, soothed the aches in her muscles and the chill from her bones.
“Sit down.” You inclined your head towards your bed.
Natasha’s mouth was dry as she followed the instructions, perched tense on the far end. You sat next to her, slowly, softly. Natasha’s eyes darted up to you, oh so close, and if her gaze lingered on your lips for a beat too long, you didn’t mention it.
“I would ask if you’re alright, but I think I know the answer.” You muttered, unwilling to tear your eyes away from Natasha’s.
She smiled. “I’m better now.”
You mirrored the expression, then lowered your hands to the bed and scooted closer to her. Warmth always radiated from human contact, but yours was special.
You seemed to read her mind, your smile widening. “Warm enough?” You asked.
Natasha nodded. “Definitely…” More silence, and then, a gentle confession wormed its way from Natasha’s heart to the very tip of her tongue. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this.”
Your eyebrows furrowed, but the smile didn’t drop from your lips. “That’s alright. We’ll take it one step at a time.”
You raised a hand, and Natasha noted how you trembled, barely dared to breathe as it drew closer to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned in, seeking more of that addictive heat you always radiated. Cold air was replaced by your lips, warm against her own. You huffed out a breath through your nose, a sigh of warm air fanning across her face. She brought her own hand to grasp your waist, fingers running along a sliver of warm skin there. Her stomach was twisting, burning in just the right way as the kiss deepened.
And there, surrounded by your heat, Natasha wondered how she had ever felt cold.
You had known the Stark family for the last year of your life, yet it felt like an eternity. Some unnamed force drew you towards them in all their obscurity, only revealing itself to you upon your death.
W.C: 4k
TW: death, blood, all the things you’d expect with vampires
Notes: this is an entirely self-indulgent Twilight au, and there is a half-written part two that may see the light of day in some far-flung future
The first thing to go was your vision. Black spots seeped into your vision like ink on a page, droplets that merged and darkened the world around you.
Next was taste: the tang of your own blood in your mouth growing stronger, then weakening again as it became all you could taste.
Touch disappeared at some point, you weren’t sure exactly when, but suddenly the cold radiating from the wet earth below no longer bothered you, and the pressure from someone’s hand gripping your own was fading rapidly.
The last senses to go were smell and hearing. With each breath growing shallower, you concentrated on the damp air and earthy smell, hoping it would ground you to reality. Meanwhile, the frantic voices calling out for you to stay conscious were drifting further and further away.
Natasha’s was the last voice you sensed before succumbing to sleep, though your mind never fully rested, thinking only of her.
~~~
It all began on an ordinary rainy day in Forks, sophomore year, when a strange girl with long, brown hair approached you in the cafeteria. She was the new girl in town at the time, along with the entire mysterious family. As a result, they were the talk of the school. You didn’t care much for the rumours or gossip that circulated, so you were especially surprised when she locked eyes with you across the room and determinedly marched over with a pained-looking blonde boy in tow.
She introduced herself as Wanda, then her partner, Vision, who said nothing except meekly smiled. Despite the snarky comments whispered in your ear from your unimpressed friends, you found the duo strangely charming. When Wanda stated there was someone else she wanted you to meet, you felt compelled to agree and were quick to abandon your friends.
This was how you met Natasha Romanoff.
The moment your gaze met hers, the world around you changed forever. You weren’t quite sure how or why, but you knew your life was different now: like the last sixteen years, you had unknowingly spent waiting for her.
And yet she despised you, barely giving you a chance before slamming down her suspiciously empty lunch tray, shooting Wanda a pointed glare and storming away. You tried not to take it personally and focused instead on meeting the rest of the family, all newly enrolled in the school.
Steve was a little stiff but polite enough. Vision didn’t speak unless you addressed him directly, which caused him to utter out a response in as few words as possible while his terrified expression worsened. Pietro initially appeared intimidating yet was harmless, the most welcoming after Wanda, who seemed undeterred by Natasha’s reaction and continued insisting that you were all going to be such great friends.
The whole interaction was unforgettable. You were quick to return to your friends and inform them of every peculiar detail about the new students, only feeling a little guilty when Wanda waved at you enthusiastically in the hallway later.
Your second time seeing Natasha was in English class, where you were unfortunate enough to have her put in an assigned seat next to you. She was the new student, and it was your job to catch her up on the book you were studying. Unlike your prior interaction, she was at least civil on this occasion. Although as soon as the bell rang, she leapt up from her seat without so much as a thank you or a goodbye.
You saw her most days in class and sometimes passed her in the corridors. Though she never acknowledged you, either clutching her books tighter to her chest and breezing past without making eye contact, or by engaging in conversation with someone. It was hurtful, but it didn’t stop you from admiring Natasha at every opportunity.
She was undeniably beautiful, and at first that was all you saw: her perfect pale skin, warm green eyes and soft red hair. But the more time you spent staring at her, the more your perception of her shifted to something more. You began to notice the dimples in her cheeks when she smiled, the way her eyes shimmered a rich golden colour, how she spoke with such conviction and sincerity. You deemed it a small crush, blushing profusely whenever in her presence, your heart beating a rapid pace at the sight of her. Anytime Wanda was around, she seemed to observe you closely, a knowing smile playing on her lips, which only made it harder to act natural around Natasha.
One random, otherwise unmemorable day, this tension reached a boiling point when she confronted you after class. Rather than immediately vanishing into the throng of students in the hallway, she waited outside the classroom, grabbed onto your arm and dragged you outside through the fire exit doors…
Natasha all but slammed you against the brick wall, as though she were desperate to let go of you. “Can you stop staring at me like that?” She demanded.
You felt your stomach drop, both crushed by her dislike for you, while regrettably still relishing being so close to her. The mix of emotions swirling around inside of you was overwhelming, and you said nothing.
She clenched her jaw at your silence and stepped back. “It makes me uncomfortable.”
Having said her piece, she was about to leave when you finally summoned some resolve.
With nothing to lose, you scoffed and folded your arms defensively. “As if half the school doesn’t look at you like that.” Then averted your gaze, pretending to admire the dreary scenery rather than letting her see the tears that were threatening to fall.
“Yeah. Well, you’re different.”
And with that, she left.
She left you with a newfound curiosity, accompanied by a normal amount of resentment. Natasha viewed you differently from everyone else, the thought sufficient to set your heart racing despite the offence she intended to cause you.
As she requested, you resigned yourself to ignoring her at all given chances. However, it seemed that as you distanced yourself from her, she only became more fixated on you.
In the toilets, while she was fixing her makeup, you saw her watching your reflection in the mirror. In the cafeteria, where Wanda decided to sit with you, and subsequently the rest of the family, she sat at the opposite end of the hall and glared daggers at you. In class, she glanced at you more often, and not just to copy your answers.
But no matter what, you didn’t dare look back at her.
Even when your teacher announced that it was time for some groupwork and she smiled awkwardly, regarding you with a quiet hope. You instead looked past her to your friend sitting at another desk and waved him over. It wasn’t what you truly wanted, but you pretended everything was fine and tried not to notice the rejected expression on her face.
And then Wanda invited you over to her house one weekend. You met Tony and Pepper, who welcomed you into their house and exchanged a meaningful look with each other before greeting you as though you were part of the family. In fact, everyone seemed to know you were visiting except Natasha, which led you to wonder whether they were all conspiring against her.
You could never forget the shock on her face as she laid eyes upon you in her own home, nor the argument you overheard her have with Wanda. Their voices were muffled through the wall, but you picked up on Wanda having “seen it,” that something was “unavoidable.”
“Unchangeable destiny,” were the words she used if you remembered correctly. You couldn’t decipher the meaning behind any of it, nor was it your place to.
In the meantime, Steve was kind enough to give you a tour of the house while they bickered, though, for reasons he didn’t care to elaborate on, all the bedrooms were out of bounds.
The rest of the evening went a lot smoother. You bumped into Natasha as Wanda was seeing you to the door, but she simply regarded you with frustration and said nothing. You went home that night confused, lying in bed unable to sleep and endlessly replaying your strange day. One thing had become clear to you: that the frustration Natasha felt was with herself rather than directed at you. You weren’t sure how you knew this or how you were able to read her emotions so well despite her being so closed off to you, but the realisation assuaged your complex feelings towards her.
An invitation to the Stark household became an almost bi-weekly event. By your fifth visit, you had managed to befriend every member of the family except Natasha. By the tenth, she tolerated you. Her irritation turned into sarcastic comments, humorous jabs sent your way, though mostly aimed at Wanda. You never quite understood those ones. There was always a lingering tension in the air when you visited, like the whole house was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
The more time you spent there, the more strange details you noticed. That they never ate or had any food in stock, that bedrooms remained out of bounds despite how open they were with everything else, and the odd conversations that ended as you entered the room. It was as though the entire family held a secret they were waiting for you to discover.
And then you did.
Because of Sharon Carter.
From the very beginning, she annoyed you. As the new girl in school, she became the fascination of everyone, and to your dismay, this obsession extended to Steve. Which also meant it encompassed the whole Stark family. It wasn’t Sharon herself who irritated you, but rather that she had known the Starks for barely half the time you had, yet was welcomed into their life quicker than you could ever have dreamed.
As Steve started spending more time with Sharon and bringing her to their house, you saw less of them- and less of Natasha.
In spite of her coldness towards you, it was impossible to deny that you missed her presence in your life. Her snarky remarks made you laugh, and sometimes you would respond, and it might even make her smile, although she’d try to hide it. She no longer loathed sitting next to you in class, and as such didn’t sit as far away as physically possible anymore, which you appreciated. And if you chose to join the Stark family for lunch, she wouldn’t move away.
Now, without her in your life, you realised just how close you had grown. It wasn’t forced but had simply snuck up on you in the form of small, genuine changes.
You were certain she recognised the change too, since you often caught her staring at you with a longing sort of look in her eyes. A mix of grief for the mistakes she had made in the past, and something new. Something you couldn’t read.
And then the Starks stopped showing up to school altogether. For two weeks, the seat next to you in English class stayed empty. Every day, you were subjected to spending lunch with your other friends, listening to their fatuously mean and repetitive conversations. But of course, you overheard that Sharon continued to talk with Steve. Gossip was unavoidable, and while you tried to take it with a pinch of salt, that salt left a bitter sting on your tongue.
It wasn’t fair, and after over a month had passed since your last visit to their house, you reached your breaking point. You drove over, uninvited and unannounced, late one evening.
A thunderstorm had just passed through Forks, leaving behind mud, rain and an odd sort of peace. The woodland was silent, no birds chirping or nocturnal creatures stirring. The only sign of life was the light emanating from the house, which left you feeling tense as you slammed the car door shut. The harsh sound reverberated in the silence, giving you the awful sensation that you were being watched.
You banged against the front door, feeling an anxious sickness rising in your throat. You were beginning to believe this had all been a terrible idea, ready to turn around and head home, when Tony finally opened the door.
“Y/N?” He seemed surprised to see you, or perhaps it was disappointment. “Now’s really not a great time.”
Usually, you would take his deflection and leave, but pent-up frustration and a strange sort of vulnerability overruled all sensibility. “I won’t be long. I just want to talk with Wanda- or Natasha. Whoever’s in.” You shrugged, stepping through the doorway and into the foyer.
Your discomfort eased slightly at the familiar surroundings, then returned in full force as you halted at the sight of an unfamiliar man staring you down. His dark pupils tracked your every move, surrounded by a blood-red sea.
“Oh- Y/N,” Tony called, rubbing his neck sheepishly, a sort of terrified look in his eyes. “This is Thor, a friend of ours.”
The man, Thor, looked you up and down like you were a meal to be devoured. You shivered uncomfortably, sensing for some unbeknownst reason that you were in danger.
“You befriend humans? You invite them into your home.” Thor burst out laughing all of a sudden, looked you up and down again. “Be careful that Loki does not come after this one, too.” And with that, he shoved past you and back outside at an almost inhuman speed.
Your head spun dizzyingly, catching up with what you had witnessed. A man, though you weren’t so sure about that part anymore, who examined you with thirst in his eyes and hunger in his words, who moved at a speed you couldn’t even comprehend. You tried desperately to wrap your mind around a logical explanation, and when that inevitably failed, turned back to Tony with an unspoken question in your eyes.
If it was possible, he somehow looked even more disappointed than when he’d answered the door earlier.
“Shit.” You noticed Pietro had appeared at some point and was leaning against the wall, amused. “Looks like the cat’s out of the bag- or the bat is.”
“Pietro.” Pepper chastised, walking through into the foyer. Her tone didn’t hold the authority it normally did. Instead, she shook.
“What, like all that wasn’t enough for her to put two and two together?”
“Now isn’t the right time…“
“And when would be?” Pietro’s expression soured. “There is no right time cause Natasha’s left it too long to tell her.”
“Tell me what?” You interrupted, unable to bear hearing them talk about you like you weren’t in the room. Your mind was so close to reaching a conclusion so impossible that you needed to hear one of them say it.
And then Tony did. “We’re vampires. All of us. Yes, they’re real, and no, we can’t actually turn into bats. Yes, it is as cool as it sounds.”
“Right…”
“We pose as a family.” Pepper continued. “To fit in. But none of us are actually related…”
“Hence, you’re all coupled up?” You finished.
Pietro clicked his tongue. “Yes, all except me! Because apparently being cursed to eternal bloodlust isn’t attractive enough.”
As much as you usually appreciated Pietro’s ability to make light of a situation, on this occasion, you found your sense of humour lacking. There was a long pause in which you refused to tear your gaze away from where it was fixed.
“It’s fine to have questions,” Pepper said softly. “We promise to answer all of them eventually.”
You found your mind was completely blank. They were vampires. All of them… For some reason, you could only think to ask one thing. “Does Sharon know about all this?” Bitterness laced your words, for you already knew the answer.
“I personally don’t know what Steve sees in her.” Tony started. “Listening to her talk is like watching paint dry, and trust me, with the whole eternal life thing, you get used to time passing slow. And, honestly, she looks like she could be his sister. But yes, she does know…” Tony trailed off, so as not to upset you further.
“Steve and Sharon are mates. The lucky bastards,” Pietro pushed himself off the wall and walked over to you. “And he’s not afraid to show it.” There was more, something he wasn’t telling you.
The two of them appeared on edge, and you had a feeling it wasn’t just because of you.
Curiosity nagged you to ask what the hell a mate was. But your shock had faded, replaced by a dull sense of sadness. You were emotionally overwhelmed by the whole situation, and more than anything, you wanted space, some fresh air and time to process everything.
“Alright.” You folded then unfolded your arms, trying anything to ease the anxiety pooling at the pit of your stomach. “I think I’m gonna go.” You gestured towards the door and started backing towards it.
“Ok.” Pepper nodded. “But please don’t-“
“Tell anyone.” You finished. “I know, I get the picture.”
“Thank you.” She said solemnly, then opened her mouth to say more before deciding against it and closing it again.
It took all your willpower not to turn on your heel and run out of there, but as soon as you were through the door, you refused to look back, even as Pietro called out to you. “We’ll see you again soon, yeah?”
You swallowed, fist tightening around the car door handle. “Yeah.” You said uncertainly.
The engine revved to life, tyres crunching against the damp ground. You immediately turned on the radio, desperate to drown out any thoughts while you were driving home, lest you get distracted and crash.
Unfortunately, you never did make it home.
~~~
The first sense to return to you was touch. Pain. The warmth of your heart grew more and more palpable. It grew hotter and hotter to an unbearable degree. Agonising waves of fire suffused throughout your entire body like the beats of a drum, rhythmically becoming worse and worse. The pain cascaded over every limb, a waterfall of flames rushing from head to toe. You could hardly breathe.
But you were breathing, and with this progression came the next to return: your sense of smell. Perfume filled your nostrils, a familiar scent that you couldn’t quite place.
With smell came taste, though the excruciating pain you were currently subjected to rather limited your ability to taste. All you could recognise was a scalding sensation on your tongue, in between your teeth, working its way across your entire face.
Then you heard it: you were screaming, crying out for help at the pain that wracked your body. And you weren’t alone, a soothing voice right by your ear, accompanied by a hand rubbing up and down your back. In the distance, more voices, these ones less familiar.
You risked opening your eyes but were met by white, searing hot pain. There was nothing else you could focus on. Nothing to do except curl inwards and pray it would end.
“Talk to her.” You heard the voice say. Wanda. It was Wanda, you realised. You had your back to her, and it was her hand gently guiding you through the pain.
“I don’t know- I…” Another person was to your right.
Natasha. You would recognise her voice anywhere, almost able to sense her now crouched down on the ground next to you, her knee brushing against your stomach. You didn’t need to see her to feel comfort in her presence.
She sighed, and then you felt a new hand resting on your shoulder. “You’re going to get through this, okay?” She had leaned in closer, her breath sending shivers across the skin of your neck.
Your neck, you ascertained where the agonising heat was emanating from. Could now pinpoint the burn against your skin, only made worse by a line of pain along your abdomen. Your senses were tuning into reality again, coming back to life and awakening your memories leading up to the present moment.
It all played out in your mind: driving away from the Stark house, a strange man jumping in front of your car, knocking you unconscious and carrying you away. You remembered the whispers in your ear that you were to help him set a trap. Instead of hunting Sharon down, he would lure the family to you. It was his belief that they would fall for it, that their escape plan would be ruined, and perhaps he would bargain with your life in exchange for Sharon’s. And he was right. Mostly.
Steve had refused to give up the location of Sharon, and so the man- Loki- had stabbed a line along your stomach.
Without opening your eyes, you lowered your hands and felt along the cut to confirm it was as you remembered. Bad. There was no way you could have survived it…
A hand softly cupped your cheek, blissfully cool in comparison to the unbearable fever of your skin, a thumb soothing away the crease between your brows. “Y/N…” You realised that you had never heard Natasha say your name. It sounded so sweet from her lips, like your name existed to be uttered by her and no one else. Amidst the searing pain, your heart fluttered in your chest, and you knew at that moment that you were going to be okay, that this was temporary.
With great effort, you unclenched your jaw, struggling to make your lips form the word you desired. You needed her to feel what you did. “Nat.” Your voice cracked as you spoke; her name said so quietly that you feared she may not have heard you.
You needed to see her.
In between breathing through the pain, you compelled your eyes to open, feeling your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks. Blinding light streamed into your vision once again, but this time you didn’t cower away from it. A second later, and the prickling sensation lessened, the strain becoming bearable as the darkness around you filtered into view.
You saw trees standing tall above you, their leaves sheltering you from the rising sunlight, which cast fresh streaks of amber across the sky. You looked down at the earthy ground, concentrated on the greenery poking through and found that the pain was alleviated when you diverted your attention. Then at last, your gaze fell upon Natasha. She hadn’t yet noticed your eyes were open, allowing you the chance to admire her as you had done so many times before.
Her usually bright irises were darker and filled with worry, though you still saw flecks of gold in them. You registered that she had blood smeared around her lips, which were downturned as she spoke to Wanda.
She was a Vampire. Your entire body tensed at the realisation, remembering what Tony and Pepper had told you about the family.
A sudden dread filled you, overpowering the agonising pain. You shut your eyes tightly, raising your hand from where it was trapped underneath you and feeling frantically around the base of your throat. Sure enough, your fingers soon felt the engraving marks of teeth in your flesh.
Delicate fingers intertwined with your own, tugging your hand away from the wound. You opened your eyes again to realise the movement had attracted Natasha’s attention. She was relieved, her grasp on you tightening as if to convince herself you were truly there. Natasha brought your hand to her lips, placing a chaste kiss against the back of your searing skin. A promise. She was there. She had protected you and always would.
In that moment, all your doubts and all the hurt became inconsequential. All that mattered was that you were alive and she was with you…. Of course, you had both hurt each other, but that was the very condition of existence. To hurt was to live, and Natasha made you feel alive in a way you never had before.
Because of her, you had been reborn. This was your second chance at life, and your second chance with Natasha.
To die as lovers may, so that they may live together.
rockstar!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader
Summary: when your band, the Avengers, is taunted by your equals in the industry, the Thunderbolts, you find yourself face to face with a certain enigmatic rival… but life in the spotlight is never easy, and nor is falling in love with the enemy.
chapters: one two three
W.C: 2.5k
TW: just swearing and treachery
four- not so kind regards
“I mean, I’ll barely be able to tell Alexei apart from Walker from up here,” Bruce shouted back to you, the steps up toward the back of the venue seeming never-ending.
“That could be a good thing,” Clint yelled back. “My hearing’s already fucked. I don’t need the final thing I hear to be one of their songs!”
None of you had bothered to check the seat row when Steve had handed you the tickets, so having to trek to the furthest away corner of the venue came as rather a shock to you all. You glanced down at the ticket, slightly damp from your embarrassingly sweaty palms- a reminder that you really needed to get back into regular exercise before the next tour. Row 350, seat 11. A rounded number, so an educated guess meant it was likely the very furthest row.
“That must be it!” You voiced this idea, pointing at the final row. “Any further and we’re sitting in the car park.
In lieu of vocal agreement, there was a collective groan from the group as you continued the hike. The seats were truly awful. Some kind of joke, you assumed, quelling down the inherent disappointment at being far from the stage, far from Natasha.
Upon reaching row 350, Bruce led the group, shuffling down towards seat 15, then Tony, Clint, Wanda, and finally you. The seats were flimsy plastic things. Incredibly uncomfortable to even look at, let alone sit on for hours. But before you could sit and succumb to the impending pain, something caught your attention. The aisle seat next to you was left purposefully empty, and on the dimly lit surface, you noticed a piece of folded paper. Frowning, you picked it up, flipping it over to realise it was in fact an envelope.
The Avengers.
It was written in cursive crimson lettering. Your whole body seemed to judder at the possibility, the faintest hope that perhaps… Just maybe, it was from Natasha.
The others hadn’t noticed yet. You hurriedly sat down, angled away from them, and tore open the seal. The note was brief, easy for your eyes to skim down to the bottom to see…
Kind regards,
Valentina Allegra De Fontaine
A sense of embarrassment flooded throughout your body, drowning your foolish hope. Of course, it wouldn’t have been from Natasha. You had met quite literally once, for less than five minutes. She had no reason to write and leave a letter on your seat. She probably didn’t even know where you’d be sitting. It was a stupid thought, a mortifying prospect to even think that-
“Hey, what’s that?” Wanda leant over the armrest to peer at the paper in your hands.
It occurred to you that you ought to pull it out of her sight, knowing the history between Wanda and Valentina, but it was too late. Apparently, having done the same thing and skimmed down the page, Wanda’s face dropped. She looked up, and you met her gaze, solemnly sharing in your concern.
“I haven’t read it yet… I just saw who it was from.” You explained.
Wanda’s expression didn’t budge, her eyes unfocused now.
You swallowed, leaning into the aisle to get everyone’s attention. “Hey, guys,” you waved the letter out. “We have fan mail.” The group exchanged a shared sense of confusion, leaned progressively further forward and looked to you expectantly. You glanced once at Wanda, waited for her to nod, and proceeded to read the letter aloud.
“Dear Bruce, Clint, Y/N, Tony and Ms Wanda Maximoff,”
You weren’t oblivious to the fact that Valentina had included Wanda’s full name. A written confirmation that she knew exactly who Wanda was, and exactly the part she had played in her life…
“I was honoured to hear that Mr High and Mighty Rogers had purchased tickets for our show tonight. I hope you enjoy the view- I picked the seats specially. I’m certain my team treated you well backstage. It’ll be the last time you meet without a live audience watching your every move.”
That particular line was incredibly ominous.
“We could do without the constant comparisons to your band. It's not a reputation we want for ourselves... Our priorities lie in funding a quality production value over the caricatured versions of yourself which you all seem to rely on.
Prepare for the world to see you as you truly are, Avengers.
Kind regards,
Valentina Allegra De Fontaine… I’m not feeling many kind regards from that letter.” You muttered.
“Jesus, what is her problem?” Clint exclaimed.
“What do we even do here? Do we release a statement or something?” The frown adorning Bruce’s face seemed to darken the entire area. Or no, the lights were dimming. The concert was about to begin.
“We leave it for now,” Wanda announced, her maturity a gift for you all. “And like Bruce said before, we play fair. Whatever Valentina has planned, we go along with it and show we’re better than them.” There was a general consensus amongst you that Wanda’s words were final, and as the one with the greatest emotional investment in the issue of Valentina Allegra De Fontaine, it was her decision to make.
An orange beam of light shot across the entirety of the stadium, leaving behind it a warm glow as your eyes adjusted. The audience’s volume increased tenfold, with cheers and applause as the members took their place one by one. The giant screen above the stage stuttered into action, displaying Alexei first, brandishing two drumsticks above his head. The crowd seemed to adore his brutish nature, the way he unceremoniously slumped onto the stool behind the drum kit.
Next, Ava and Natasha were on at the same time. Ava waved sheepishly at the crowd, skipping towards her keyboard like she might be able to hide behind it. Natasha, well, she owned the stage- there was no other description for it. She sauntered across as though she had all the time in the world, largely ignoring the way the audience yelped and jumped about, except to shoot a smirk directly into the camera. Your cheeks flushed with heat. You were grateful for the dimmed lighting, lest someone notice and tease you endlessly.
Walker was next. You winced as he leapt into the centre, ignoring how the guitar swung, crashing into his side. Yelena followed much more calmly a second later. Like Natasha, she was born to be on stage. The band waited patiently until Yelena had taken her place behind the microphone. The atmosphere was electric, flashes of bright white like lightning echoing throughout the venue. Even you had to admire the spectacle they created with so little effort. Everyone was waiting with bated breath.
Walker opened the performance, picking a simple yet fast-paced rhythm. Alexei and Natasha joined next, the drum beating solidly, with the softer bass below. You noted Stark tapping his feet in time and smiled to yourself. For all his competitiveness, Tony couldn’t deny when he was enjoying a song.
You saw Yelena’s hands grasp the microphone, as a beat later, her voice joined the melody.
---
It was well beyond midnight by the time you arrived back.
Home wasn’t the right word for the place, rather it was temporary housing. The apartment served as a base for you all in between touring the country and the brief respites when you actually went home. It meant you could spend time together, work on new music and practice for upcoming performances. Stark fondly nicknamed it Avengers Tower, though it was far from a tower. The apartment stretched across two levels in a recently converted industrial factory, with a living room merged music studio, a kitchen and dining room downstairs, and all your rooms upstairs. It allowed you both privacy and forced ‘bonding time.’
You couldn’t grab a midnight snack without bumping into Bruce, who you were convinced was practically nocturnal by now, and being dragged into the studio to experiment in one of his late-night bursts of inspiration… Yet as much as you complained, you secretly enjoyed it. And judging by the way everyone aligned their schedules to be there at the same time, you presumed the others did too.
Although on this occasion, your arse was sore from the cheap seat, and a mild headache thudded behind your eyes from the blaring lights and music, so you chose to head straight up to your room. A quick shower and change of clothes later, you were feeling mildly refreshed and surprisingly inspired. Despite the sluggishness behind your slow movements, you grabbed the acoustic guitar stationed in the corner of the room and perched on the bed with a notepad and pen.
Your mind had been relentlessly turning over certain words all evening. Crimson, emerald, silver. Colours that you would never put together yet blended so seamlessly. A gleam, mocking, daring. All encompassed by a warmer brown, by honest words that soothed away your insecurities and fears. You were jotting down lyrics now, humming a tune with simple, strummed chords. It all flowed so easily, from your mind to the pen, from pen to paper and back again as a complete song.
A sudden, harsh knock at the door broke you out of the musical trance.
With a sigh, you pushed yourself up from the plush surface and hurriedly shoved the notepad into a drawer. You weren’t quite ready to share your work with anyone.
Clint was waiting on the other side of the door, his knuckles poised mid-air to rap against the wood again. He had a pensive look about him, and a glance along the corridor revealed the rest of the band in a similar state. You realised with a pang of guilt that none of them had changed out of their clothes, and must not have ventured up to their rooms yet. Steve was leaning against the wall with a stern expression, confirming that whatever this impromptu gathering was about must be serious. Steve was always stern, of course, but he didn’t usually linger in the apartment beyond 8pm- something about not getting in the way of inspiration.
“Sorry to disturb,” Clint finally broke the silence. “But we received this.”
He nodded towards Wanda, who stepped forward to hand you two folded letters. That headache boomed louder behind your eyes, reluctant to focus on the lettering adorning it.
“More fan mail?” You asked instead.
“No.” Clint sighed. “It’s an invitation to be on a TV show.”
“Oh.” Your concern dissipated ever so slightly. This wasn’t out of the norm at all. In fact, you were normally all quite pleased to receive an invitation. “Well, that’s good.” You tried, watching for a reaction to try gauge the tense atmosphere. “Why’s it being handed to me like an eviction notice then? Am I not invited or something?” You joked.
Wanda cleared her throat. “It’s a TV show that’s notorious for inviting two bands on and splitting them up, swapping the members, and holding a competition where each has to write and perform a new, unique song that evening.”
Suddenly, you understood the downtrodden reaction.
“Let me guess. We’re invited on with the Thunderbolts?”
Wanda bit her lip, fixed you with a shared sympathy and nodded. “Steve swears he didn’t sign us up, so you can also guess who’s orchestrated this whole thing…”
Valentina.
“If we didn’t sign up, then why don’t we just refuse?”
“Take a proper look at that first letter and find out,” Clint answered cryptically.
You sucked in a deep breath, flipping the paper over in your hands. You first noticed it was flimsy, not the usual official card these sorts of things were printed on. The lettering was slightly blurry, grey, not black, and wonky the whole way up the page.
“Hold on… Is this a photocopy?”
“You bet,” Clint confirmed. “The original letter never reached us.”
“It was intercepted,” Steve added. When everyone turned to look at him, he shrugged. “I don’t know how. I’ll get the security team to look into it in the morning.”
A sickening dread suffused throughout the air. You couldn’t help but feel you were being watched even now, in the comfort of your own… Well, not home. You swapped the letters over to read the second, a much more official, non-wonky letter thanking your band for agreeing to appear, and detailing how the show would work.
“I mean, this is a crime now. We can report Valentina for setting this whole thing up, for impersonating us!”
“We have no proof.” Clint shook his head. “It’ll seem like we’re just randomly accusing the competition. We don’t need that kind of press.”
You bit your inner cheek, crossing your arms and feeling the satisfying crunch of the papers getting crumpled. “We do in the letter from earlier. She said This’ll be the last time we meet without an audience,’ or something, right?”
“It’s too vague a threat,” Wanda said. “Trust me, I wish she had been specific and written more incriminating stuff, but we’ve already thought it through.”
You glanced to Tony and Bruce, both unusually silent. It was clear they had been running this through in their minds since arriving back. If those two hadn’t come up with a solution, then no one would.
“Alright. Then we have to survive one TV appearance with them, and we don’t make it a big deal. We show the world we’re above petty competitions and tell Valentina to back off.” You concluded.
Tony silently saluted you as he headed off. The rest of the group nodded in agreement and bid each other goodnight as they all started making their way to their individual rooms.
A feeling of frustration laced the way you rested against the door, hearing it click shut, having resisted the urge to slam it. There was nothing you could do. Valentina was as much of a force to be reckoned with in the music industry as she had been to Wanda’s family. This was all part of a grand plan she was acting out. You were merely pawns, each playing your role- no, you weren’t as important as that. You were extras, acting alongside the Thunderbolts to give them good publicity. How you loathed her. She marred the positive image of the Thunderbolts you had built up for yourself today.
Natasha: crimson hair and mocking eyes.
She was smart, cunning. There was no way she didn’t know what Valentina was up to.
You had been fooled. You had played right into her hand.
Your gaze fell to the drawer you had hastily shoved your notepad into earlier, careful not to let anyone else see. Now, you stormed over and wrenched the drawer open. The written song sat there, mockingly. An irritating earworm. A flash of green, mocking eyes, and you tore the sheets from the pad. You crumpled it up, mixed up with the letters you were still clutching onto. Your room was rather barren, lacking a wastepaper bin, and you didn’t dare to venture downstairs to throw it away. At an appropriate time, you’d dispose of the papers somewhere public, an anonymous bin on some nameless street corner.
You shoved the crumpled papers into your bag and flopped back onto your bed. Exhaustion soon took its hold.
rockstar!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader
Summary: when your band, the Avengers, is taunted by your equals in the industry, the Thunderbolts, you find yourself face to face with a certain enigmatic rival… but life in the spotlight is never easy, and nor is falling in love with the enemy.
chapters: one two
W.C: 1.6k
TW: swearing, flirting lol
three- into the thunderbolt’s den
The security guard led you down a maze-like set of corridors that were all too familiar with the build-up before a performance. Endless people bustled past you, a blur of motion in front of the shallow grey walls. Tension lingered at the pit of your stomach, a tightness beneath your ribcage. You had to remind yourself you weren’t the ones on stage tonight, and took in a lungful of the air breezing past.
After what felt like an eternity, the security guard halted in front of a door and knocked. This particular door was identical to every other, except for the cliched star-shaped sign reading ‘dressing room.’
“Enter, please!” A voice boomed from the other side.
The security guard opened the door, standing to the side and allowing you all to enter. It was a cramped corridor for your whole band to be stuck in, and filing in one by one reminded you distinctly of school days spent queueing outside classrooms. You were conscious now of a childlike insecurity that plagued your first steps into the room.
“Ah,” the source of the booming voice leapt up from his seat. “It’s the Revengers!” Alexei Shostakov stumbled over to you, his frame more intimidating in real life than it had been when contained on the television screen. This time, he wasn’t hunched over a drum kit, but towering over Bruce, the unfortunate soul who had been the first to enter the room. “It is so great to meet you.” Alexei grasped and forcefully shook Bruce’s hand. Even from a metre away, you could smell the cold stench of vodka on his breath.
“Yes,” Bruce stammered out, politeness seeming to overpower his fear. “It’s a long time coming! Uh- er- Mr. Shostakov.”
“Please, Alexei, for you.” The drummer waved his hand dismissively, mere inches from smacking Bruce’s head. “We are equals in this world.”
You glanced around the room, mostly for the sake of getting your bearings, but admittedly looking out for someone in particular. The dressing room stretched back further than you expected, separated by curtains from which more members of the band were emerging. You averted your gaze, feeling suddenly shy. You turned to Tony for support, noticing now a figure behind him.
“Hi.”
Tony jumped out of his skin at the sound of a voice so close to his ear, swivelling on his heels to realise Ava Starr had somehow crept up on him.
“Jesus,” Tony clutched at his heart, catching his breath. “Who let the girl from the ring in here? Seriously,” he looked to you, “did you see her sneak up on me?”
You suppressed a laugh at his theatrics and shook your head. Tony tended to be a character that people either hated or loved, though you didn’t believe he was so black or white. But that came from years of practice. Of knowing when he was joking and when he meant to offend. Ava Starr, on the other hand, was unfamiliar with Stark. You saw her face drop, a self-conscious weight tugging the corners of her lips down. It had taken experience to learn not to always apologise for Tony’s behaviour, that was Steve’s job, but on this occasion, you decided to forfeit this rule.
You frowned reprehensively as you passed Tony and approached Ava to introduce yourself.
The rest of your band began to engage other Thunderbolt members in conversation, all apparently civilised, judging by the lack of raised voices. You, once again, attempted not to let your attention drift from Ava, despite the curiosity tugging your vision elsewhere. She was rambling on about her love of playing the keyboard, her admiration for your group’s delving into using synthesisers, and you thought numbly that she would be much better off talking to Bruce about that.
A flash of deep crimson, and all pretence came crumbling down.
Tony and Bruce were working together to occupy Alexei’s full, intense attention. Clint was fixing John Walker with a very unimpressed glare as the guitarist rambled. Wanda and Yelena were getting along well enough by your judgment. And towards the edge of the room, spectating silently, was Natasha Romanoff.
Your breath caught in your throat as time seemed to slow. Everything felt surreal. You had barely known of the woman’s existence a week, and yet a small part of your mind had been endlessly dedicated to her since. Subconsciously, not obsessively, but naturally. As though a part of your brain had been carved out all your life, waiting to be filled by her. After watching their taped performance, you had subtly asked Steve for more information on the Thunderbolts, and he had provided you with all the magazine interviews and news articles he could find. Each one lacked any particular input from Natasha. She was part of one of the most popular rock bands of the time and somehow flew under the radar. How you envied her. How you longed to speak with her.
Now here she was. Meters away from you.
Your feet were frozen in place. Time wasn’t frozen anymore. It was passing rapidly. Too quickly for you to keep up with. Ava said something humorous, you laughed, but did you? You were functioning on autopilot, entirely out of control. This was a sensation you embraced when first stepping on stage. Now, however, it was a curse. A cage that stopped you from reaching out, from calling out. Natasha briefly left the main room, and still, you couldn’t move an inch.
When she returned, Natasha scanned the room thoughtfully… And finally, emerald eyes met your own. Gleaming bright, as if covered with silver. There was a warmer, brown ring around the centre too- an honest glimpse into the obscurities within her very soul. Her gaze implored you to reach out, kind and slightly mocking. Like she already knew the effect she had on you.
And finally, you felt brave enough to oblige.
“Anyway, it was lovely to meet you,” you smiled politely at Ava during one of the lulls in conversation. “I’m really looking forward to seeing you perform tonight, and I’m sure we’ll speak soon, yeah?”
Ava swallowed, smiled painfully and nodded.
Tuning out the disappointment radiating from her, you stepped past, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “And speak to Bruce about the synthesisers. He knows a lot more than I do.” You added guiltily.
At last, you were free.
Natasha hadn’t yet glanced away. She observed as you sauntered over- expectant, calm, as though she had foreseen everything that would happen.
“Hi,” you clenched your teeth together, willed yourself to come up with something better than hi. You were no better than Ava. Tony would be pissing himself laughing at you right now.
“Hey,” Natasha echoed. “Y/N, right?”
Your heart fluttered. She recognised you, had possibly even researched you. “That’s me.” You shoved your hands in your jacket pockets awkwardly. “You’ve been doing your research.” You commented before you could stop the words from escaping.
Natasha grinned slowly, languidly. “Maybe I have. It’s important to know who your competition is.”
“Oh, very.” You agreed, matched her grin and prayed she wouldn’t notice your beating heart.
There was a long pause. Comfortable and yet entirely unfamiliar. You refused to fill it. Natasha had shown her hand, offered up a vulnerability; she had been thinking about you.
“That being said, you don’t match up to descriptions.”
You frowned. “I don’t?” Out of everything you had expected her to say, prepared mentally to respond to, this left you spiralling towards confusion.
“No.” Natasha squinted. “You’re shorter in real life.”
You scoffed, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Low blow, Romanov.” You murmured, hiding humour behind false offence.
She chuckled. “Low blow?”
“Yeah.”
“Cause I have to shrink to your level.”
You mock gasped, averting your eyes across the room as if looking for an exit.
Natasha’s grin widened, lopsided, chasing your gaze- not that it had ever truly strayed.
“I suppose being on stage all the time would be misleading… Adds, like, an extra metre.” You conceded, magnetised back to the redhead.
Natasha smirked.
Smirked. Was she flirting with you?!
“Well, you’ll have to invite me along sometime to see.”
You bit your lip, tilted your head in consideration. “I’ll see what I can do.” You were proud of how confident the statement sounded, for every muscle in your body seemed to quake. You could hardly believe you were still standing. God, you hadn’t felt the full force of a crush in a long time. That sense of childlike insecurity flooded back over your senses. You were overpowered by the desire to rethink Natasha’s every action and retract your words. “I’d like that.” You added. “For you to see us in concert, I mean. Check out the competition, like you said.” You were stuttering now. You bit your lip again to stop the verbal onslaught- too hard this time. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth.
Smooth.
“Natasha.” A heavily accented voice called.
You traced her gaze over your shoulder. It was Yelena. She shot a courteous smile your way.
“It’s time.”
Natasha nodded. “I’ll be right with you.”
Emerald eyes were back on yours. She opened her mouth to explain, then closed it again. You were perhaps one of the few people that she wouldn’t have to explain this to.
“Show-time?” You prompted.
She nodded again.
“I’ll be watching closely.” You said. “Keeping up with the competition. You know how it is.”
“I do.”
“Break a leg.”
Natasha glanced over her shoulder as she followed the others out. She winked. “You wish, Y/L/N.”
rockstar!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader
Summary: when your band, the Avengers, is taunted by your equals in the industry, the Thunderbolts, you find yourself face to face with a certain enigmatic rival… but life in the spotlight is never easy, and nor is falling in love with the enemy
previous chapter next chapter
W.C: 2.5k
TW: still just swearing
two- synth pop is for pussies
John Walker was a wanker.
You could admire his guitar playing, his boundless energy on stage and overall commitment to the typical rockstar aesthetic. But that didn’t negate the fact that he was an arse.
“The Avengers are just a washed-up rock band who turned to electronic music to distract from their repetitive songs and lack of actual talent. There’s nothing unique about their sound; they’ve gotten by purely through appealing to the deaf and uninspired. We all know that synth pop is for pussies.” Tony was crouched by the TV, focused on Walker’s voice radiating from the tape, dulcet despite his colourful phrasing.
“I think we’ve heard it enough times, Stark,” Bruce muttered after the fifth replay, refusing to raise his curly mop of hair from the keyboard. He plonked aimlessly down on a few keys, having exhausted any creative spirit already.
“Do you think we could use this quote to open a song? Or would we have to pay royalties?” Tony questioned. “Actually, don’t answer that. Walker would probably try to come here and shake the pennies from my pocket.”
You sighed, struggling to find the motivation to contribute to the topic at hand. As much as you tried to ignore criticism, Tony was making it unnecessarily difficult. Your group had been the subject of controversies and hatred before, and nobody took it more personally than Stark himself. His ego was bruised, and on this occasion, it wasn’t by a voiceless individual. This was a member of the Thunderbolts, often compared to being your equals in the industry. This was John Walker, your particular equivalent on stage as the band’s guitarist.
“Instead of finding ways to rile them up, why don’t we work on something new?” Steve suggested. “Perhaps we put the synths aside for a while- no offence, Banner, and go back to our roots.”
Since the mild disaster of your latest interview, Steve had been trying to raise morale. In the face of Tony’s moodiness, it was a futile attempt. Even you had to admit that a general resignation resided permanently in your chest each time you looked at the guitar.
You watched Steve pull a face at Wanda, who was spread across the couch, observing the scene with disinterest. If Steve was the official manager, and Tony your unofficial spokesperson, then Wanda fell quite comfortably into the role of mothering the group.
Wanda sighed and sat up straighter. “Steve is right. There’s no point moping at one low blow from a band we didn’t even know existed until now.”
“Well, we should have.” Clint piped up. If the group was divided between those who cared about Walker’s comment and those who didn’t, then Clint was more towards Tony’s side.
“Exactly, how could we have missed this? With a gaudy name like Thunderbolts.” Tony exclaimed bitterly.
“We can’t exactly talk.” You muttered. “We’re The Avengers…”
“Named by Nick Fury. A legend up until his retirement.” Clint answered.
Your band had assembled in the final year of high school, when your music teacher paired you all up for a group project. It was a shock to everyone when such an odd mix of people- all from different cliques and years across the school- had continued on after graduation. In lieu of your first live performance at some dive bar on the edge of town, the aforementioned teacher, Nick Fury, had bestowed upon you the name Avengers. As the one who accidentally brought you together, it seemed fitting to accept the name, albeit a tad overdramatic.
Steve folded his arms across his chest, aware that his attempts to breathe some positivity into the light had failed. “Maybe before cursing them for a downfall that hasn’t even happened yet, we should actually listen to some of their stuff?”
In spite of everything, you nodded along rather eagerly. You were morbidly curious about the group, having dedicated a lot of time to thinking about the Thunderbolts, but neglected to actually watch any of their performances yourself.
“I took the liberty of taping one of their live TV performances.” Steve produced a VHS tape from a satchel, waving it about at each member in turn, like some kind of highly sensitive information.
“Fine.” Tony conceded, surrendering his place crouched by the television and gesturing at Wanda to budge up on the sofa.
She obliged, scooting up to one arm of the worn leather surface. That sofa was probably older than any of you and let out a groan each time somebody sat on it. But it was comfy as hell. For this reason, you briskly walked over and took a seat before anyone else could, wedged between Wanda on your right and Clint on your left. Tony and Bruce remained standing behind, while Steve, ever the responsible one, knelt down to sort out the TV.
It was a small thing, constantly malfunctioning. In fact, you glanced around at the studio and noticed most things in there were in dire need of an upgrade- except the musical equipment, of course. Steve was always sensible in his spending. If it were up to you guys, there would probably be an awful lot more unnecessary decoration. You’d had to beg for the small lava lamp that illuminated a red glow onto the synthesiser.
The TV shuddered into action, blaring out a cacophony of noise before the picture jolted into frame. It took a second before the grain faded enough for you to see a band centre stage, obscured by people pushing themselves as close to the front as they could. The camera angle kept switching, zooming in and out as the show’s presenters introduced the song which they were about to play. The presence they commanded from the start was undeniable. All die-hard fans, blaring music and bright orange lighting with flashes of a scorching white that burnt your retinas through the barrier of the screen. To be there in person had to be life changing.
“That,” Steve tapped the screen, “is John Walker, the lead guitarist and most vocal of the group.”
“Ah, the incendiary one.” Bruce mused over your shoulder.
“The very same.”
You all simultaneously leaned closer to the screen, noting he was where the constant barrage of sound was coming from. Walker lowly strummed a rhythm to keep the fans occupied as the band warmed up and settled onto the stage. His blonde mop of hair and unkempt stubble did nothing to hide his smarmy smile.
The camera panned over, as Steve’s hand lingered near the screen, evidently having memorised the tape in advance. It stopped on the keyboardist, a grungy-looking brunette with piercing green eyes that darted about anxiously.
“Ava Starr,” Steve added nothing else. There was nothing else to say.
“Has she just come from a funeral, or does she always look like that?” Tony jeered.
Again, the camera shifted to a rather large figure looming behind the drum kit. “Alexei Shostakov. Russian, a fair bit older than the rest of them.”
“I wouldn’t want to face him in a fight,” Clint murmured.
“Well, there’s something we can play on.” Tony piped up. “He’s a Russian. We don’t trust them.”
You shuffled uncomfortably at the notion of perpetuating stereotypes. “We can do better than that, surely?”
“We can,” Steve affirmed, shooting an unimpressed glare Tony’s way. “Besides, half the band is Russian. I think people must dig the whole anti-establishment vibe.”
“Let’s just keep politics out of this, alright?” Wanda suggested.
You nodded along tersely.
The camera had shifted once more. For a beat, you could only see a bass guitar, shining what looked to be a dark red, though it was hard to tell with the brightly coloured lights reflecting from it. A hand was poised to play, completely unmoving. The camera panned up to a tightly fitting white top, which would usually seem out of place centre stage of a rock band, but was somehow form-fitting and flattering enough to blend in.
You caught a glimpse of dark red hair cascading down her shoulders, and then, finally, her face.
“Natasha Romanov,” Steve answered your unspoken question. “Hard to get a read on her…”
True to his word, her expression was entirely blank. No fear, no excitement or admiration, nothing.
The camera moved on all too quickly, jolting left towards the central microphone. A woman with short, platinum blonde hair was grasping the microphone.
“Yelena Belova. Natasha’s younger sister, and the lead singer. Adopted, I think.”
As Steve finished his final introduction, the band started playing. You all fell into a contemplative silence.
For the sake of professionalism, you tried to keep fixated on Walker’s playing. It wasn’t exactly difficult with the way he bounded across the stage, brandishing his guitar before him like a shield. The instrument was all Walker personified, a giant American flag sticker plastered across it. His playing was without fault, though the constant pacing about, the sweat soaking his t-shirt, and the growling expression he maintained summoned the image of a caged animal. Yet, in spite of the smarminess and almost cringy performance, you were mildly humoured. Walker was such a character, put on such an act that he was enjoyable to watch.
Although… It was impossible to ignore how your eyes frequently drifted behind him, to another figure at the back of the stage.
You were well aware that playing the bass guitar often meant less participation than the other members. But without the background bass rhythm, a song sounded empty.
Natasha Romanov embodied this principle. She largely remained still throughout the performance, not attracting much attention besides occasionally ambling to stand by Yelena. Only then would she smile, and only at Yelena. Natasha seemed to ignore the audience entirely, instead prioritising the way her fingers would glide across the frets. Her playing was flawless. The notes were all you could truly pick out in the song. You were mesmerised.
As the song came to an end, Steve switched off the TV. And oh, how you wished he had left it on longer so you could see more of her, see whether the due applause might finally drag a smile from her.
“Thoughts, anyone?” He addressed you all, unnerved by the way no one immediately piped up.
Wanda was vehemently avoiding making eye contact with anyone. Bruce had apparently wandered over to his synthesisers at some point. Clint shrugged in response. Even Tony seemed to have physically deflated. None of you could deny that you had fierce competition from the Thunderbolts, retracting any prior indignance at Walker’s cockiness.
You exhaled and spoke. “They’re good. Obviously.”
Clint side-eyed you.
“What?” Your lips drew back in a taut line. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.” You glanced up to Steve for help.
“They are good. But that doesn’t take away from what we have here. Nobody listens exclusively to one band. Our fans will still be our fans even if they listen to other groups too...”
“Rogers,” Stark interjected.
You scrunched up your face, bracing for Tony to push back, to tell Steve he was being naively optimistic. What he asked, instead, caught you all off guard.
“I think you need to get us tickets to their next performance.”
~~~
Steve Rogers, for all his endless optimism and high morals, was a brilliant manager. When a request was sensible, he obliged. In fact, he went above and beyond obligation and not only managed to secure you all tickets to their next concert, but also behind-the-scenes passes. A full twenty minutes of meet-and-greet with the Thunderbolts before the concert began. This meant one of three scenarios had transpired:
Scenario one, Steve contacted their manager directly as a representative of your band, and they responded in kind by offering a meeting. Steve himself denied this, having been instructed by Tony that the Thunderbolts could never know they were attending lest ‘their egos get to their heads.’
Scenario two, Steve secured the tickets and beat out a load of die-hard fans to get the meet-and-greet. Highly unlikely.
Scenario three, Steve secured the tickets under his name, someone recognised it, and this news got back to the Thunderbolts, who decided it was all too hilarious not to oblige. This was Clint’s interpretation of events anyway, and to the rest of the group's bemusement, Wanda shockingly agreed with this conspiracy theory despite usually being the most sensible of you all.
“It makes the most sense to me.” Wanda scuffed her shoe against the pavement, gaze travelling casually towards the back door of the venue.
“Do elaborate.” Tony prompted, eyeing that same door with a certain sense of frustration.
You had been greeted mere minutes ago by a couple of intimidating security dressed head-to-toe in black. They had told you to kindly ‘wait outside for ten minutes,’ to Tony’s utter chagrin. He wasn’t used to being kept waiting, pertaining to the patience level of a toddler.
“Have any of you heard of Valentina Allegra de Fontaine? She’s a force to be reckoned with.” Wanda explained. “Used to be heavily involved in the political world. Helped cover up scandals, make the public forget disgraced politicians, that sort of thing. She was behind it all.” Her voice took on a more serious tone. “The car crash that Pietro died in… He was hit by a drunk driver, and that drunk driver happened to be the son of a congressman, who, of course, stayed on and served for another term.” Wanda’s final words were filled with spite; her eyes glossed over now.
You had noticed Wanda had been quieter than usual over the last couple of days, but decided not to comment on it. Now, however, a guilt-ridden realisation washed over you.
“I’m sorry, Wanda,” Bruce murmured. “I didn’t know…” He trailed off, for lack of better words.
“Nobody knows.” Wanda blinked away the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “Because Valentina Allegra de Fontaine made that all disappear.” She spat.
“And let me guess,” Tony’s mild frustration had ramped up into something more: pure spite. “Valentina now represents those Thunderbitchtits.”
You resisted commenting on Stark’s unfiltered lack of eloquence, endlessly thankful that Steve wasn’t accompanying you on this trip. You could imagine the clashes that would occur between the two today.
“Hey, it’s alright, kid.” Clint pulled Wanda into a half-hug, rubbing a hand comfortingly up and down her arm. “Totally unfair, but you don’t have to see her if you don’t want to.”
“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, wrapping your arms around your own form and wishing desperately you knew the right thing to say. “We can form a human fence if she comes anywhere near.”
“Screw fences, I’ll tackle her if I have to.” Tony promised, and you were half certain he meant it.
“Come on, guys.” Bruce ushered you all closer together. “It doesn’t matter what they think they can get away with; we won’t let them get to us. And we’ll play fair. No belittling the competition.” He fixed Tony with a meaningful stare at this last part.
The man in question rolled his eyes at this.
Before anyone else could contribute to the morale-raising, the door to the stage swung open, and one of the same nameless security guards reappeared. Saying nothing, he gestured for you all to enter. There was a pause in which none of you moved, all waiting for something.
It was Wanda who provided your cue to move, an indirect reassurance that she was fine to continue. “Well, let’s get this over with.”
rockstar!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader
Summary: when your band, the Avengers, is taunted by your equals in the industry, the Thunderbolts, you find yourself face to face with a certain enigmatic rival… but life in the spotlight is never easy, and nor is falling in love with the enemy
next chapter
W.C: 1.9k
TW: swearing, that’s all for now
Notes: this fic is entirely written for my own enjoyment and has no planned plot. It’s set in an unspecified era, but assume sort of late 80s early 90s? Obviously, the songs I name are all pre-2000s but that’s mainly because it’s just what I listen to lol. If the way they sound disagrees with you, use your imagination idk. If anyone wants a full songs list then pls let me know. I love to share my music. I’m a music snob im sorry.
one- a fucking white noise machine
“There’s something mesmerising about it. Whether you consider yourself someone who enjoys the spotlight or not… Being on stage, it’s an entirely different thing.” Bruce Banner answered, his soft-spoken voice bringing a certain wisdom to his words. “It’s human nature to want to be liked, so existing in front of this room of people who have fought to be there at your show, who scream every lyric back at you, well, there’s nothing quite like it. Performing becomes your reason to live. To breathe.”
“In summary,” Tony Stark chimed in, leaning towards the microphone and pausing for a beat. “We are Gods.”
His interruption brought Bruce’s thought-provoking answer to an end, but despite Tony’s crassness, you chuckled. Stark seemed to have become your unofficial spokesman. He was the loudest of the group, his vocalness mirroring the harsh beat of the drum kit he played. Tony’s outspoken personality often clashed with your manager and publicist, Steve Rogers, who you could envision cringing behind the set. Where Tony preferred honest, if mildly incendiary comments, Steve promoted a more sanitised version of the truth. You, however, liked to think you teetered between truthful and agreeable in your answers.
The interviewer shared in your smile, hers more professional than genuine. “Of course, and is this what inspired your debut song?” She glanced down at the papers in her lap, checked something and looked back up at the group. “I Wanna Be Adored?”
There was a moment in which you glanced round at one another, seeing who would take this question.
It was Wanda Maximoff who eventually extended her hand, indicating that Bruce pass up the microphone.
“Being known purely as a cover band, it was a difficult transition deciding to produce our own songs. There were many moments when we questioned whether this was the right thing to do or if it would isolate our audience.” Wanda rarely spoke in interviews such as this. As the lead singer in the band, her voice was the most familiar, and thus her answers tended to draw the most scrutiny. “We didn’t care for the fame- we still don’t.” She added quickly, a clear correction to Stark’s earlier arrogance. “I Wanna Be Adored is a culmination of all our anxieties about that period of time.”
The interviewer, whose name you’d already forgotten, nodded, her expression grave yet questioning. “Going back to this tumultuous time,” she continued, “it’s impossible not to address the rumours about one of the band’s founding members- Thor Odinson. What a character!” She exclaimed, though it came across more as an open question.
Wanda exhaled and half smiled as she pondered how to respond. You were grateful the microphone hadn’t been thrust in your direction yet, particularly with the current interrogation lingering awkwardly in the air. Thor had been a great friend- and even better on the bass guitar, but he let the lifestyle get the best of him before realising that fame was not worth sacrificing his relationship for. And so, Thor blessed the group with one last incredible song, then eloped with his longtime girlfriend Jane.
You tuned back in to catch the end of Wanda’s explanation of exactly that.
“Thor, of course, did struggle with addiction, as he details in his parting song, Gold Dust Woman. But ultimately, he left the group of his own accord. The rumours that he’s hidden away in some facility, or rehab centre somewhere, are false. We simply ask that you respect his privacy.”
“If I may speak.” Clint Barton suddenly spoke up. “I will never replace Thor in either his talent on the bass guitar, nor his lyrical genius- but at least my hair doesn’t get caught in the strings.”
Clint’s jest sent a ripple of laughter across the group, referring to Thor’s long blonde hair that had attracted so much attention in the past.
It always took you longer than the rest to become accustomed to the live interrogations that Steve insisted were necessary for good publicity. Feeling at last relaxed enough, you took advantage of the microphone being in your vicinity to join in.
“Oh, come on now, Barton, you’re being modest! Not the hair- that I agree with.” You joked, quirking an eyebrow up at his short brown hair styled into spikes. “Eagle- the first song you wrote and performed with us,” you elaborated, “still might be one of my favourites.”
“Yeah, I wanted to call it Hawk, but they wouldn’t let me.” Clint rolled his eyes. “Apparently, eagles are more popular or something, I don’t know.”
“Hawk?” The interviewer chuckled, frowning. “Why Hawk?”
“Because they’re the best animal.” He stated as though it were obvious. “I got one tattooed as soon as I turned eighteen. Here, I’ll show you.” Clint suddenly stood, and you all watched in dread as he turned his back to the camera, hands at the waist of his jeans, prepared to pull them down.
“Whoa now,” Wanda intervened before he could go any further, futilely waving her hand in front of Clint as if to block the camera’s view. “Some things are best left a mystery.”
Besides you, Tony burst out laughing. “Go on, Barton, show your tramp stamp on live television!”
Steve had most definitely passed out watching this unfold.
“Oh, wrong kind of audience for that, I see!” Clint returned to his seat, noticeably smirking.
You caught on that he was joking, never intending to flash anybody. “Muscle memory to drop your pants when a camera’s pointed at you, is it?” You quipped, enticing another burst of laughter from Tony.
The interviewer chuckled nervously, desperate to steer the conversation back to safer, more PG grounds “Continuing with our timeline of releases, next comes one of your more prominent contributions, Y/N, Back To The Old House. Might I ask what exactly inspired that song?”
Your grip on the microphone tensed as silence descended upon you all. “It’s about change, really. Nostalgia is a bittersweet thing, and I think Back To The Old House captures that feeling.” Hoping your explanation was satisfactory enough, you paused to allow someone else to join in. When the silence prevailed, you gulped. “After Thor left the group, we sort of departed from the Rock sound that our group started with- and I think I speak for us all when I say we miss the freedom that the genre provided us.”
Your statement was met with nods of agreement.
“So, there’s the conflicted desire to revisit our hometown,” you elaborated. “To Tony’s garage, where we used to practice whenever we weren’t studying. Here we learnt to coexist as a group, covering songs we all knew and loved. Then we learnt how to compose, put our own unique notes and words down on paper. It was a great time, but we all craved more than that. It’s great to look back on, but we’ve grown up since. To return wouldn’t bring back those same feelings; instead, it makes us grateful for how we’ve evolved.”
The interviewer beamed at you, and you knew then that your answer had been exemplary. Exactly what she’d been probing for. “You’re right, it’s hard not to get wound up in nostalgia.”
You allowed your shoulders to loosen as she resumed control over the discussion.
“Since then, you’ve transitioned into a calmer, generally more pleasing sound, if I do say so myself.”
At this, Tony scoffed and snatched back one of the microphones. “We might’ve departed from our Rock origins, but this is an experimental phase. We’re testing what works best for us as a group. Bruce likes messing around with his synthesisers, but that doesn’t mean we stick to ‘calmer sounds.’ We’re not a fucking white noise machine.”
You suppressed the urge to applaud at this.
“Ah, ok!” The interviewer was quick to amend. “So, you’re not such a fan of the slower ballads, Tony?”
“They’re not my favourite, no. But our manager Steve likes them, and well, who am I to question the almighty Mr Rogers?” Tony snarked with a shrug.
“Am I correct in saying you’re referring to Steve Rogers, who was brought on board to aid once your popularity took off?”
“The very one.”
Tony and Steve often clashed publicly, but to bring it into the midst of an interview was a bold new step from Stark.
“Steve has helped us in many ways.” Wanda interrupted, wrestling the mic back before Tony could say anything worse. “But at the core of it, we still decide on the band’s sound. And Tony’s benefited from the experimental phase as much as the rest of us.”
“Yes, that brings me to one of your newer songs, Send Me An Angel. Which, if I’m not mistaken, Tony,” the interviewer turned back to Stark, who still appeared to be steaming from the prior tangent. “You take most of the credit for?”
Tony hummed, his expression loosening considerably. The interviewer had clearly done her research, knowing the correct question to ask to calm Stark in this case.
“Yes, that song is written and dedicated to my wonderful girlfriend, Pepper.” He turned directly to the camera. “I love and miss you, baby… And I hope you’re watching right now, or that was terribly embarrassing.”
“How sweet. Now, leading on from this, are there any other budding romances we’ll be seeing in upcoming releases soon?”
At this point, you kept your mouth purposefully shut. It had always been hard to maintain stable relationships alongside living such a life. First, there was the persistent travel that severely limited the time you had to meet anyone properly. Shallow bonds were broken as easily as they formed, and flings seemed the only viable option. Second, there existed an incessant doubt in your mind about whether said person truly cared for you. Or whether they merely hoped to benefit from the supposed fame and fortune. And third and final, the ever-present rumours that plagued your image, stunted your believability and thus tainted any possible romance.
“And you, Y/N?”
You practically jumped out of the seat upon hearing your name, realising you’d zoned out the entirety of the last conversation and, as such, had no idea what question was being thrown your way.
“Erm.” Panicked, your gaze darted between members, eventually settling on Wanda, who was mouthing words you couldn’t quite make out. You frowned and shook your head.
“Alright,” the interviewer relinquished. “I’ll take your silence as a no; there aren’t any romantic interests on the horizon.”
“Oh, right!” You exclaimed, glad to have been thrown a lifeline at last. “No, definitely not.”
The interviewer stared expectantly at you, and when this didn’t succeed in drawing any more information out of you, turned back to her papers.
“Moving on to the final question we have time for today. What do you say in response to the quote ‘The Avengers are just a washed-up rock band who turned to electronic music to distract from their repetitive songs and lack of actual talent. There’s nothing unique about their sound; they’ve gotten by purely through appealing to the deaf and uninspired. Synth pop is for… redacted.’ Any counters to that?”
There was a general stunned moment in which nobody responded. You had your fair share of critics, but they were usually easy enough to ignore. To have such a hateful opinion quoted directly at you was a bold move, implying that somebody significant must have said it. You pondered this instead of allowing yourself to be hurt by the implications of their words.
lost princess!Emma Swan x divorce lawyer!Regina Mills (it's an au of the 2007 film Enchanted lol)
When Emma Swan, next in line to the throne, finds herself banished to a strange world without magic (mid 2000's New York) she meets cynical divorce lawyer Regina Mills and her disillusioned son Henry.
But this isn't a storybook romance, and Cora Mills will certainly make sure of that.
TW: spoilers for Enchanted (2007), some angst, some betrayal and bad language, but otherwise pretty wholesome
Notes: this fic has been in the work for over a year, with the earlier chapters suffering some edits in post, but i love it and i'm so determined to finish it
(all chapters are on ao3)
Chapter 1: the story begins, and Emma falls to her doom
Chapter 2: the princess is saved in the suburbs
Chapter 3: Regina casts her suitor out and Killian searches for a maiden
Chapter 4: nobody wants to see their evil employer's face in their drink
Chapter 5: a toast to Emma’s phenomenal acting, and to Regina’s distrust
Beverly Keane x Fem!Reader
TW: internalised homophobia, panic attacks, blasphemy and a clear lack of proofreading
W.C: 3k words
Notes: by popular demand a part two ! writing for Bev is always such a challenge (she's hardly meant to be a likeable character lol) but i hope i've done her justice. this will probs be the last i'll write for her, so please enjoy the last hurrah :)
When winter enclosed its grip on Crockett Island, there was no escaping the cold.
Despite this, Beverly Keane tried her best to ensure the church remained a place of comfort. She arrived early and set up the three reliable old heaters donated years ago, which by some miracle still functioned relatively well. She lit more candles than usual, hoping the golden light would provide some imaginings of heat. She even greeted everyone at the door with as much warmth as she could muster standing out in the cold for so long.
But it had to be done… Christmas was by far the busiest time for the island’s resurgence of faith. The congregation seemed to double on the first sermon of December and didn’t die down until everyone had made their New Year resolutions, promptly forgetting about attending until the Easter festivities. Beverly knew she ought to support those who sought out religion over the winter months, and yet, she loathed the sudden increase. These were people uncommitted to their faith, simply searching for an excuse to enjoy everything the holiday had to offer, or seeking penance to start the next year anew, guilt-free.
Beverly Keane was certainly not guilt-free herself.
As quickly as the thought came, she dismissed it. One slip-up in an otherwise perfect, dedicated life to Christ meant nothing, right? When it was her turn to stand at the pearly white gates of heaven, would Saint Peter disregard her faith merely for a lapse in judgment? Could one inconsequential mistake erase a life of servitude to Christ? To Crockett, her home, her people? Would they forgive her if they knew?
For the last couple of months, she had expertly managed to restrain her mind from recalling that particular moment, the so-called slip-up which brought her whole life’s purpose into question. She hadn’t given you a moment of thought.
Until Friday.
Until your parents joyously announced that you would be returning early for the holidays. On Saturday, to be exact… Beverly hadn’t paid much attention to the rest of their announcement. Something about you working from home, staying for the whole month… She wouldn’t allow herself to indulge in such imaginings. Instead, she would simply pretend you did not exist. Crockett Island was hers, and hers alone, and she’d be damned if she let someone who was barely here ruin her home.
But inevitably, the time had come when she would no longer be able to ignore you.
Your parents were some of the few who frequented the church every Sunday, and she respected them deeply for it. You rarely attended, but Beverly knew that you often partook in the celebrations around Christmas, and thus, would probably be joining today…This morning…In ten minutes when the doors opened, to be precise.
Beverly Keane had never been afraid to face somebody before, and she wasn’t about to start now.
“Y/N Y/L/N, don’t you ever, dare come near me again. Do you understand me?”
That had been fear. Fear masked as anger. Scaring you away was the only guarantee that it would never happen again.
And disgust. Disgust in herself, in you. It was unnatural, sinful and yet…
Beverly couldn’t find it in herself to summon that same revulsion when she thought of you.
With this unexpected revelation, Beverly stepped towards the church doors, hands clasping around the handle. She felt the cool metal against her palm and took a deep breath, letting it ground her. Once she opened these doors and took her place outside the church, people would begin flooding in, and you would be amongst them. She had to be prepared. She had to be brave. This necessity for such bravery took her by surprise. But she refused to dwell on it. There would be other people to face, to converse with and distract her from your presence, and that would be enough.
With one final exhale, she pushed the doors open, met by the freezing Crockett air.
The Scarboroughs were the first to arrive, greeting Bev and taking their usual seats. They were followed by an almost endless stream of familiar faces each murmuring well wishes and filing inside. At some point, it started to snow lightly, though Beverly hardly noticed because suddenly there you were.
You kept your head down, your parents on either side chatting away happily though you didn’t respond, seemingly hypnotised by the crunch of each footstep against the frosty ground. You were wrapped up, face half nestled into a thick scarf so Beverly couldn’t see your expression and thus had no idea how you really felt. Her stomach twisted at this knowledge, or rather lack thereof. She wanted, no, needed you to feel as uncomfortable as she did. If what had occurred meant nothing to you, then it truly was all in her head- her own problem to deal with.
“Mr and Mrs Y/L/N.” Beverly forced a cordial smile upon her cold face. “It’s lovely to see you both.” Despite addressing your parents, she didn’t dare look at you. Oh, but she could sense your gaze burning into her. It warmed her cheeks, her chest and her hands. She was melting under your scrutiny.
“And you!” Your mother greeted with a wide grin. Only now did Beverly recognise her smile looked just like yours, slightly lopsided, bringing an unmistakable light to the gloomy winter morning.
“I hope it’s warmer inside than out here.” Your father quipped, rubbing his hands together in a show of discomfort.
“Well, I can’t promise anything.” Beverly swallowed, hard. “It’s a miracle the building holds any heat at all, considering how much work the structure needs. Not to mention the windows, as thin as a sheet of paper-“ Realising she was ranting, Beverly’s mouth snapped shut. It wasn’t good manners to complain unnecessarily.
Your parents chuckled good-heartedly, and with a nod and general murmur of agreement, started heading towards the entrance. But you didn’t budge.
After a beat, Beverly summoned the resolve to turn her attention to you, still loitering in front of her anxiously. She found herself at a loss for words, no snide remark or scathing comment as she waited and watched, wishing you would just say something.
Hearing the doors click shut behind you both, you finally spoke. “So, how have you been?”
Beverly narrowed her eyes as she examined you, desperately trying to uncover whatever ulterior motive you must have for trying to talk to her. You hadn’t spoken since ‘the mistake’ months ago: hadn’t bothered to apologise or attempted to explain. You had simply packed up and headed back to the mainland at the first opportunity. Not that Beverly took it personally. Not at all, she wasn’t hurt in the slightest. In fact, she was relieved to see you go. But, was she really…?
“Fine.” Came Beverly’s tight-lipped response. And before she could stop herself. “And yourself?”
“Fine.” You echoed, shuffling your feet against the crisp ground. You appeared to be as uncomfortable as she was, and this admittedly brought Beverly a sense of pride. She relished in it, leaving the awkward silence between the two of you, as cold as the wintry air that brought shivers to your skin and an ache against your chest.
Out the corner of her eye, Beverly noticed another group of people approaching. Without another word, she directed a tight-lipped smile at you and left to greet the newcomers. It was the Flynn family, who always occupied a decent amount of time making pleasant small talk. Besides Riley, who had long since fallen from grace, Beverly admired the family and their dedication to tradition. They regularly attended church and were an integral part of Crockett’s community. Preparing to address them, Beverly stepped forward with a welcome ready at the tip of her tongue, yet never got the chance to speak.
“Oh Y/N, you’re back!” Annie Flynn exclaimed, sidestepping Beverly to drag you into a warm hug.
“Mrs Flynn,” your face lit up with all the warmth that had been lacking as you reciprocated the embrace. “It’s so nice to see you all.” You pulled back to glance around at the family, an earnest affection lacing your words.
In spite of everything, Beverly couldn’t quell the spike of jealousy that nagged at her mind. How dare the Flynn family ignore their well-established routine, ignore her in place of you. It was improper and impolite and…
“Yes, I was just catching up with Beverly and then I’ll head inside.”
Having zoned out from your conversation with the Flynns, she was taken aback to hear her name, head quickly snapping towards the sound of your voice. You were already staring right back at her with a nervous sort of smirk.
“Alright, well we’ll see you inside, dear.” Annie patted your arm affectionately, then throwing a vague hello in Bev’s direction, began to lead the family inside.
Once again, the church doors clicked shut, subjecting you both to that unbearable silence. The snow was falling heavier now, and Beverly found herself wishing the white flakes weren’t so weightless, that they could fill the absence of noise. Anything to end this uncertainty. Her mind was racing, trying to determine what you wanted from her. You had already wreaked enough havoc, abandoned her, even. But it hadn’t been you who had left. Reluctantly, she remembered how she walked away first, without looking back, without questioning what any of it could possibly mean. Now, however, she wouldn’t run away.
You pursed your lips, eyes flickering across your surroundings, anywhere except Beverly.
“I wanted to apologise.” You murmured, slow and hoarse.
Bev’s stomach dropped. She wasn’t prepared for an apology, nor did she want to consider the connotations of such regretful words.
“I understand you choose to live your life a certain way,” you continued, “and I didn’t respect that. And I can’t stop thinking about it…” Your attention flickered up to Beverly’s face, eyes wide and fitful. “Can’t stop thinking about how I should apologise.” You amended quickly. “I- well I’m mostly here just to say sorry. If you don’t want me to come inside, I can feign a stomach bug or something and head home.”
There was a sincerity behind your rambling that caused Bev’s heart to stutter, reluctantly endeared by your air of anxiousness. Gone was her desire to see you suffer, to see you share in her discomfort.
“No…” Beverly shook her head adamantly. “You’re here now, you might as well come in. It’ll do you some good.” She snarked, though lacking the usual hostility. “And… I appreciate your apology. Thank you.”
“But do you accept it?” You spoke so quickly she nearly missed it, nearly didn’t grasp the meaning behind your question.
“No…” She said, slowly. As much as she longed to place all the blame on you, it was impossible to deny her culpability any longer. “I initiated it.” She gulped, the confession like acid in her mouth. “It’s equally my own fault.”
“It’s not something to find fault in. It happened, as things do and…” You shrugged for lack of a better word. “Well, we can move on.”
“We can.” Beverly echoed, finding the statement to be hollow.
You didn’t say anything more, simply stared for what felt like an eternity. Yet, there was no frustration or malevolence behind your focus- simply a resigned sort of sadness. “Alright.” You nodded. “I’d better head inside.”
Beverly watched as you took a reluctant step forward, then another until you were directly in front of her. As you went to move again, a moment of sheer panic seemed to overwhelm her, and she found herself reaching out, grasping hold of your hand. Despite the cold, your skin was warm to the touch. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from yours, cautious and curious. You didn’t pull your hand back either. There was a beat, in which neither of you dared to move, and then, with a gentle squeeze, you dropped her hand. You turned back to the church and continued on, glancing softly at her one last time before the doors shut slowly behind you.
Despite the turmoil raging inside her mind, the rest of the morning passed by in a blur of mundanity. She felt your gaze flicker to her a few times throughout the sermon, though she didn’t return the contact. She couldn’t. Indulging the whirlwind of emotions storming through her thoughts would only worsen the consequences. For one, she couldn’t forget the feel of your hand, so soft and warm in hers, nor the gentle pressure you had inflicted, both mentally and physically before your departure.
It made her sick. Although, the sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Beverly wondered desperately how she had kissed you the first time. It was something she could no longer deny within herself- not only that it had happened, but that she had caused it. Now, she questioned where that stupid bravery had disappeared to, whether it would return, whether she would be able to overlook the desire again- that longing for contact. It raged throughout her like an uncontrollable shiver. But she wasn’t cold, no, she was burning up.
The increased candlelight in the church flickered about, like flames licking at her skin, and the barely functioning heaters were suddenly pouring out an endless stream of feverish air. Beverly tugged at the collar of her clothes, paranoid that she should soon melt underneath the heaving pile of fabric. Yet her mind wouldn’t cease. She remembered suddenly the feeling of your lips pressed against her own, the way she tried to chase your touch without daring to reach out and hold you. She remembered how in a moment of doubt, she had gone to pull away and felt your arms encircle around her waist. She had gasped then, in a moment of desperation, not discomfort. Not like the discomfort that plagued her now. It was unbearable.
As soon as Father Paul announced the end of the sermon, Beverly shot up from her seat. She could no longer stand to exist within the confines of the church. It was all too much. She knew she had her duties, but for once she decided to neglect them.
Ignoring the general murmur of surprise passing through the congregation, Beverly stormed across the room and out the backdoor, breathing in a gulp of freezing air. In the hour that she had been confined inside, the snow had settled lightly across the ground and continued to fall steadily from the grey sky. On another day, she would’ve stopped to admire the beauty of it. She would’ve thanked God for such a perfect natural phenomenon, but not today. Beverly couldn’t see the perfection in the white dusting of snow. Instead, she saw how the snow failed to reach the grass under the cover of trees and began determinedly marching in that direction.
Under the cover of tall pine trees, the light was greatly diminished. Beverly felt as though she were hidden away, and inhaled deeply the smell of the earth. She continued onwards until she was out of view of the church, and on this rare occasion, she found that fact to be a relief. Out here, nobody would see how she closed her eyes, not for prayer, but for clarity. Nobody would see how her hands lightly shook, how she chewed anxiously at her bottom lip.
Not until…
“Are you okay?” The question was futile, spoken between heaving breaths as Beverly realised you must’ve rushed out after her.
Beverly turned to face you, allowing the fear to wash over her as she realised just how beautiful you looked at that moment.
“No.” She answered honestly. “Not really.”
“I’m sorry.” You wrung your hands together, and she noticed how they shook too. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” Beverly repeated solemnly.
In the past, she would’ve told you yes. That yes, please you could go back to the mainland to never return. You could stay away and never dare to look, let alone speak to her again. That, she recognised with a shudder, would be the easy thing to do.
You approached slowly, twigs snapping underfoot as you refused to break eye contact. The forest seemed silent around you both, as though the whole world were holding its breath. You stared at her, as silent as the snow- yet she no longer believed this silence to be a bad thing. Rather, she basked in it, indulged the many possibilities that might play out next. But she knew.
She knew as you stopped, barely a foot away now.
She knew as your gaze flickered down to her lips and stayed there.
She knew when, at last, you asked, “Can I?”
You didn’t need to elaborate. Beverly breathed out a relieved “Yes,” and then you were closing that distance.
Beverly let out a sigh, leaning further in until your body was pressed up against hers. Your lips were warm and soft, and you gently sought out her own in a way that made her chest pleasantly ache. Her hands fell upon your waist, felt the curve of your body and wished suddenly to dip below your t-shirt. Instead, she focused on the feel of your mouth, the caress of your tongue, the way you moaned when she slid her hands up your torso to pull you impossibly closer. It was addictive. She wanted more.
More of this. More of you. Yet all too soon came the burning need for oxygen. She parted, instantly missing the feel of your kiss. Her eyes fluttered open to try and alleviate this longing but she was met by the sight of you practically panting, gaze laden by that same desire. The burn in her chest increased tenfold, suffused throughout her mind and very soul. You were grasping at the fabric of her dress, unwilling to let her slip away this time. Although Beverly Keane no longer felt trapped. Not anymore.
Now, she couldn’t possibly imagine running away. For in your touch, she felt free.
Hello! I wasn't the one who sent the ask about Beverly Keane, but I'd love to read more about her, too. I'd love a continuation of your first part of the story!
Also, forgive me for saying this here, but I can't stop thinking about some sort of (not really enemies, just you know, Beverly's usual behaviour) to "lovers", with a desperate Bev Keane, discovering that her biggest desire is being eaten out by reader. Maybe wet dreams too, or I'd totally see her trying to touch herself and not being able to get off properly. Just a little idea but I trust you, I love your fics! Have a great day.
In response to this request and everyone else wanting more Bev, a part two will be out (hopefully) on Sunday!!! While I’m not really a smut writer, this put the idea in my head of writing from Bev’s pov and honestly I couldn’t shake the idea so the fic practically wrote itself- so thanks for enforcing the inspiration upon me :)
Summary: when your boss Agatha faces the threat of deportation, she convinces you to marry her in return for a promotion- and things only get more complicated with a trip to Salem, an eccentric tarot-card-reading aunt, and a homophobic mother to convince.
Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader
TW: deportation (which I admit I know very little about I'm not American lol) suggestive themes, sort of arranged marriage
W.C: roughly 1.4k words
PARTS: ONE, TWO
As soon as you left Hayward’s office, Agatha started furiously typing on her phone, the crease between her brows growing deeper with each step out the building. You simply followed; uncertain of what else you were meant to be doing right now. Packing, you supposed. But your first priority was to get some information out of the woman, who was currently on a mission to remove herself from the building, striding at least three steps ahead of you at all times.
It wasn’t until you were both sitting in the taxi that you finally had the chance to speak. “So…” You started, paused, then realised she wasn’t going to put her phone down anytime soon. You sighed. “We’re going to Salem?”
“Unfortunately,” Agatha murmured. “If I can get in contact with my mother, that is.” She spat, resuming her frantic typing.
You scowled, leant closer to peak at the phone screen and tried desperately to ignore the way her perfume pleasantly filled your nostrils. Something about being in close proximity with Agatha was mesmerising. It always had been, but it seemed this latest situation was worsening your complex feelings towards her. If someone asked you to label it, you would say admiration, but deep down you knew it was something greater than that. You simply refused to acknowledge it.
“So, you weren’t originally going to visit?”
Despite having to be involved in Agatha’s life, you had never heard her talk about her family. Not once. It didn’t surprise you. It was near impossible to picture the woman in any scenario other than sitting behind a desk, winding up one of your coworkers for their incompetence, or shmoozing a business deal. Although you imagined her prickly personality had to come from somewhere, and shuddered to think what her mother might be like.
“No.” Agatha scoffed. “I try my best to stay as far away from family gatherings as possible.”
“I’m guessing you’re not close…?” You questioned, slow and cautious.
“God no.” She shook her head, strands of hair coming loose from the vehement movement. “I want nothing to do with my mother and her coven of freaks.”
You tutted, suppressing a smirk at her colourful choice of language. But instead of pursuing the topic further, you turned to look at the scenery flying past the window. “Shouldn’t have mentioned it to Hayward then…”
“Well, with your parents ever so conveniently out of the country, it did appear suspicious that we wouldn’t tell a single soul.”
“Could’ve eloped.” You murmured.
“Sorry, darling.” Agatha droned; her tone petulant. “Next time I’ll set us up a nice horse-drawn carriage down to the registry office.”
You took in a deep breath, ignoring the surge of irritation at her smarminess, something you recognised you would have to learn to cope with for the next painful while. You had no idea how long this whole process would take, and realised with a sudden stab of guilt that you would have to eventually inform your parents of this decision.
If you explained it was to keep your boss’ position at the company, rather than any dumb, spontaneous act of love, they would surely understand, right?
“Agatha?” You called, met by a hum of acknowledgement. “Are you telling your family the real reason for this marriage, or are we going to have to keep faking it?”
“Oh, my mother’s a raging homophobe.” Agatha chuckled bitterly, refusing to meet your eyes. “If she doesn’t immediately kick you out, I’m going to enjoy riling her up.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
At last, Agatha’s focus was diverted from her phone as she looked briefly over to you, mildly intrigued by your perseverance. “I was just going to see how it went when we get there.” She replied, shrugging.
“Great…”
“And until then, don’t mention this to a single soul.” Agatha jabbed an accusatory finger in your direction. “We continue as normal for the next day and a half, with me singlehandedly driving this company to success, and you following me about all dazed and heart-eyed.”
“What!” You protested. “I do not follow you about, nor do I have heart eyes!”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” She smirked, radiating an irritating charm that had you forgetting how to breathe for a second. You wrung your hands about anxiously in your lap, willing yourself to relax.
“Our flight leaves at 6pm on Friday, so we’ll have to go straight from work,” Agatha said, changing the subject. “You can hide your luggage in my office, and we’ll have my driver pick us up so that saves that hassle…”
She trailed off suddenly, and despite your insistence on not getting too caught up in the intricacies of your boss’ behaviour, you peaked over at her. Just like earlier in the immigration office, she was chewing at her lip, this time with a faraway expression. You frowned, sensing she was nervous about something. It set you slightly on edge to see her this way. Agatha was never nervous. Big meetings didn’t faze her, important deadlines never stressed her out and public speaking was like a second nature to her. Where once this bravery had been sickeningly envious, its disappearance now gave you concern.
Agatha was a mystery to you, one you were reluctant to address, yet desperate to understand.
---
Agatha flopped down onto her desk chair with a huff, allowing her head to fall backwards and feeling her neck crack with the movement. The tension that racked her body seemed to grudgingly resist lessening, and she considered whether she ought to just take the remainder of the day off. But that would be suspicious...
She loathed the idea that her every decision was being monitored but dreaded to imagine the other option: moving back home, back in her mother’s grasp. She hadn’t seen the woman in over ten years, and to think now that she would spend the weekend in her company… Agatha groaned, letting her face crash forward into her hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, and in the darkness saw only her mother, pictured how she would be reacting to the news that Agatha would be joining them for part of the trip.
As per usual, her attempt to reach out to her mother had been met by silence. She was starting to suspect her number was blocked, and thus Agatha had instead chosen to inform Lilia Calderu about this impromptu reunion. The woman was cooky, but kind. She had always been Agatha’s one ally within the family, and since her emancipation, was the only one who had bothered to stay in contact.
As if abruptly summoned from her thoughts, Agatha’s phone buzzed across the table, likely holding more information from Lilia. With a sigh, she reached forward to raise the lit screen into her eye line, yet was surprised to be met by another’s name
[4:10pm] Jennifer Kale: you’re coming to Salem????
Agatha chuckled, though not out of humour. Jen was one of the many people her mother seemed to just acquire. It was a terrible feature of Evanore Harkness: that the crazy gravitated towards her, became involved in their family and never left.
The word ‘family’ didn’t quite sit right with Agatha. It was more like a cult.
[4:11pm] Agatha Harkness: I am. I take it you’re still hanging about?
[4:12pm] Jennifer Kale: well when you abandoned ship someone had to replace you.
Agatha scoffed, ignoring the wave of irritation at Jen’s phrasing. She was irreplaceable. Though the idea that her own mother should even try to swap one daughter out for another didn’t exactly come as a surprise. Nonetheless, it still hurt. Agatha crossed her arms over her chest, deciding to pursue the conversation no further.
[4:15pm] Jennifer Kale: Lilia mentioned you were bringing a plus-one. who is she?
At this, Agatha’s loathing softened ever so slightly. Jen was one of the few that had supported her coming out, had even attempted to defend her from Evanora’s outrage. She picked the phone back up, feeling a smile grace her lips as she started to type.
[4:15pm] Agatha Harkness: someone I’ve been seeing for a while. She’s nice. You’ll like her.
The message was a simple lie, but it did the job.
Still, reading it back Agatha found she had a lot more to say about you…
Summary: when your boss Agatha faces the threat of deportation, she convinces you to marry her in return for a promotion- and things only get more complicated with a trip to Salem, an eccentric tarot-card-reading aunt, and a homophobic mother to convince.
Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader
TW: deportation (which I admit I know very little about I'm not American lol) suggestive themes, sort of arranged marriage
W.C: roughly 1.3k words
PARTS: ONE, THREE
“There’s no way this is going to work.” You said, bouncing your leg underneath the table, finding it the only outlet for the sickening anxiety weighing down upon you.
To your left, Agatha was scrolling on her phone, nonchalant and entirely unaffected by your panic.
Realising you weren’t going to get a response; you allowed your gaze to travel across the room. It was barren, impersonal and imposing. The chair opposite was currently empty as you waited for someone to arrive. Who, you weren’t quite sure. You really didn’t understand anything about this entire process, and you silently prayed that Agatha did.
Agatha, who was infuriatingly casual about the whole thing. It wouldn’t surprise you if she didn’t understand the process, if she was just winging it- if she had dragged you into all this just to torture you. In an attempt to pass the time, you tried racking your brains for something you might’ve done wrong recently. A coffee order you had messed up, a report you had forgotten to submit, a mistake you might’ve made with her calendar. Yet, nothing came to mind.
Out of the corner of your eye, you looked Agatha up and down. Her coat was neatly folded over the back of the chair that she was slumped in, rather ungracefully you noted. She was wearing a purple jumper with a broach pinned to the collar, one you had never seen her without. You had always longed to ask her whether there was some meaning behind it, but knew better than to expect a genuine answer.
You glanced up at her face, framed by strands of dark brown hair falling from a messy bun, and watched as she chewed on her lip. Now this was a habit you hadn’t noticed before.
“Are you nervous?” You interrogated after spending a second longer staring at her lips than was socially acceptable.
“Why would I be? She murmured, not bothering to look up from her phone. “I have my gorgeous fiancé here with me.”
You sighed, willing her to show one ounce of normal human emotion and opening your mouth to refute.
“Well, isn’t that just lovely to hear.”
Both you and Agatha jumped in your seats at the sound of a foreign voice.
The man rounded the desk, dressed in a perfectly tailored, colourless suit. He had neatly combed grey hair and an impassive expression. “Lovely to meet you both.” He said, routinely taking his seat opposite. “I’m Tyler Hayward and I’ll be handling your case Miss…” the man’s eyes travelled across the file already opened on his desk. “Miss Harkness.” He finished, smiling up at you both coldly.
“Pleasures all mine.” Agatha smirked, tucking her phone away to pay the man full attention.
Finding your mouth suddenly dry, you nodded with a grimace that you hoped came across more like a smile.
“So, I have one question.” Hayward clasped his hands together, eyes darting between you both before landing specifically on you. He licked his lips, prolonging the tense silence, then finally, “Are you committing fraud to avoid her deportation so that she may keep her position at the company you work at?”
Right then and there, you could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating.
“That’s insane!” Agatha exclaimed, faking outrage as she slammed her palm down onto the desk- ever one for the dramatics. “The audacity to even suggest such a thing!”
You looked over at Hayward, seeing the glint in his otherwise frigid composure. You knew this was the kind of reaction he had hoped for, fake or not, and while this kind of intimidation tactic worked for Agatha with incompetent employees, it wouldn’t work on this occasion. She was doing herself no favours in trying to sell this sham marriage, and any remaining hope you held that she had a plan immediately went out the window.
“How dare you, we’re in love!” Agatha continued. “And I do not appreciate those kinds of insinuations that-“
“Hey, hold on now, love.” You intervened, ignoring how unnatural it felt to be referring to your boss in such a way. “He’s just doing his job.” Swallowing back your discomfort, you reached over to place a soothing hand on Agatha’s thigh, trying to ignore the way her skin radiated warmth through the layer of fabric. “But no, Mr Hayward, there is nothing fraudulent about the way I feel for Agatha. Unconventional, maybe. But definitely real.” You said through gritted teeth, attempting to force as much affection into your gaze as you could.
Which was especially hard with the way Agatha was staring back at you: a mixture of impressed, confused, and suggestive…
“My apologies.” Agatha said, placing her hand over yours. “I just get upset when people make assumptions about my personal life.”
“I understand that.” Hayward nodded, pulling your attention away from Agatha and back to him. “And you’re right it is unconventional for a relationship between an employer and employee. How, might I ask, does the company feel about this? I’m surprised they would allow such a relationship.” He inquired, though his curiosity wasn’t genuine. He knew that it wouldn’t be permitted, that this was a glaring flaw in your non-existent plan.
“The truth is…” You began, swallowed hard and thought desperately about how to respond. “Agatha and I… we’re just two people who weren’t supposed to fall in love… but did.” You shrugged, pretending as though you were reliving such great hardships. “And we couldn’t tell anyone we work with... As you pointed out, it would be deeply inappropriate.”
You smiled sadly, praying that Agatha would jump in so you wouldn’t have to monologue any longer. Each word you worried over, just waiting for you to slip up and have Hayward jump in and arrest you for fraud. You could practically feel the handcuffs around your wrists now, the cold metal tight against your skin, cutting into your flesh, constricting your movement. You felt your heart start to pound, your palms start to sweat.
Agatha must’ve felt you tensing up, as suddenly, you felt her thumb begin to trace soothing patterns against the top of your hand. Round and round. Real and yet ever so gentle. The soft contact drew you back into the moment, back to her.
Back to Hayward…
“So, no co-workers will be able to vouch for you.” He looked down at his file, grabbed a pen and scribbled something down. “What about family? Have the two of you told your parents about this forbidden love?” He questioned, narrow-eyed and mocking.
“Oh, I…” You grit your teeth together, sucking in a lungful of air as you pondered how this would look. “My parents are out of the country right now.”
“Of course they are.” Hayward chuckled maliciously, jotting more down on his form.
“Well, my mother is actually on a road trip through the country with some… other relatives.” Agatha chimed in, regaining Hayward’s attention. “In fact, we were planning on joining up with them in Salem this weekend to share the wonderful news.”
“We were?” You asked before you could stop yourself.
“Oh yeah, how could you forget, sweetheart?” She fake-reprimanded. “It’s Aunt Lilia’s big sixtieth birthday road trip, the whole family’s coming together to surprise her.”
“Right…” You nodded along, though you couldn’t rid yourself of the frown adorning your face. You recognised what Agatha was doing. She was overcompensating, but she was only going to complicate this arrangement even further.
“How lovely.” Hayward drawled. “I suppose you’ll both be travelling up tomorrow then?”
“That we will.” Agatha gulped, your eyes tracing the movement of her throat.
You turned back to Hayward and met his evident annoyance with a smile, one more genuine. You didn’t like the man. You wanted to prove him wrong...
hii, sorry for bothering! just wanted to tell you that i absolutely LOVED your bev keane x reader fic. like you absolutely awoken something in me? I was literally obsessed with Paul and when I searched for fanfictions I found yours too, and oh my god now I need Bev. 😭
pleeease write more for her, I love your writing style and I absolutely loved the dynamics between her and reader 🫶🏻
no bother at all, in fact thank you sm for taking the time to leave a message !! it means a lot to hear that people actually enjoyed that fic. I hadn't expected anyone to read or care about Bev of all characters tbh lol
I would love to write more for her, maybe a follow-up to the last fic if that's the kind of thing people are interested in.
But I'm so willing to hear ideas if anyone has any !
Summary: when your boss Agatha faces the threat of deportation, she convinces you to marry her in return for a promotion- and things only get more complicated with a trip to Salem, an eccentric tarot-card-reading aunt, and a homophobic mother to convince.
Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader
TW: deportation (which I admit I know very little about I'm not American lol) suggestive themes, sort of arranged marriage
W.C: 1.3k words
PARTS: TWO, THREE
Agatha Harkness was a terrible boss. In the five years you had been working as her assistant, you had her schedule memorised, you constantly tried to anticipate her needs, and yet, she could barely remember your name. And that wasn’t the only flaw, oh no. There was the erratic behaviour, her quickness to anger, the fact that she always teetering the line between serious and sarcastic, so you could never quite tell whether she meant what she had said. Which would be your excuse if she attempted to criticise your response time to her latest question.
It's just… there was no way she was being serious… Right?
“I’m sorry. Could you repeat that last part, please?” You asked slowly, steadily lowering the file in your hands to pay full attention to Agatha. She was sat at her desk, looking up at you as though you were an idiot. So, like usual.
“I hope you’re not expecting me to get down on one knee.” Agatha scoffed, and when you didn’t respond, quirked an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“I’m just having a hard time comprehending what you’re asking of me.” You spluttered out.
She exhaled, clearly irritated. Then leant forwards over the desk and demanded, “Marry me,” punctuating each word with the intensity of her glare.
Under her scrutiny, you could feel your cheeks flushing. She never usually paid this much attention to you unless she needed something, which was rare. But this was too far. It had to be some kind of test surely. Of what, you weren’t sure. Loyalty? Dedication? Insanity?
After a beat of silence, you finally remembered to respond. “You’re insane.” You folded your arms across your chest, still in disbelief that she would ever ask such a thing. You knew Agatha was unpredictable, dramatic, terrifying even, but never could you have imagined her saying such a thing on this unassuming Thursday afternoon. She never brought her personal life into work, and so why she would want to bring her work (aka you) into her home, her bed, well- it was a mystery.
Your cheeks grew redder at the image your mind conjured up. You and the boss, in bed, together.
The silence continued, and you summoned the resolve to look back at Agatha. She was staring up at you expectantly, and you realised that, despite your aghast reaction, she was still awaiting a response.
“No!” You exclaimed, mouth agape.
At this, her red lips stretched back into a malicious grin. “I wasn’t asking, dear.”
Something about her teasing smile and her mildly threatening words flustered you. “Well… you can’t make me.” You responded futilely. You knew she could. This was Agatha Harkness, after all. She could make anyone do anything.
And yet… “No, I can’t.” Agatha conceded with a simple shrug.
This caught you off guard. You frowned down at her, wondering if this was some form of reverse psychology.
“But what I can do is offer something in return.” Agatha winked, and if you weren’t flustered enough before, you certainly were now.
You took a moment to breathe. To calm the way your heart raced in your chest. You recognised the innuendo to her words, but knew the connotations likely lay in more entrepreneurial benefits. A promotion. A raise perhaps. The possibilities were endless, and all of them would help you to pay the rent. Now that, you couldn’t pass up on so easily.
“But why?” You asked, quieter, reluctant to admit to yourself that you were settling into the idea. “Why do you need to marry me?”
“Oh pfft,” Agatha waved a hand dismissively. “Not specifically you. This is nothing personal.”
“Oh great. That makes me feel so much better, thank you.” You snarked.
“Come on, you’re a clever girl.” Agatha narrowed her gaze, that teasing edge so easily returning to her tone. “You can figure it out.”
You paused to think, running through everything you knew about your boss. She lived alone, quite happily so, which ruled out any kind of breakdown. She was about ten years older than you, which meant this probably wasn’t a midlife crisis. But in terms of personal information, that was about all you knew. Agatha was a married to the job kind of woman, constantly in and out of meetings, often the last to leave the office. You had tried to outlast her one evening, but upon seeing the delivery guy arrive with enough food to survive the night, you had given up and headed home.
You pursed your lips thoughtfully, eyes briefly flickering about the office when an idea struck you.
“Earlier today…” You began, speaking cautiously slow. “You had a meeting scheduled with your immigration lawyer.”
“Atta girl.” Agatha leant back in her chair, seemingly satisfied with your answer.
“You’ve been putting off that meeting for weeks,” you continued.
“It didn’t seem important!”
“Well, I’m guessing your visa expired. And you panicked, because being deported would suck, so you lied and said you were engaged.”
“Bingo!” Agatha clapped her hands, as though this were some fun guessing game and not a huge life issue that would turn both your lives upside down. “Being deported would suck, as you so eloquently put it. I would lose my job, so god knows what would happen to you.” She pulled a face of mock concern, pointing a sharp finger in your direction. “And now all I need is some all-American idiot to get me that green card. Simple. Beneficial for us both, really.”
“No. Not simple. Not beneficial for us both.” You shook your head, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. “For one, with you gone I might actually get a normal boss.”
“And where’s the fun in that?” She quipped. “Plus, me being gone would certainly halt your progression up the ranks- and where would you ever find a better recommendation than from your boss turned wife, huh toots?”
Agatha was talking with such rationality that it was giving you a migraine. You pinched the bridge of your nose in an attempt to soothe it. “Please take a moment to think about this. I mean is it even allowed? The whole employer, employee relationship?”
“Oh, stop with your worrying. I wasn’t the one who hired you.”
“And you really can’t think of anyone else to do this?” You implored, though you were afraid you already knew the answer.
“I admit I didn’t give it much thought, but what’s the problem? You’re not dating anyone, your family are abroad so they won’t get involved in any of it-”
“How do you know all this?” You interrupted, frowning. Clearly your prior assumption that she didn’t give you the time of day was incorrect.
“I’m observant.” She deadpanned. “So, it’s settled, we’ll get married, live apart for a year, then when the immigration office determines I’m not a threat to the country, we’ll get an uncontested divorce with two of the finest lawyers’ money can buy. Breeze it through the law courts and never speak of it again. You get your promotion; I don’t have my whole life uprooted.”
You hummed noncommittally, finding yourself at a loss for words.
“Great, I’m taking that as a yes!” Agatha stood up abruptly, striding past you to grab her coat. “Let’s hit the road!”
“What? Both of us?”
“Of course. You’re my besotted fiancée and we’ve got a immigration officer to chat with!” Agatha nudged open the office door, storming through the building without another word. You simply stood and watched her go, her long navy coat flapping behind her, swishing back and forth with every step. You momentarily entertained the thought that it was a cloak- that she was secretly an evil witch in disguise as your boss.
It was the only reasonable conclusion from what you had just been roped into.
Groaning, you reluctantly followed your soon-to-be wife, trying desperately to ignore the churning anxiety in the pit of your stomach.
NEXT PART
Notes: ok I need to fess up I don't have much of a plan for this fic and uni work is kicking my ass so my time is v limited. But I've always wanted to write something following the vague plot of The Proposal- the film this is based off in case you can't tell.... so, hope you enjoyed :)
i'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you
Summary: reeling from the sting of rejection, you're surprised when a certain witch approaches you with a dangerous offer
Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader
TW: none actually
W.C: 3k words I believe
Autumn had fallen across Salem like a blanket, wrapping its way around the trees and shaking until every golden-brown leaf had fallen to the damp ground below. The leaves began to meld back into the Earth from whence they came, and the smell of rot which accompanied such a time filled your nose: fresh and earthy. It was the smell of home. The damp air settled upon your clothes and chilled you to the bone, while leaves crunched underfoot, clinging to your mud-caked boots. Yet you marched diligently on.
The bucked swung by your side with each step, rusty joints at the handle creaking into the empty night air. The forest was always eerie after the sun had set, and you had regretted volunteering to go and get water for the coven the very minute the words left your mouth. Truth be told, you had seized the opportunity to escape, to continue avoiding a certain brunette witch who had been eyeing you up all evening.
Somewhere in the far distance, an owl screeched and you jolted, fist instinctively tightening around the metallic handle of the bucket and causing pain to shoot through your hand.
You forced yourself to stand still for a second and took in a deep gulping breath, feeling the fresh air enter your body and soothe your nerves.
It was a new moon tonight, and so the usual silvery light illuminating the woodland was lacking. It also meant it was an important night for the coven, and so you ought to hurry. You resumed your original pace to the well along the outskirts of a nearby town, memory guiding your movement. The nearby town was rather suspicious of your coven’s activity, and thus the only opportunity to access this source of water was under the cover of darkness.
Tonight, the water was crucial. On every new moon, the entire coven gathered together to cast a protective spell over the land, and you could imagine them all sitting around the fire, patiently awaiting your return.
Between the silhouettes of the trees, you caught sight of warm, orange light emanating from the distance. You were nearing the town. Squinting, you paused to peer around, trying to remember where the well was situated. It was so dark you could barely make out where the ground merged into the roots of each tree. You would have to be careful not to trip. Any sound could alert the dogs which vigilantly guarded the town, and in turn, call attention to you.
You hesitantly stepped forward, fixated on the distant light source like a moth to a flame. The lanterns which hung from each house roughly guided you, promising that the well would be somewhere close. A twig snapped underfoot, and you froze, scrunching your eyes closed and waiting with bated breath for the telltale sound of violent barks and howls.
A beat passed and nothing. You reluctantly opened your eyes, your head whipping around to check the forest remained still. Each oddly shaped tree or slight movement in the corner of your eyes held your attention for a second longer, your anxiety running rampant and conjuring impossible images into your mind.
You shook these impossibilities away, and deciding all was clear, you turned to face forward once more, only to crash directly into something.
Gasping was all you could do not to scream at the sudden intrusion. You stumbled backwards, realising it wasn’t something- rather someone blocking your path. The person reached out to grab hold of your arms, steadying you.
She shushed you, and before you could even adjust to the darkness and make out her face, you already recognised her. It was Agatha Harkness who stood before you, that particularly annoying, brunette witch you had been trying to avoid.
“Careful now.” Agatha admonished, though you could hear the smirk in her voice.
You exhaled, feeling your fear melt away into annoyance. “You scared me, Agatha.” You shook off her hold, immediately missing the heat of her hands against your clothed skin.
“Scared, why? What’s out here that a powerful witch like yourself wouldn’t be able to handle?”
The way she emphasised the word 'powerful' made you frown. You knew she was trying to flatter you, though you didn’t understand why just yet.
“An angry mob from the village.” You answered after a beat.
“Please.” Agatha scoffed. “It’s not that you couldn’t handle them, you just wouldn’t want to.”
You rolled your eyes at her subtle jab. Agatha was more inclined to use her magic against people, whereas you didn’t think it was a fair fight. She always seemed to believe there was some kind of competition between you, as two witches of the same age who had cultivated a similar level of power. Therefore, anything she perceived as a weakness, she would frequently remind you of.
Refusing to let her aggravate you any further, you changed the topic. “What do you want?”
“I just want to talk.” Agatha shrugged, and before you could react, she reached out, her hand brushing past your face to your hair, gently twirling a strand around her finger. “You know, girl to girl, witch to witch.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Sinner to sinner.”
The lack of distance between you, the soft touch, the secretive tone to her voice; it was almost affectionate, perhaps seductive. But you knew better than to fall for her act. This was Agatha Harkness, after all.
“Well, too bad 'cause I really don’t want to talk to you.” You said simply, hoping she would pick up on the finality you had imbued within your words. Instead of waiting for a response, you sidestepped and pushed past her, determined to finish the job you had been tasked.
“That wasn’t the case a few nights ago,” Agatha called out.
You cringed first at the volume of her voice, not having forgotten how close you were to the town, and then again upon taking into consideration the meaning behind her words. You stopped, inhaled slowly and forced your tense shoulders to relax. Then, in a quieter tone, “Can we please just pretend that never happened?”
There was a rustling behind you as Agatha drew closer. “Sure.” She responded simply, though the word was anything but simple to you.
As much as you loathed how Agatha had treated you, how carelessly she had played with your heart, you couldn’t forget how well you understood her. Like now, at this moment you recognised the mask of indifference in her voice, hiding beneath it a vulnerable admission of guilt, sadness even. You watched with shallow breath as she pivoted slowly to stand in front of you, her attention ever fixed on you, observing your reaction.
“We won’t talk about it if that’s what you want.” Her eyes searched yours, ice cold even in the lightless forest. “But I didn’t follow you out here for a heart-to-heart.”
You paused, frowning. “Then why did you?
“Because I need you”
She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t hide behind her usual cocky attitude. Her statement was simple and true, sufficient to steal your breath away.
“I’m forming a group- well, a coven within a coven I guess you could say.” Agatha continued, quick to move past the tension, though you were still reeling from it.
Agatha pursed her lips thoughtfully, as if considering each individual word and how you might respond. Whatever she was about to say, this was big.
“I want to walk the Witches Road.”
“Are you serious?” You spluttered out in disbelief, then remembering to keep your voice down, added, “That’s suicide!”
The Witches Road was notorious. Infamous. A suicide mission you all had been warned about from the very moment you started to learn the craft. To hear that Agatha planned on confronting this risk head-on was hardly surprising, but you thought she was smarter than that. You were disappointed in her. That she would think of doing such a thing, that she would believe even for a second that you were stupid enough to join.
“Not for us.” Agatha smiled sinisterly. “Maybe the others… but we’re strong. Stronger than any other witch in this coven. We can do better.” She implored, her hand snapping out to grasp your own free one, bringing it toward her chest. “So, what’d you say?”
Her hand was cold, her grip unrelenting, yet as she pressed you closer, you swore you could feel her heart pounding in her chest. It was endearing, and still, you weren’t a fool.
“Who are the others?” You questioned instead, partly deflecting having to answer, and partly in disbelief that anyone would even hear Agatha’s proposal out, let alone agree to join.
She quirked an eyebrow. “Does it matter?”
“Yes.” You challenged. “Have other witches actually signed up for this?”
“Oh. You’d be surprised!” Agatha sneered. “Loads of them, queueing up around the block to be part of my team.” Her expression morphed into one of excitement, though you guessed she was merely teasing.
“Huh, really?”
“You bet. I can be persuasive when I want to.”
“Irritating more like.”
“Maybe.” Agatha rolled her eyes fondly, unable to hide the way the corners of her lips twitched upwards before taking on a more serious straight line. “But look, I’m not going to do this without you, Y/N.”
This gave you pause, and then, a sense of indignant frustration.
“Why? Isn’t the all-powerful Agatha usually a solo act? What was it you said? You don’t want anyone tying you down?” You spat.
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about the other night.” She said, slowly, seemingly waiting to see how you would react.
The other night. When you had taken a chance, and it hadn’t worked out. When, in a moment of bravery, you had been honest with yourself, with Agatha, about how you truly felt, only to be met by derision and cruel laughter. The other night, when upon realising you were serious, she had tried to soothe your hurt feelings, but by that point, you had lingered long enough in your humiliation, choosing instead to turn and run. You would rather surrender to spending the rest of your long, long life avoiding Agatha than face that again.
“You’re right.” You sighed. “But I’m also not going to talk about, or even entertain this idea any further” You tugged your hand out of her grip like it had scorched you. “Actually, idea’s a strong word. I don’t think you’ve put any real thought into this.”
Agatha had the sense to look at least a bit ashamed of her suggestion and paused for a moment, as around you, the wind picked up, carrying leaves through the air and rustling the trees. It was as though the forest had come alive for a second, filling the silence between you. Shivering, you wrapped your cloak tighter against yourself, loathing how you regretted having been so quick to put Agatha down. She looked disheartened.
“Look…” When Agatha spoke at last, you were unnerved to see how she didn’t meet your eyes. “When I said I wouldn’t do this without you, that’s not strictly true… I already promised the others we’d meet in the clearing when the sun rises.”
“What?!” You exclaimed, your annoyance being instantaneously overpowered by a mix of anger and panic at this sudden revelation.
“So-“ She interrupted, throwing her hands in the air to pacify your outburst. “Just take your time to think about it. Either you’re in or you’re out and either way, that’s fine.”
“Ohh, a whole half a night to think about it. Very generous as always Agatha.” You spat, incredulous that she would leave you so little time to decide, should you even have entertained the idea… Not that you were thinking about it. Nope. Not at all.
“Well, I wanted to ask you first, but you kept running off!” She explained- or rather argued, as of course, she would pin the blame on you and your hurt feelings rather than take responsibility.
“I wonder why.” You muttered, irritably folding your arms.
“Okay.” Agatha mirrored your pose, crossing her arms across her chest. “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, but clearly this,” she gestured between the both of you, “needs to be addressed.”
“I don’t think-“
“No.” She interrupted, harsh and unforgiving of your clear reluctance. “I know I wasn’t exactly considerate to you, maybe a little meaner than I should’ve been.”
“That’s an understatement.“
“But regardless of what I said then, I want you by my side now. Walking the road, together-“
“So, you only want me when it’s convenient? When you need my help.” You snarked. “How lovely of you to say, I feel so much better already!”
“I won’t force you to do anything.” She continued, ignoring your comments. “Nor can I promise we’ll return. But I think we have a hell of a lot more of a chance if we’re together.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, listening to her try to reason with you. Not that it would ever work. No way. The Witches Road was suicide, and Agatha was hardly much better herself. “You’re saying this like I’d ever consider joining you.” You said with a shrug.
Agatha smiled suddenly, like you’d said something hilarious, then averted her gaze down for a beat before stepping closer. A lot closer, invading your personal space and causing all rationality to flee your mind. And yet, you didn’t step back. She leaned forward, and you felt her breath fan across your cheek. “You’re an idiot if you don’t see the opportunity in all this.” Her voice was raspy, barely above a whisper. She was so close, her gaze flickering across your face like she could read your every micro-expression or movement.
Your inner logicality screamed at you to tell her no, you would not be joining her, nor did you ever want to see her again. That she should back up, walk away and never look back.
Every other fibre of your being dreamt of the possibilities, imagined how her lips would feel against your own, how her fingertips would trace across your skin. Your heart betrayed you. It urged you to lean in.
Agatha’s normally ice-cold eyes were softer as they darted down to your lips, though you couldn’t be sure that you hadn’t imagined it. After how she had responded to your confession, there was no way she could harbour any kind of feelings towards you beyond that of mild irritation and perhaps a tad bit of insecurity.
Reluctantly, you stepped back.
Agatha’s eyebrows scrunched up, her lips curling in displeasure as another gust of wind blew, chilling the newfound space between you.
While you were certain Agatha’s one goal in life was to rile you up, it seemed as though you had managed to do the same to her this one time. She looked annoyed, slightly sad and clearly disappointed.
In spite of everything, you revelled in this power you currently held over her. “I guess I’ll see you around Agatha. Good luck with your death wish.” Deciding to take this unusual superiority as an opportunity, you sidestepped her to continue on, not daring to glance back as you walked through the woods.
Or maybe you did. Just once. And maybe it was the darkness, or your mind playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn Agatha stayed standing there, watching to ensure you safely accessed the well without alerting the townspeople.
But when you began your journey home, she was nowhere to be seen.
...
As the night wore on, you found your mind didn’t cease.
Agatha’s eyes were constantly on you, carrying an indecipherable weight. You wondered if, perhaps, this would be the last time you’d ever see her. If she would step foot on the Witches Road and disappear from your life forever.
This idea should’ve brought you some form of peace, and yet, it didn’t
How could you go on knowing that Agatha was condemning herself to death, and you weren’t there to witness it? Or even, put a stop to it.
Agatha Harkness was your burden to carry. She was irresponsible, power-hungry and manipulative, and yet, you couldn’t find it within yourself to let her walk the road alone. You wouldn’t let her go thinking that you didn’t care.
You had put on an act to try and protect yourself, something to ease your heart, still reeling from her rejection. But you knew it was futile to try and keep it up. Whether you joined her to walk the road or not, Agatha had already caused you enough pain. And so, what the hell, you might as well indulge in her company a little more.
Halfway through the coven’s ceremony, placing protective runes upon the land, you noticed Agatha slip away from the crowd, fixing you with one final glance before she disappeared into the night.
You waited a little longer, savouring what would possibly be your last time as part of the coven. And then, as you noticed the sky take on a purplish hue signifying that the sun was fast approaching the horizon, you stood, numbly walking in the direction of the clearing Agatha had referred to.
Your mind was empty when you caught sight of a group forming a circle in the middle of the field. You didn’t bother to try and catch a glimpse of anyone’s face, knowing that soon they would reveal themselves, and you would be trapped, relying upon each other on the Witches Road. Fresh dew glistened upon the grass in the morning light, the damp seeping into your boots as you approached. It had been a long night already, and you longed for your bed.
And then you caught sight of Agatha, and she smiled, soft and scared, and all your problems seemingly melted away.
...
notes: bonus points if anyone can name the song lyrics i used as a title cause im too lazy to be original
Summary: when murder comes to Westview in the form of a masked killer, you begin to doubt whether you can trust those closest to you...
Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Implied Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader, Hinted Peter Parker x Fem!Reader
TW: rather mild smut, dubious consent, blood, violence, injury, death, homophobia, murder... basically the whole plot of the first scream film so if you can survive that im sure you will be fine lol, also spoilers for scream (1996)
W.C: 19.0k words
The words on the screen had already started to blur. Black words on a white screen merged into a sort of greyish mess. Your eyes longed to close, your hands itching to shut down the computer for the night, but onwards you pressed, fingers feverously darting across the keyboard. Everything else in your bedroom was still, lulled into peace by early moonlight seeping through an open window. A quick glance at the time revealed it was already 10pm. You figured that soon you ought to give up and start getting ready for bed…
A thud sounded somewhere outside, your head whipping towards the open window- which no longer displayed the empty night sky, but a figure, hunched over and perched precariously on the windowsill.
An intruder.
Your heart stopped.
And then, the stranger flicked a wave of dark auburn hair out of their face, and your heart continued to beat an irregular pattern. Wanda Maximoff, your girlfriend, who was rubbing her head where she’d smacked it against the roof ledge.
“Jeez.” At this revelation, you shot up from your seat and walked over to the window, tugging it all the way open. “You scared the shit out of me, Wanda.”
She grinned at you, swinging her legs through the frame, hoisting herself inside. “I’m sorry. Don’t hate me. I just wanted to see you.” Her feet landed with a gentle thud, dragging mud onto your white carpet.
“It’s late.” You folded your arms and stared, unimpressed at her cocky expression. “If my dad catches you…”
“I’ll only stay a sec.” She reassured though you were still hesitant. Noticing this, she opened her arms, beckoning you closer. “Come here. Please.”
You obliged and stepped forward, but kept your arms crossed as a physical barrier between you, maintaining the act that you were annoyed at Wanda. More than anything you were just concerned. She was already unpopular with your father, and if he caught her here, it’d surely spell the end of your relationship.
Wanda huffed, hooked a finger in the waistband of your sweatpants and dragged you towards her. You stumbled into her arms, feeling them wrap securely around your back as you reciprocated the embrace. She nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck which, as always, made you melt.
“I’ll make it up to you.” She whispered, the sensation of her warm breath against your skin sending goosebumps throughout your body.
“Oh yeah?” Something daring seeped into your tone as you pulled away to stare at her face, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “For scaring me? Or for the inevitable grounding I’m going to get when my dad discovers you visited?”
“That won’t happen.” She scoffed, nails digging into your waist. “I’ve already been here a couple minutes and he hasn’t come running.”
“Yet...” You shook your head. “But he’ll definitely know when he sees the mud you’ve tracked onto my carpet.”
You saw how her gaze flickered down to your lips and stayed there. “I can help clean it up.” She promised, with no real intention behind her words.
“Alright.” You scanned her face, noticing how blown out her pupils were, saw the slight red tint to her cheeks, watched closely as she licked her lips. You unconsciously leant forward, eyes closing, holding your breath to place a gentle kiss against her lips. Her grip on your waist tightened almost painfully as she immediately deepened the kiss, your mouth naturally parting to allow her entry.
You hummed, savouring the sweet taste of her, contrasting with the way she desperately pressed herself against you. As though she wanted the two of you to permanently merge, never to separate. Her obsession with you was intoxicating. You felt her tongue trace along your teeth, the kiss turning messy as Wanda pushed you back, step by step until your knees hit the edge of your bed.
She held onto you, slowing your fall against the soft mattress, her lips instantly returning to yours as she clambered on top of you. Your heart was no longer racing. It was pounding. But now wasn’t the time to let this go any further.
“Wanda...” You murmured, trying to break away.
She bit against your bottom lip, almost painfully. Her hands were all over you, brushing against the exposed skin of your stomach, up and underneath your shirt. As she began trying to get under your bra, you finally caught hold of her forearm, halting her advance.
“Wanda.” You repeated. Firmer, this time.
Seeing your serious expression, she sighed and sat up. A chill suffused across your body at the loss of contact, worsened by the flicker of annoyance that crossed her face. She was breathing heavily, jaw clenched as she took in your vulnerable position, the heat in her gaze increasing.
“See what you do to me.” She quirked an eyebrow, the corners of her lips quirking up.
You pushed yourself up, leaned against the headboard of your bed and appreciated her dishevelled state. “You know what my dad would do to you?” You reprimanded, reminding her of the reason for breaking it off.
“Fine.” She raised her hands in surrender, hopping off the bed. “I’m going… I’m going.”
You followed her to the window. “Very gentle-womanly of you.”
She placed her hands on the frame, lifting herself up and through.
“Hey.” You placed your hand over hers, stopping her before she disappeared back into the night. “Be safe, alright?” The drop below her wasn’t too far, but the lack of light made it look like some gaping black void ready to swallow her up.
“I will. Pietro’s waiting down the street. He’ll walk me home.”
“Good.” You nodded.
“And, about all…that.” She inclined her head towards the now ruffled bedsheets. “I’m not trying to rush you with any of that.”
You softened at her anxious apology and bent down to plant a chaste kiss against her cheek. “I know, it’s fine. I do want all of that, just… not now.” You shared a smile with her, then added, “but soon.”
“I know.” Wanda bit her lip, eyes sparkling mischievously. “I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”
‘Soon’ came quicker than you would’ve thought. You slept soundly that night and found your alarm blaring at you to get up after what felt like barely ten minutes since you had closed your eyes. It took you a while to actually get up, not because you were reluctant to start the day, quite the opposite in fact. You lay there, wondering what the day would bring, dreaming of walking into school and being greeted by your girlfriend and friends.
You were the happiest you’d ever been since transferring there, and it wasn’t just because of Wanda. There was also Peter Parker, your film fanatic friend, Kate Bishop, who was dating Wanda’s twin brother Pietro, and Yelena Belova, who you would meet halfway on your walk to school every morning. Except for today…
You had waited as long as you could, but she never showed. It wasn’t uncommon for her to skip days, but usually, she called you the night before to inform you of her plans. At first, you were rather annoyed by her unannounced absence- but that annoyance was replaced by concern as soon as you arrived at school, seeing the six police cars, four news vans and a scattered crowd of onlookers stationed outside.
The sudden commotion surrounding your school left you confused and dazed, walking amongst the chaos trying desperately to gather any idea of what had happened here. You stopped in front of one of the reporters talking to a camera, your interest peaking as you recognised her. Pepper Potts. She was one of the local news presenters, infamous for often orchestrating her own version of dull stories to make headline.
“The small town of Westview, New Jersey was devastated last night when a young teenage girl was found brutally butchered in her own home.” Pepper’s expression was grave, her clothing abrasively colourful and ill-fitting for the unfolding story. “Authorities have yet to issue a statement, but our sources tell us that no arrest has been made yet.”
You felt suddenly and inexplicably hot with panic, yet frozen in place.
“The question on all of our minds: could this murderer strike again?”
Westview had never been subjected to such horrors before, the idea of a serial killer operating in your midst being previously unthinkable. Your mind flickered suddenly to Yelena and her sudden disappearance. The logical part of you refused to jump to conclusions but did nothing to stop anxiety from rising in the pit of your stomach.
A finger tapped against your shoulder, dragging you from your spiralling worries. You swivelled round to meet Kate’s warm brown eyes, which were unusually stormy and frantic. “Do you believe this shit?”
“What happened?” You asked instead, praying that Kate somehow already knew more than you.
And she did. “Oh god! You don’t know?” Her lips turned downwards as she scanned the scene thoughtfully. Fearfully. “Yelena was killed last night.”
“What.” You felt the ground drop out from beneath your feet, legs almost buckling under the sudden shock.
“And not just killed, Y/N. We’re talking slasher movie killed- split open end to end.”
“Alright.” You waved off her overly descriptive explanation, pinching the bridge of your nose and taking a deep breath. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. There was no way Yelena was dead. She was just at home, lazing in bed because she hadn’t done her English assignment.
You thought of her messy, blonde hair, her sharp hazel eyes. Thought of her untidy bedroom floor you had spent so many sleepovers on, her parents always so welcoming. You thought of the stray dog she had been feeding for the last couple of years. Who would look after him now?
“God.” You clutched at your stomach, tried not to heave at the realisation that this was real. Someone wanted Yelena dead and had succeeded.
“Shit. I’m so sorry.” Kate placed a gentle, comforting hand on your back then swiftly removed it. “I didn’t think… I forgot you guys were… friends.”
“It’s fine.” You shook off the concern, forcibly standing up straight and glancing around. “I’m guessing the police will probably want to talk to me.”
“Yeah… probably.” Kate agreed feebly. “They’ve been rounding up friends of Yelena on the way in for interviews.”
The sickness settled in your chest. One you would have to learn to live with, to allow to stew into anger. “Do they have any idea who did this?”
“No. Peter said his uncle is on the case, and that it’s the worst crime he’s ever seen.” You looked back at Kate’s face, deeply pained. “It’s bad. They’re bringing in the feds. This is big.”
“Shit.” You said, at a loss for words.
“Shit indeed.” Kate agreed.
As predicted, you were instantly called into questioning in the principal’s office. It was intimidating to walk in and see a room full of cops with the headmaster, Nicky Fury sitting calmly at his desk. The man always looked extremely serious, but today was something else entirely. The frown he wore seemed engraved into his face like it was carved out of solid stone.
“Miss Y/L/N.” He gestured to the chair opposite. “Please, have a seat.”
Reluctantly, you sat down, then noticed the officer stood to Fury’s left: Tony Stark. He was Peter Parker’s uncle, and as such, the least menacing figure in the room.
“Hey Tony.” You greeted out of habit, wringing your hands in your lap.
“It’s Deputy Stark today, kid.” He corrected, crossing his arms.
“Sorry.” You muttered, glancing around the room at all the unfamiliar faces, feeling worse and worse. Although there was no spotlight shining in your face, it felt no less like a persecution.
Nonetheless, you answered all their questions to the best of your knowledge, trying your hardest not to imagine poor Yelena, left lying face down in a pool of her own blood. She had never been the type to be squeamish or frightened, and right now, you wished you had just a fraction of her courage…
By the time your interrogation- or interview, as they had been referring to it- was over, the lunch bell had just rung. You slung your backpack over your shoulder and headed to the courtyard where you normally ate lunch, though you had no appetite today. With every question the officers had asked, every gentle, probing ‘are you alright’ you had grown more and more sick. You looked a mess. Pale. Unfocused. Very seriously considering calling your dad to come pick you up…
“Hey!” A familiar voice broke through the general ruckus of the courtyard. “Y/N, over here.” It was Pietro, waving you over, his other arm slung over Kate’s shoulder possessively. As per usual, Pietro seemed his usual obnoxious self, totally unbothered by everything that was happening. Kate smiled at you pitifully, while Wanda, sat to her left, eyed you up with a wariness as you approached.
It was Peter, always the fifth wheel, who budged over to make room for you. You forced a thankful smile at him, muttered a brief hello to everyone else, and sat as close to Wanda as possible. She appeared to snap back into reality, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you closer, playing the role of concerned girlfriend perfectly. You sunk into her embrace, relaxed at the familiar smell of her shampoo and perfume, soaked up the warmth from her body and closed your eyes.
Temporarily, the nauseating sensation faded.
“Hunt? Why would they ask if you like to hunt?” Kate frowned at Pietro, and whatever tale he had been spinning while you hadn’t been paying attention.
Your eyes fluttered open as you picked up on the middle of their conversation. Wanda leant into your ear to whisper, “Pietro was called into interrogation too. He sits next to her in English.”
“Probably because her body was gutted.” He scoffed.
You flinched, despite having already accepted that Yelena’s murder would be the only topic of conversation for the following couple of months.
“Wow, thanks for that Piet.” Kate scolded, ever aware of your reaction.
“They didn’t ask me if I like to hunt.” Peter chimed in, to which everyone looked at him, confused. “They questioned me too. Not sure why. I saw her in the library sometimes, but that was it.”
“They didn’t ask you because… well- look at you!” Pietro snorted, gesturing at Peter who, admittedly did not look capable of murder. He was well-built, but often had a pair of glasses perched upon his nose, and a pathetic attempt at growing facial hair paired with hand-me-down sweaters in all weather, hot or cold.
“Yeah, Yelena was completely hollowed out. Takes a man to do something like that.” Wanda added, while softly stroking a thumb along your arm, as if that made it all better.
“Or a man’s mentality.” You commented, finding that if you thought about the whole situation as being purely theoretical, it wasn’t too bad. “How do you gut someone?” You said, more to yourself than aloud.
There was a beat of surprised silence.
“Well, you just take a knife,” Pietro grabbed a pencil from his pocket, held it out as though it were a weapon, “and slit from the groin to the sternum.” He mimed slicing through the air, making a hissing sound.
You shivered down to your soul. Never had you expected Pietro to have such an unapologetically violent imagination. You almost hated him for it. A glance at Kate revealed the same expression of shock, not having expected such graphic insensitivity from her boyfriend.
“What?” Pietro exclaimed. “She asked.” He laughed, throwing the pencil down.
“You couldn’t have been a little more sensitive?” Wanda chastised; a barely suppressed rage hidden in her tone. “Someone died last night, and you’re acting like it had nothing to do with us. Yelena was Y/N’s friend. She went to this school, attended our lessons, was our classmate. Be more tactful.” She spat.
You couldn’t help but swell with pride at Wanda’s outburst, and in the tense avoidance of eye contact that followed amongst the group, you quickly kissed her cheek in thanks.
“Sorry.” Pietro rubbed his forehead, bashfully avoiding anyone’s gaze except for his sister’s. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He threw his hands up in mock surrender, and for a blessed second, you thought it was all over. And then, he turned to you with an exaggerated curiosity. “Weren’t you and Yelena more than friends at one point?”
Your mouth fell open in surprise. It had been a long, long time since than rumour had circulated the school. Although, there was some truth behind it… You and Yelena had been friends since middle school, and there had been a few moments when you had considered perhaps pursuing a relationship with her. But every time you tried it, you both ended up concluding that you were better off just staying friends.
You felt Wanda tense beside you, snapping you back into reality. “Not really. We tried it ages ago. Didn’t work out...” You explained, trailing off towards the end. You hadn’t been with Wanda long enough for the topic to arise, but there was no way she didn’t know. The school wasn’t big, and gossip was traded amongst everyone, whether they be a loner outcast or stereotypical popular cheerleader.
“Ahh…” Pietro nodded slowly, feigning ignorance. “And you dumped her for my sister?
You gritted your teeth, hating how such an insignificant part of your past was suddenly in the limelight. “I didn’t dump her because we never really dated. And we’ve been nothing but friends for over two years now- or I guess were.”
“Come on, Pietro. Are you trying to insinuate Wanda is some revengeful, jealous girlfriend?” Peter joked, trying to lighten the tension that had fallen across your table.
Wanda laughed, though the humour didn’t spread beyond her lips.
“Actually, she was with me last night.” You placed a hand on her upper thigh, grasped at the muscle there and felt it flex. “Too busy being stupidly committed and climbing through my window to enact her revenge.”
“Yeah, exactly.” She fixed Pietro with a pointed stare. “Besides, like I said, it takes a man to do something like that.”
...
You got the bus home that day, unwilling to walk your usual route back from school alone while there was a possible killer on the loose. After all, if they’d gone for your friend Yelena, who’s to say they wouldn’t be targeting you next? As you stepped inside your house, shutting the door securely behind you, it dawned on you that you might not truly be safe even here. Nobody was. Not until they caught whoever had murdered Yelena.
Suddenly, you got the distinct feeling that you were being watched, as though the killer had eyes in the walls of your home. You shivered and called out for your dad- only to be met with silence. Panic began to rise in your chest, amplifying with every footstep that echoed through the empty house. The stuffy air became suffocating, the walls closing in around you as you searched each room. All the furniture lay dormant and undisturbed, awaiting someone’s arrival. Your heart was in your throat, your mind jumping to all the worst conclusions about where your father was.
By your second lap around the house, your eyes landed on a note pinned to the fridge. You stormed over, yanked the paper free from the magnet and with shaking hands scanned the page. It was from your father, a scribbled explanation that his brother in the next state over had fallen seriously ill and he needed to visit immediately. The note explained that he had tried to ring the school but got no answer, eventually giving up and having to leave without you.
The final line detailed that he had left a wad of cash for you to order food and fend for yourself for the foreseeable future, which you retrieved right away. You flipped the bills around in your hand, feeling the textured paper as if to ground yourself, to convince yourself this was real, not some fabricated trick by a murderer currently stalking you. After the day you’d had, anything could be possible.
But, oh god- your dad must not have known. He had left town at possibly the worst moment being none the wiser. And you were stuck here, genuinely unable to imagine any worse time to be home alone. Your hands itched to pick up the phone, to try dialling your uncle’s house, pray someone would pick up so you could demand your father return home as soon as physically possible. But that would be cruel, and so instead, you typed in Kate’s number.
Her mother answered after a couple seconds and made briefly awkward small talk before calling out to her daughter, who came running.
“Hey, Y/N. Are you alright? I was gonna call and check-“
“Yeah, yeah, Kate, I’m fine.” You interrupted. “But look, my dad’s had to leave for some family emergency and,“
“Oh shit, you’re alone?” Her voice quickly succumbed to worry, one which made you smile despite everything. You were lucky to have such a caring friend. “Do you want to come stay with us for a while?”
“Please.” You let out a sigh of relief. “That’s what I was calling about. I’m not sure how long my dad will be gone for but…”
“Yeah, of course it’s no worry.” She assured. “I’ll pick you up after archery practice?”
“Sure. When do you finish?”
“Six-thirty. So, I’ll be there by seven at the latest. I promise.”
A glance at the clock revealed it was only four. You swallowed back your paranoia, reasoning that you would spend most of the time packing anyway. “Ok great. Thanks. Are you sure your mom will be alright with it?”
“Of course. No one wants to be alone with everything that’s happened. She’ll understand.”
“Alright, thanks. I’ll see you soon.”
“Later!”
The silence that engulfed your house after the phone call ended was oppressive, broken up only by small creaks and taps which made you jump out of your skin. To combat this, you grabbed your old, beat-up Walkman from your school bag, tugging the headphones over your head and grabbing enough cassettes to last several hours of constant music. Then, to fill the silence between each song, you flicked the TV on to whatever channel had been left playing.
Although muffled, you still heard the reporter, the one you had seen earlier today outside the school. Pepper…whatever her name was. You watched, partially interested whether you would make a cameo in the background.
“The state Bureau of Investigation has joined forces with local authorities to help catch what the Governor has called the most heinous crime ever committed in Westview.” Her teeth were an obnoxious gleaming white, her expression displaying an emotion not quite fit for the story she was currently presenting.
“The victim, seventeen-year-old Yelena Belova was found last night in her home…”
You tuned out to Pepper’s words as a picture filled the screen, a candid of Yelena, who somehow looked younger than you remembered. It hadn’t even been long since you had last seen her, yet the time that had passed felt like years. You wanted the snapshot to stay on screen forever, so you could commit every detail about her to memory. You couldn’t forget her. You refused.
Yelena stared at you from the TV screen as tears blurred your vision, the cassette flipping to an aptly melancholic song.
Then, as Pepper continued to drone on, the image flicked to a different one, this one of her official school picture. Despite everything, you burst out laughing at this, imagining how unhappy Yelena would’ve been to see this photo displayed on national television. She hated it. You didn’t blame her. The photo looked much too formal, an awkward contrast to the reality of who Yelena was. You wondered whether the news would report her life as it was, or if they’d spin the tale into something much more tragic: that she was a Straight-A student, destined for something great, her life so tragically cut short.
Probably.
With a roll of your eyes, you reached out for the TV remote, switching the channel until something fictional- or unrelated to Yelena came on, eventually settling on some old rerun of an TV show your dad liked to watch. The familiarity of it was enough that you could finally relax, pretending nothing out of the ordinary had occurred that day… It wasn’t long until your eyes fluttered close, your body sinking into the plush couch and to unconsciousness.
A shrill ringing jolted you awake, resonating round the still-empty house. You thought it’d been minutes since you fell asleep, but a quick glance at the clock showed the time to be 6 pm. Confused by the loud intrusion, your gaze snapped around the room, now darkened by dusk.
The last pinkish hue of sunlight highlighted the phone perched on the side table and answered your unspoken question. Launching across the cushions and throwing your hand out, you grasped onto the object and brought it to your ear.
“Hello?” Your voice was hoarse having just woken up, and a slight annoyance crept into your tone.
“Hello, Y/N.” A man’s voice answered. Deep, raspy and entirely unfamiliar.
“Hi…” You answered hesitantly, perturbed by the fact he already knew your name. “Who is this?”
“You tell me.”
You frowned, lips quirking up in polite amusement. “I have no idea.” As much as you racked your brain for the possible culprit, his voice was too distorted to properly place.
“Scary night, isn’t it? With the murders and all…” He said instead, abruptly changing the topic to one you were infinitely less fond of. “It’s like right out of a horror movie or something.”
“Aha,” you nodded to yourself, reaching a conclusion. “Peter, you gave yourself away. You’re such a nerd.” Able to relax, at last, you collapsed back down on the sofa.
“Do you like scary movies, Y/N?”
“I like that thing you’re doing with your voice, Peter.” You replied instead. “Very sexy.”
“What’s your favourite scary movie?”
“Don’t start.” You scoffed, growing increasingly irritated at his commitment to the act. “You know I think they’re all shit.”
“And why is that?”
You sighed down the phoneline, listening to the silence as he waited for a response and debating whether it was truly worth answering or just hanging up. “Because they’re all the same. It’s always some stupid killer stalking some innocent girl who can’t act- who always runs up the stairs when she should be going out the front door. They’re ridiculous.”
Finishing the rant, you took a deep breath and were met by more silence.
And then, “Are you alone in the house?”
“That is so unoriginal. You disappoint me, Peter.”
“Maybe that’s because I’m not Peter.”
“So who are you?” Hot anger flushed against your chest as you sat up straight. Something here wasn’t quite right…
“The question is not who I am…” He paused ominously. “The question is where am I?”
Your boiling anger was immediately flushed by cold fear.
“So where are you?”
There was a deep, mocking laugh which crackled into your ear like static.
“Your front porch.”
You leapt up from your seat, determined to expose the prank for what it was and put an end to the insensitive joke. Your heart was thundering in your chest as you moved to the window and pulled aside the drapes, muttering into the phone, “Why would you call me from my front porch?”
“That’s the original part.”
You tried to angle your view through the window, unable to see all of the porch. “Oh yeah?” The porch seemed to be empty. “Well, I call your bluff.”
Feeling more secure in your belief, you went to the front door, unlocking the bolt, unsnagging the chain and pulling it open. As expected, the outside porch was completely empty, lit by a single light shining overhead, with little beyond but darkness.
“So where are you really?” You challenged at the mysterious caller’s silence.
“Right here.” He growled.
You peered closer into the darkness, into the thick shrubs growing on either side of the house and still seeing nothing. “Can you see me right now?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What am I doing?” You stuck your middle finger into the air, waving it about in the air for a few seconds.
There was no answer.
“Good try, Peter.” You shook your head incredulously. “Bye now.”
“If you hang up, you’ll die just like Yelena.” The voice spat before you could pull the phone away from your ear.
You stopped dead in your tracks at his sudden seriousness, rendered speechless that Peter would say such a thing. Or perhaps, it really wasn’t him, which could only mean…
“Do you want to die, Y/N? Yelena certainly didn’t. She begged and cried, crawled across her carpet like the pathetic, insipid little…”
“Fuck you!” You interrupted, hands shaking and voice wavering. You hung up, stepped back inside the house and locked the door again.
Behind you, the hall closet door slammed open. You jumped, turning round in time to see a figure clad in black charging at you, ramming into your side. The phone flew out of your hand as you crashed to the ground, pinned down by the intruder wearing a distorted, white, ghostly mask. The type you had seen so many times, sold cheaply in costume stores and Halloween displays. Yet now, it actually was terrifying.
Your instincts finally surfaced as you kicked your foot into his leg, causing him to topple over. Wasting no time, you leapt to your feet and slammed into the front door, hands scrambling to unlock it again. Before you could escape, the figure rose, knife in hand, and grabbed onto your torso to drag you back. With survival mode having taken over, you were able to fight back with all of your strength, pulling, jerking and twisting to break free. You managed to free yourself from his grip, pushing the figure off you and sending him reeling into the living room.
Feeling fear tightening its hold on you, and seeing the futility of your escape, you made the daring move to turn and sprint up the stairs. The figure was hot on your heels as your heart pounded loudly in your ears. You reached the landing just as he lunged at you, grabbing a hold of your foot to slow you down. Panicking, you desperately grasped around you, nails scraping against the walls until they landed on a framed painting. Without sparing a glance at the image, you ripped it from the wall in a surge of might, swinging it behind you to smash against the figure’s skull.
You watched, wide-eyed as he staggered backwards, clutching at his head and tumbling down the stairs. Not wanting to waste the moment of respite you had bought for yourself; you raced into your bedroom and locked the door. There were a horrid couple of seconds of stillness throughout the house, broken only by your heavy breathing- and then, the banging began. A fist pounded against wood, and rattled the doorknob, as you frantically scanned your room.
You had left the phone downstairs and opted instead to dash over to the computer, fingers darting across the keyboard in a panicked frenzy. You spared a glance back at the door, seeing the figure had begun splintering the frame with his knife. Then, you turned back to the computer and hit send on a FAX message to 911 for help. As the blade continued its assault, cracking wood and sending splinters flying throughout your room, you typed even faster, trying to stay calm as you waited and watched a response appear on the screen.
STAY CALM. POLICE ENROUTE.
You let out a breath of slight relief, the message offering a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos… Only then, you realised that the figure had stopped. No more shards of wood were flying through the air, no blurred silver of the knife swinging around. You were alone now, accompanied by a haunting silence that had descended upon your home.
Suddenly, a noise at the window frame. You swivelled around, prepared to fight once more only to be met by Wanda, staring at you with surprise palpable in her expression.
“Oh, Wanda.” A sob racked your body as you shook uncontrollably, the reality of the situation finally dawning on you. “Please…God.” You brought a hand to your face, then flung it down, anxiously shifting your weight about as adrenaline kept you on your toes.
“I heard screaming, and the door was locked. Are you okay?” Wanda’s warm brown eyes flickered over your tense form, tears streaming endlessly and blurring your vision.
“He’s here. Trying to kill me…” You managed out.
Wanda’s face turned shocked as she pulled herself through the window with more urgency. As she did, a small black object fell from the back pocket of her jeans, landing against the carpet with a soft thud and drawing your attention downwards. Sat inconspicuously between the two of you was a sleek, compact cell phone. Any other day and it wouldn’t have made you concerned in the slightest… but now….
You stopped dead in your tracks, an icy sickness rising in your throat, something akin to distrust. You met Wanda’s gaze, which no longer held the comfort you sought.
Could it possibly be…? Had Wanda just tried to kill you?
Unwilling to face that possibility, you bolted.
You ignored Wanda calling after you, rushing to unlock the fractured bedroom door and tearing down the stairs, nearly slipping on the linoleum floor as you caught sight of the front door. Freedom. You skidded to a halt, ripped the chain off the door and urgently tugged it open.
“Y/N, wait!” Footsteps rapidly descended the stairs behind you as you dashed onto the front porch and were instantly blinded by flashes of blue and red.
Police cars screeched to a halt outside the house, their sirens blaring in the lonely night air. You paused, relief flooding your system at the first sign of safety. You were scared, lightheaded and dazed, but you were safe, at last.
“Y/N?” Wanda called out again, softer this time. Her voice betrayed a hint of disappointment, one you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back at. She was lingering in the doorway, red and blue lights exposing the innocent shock on her face. Guilt suffused throughout your body, which made you long to crash into her arms and lose yourself to the comfort. But you couldn’t bring yourself to, your mind flickering back to the phone that had fallen out of her pocket, convicting her as a potential suspect.
But could she really be? Your girlfriend, a murderer?
You flinched as Wanda took a cautious step towards you. Her face fell at the involuntary movement, and you were thankful to hear the car doors slamming shut behind you, followed by an all too familiar voice demanding for Wanda to freeze.
Tony Stark appeared next to you, gun loaded and aimed straight ahead as he approached you both, assessing the scene. He paused, gaze flickering over Wanda with suspicion.
“Y/L/N, what’s going on here?” He asked sternly.
Your eyes swept over Wanda, considering whether you were truly willing to hand her over so easily.
“I’m not sure.” You answered instead, your voice hoarse, but carrying an undeniable certainty.
“Please, baby.” Wanda implored you, the nickname sending a chill across your skin. Whether it was pleasant or not, you weren’t sure. “You know I would never.” Tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head.
And you wanted to believe her, you really did.
But you couldn’t.
“I don’t know anything, Wanda. Not right now.”
...
The front yard of your house soon became a whirlwind of activity. You observed the scene disinterestedly from a distance, sat in the back of an ambulance following a check-up from the first responders. Apart from a couple of bruises and a cut on your arm, you had escaped unscathed from the attack and were told to consider yourself lucky. But you didn’t. You remained in a state of shock, as barely ten minutes ago, you had watched the cops handcuff your girlfriend and throw her into the back of a squad car.
It was hardly a lucky outcome.
At the present moment, she was their only suspect, and so you had let them take her, uncertain of anything except for a need for safety. To have someone answer for the attack, locked away so you could live and forget. Though the guilt stopped you from being able to do so.
Numbly, you watched as Tony and the sheriff, whose name you had yet to learn, started heading your way. They both had an awkward expression of pity, which was a rare sight on Tony Stark’s face and made you feel somehow worse. The sheriff stopped a couple of feet away, his pitying gaze never leaving you as Tony slumped down beside you.
“We’re seeing a lot of you today.” He patted your back reassuringly, though the gesture made you nauseous. “You gonna be able to come down to the station and talk to us in a bit?”
You tried to smile but failed. “Yeah…”
In the distance, a flash of purple caught your attention, weaving in and out of the maze of police cars and officers.
“Y/N?” Kate appeared, barrelling past an officer and jogging over to the ambulance. “What happened? Oh god…” She covered her mouth with her hand as she stared at the chaos currently surrounding your home.
“Sorry, you can’t be here,” The sheriff grasped onto her arm, prepared to drag her out. “This is an official crime scene.”
“It’s okay.” You quickly interrupted. “She was supposed to pick me up.”
“Yeah.” Kate’s eyes frantically darted between the intimidating figures. “Her dad’s out of town. She’s staying with me.”
Both officers looked questioningly over at you.
“I didn’t want to be home alone.”
“Well, I can see why.” Tony agreed after a beat of silence, then stood up to allow Kate to sit down next to you.
“Are you alright?” She asked, ignoring the obvious curiosity in her expression in lieu of checking you were okay first. It made your heart swell momentarily with a fondness for your friend, more concerned by your current state than the events that had just transpired.
You opened your mouth to respond, though never got the chance to as another set of vans arrived outside the house. They skidded to a halt with the same urgency as the first responders had, though with no markings indicating such on the side.
Tony sighed, staring at the vehicles disapprovingly. “Here come the vultures.”
Right on cue, the door to the van slid open and a figure clad in a red suit hopped down onto the road. She stood out from the rest of the onlookers, gazing round at the scene with a barely hidden interest, her vibrant clothing abrasive and eye-catching. The unmistakable colour of blood. Her face fell upon you at the opposite end of the yard, and you recognised her as the infamous Pepper Potts.
“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Tony offered out his arm.
You hauled yourself up as Kate positioned herself beside you, shielding you from the oncoming media frenzy. You kept your head down as you drew closer to the reporter, praying she didn’t notice you walk past.
“Jesus! The camera, Happy- hurry!” She clicked her fingers at the cameraman, then you heard heels clicking as she jogged to catch up with you. “Excuse me!” She yelled out, almost elbowing Tony out of the way. You were exposed, seeing Pepper’s pearly whites, a microphone clutched in her hand and a camera following closely to be shoved in your face.
“There are no statements to be made at this current moment.” Tony recovered, raising a hand over the lens of the camera. “Maybe get a life, stop stalking and come back at the appropriate-“
“Hi, Miss Y/L/N, right?” Her gaze softened momentarily as she ignored Tony.
You halted, perturbed by the fact she already knew your name.
“Some night.” She exclaimed when you didn’t speak. Pepper glanced back at the camera dramatically, then feigned concern. “Are you alright?”
You knew she was only asking to get a verbal response for the camera. You were visibly shaking, your face pale and eyes wide. Quite clearly you were not okay, and reluctant to provide her with an answer.
“What happened?” Pepper prompted at your silence.
“She’s not answering any questions right now. Just leave us alone, okay?” Kate interrupted, putting herself between you and Pepper and fixing her with a frown.
“It’s fine.” You sighed, waving a hand nonchalantly, though you felt anything but. “She’s just doing her job.”
“Exactly.” Pepper smiled, seemingly taken aback. “Now what can you tell us about the event that transpired here?”
You shrugged. “I was attacked.”
“And do you have any idea who was behind the attack, or perhaps what instigated it?”
“Well, I got a phone call from some creep.” You grimaced, unwilling to share the full details. “But otherwise, I have no idea.” You smiled, hoping that would be the end of Pepper’s interrogation, and perhaps she’d leave you alone.
You were wrong.
“And could this be related to the recent death of Yelena Belova? I’d heard the two of you were close.”
You narrowed your eyes, unable to ignore the emphasis she put on the word ‘close.’
“Or maybe that’s not quite the correct phrasing.” She pursed her lips in mock thoughtfulness. “Together?”
You tensed, your face going taut at the suggestion, then forced yourself to relax. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with-“
“So, you were in a relationship with Miss Belova?” She interrupted once again, seeming to already have reached a conclusion without your input.
“No, never anything as serious as that…” Your voice was strained now, as you tried desperately to correct the assumption.
“An unrequited-“
“No!” It was your turn to intervene, hopefully putting an end to Pepper’s outlandish theories. “Nothing really happened, and it was so long ago-“
“Perhaps you resented Yelena for never wanting to be with you.” Pepper continued, spinning your words into a wild accusation. “Perhaps, it even drove you to murder- one you’re attempting to cover up now by faking an attack.”
“Faking?” Kate cut in incredulously.
“That’s bullshit.” You exclaimed, unable to suppress your slowly building rage. “And you know it.”
“Well, I’m just throwing ideas out,” she shrugged infuriatingly, then turned on Tony, “seeing as the police have yet to make any official statement or provide the concerned citizens of Westview with any reassurances.”
“We’re… working on it.” Tony stuttered out, caught off guard by the sudden criticism.
“Well, you better get working fast, officer.” She scoffed. “And it’s hard to ignore the relation between both attacks.” She looked back at the camera. “Having shared a brief, intimate relationship between two young adults of the same sex. Are these attacks politically motivated? Religious, perhaps? Maybe rather than focusing on the personal motive, the killer intends to send out a message of-“
“Fuck you.” You interrupted, clenching your jaw to keep you from saying anything worse.
Pepper looked at you in disbelief. “I think you ought to watch your language, young lady. Your moral character seems to have already drawn enough attention.”
In a blurred, unexpected instant, you brought your fist forward and smashed it hard into Pepper Pott’s face. The impact sent Pepper reeling backwards, knocking into Happy and his ridiculously expensive camera as they both tumbled to the pavement.
“Hey! Hey.” Tony outstretched his arm, physically blocking you. “That’s enough. I think it’s time we go.”
You took a deep, satisfied breath seeing the two piled on the ground, then allowed yourself to be tugged along and into the back of Tony’s squad car. You didn’t care if Pepper managed to spin the events and make you look bad, or if it worsened your reputation. It had been worth it to wipe the smug smile from her face.
...
“God, I loved it!” Kate laughed and threw herself back onto the bed. “Oh, Y/N, you need to be careful, your bad moral proclivities and your bad language will be the death of you!”
You perched on the other side of Kate’s bed, chuckling at her bad impression of Pepper.
“And then BAM! Bitch went down.” Kate thumped her fist into her palm and laughed some more.
“Talking of…” Tony appeared in the doorway, clutching a bag of ice. “I thought you might want some ice for that right hook.”
He tossed the bag of ice over, which you caught and placed over your reddening fist, wincing at the bruise already forming.
“I’ve got two officers stationed outside the house all night, so if anything happens, they’ll be here” He continued, clearly exhausted and ready to head home after the long night.
You nodded and thanked him. “Any word on reaching my dad?” You quickly asked before he disappeared. You had given the cops your uncle’s number, and despite the incessant number of times it’d been rung, they had received no answer so far.
“Afraid not, kid. But we’ll let you know when we do.”
“If you do…” You muttered bitterly. “Pretty shitty timing for my uncle to fall so seriously ill.”
“Or maybe it’s all related?” Kate chimed in, looking conspiratorially between the two of you. “Maybe the killer planned it all…”
You thought for a moment. “Nah. My uncle has heart problems, it’s probably to do with that.”
“Real great theory Kate.” Tony snarked. “Maybe you should try submitting it to Pepper Pott’s investigatory website.”
“She has a website?” You scoffed at the idea.
“Yeah.” Tony nodded slowly, his mind clearly elsewhere.
“And how do you know?” Kate smirked. “You a fan, Stark?”
“Well, it is my job to investigate.”
You and Kate shared a knowing look.
“And if that investigation happens to involve a ridiculously attractive, if slightly intense journalist, then so be it.” He shrugged, brazenly unashamed.
Suddenly, the phone stationed on the bedside table started ringing, sending a jolt of panic coursing through you. Its shrill sound echoed uncomfortably in the bedroom as Tony quirked an eyebrow, and Kate looked at the item as though it were going to bite should she answer the call.
You were all slightly paranoid, to say the least.
“I guess I should get that…” Kate gulped and reached an uncertain hand out to grasp the phone. “It’s probably just Peter… or someone.”
You instinctively knew that wasn’t the case. Peter would have an idea of what was happening as Tony was hardly discrete when talking to his nephew, and the only other person it could possibly be was Pietro… You shuddered at that possibility. That he might blame you for accusing Wanda. That he would be angry.
Kate took a breath. “Hello?”
You didn’t need to hear the person on the other end, Kate’s face was telling enough. Her eyes flickered over to you as she answered, “yeah, she’s right here.”
And then, the device was being handed over to you by your terrified-looking friend. Your brain screamed not to take it, rather pass it on to Tony, but your heart reasoned that if it truly was the killer, then Wanda’s name would be cleared, and that was something you couldn’t pass up. Besides, nobody would be able to identify the voice except you.
Your sweaty palm enclosed the phone and brought it slowly to your ear. “Who is this?” You forced out, sending a last-minute prayer that it might just be your dad, finally getting back in contact.
“Hello Y/N.” The same, raspy voice taunted.
Hot tears immediately welled up in your vision as the memory came rushing back anew. “No.” You murmured, covering your face as though to block out this horrid reality. The killer was committed, and somehow knew you would be here. It was a horrifying prospect.
But at least it wasn’t Wanda…
“Poor Wanda,” the anonymous voice sang out, “innocent and locked away in a prison cell for the night. You know this kind of thing goes on permanent records, right?”
“Hey!” Tony boomed out, conclusive in his decision as he stormed across the room and snatched the phone from you. “I’m afraid Miss Y/L/N has had to dash off, can I take a message?”
The clock in Kate’s room ticked away, marking five seconds of silence before Tony spoke again.
“Or maybe leave an email. Hotmails really taking off these days, it’ll save money on your phone bill.”
You heard the telltale buzz as the line went dead, prompting Tony to slam the phone back down and mutter “damn.”
A cold sense of dread settled over the room, like the killer was somehow watching you now, ever present, ever aware of your whereabouts. But it simply wasn’t possible… The only people who knew you were here were Kate, her mother, Tony, and the rest of the police force. Unless someone had simply guessed, meaning it had to be somebody close to you, who knew you well enough to anticipate your every move.
That prospect was no less concerning, and so you resigned yourself to trying to sleep that night without sparing a thought to the perilous situation you had found yourself in.
...
The atmosphere in school was like nothing you had ever seen before. The corridors seemed narrower, constricting all around you, the students inhabiting them more rowdy than usual. Classes dragged on longer than necessary, and you were unable to focus on what the teachers were droning on about. You were paranoid, too preoccupied by the knowing glances constantly being thrown back at you to care about anything else. The likelihood that the killer was someone you knew kept replaying in your mind, suspicion lacing every interaction with your friends and peers at school. Hell, even the teachers.
And the worst part was that you kept seeing that damned mask everywhere.
To the people who had no connection to you or Yelena, this was the most exciting thing to happen in Westview in their lifetime, and they certainly weren’t going to miss out on the festivities that some were partaking in. As you walked between classes, figures in the same cheap, ghostly Halloween mask sprinted up and down the corridors, chasing one another and reenacting what for you was fresh trauma.
“This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.” You confessed to Kate after witnessing the third Ghost-faced imposter.
She frowned, equally as perturbed by the way the school reacted to such disturbing events. “I want you to meet me here right after class, okay?” She demanded, unwilling to separate seeing the state you were in.
You nodded and smiled, then went to reassure her you would be fine, but something more important caught your attention.
“Shit, what is she doing here?” Kate exclaimed softly.
You were both transfixed, helplessly watching as the Maximoff twins were making their way over to you. Wanda looked tired, that much was clear. You hadn’t given any previous thought to the fact she would likely be released following the phone call to you last night, let alone expect her to make an appearance in school- probably only to see you.
In contrast to Wanda’s exhaustion, Pietro looked angry, and you prayed that anger wasn’t directed at you, though you wouldn’t blame him if it was. Noticing this, Kate went ahead to grab onto Pietro’s shoulders and try slow the warpath he was on. While he was momentarily distracted, Wanda came to a stop in front of you, her eyes cautiously seeking out your own. It was strange to see her after everything that had occurred, made more surreal by the fact that it was in such a mundane setting.
“Hey Y/N. Can we talk a sec?” She spoke so fast, but softly, as though afraid she was about to be dragged away once again.
You couldn’t hold the eye contact and flickered back to Kate in a silent cry for help.
“You know, if I were accused of carving up someone and attacking my girlfriend, I’d take the opportunity to skip school.” She called to Wanda warily.
“Hey, go easy, Kate.” Pietro interrupted. “She didn’t do it.” You could practically see him gritting his teeth together in an attempt to stop himself from saying worse.
You paid them no mind, summoning the resolve to turn back to your girlfriend. “Fine, five minutes.” Glancing around at the several unfamiliar pairs of eyes watching interestedly, you added, “Girl’s bathroom, now.”
Clutching your textbooks to your chest, you marched through the hallways with Wanda in tow. She didn’t say a word until you had shut the door behind you and checked every stall, confirming that the bathroom was actually empty.
“You… don’t think it was me, right?” Wanda maintained a distance from you, nervously wringing her hands.
You took a deep breath, reasoning that surely it couldn’t be. “No.”
Wanda nodded, managing out a tearful smile.
“I don’t think it was you… just… oh god.” You felt yourself begin to cry, reliving what you had felt at the time of the attack, and unable to find the words to explain. “Someone tried to kill me…” You sniffed, snatching a wad of toilet paper from one of the toilet stalls to dry your face.
“I know, the police say I scared him off.” Wanda looked at you, so unconditionally in love with you that it made your chest ache. “It wasn’t me, Y/N.”
“I know.” You repeated, firmer this time. “The killer called me again last night at Kate’s house.”
“See, it couldn’t have been me. I was in jail, remember?” Wanda reminded, her caring façade temporarily dropping in lieu of proving her innocence. “But shit, how did he know you would be there?” She asked quickly.
“I don’t know.” You bit down on your lip, shaking your head. “But I’m sorry, for accusing you. I wasn’t in my right mind…”
“It’s fine, baby.” Wanda tentatively closed the space between you, wrapping her arms loosely around your shaking form. She pulled you in, resting your chin on her shoulder. “I would’ve done the same.”
Her lips pressed gently against your neck, then enclosed around the skin and sucked lightly. Her grip around your body suddenly tightened, the touch turning from sweet to lustful so fast it made your head spin. She trailed her mouth further up, leaving your skin damp against the cold air and making you shiver. The usual heat that accompanied her contact was nowhere to be found, and it abruptly dawned upon you that this was wrong.
“Wanda.” You murmured in an attempt to reprimand her.
Taking it as a moan, she continued on, her touch growing tighter, almost painfully.
“Wan-“ You pushed against her, only to find she wouldn’t budge. “Wanda, stop!” You felt claustrophobic in her arms and shoved her suddenly backwards.
She stumbled away, looking at you with a mix of hurt and shock.
“You still don’t trust me?” She could hardly contain the frustration in her voice, emphasised by her heavy breathing and burning glare.
“No, that’s not true.”
“Then what is it?” She spat. “You don’t want to be around me. Is there somebody else?”
“No!”
“You’re missing Yelena?”
“Yes- but as a friend!” You argued, desperate for a chance to speak, to explain yourself. “I just, I don’t want that right now.” You flailed your hands around, hoping she got the message in spite of your ineloquent explanation.
“I’m being too pushy.” She wasn’t as angry now but still had disappointment palpable in her expression.
“No, it’s just- it’s me, Wanda.” You sighed. “I need time, and considering everything that’s just happened, I think that’s more than reasonable.”
“It is. You’re right” Wanda exhaled and turned away from you. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”
Despite everything, you still hated seeing her like this, and reached out to grab hold of her hands. “And I’m sorry for thinking you were the killer. I regretted it as soon as I said it.”
Wanda nodded slowly, staring down at your intertwined hands. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by the bathroom door slamming open. You quickly broke apart, and she looked up at you, slightly sadly, before muttering, “See you soon, Y/N.”
And with that, Wanda was gone, leaving you reeling in your thoughts with tear tracks still fresh on your cheeks. You opted to sit in one of the stalls and regain your composure before heading to your next class, listening numbly to the sound of people coming and going from the bathroom for the next ten or so minutes. Screw being late.
You were just about to finally leave when two new voices entered the room, both vaguely familiar but not enough for you to make your presence known.
“What if she did it?” You heard one say, voice ever so recognisable. “What if Y/N killed Yelena?”
“And why would she do that?” A second asked, exasperated but curious.
“Don’t you remember they used to be a thing? Maybe Yelena ended it and Y/N never got over the rejection.”
“But she’s with that weird girl now- right? Pietro’s brother.”
You frowned to yourself. You knew Pietro was much more popular than his sister, but the school’s general distaste towards Wanda had always upset you.
“So why would Yelena matter anymore?” The girl continued.
“Because Yelena was cool, and fun, and Y/N knew that being with her was probably the peak of her life. Waldo- or whatever she’s called- is such a downgrade.”
The other voice laughed cruelly. “That’s true. I think I’d kill myself.”
“Exactly, but teen suicide is out this year and homicide is a much healthier therapeutic expression, hence, Y/N killed Yelena.” She punctuated the last few words with a manicured nail tapping against the porcelain sink.
The reverberating click made you shiver uncomfortably, listening to their dumb theories and trying your best not to take it personally. But- that voice, it had finally clicked into place: it was Agatha. She was notoriously a wild gossip, still, you never knew she had it out for you like this.
“God maybe you’re right.”
You heard their footsteps head over towards the exit, their annoying voices diminishing as the door slammed shut. You were left in silence, marked only by water dripping somewhere from a leaky pipe, and the sound of wind whistling from the cracked transom above the door. It almost sounded like a whisper, luring you out of the safety of the locked stall.
Catching sight of your reflection in the mirror, you recognised evident tear streaks down your cheeks, accompanied by a general expression of annoyance. The whole situation, and the way your school had turned it into a joke, left you alternating constantly between resentment and anxiety. But there was no time to dwell on it, as you heard that dreadful whisper again…
“Y/N…” The word struck you like a nail through the eye. A stark confirmation that someone else was in here with you. But all the stalls appeared to be empty.
You could only hear the sound of your own rapid breathing, that same rhythmic drip and the haunting whistle of the wind, leaving you to wonder whether your brain was simply playing tricks on you in this tense state.
There was a long, morose pause, and then, “It’s me, Y/N.”
“Fuck no.” Terror flooded your face as you spun on your heel, noting that to get to the exit, you would have to walk past the row of stalls. You took a reluctant step forward, ducking under the stall to see nothing, then the next, and the next, until finally, the last stall. It was empty at first, and you considered that maybe you were really just going crazy.
But then, two feet stepped down from the toilet onto the floor in the final stall. You were paralysed, face drawn tight as the door began to creak open, revealing Ghostface clutching the same knife as before.
You swivelled on your feet, crashing through the door but feeling a hand grip onto your shoulder and tug you back. Bracing yourself for the eventual feeling of a knife digging into your back, you ducked out of the grip and barrelled straight back into him, sending you both crashing to the slippery bathroom floor. You were able to launch yourself up before the attacker, and launched yourself through the exit before he could grab hold of you.
Without looking back, you sprinted through the hallway, ignoring the questioning look of a teacher you passed and heading straight for the principal’s office. You knew that only the top authority would be able to help you out. Nick Fury was perhaps the most intimidating teacher you had ever known, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he were to track down and kill Ghostface himself.
You burst through the door to his office, being met by two students holding ghost masks in the middle of a berating.
“He’s here… I saw him.” You sobbed out, hysterical but unashamed of your reaction. “He’s here…”
Fury rushed towards you, placing a comforting hand on either shoulder to ground you. “Where? What happened?”
You gulped back a sob, attempting to form some comprehendible recount of the events. But you couldn’t bring yourself to. All that replayed in your mind was the realisation that this was your new reality. There was someone after you, who clearly wouldn’t stop until you were dead.
Fury gave up on getting any coherent answer from you and called the cops, who arrived promptly having been stationed outside. They searched the girl’s toilets and found no evidence of any attacker lurking there, but assured you full protection from now on, starting with Tony Stark escorting both you and Kate home immediately. She was pulled from class, and you were told to wait outside while they finished one last sweep of the building.
Sitting next to Kate on a bench, you were finally able to catch your breath, and took the opportunity to briefly explain to Kate what had happened, refusing to dwell on your conversation with Wanda, or the rather unpleasant end of it.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one listening.
“Attacked, again?” Pepper revealed herself from inside an inconspicuous-looking van, clearly having been waiting and watching for something to happen.
“You were spying on us?” Kate exclaimed incredulously. “Surely that’s against the law…”
“No, just good journalism.”
“Hey, hey!” Tony arrived at the perfect moment, clicking his fingers at Pepper. “You, you’re not supposed to be here.” As much as you trusted Tony for protection, you could see how his eyes trailed over Pepper distractedly.
“For a police officer, you don’t have the best focus,” Pepper smirked, seeing his wandering gaze.
You rolled your eyes at the interaction, feeling a flush of anger towards Tony.
“Well, I’d say it’s because you’re much prettier in person.” He replied, ever the flirt.
Pepper was about to respond, but never got the chance to. There was a sudden crackle in the air, signifying the PA system had sparked to life.
Nick Fury’s sombre tone filled the air, as you all stopped to listen. “Your attention, please. Due to the recent events that have occurred and until it comes to a resolve, effective immediately, all classes are suspended till further notice.”
Despite being outside the building, you heard a schoolwide cheer from inside, imagining the shared joy amongst everyone regardless of the dire circumstances.
“The Westview Police Department has also asked me to announce a city-wide curfew beginning at 6pn.” Fury finished, to which you heard a palpable boo from inside.
“Boy, you people sure do make a fuss over a serial killer.” Pepper sighed humorously.
“Technically, not a serial killer yet.” Tony folded his arms. “Gotta knock off a couple more to get that title, so he’s just a plain old murderer.”
“For now-“ You snarked, feeling your patience draining away from you.
The bell rang out, ending school for the foreseeable future, proceeded by the stampede of footsteps as students rushed out of the building, celebrating their early release. You and Kate stood up, ready to go when you caught sight of Wanda and Pietro.
Unwilling to leave things as awkwardly as you had, you told Tony to wait for a minute and jogged over to her, with Kate following behind.
“Is this cool or what?” Pietro appeared enthused by the sudden closure of the school, slinging an arm around Kate’s shoulders as he always did.
“For once, Piet, drop it.” She chastised.
“Okay,” he rolled his eyes, “but whatever you did, the entire student body thanks you.” He said, nodding at you with an impish smile.
“What happened?” Wanda questioned, glancing between you and her brother. “Were you attacked again?”
“Yeah, right after you left.”
Her mouth fell agape, then shifted into a harsh line. “And you don’t think I did-“
“No!” You were quick to assure before her concern was fully voiced. “I don’t.”
“Well, to celebrate this impromptu fall break, and Y/N admitting my sister’s innocence, I propose a party tonight.”
“What?” Kate turned to her boyfriend, aghast by the suggestion.
“Tonight, our house.” He confirmed, winking at Wanda.
“Are you serious?” You laughed in disbelief at his uncaring attitude.
“Our parents are out of town. It’ll be like my hurricane bash last year.” He stated, trying his best to convince the two of you that this was a good idea. “Nothing extreme, just a few of us, hangin’.”
“I don’t know Piet.” Even Wanda looked unconvinced, though Kate seemed to be warming to the idea.
“I guess safety in numbers…” Kate turned to you, seeking approval. “What do you think, Y/N?”
In spite of everything happening, you agreed that you would be safer in a larger group of friends. The police had hardly been effective in stopping the attacks so far, and Tony’s presence did little to assuage your constant fear. Not to mention that you rather owed it to the Maximoff twins, having unfairly convicted them before considering all the facts.
With this realisation, you nodded timidly. “Yeah, sure… whatever.”
“Alright.” Pietro rubbed his hands together connivingly. “See you guys at 8 pm sharp. Bring food.”
Wanda smiled at you warmly for the first time since this whole situation had begun. It gave you hope, motivation to go through with this party tonight. You had missed the genuine happiness in her expression and would do anything to earn back her adoration, to make her forget any of your accusations and assumptions.
Still, as Kate linked her arm with yours and spoke continuously about the plans for tonight, you couldn’t help but feel that this was about to be a huge mistake…
...
As predicted, Tony was far from happy about the party organised that night, giving you a lecture on all the possible dangers as he drove you back to Kate’s. But you knew him and knew that he was way too concerned about his reputation to cancel the get-together. He dropped you home with one final warning, asked for the address just in case, and then left you for the evening. To your relief, officers were already stationed outside the Bishop household, though it would make sneaking away for the night a lot harder.
Still, Kate seemed undeterred, already applying makeup and straightening her hair by six.
“Are we seriously doing this?” You muttered, laying on the bed staring impassively up at the monotonous white ceiling.
“Yes, we are.” She affirmed. “Because, trust me, you’ll be safer surrounded by a load of drunk, pubescent boys. Hell, they’ll probably track down and kill Ghostface themselves.”
“And what if Ghostface is already there.” You sat bolt upright, the image of his infamous mask flipping to the forefront of your imagination.
“Well, we’ll see that obnoxious costume from a mile away.”
“Out of disguise, Kate.” You sighed, collapsing inwards on yourself. Anxiety was sweeping across your body, a cold breeze which rendered you paranoid and entirely unwilling to attend the party tonight.
“Then make sure you’re never by yourself.” She answered quickly, eager to soothe your worries. You could tell she was excited for the night, always one to stay at a party even after everyone else left. “I promise I won’t leave your side, even if Pietro wants to make-out or whatever.”
You grimaced at that image.
“And I bet Wanda won’t want to leave your side.” She added. “That girl is crazy about you, and probably willing to throw herself in front of the killer to save you.”
“Not after how I’ve treated her…” You murmured, recalling the hurt she seemed to be holding onto.
“Nobody can blame you for that, Y/N.” Kate abandoned her place in front of the mirror to sit beside you. “I would’ve done the same if it’d been me and Pietro.”
“But it’s not just that. I can’t relax around her.” You threw your hands up exasperatedly and exhaled, debating whether to bring the topic up or not. “Whenever she touches me, I freak out.”
There was a pause of silence, in which your words swallowed you into a pit of embarrassment, one you were about to retract.
“So what? You have a few intimacy issues, and all this murdering probably doesn’t help.” Kate shrugged. “No big deal. You’ll get there eventually. And Wanda will wait.”
“But she’s already been so patient with me, Kate.”
“Yeah, It’s Wanda. Your girlfriend. Probably the most caring, perfect person I can imagine for you to be with. And virginity intact or not, I’m sure she won’t let you get murdered.”
You snorted, submitting to Kate’s humour over your constant doubts. “You’re right.”
Three knocks against the door interrupted your conversation. You held your breath, inexplicably tense despite knowing that murderers were hardly the type to knock before entering a room.
“You guys decent in there?” The muffled yet unmistakable voice of Tony Stark called out.
“Yeah…” Kate answered as the handle twisted open. “Hey…” She greeted confusedly.
You frowned, equally unable to understand why Tony had returned…unless… “Have you guys heard anything from my dad?” You asked desperately.
Tony shook his head. “Afraid not, kid.”
You sunk back into the bed, any hopes of familial safety having been immediately squandered.
“But good news is you’ve got me as your personal bodyguard tonight.” He finished, folding his arms.
“What?” Both you and Kate echoed at the same moment.
“I took the evening shift stationed outside the house, so no need to sneak out, but” he held up a stern finger, “only on the condition that I go with.”
“No.” Kate screwed her face up. “You’ll ruin the whole night.”
“Firstly, offensive.” He pointed at Kate with a sneer. “Secondly, I’ll be staying outside the house unless there’s screams and such.”
“Fine, deal.” You waved off the list, indifferent about his attendance.
“Thirdly…” He continued. “Pepper is coming with.”
“What!”
“She’ll definitely ruin the night,” Kate repeated.
“No Pepper, no deal- and I tell the police about this little rendezvous planned for tonight.”
You rolled your eyes. “That’s unfair” But seeing no compromise, glanced at Kate and saw the same muted displeasure. “But fine. Why does she even want to come?”
“Says it’s a journalistic hunch.” He shrugged, nonchalantly leaning against the doorway.
“And why do you want her there, Stark?” Kate sent a look your way, already well aware of why Tony would want the company.
“I thought a stakeout might be a good first date.” He answered in full honesty.
“It’s not.” You shook your head in disbelief at his antics. “Still, as long as you keep your business separate from ours, I see no issues here.”
“Alright.” His lips drew into a taut line. “Pleasure doing business with you both.”
...
The irony of showing up to an illegal, out-of-curfew house party in a cop car didn’t escape you. Nor did it make you feel any less uncomfortable. The Maximoff’s house was right on the edge of town, surrounded by nothing but empty fields as far as the eye could see. It was isolated, perfect for parties but likely terrible for your own safety. There were no streetlights to illuminate potential Ghostface killers, and with the sun setting in the distance, you doubted the orange hue that currently permeated the sky would stay.
The only other source of light came from inside the house itself, accompanied by a general ruckus and music blaring. You were late, and as such, a gathering of cars were already littered across the driveway, though you doubted their owners were intending on staying sober. At that moment, you decided that you would certainly not be getting a lift home with anyone besides Tony tonight. The celebratory atmosphere from school closing early still lingered in the air, meaning that tonight was probably going to get way out of hand. Especially if Pietro had anything to do with it.
Tony dropped you off with a word of warning, then pointed out where he and Pepper would be stationed for the night, further down the driveway and out of sight. You shuddered at the mention of Pepper’s name, or rather, the fact that she was your line of defence for the night.
As you and Kate approached the front door, which was left open for anyone to enter, the house loomed over you menacingly. Its shadow fell across your face, blocking out the last rays of sunset and encompassing you in artificial lighting. You rarely visited Wanda at home, finding her parents were often absent and your dad refusing to drive you over there. As such, your attention was instantly diverted upon stepping foot inside. Your vision traced up the staircase, wondering whether it would lead you to Wanda’s room- a place you had surprisingly never ventured to.
Resolving yourself to finding the room, you turned to inform Kate of your plans, only to see she had disappeared. Most of the activity was coming from the kitchen, where you guessed she was greeting people, entirely unaware that you had already slipped away.
Shrugging off the momentary irritation at her having broken her promise so soon, you went over to the staircase and began to climb upstairs. A couple of people were standing on the landing, engaged in a heated discussion away from the rest of the party. They didn’t even notice you slip past.
All the doors were shut, and all looked identical, though you remembered Wanda having mentioned that her room faced the fields behind the house. So, you went towards the door that matched her description, twisting open the handle slowly as to warn anyone inside of your arrival.
You guessed correctly, and were met by a bedroom littered with posters and pictures- some of you. The overhead light was off, leaving a string of fairy lights scattered across the walls to brighten an otherwise dingy room. The air was still and dusty. Previously undisturbed particles swirled about your like an ocean, parting only for you. A scented candle burned peacefully on the windowsill, the smell reminding you of your girlfriend. A sudden ache arose in your chest, encouraging you to leave the room and find her.
“You shouldn’t be in here.” A stern voice sounded from the doorway.
You jumped, your heart beating an irregular pace as you swivelled round to see Pietro. The light of the corridor filled the space around him, casting an ominous silhouette over the bedroom. His expression was angry- serious, and unmoving, so far from the Pietro that you knew and liked that it made you exceedingly uncomfortable.
“Sorry.” You stuttered out, taken aback by his newfound seriousness. “I was just leaving- looking for Wanda.”
“She’s just gone out to get more drinks.” His rigid features relaxed a modicum. “She’ll be back soon.”
You watched as he held the door open, ushering you out. More than willingly, you headed over, only stopping once the door had shut behind you as a sudden realisation struck. “But she can’t drive?”
Pietro paused for a second. “There’s a bus to town every half hour, the stop is at the end of the road.”
“She’s getting the bus alone at this hour?” Fear began to rise throughout you at the image of your girlfriend trapped with a bunch of strangers, and perhaps a murderer. “Also, there’s a curfew.”
Pietro scoffed, his signature smirk returning as he brushed you off. “You worry too much. She’ll be fine!”
You found yourself quickly irritated by his casual demeanour, and snapped, “You have a car, why didn’t you go?”
“Because I am the life of this party, and I’m still a learner driver.” He shook his head, turning away from you to make his way back downstairs.
“That hasn’t stopped you before.” You yelled after him, though it was too late.
Pietro skipped back downstairs, and you reluctantly followed.
“Hey, Y/N!” Peter squeezed through the doorway, stacks of VHS tapes balanced precariously between his arms. “How are you doing?” He asked eagerly.
You dashed forwards to grab onto some of his video tapes before the stack fell down. “I’m alright, all things considered…”
“Thanks- and yeah, I’m surprised you’re here.” He looked at you, concerned. “But I thought to try and keep things calm, we’d make it a Blockbuster night.” He explained, indicating to the VHS collection he had travelled with.
You glanced down at the top three he had passed to you, recognising all the titles as horror films. “You mean a Jamie Lee Curtis night? How come she’s in all these movies?”
Peter placed the tapes down, gaping at you. “Cause she’s the Scream Queen!”
You scoffed. “With that set of lungs, she should be a-“
“Y/N!” Kate dashed over to you. “Where did you go? One minute I turned around and you were there, the next-“
“Oh, don’t worry, I was just exploring the house.” You interrupted, putting a stop to her panic.
“Ok thank god.” She sighed. “For a second there I was worried you’d been Ghostface’d”
You tried to smile but struggled still to find the humour in all this. “Not yet.”
“Not ever.” She stated, then became distracted by Peter’s VHS collection. You watched Kate enthusiastically flip through the familiar titles and found yourself wondering whether she had ever seen the side of Pietro you had just been exposed to. You couldn’t imagine she would’ve stayed with him if she had…
Despite the unsteady start to the party, you allowed yourself to be enveloped by the mundane sort of satisfaction that came with these kinds of gatherings. You ended up wedged between Peter and Kate on a disturbingly discoloured sofa, with Pietro on the other side of Kate. Several times you noted him glancing towards you, though you chose to ignore it and focus on the movie Peter had selected instead.
More familiar faces started to settle throughout the living room to watch the film, all sharing piles of junk food, beer and a joint occasionally passed around. For the first time since everything had kicked off, you felt normal, safe, and enjoying the company of friends. However, the longing for Wanda’s presence never ceased, and your eyes constantly darted towards the foyer, awaiting her inevitable return.
An hour or so later you began to worry that Wanda had yet to return.
Seeing your discomfort, Pietro tapped Kate’s leg. “There’s a bottle of wine in the basement that my parents were saving for a special occasion, why not grab that so Y/N can finally relax.” He fixed you with a pointed stare. “I can feel her anxiety from here. It’s giving me Ghostface blue balls.”
“Fine.” Kate rolled her eyes and stood up. “I’ll be right back.” She gave you a shyly comforting smile, then disappeared as instructed.
Pietro spread out to fill the gap, letting out a cocky, relaxed sigh as he glanced at you, knowingly mocking your anxious demeanour. On the other side, you felt Peter tense, noticing he was observing with a disapproving frown plastered across his face. Despite his unthreatening, wholly innocent appearance, you trusted Peter more than you did Pietro, and as such, sidled closer towards him. You weren’t sure where this sudden distrust of Wanda’s brother came from, nor were you willing to dwell on it. Instead, you fixed your attention to the TV screen ahead, numbly watching to dull your racing thoughts.
Before you knew it, the credits had started rolling. As Peter stood up to pause the tape, you realised suddenly that the vast majority of those crowding the house had vanished. All general ruckus had ceased, the party having come to an end much quicker than you expected. Usually, Pietro would ensure the party lasted until some ungodly hour, yet to your surprise, he had remained seated next to you the entire time, silent except for his occasional comments on the film. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably.
“Wait.” You shot bolt upright abruptly, another concern springing to mind. “Where’s Kate?”
Pietro hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know.” He stood up, looming over you, then clapped his hands together as if something had only just occurred to him. “Sometimes the basement door gets stuck!” He exclaimed, then laughed manically. “She’s probably been stuck down here this whole time! I’ll go get her.” With that, he leapt over the sofa, thudding against the creaky wooden floor and jogging out of view.
With his exit, only you and Peter were left in the living room. He was crouched by the TV, returning the VHS tape to its rightful box, reorganising his collection.
“Peter.” Your voice shook, a reflection of the fear that currently filled your body. “Something’s not right here.”
He turned to you, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean.” You threw your hands up, exasperated at his nonchalance. “Why’s it so quiet? Pietro’s parties usually like this.”
Peter furrowed his face. “Well, I’d guess most people are worried about the curfew.” He turned back to his tapes, selecting another to put on. “Overbearing parents… no buses running… They probably wanted to get going before it got too late.”
“Yeah but…” You exhaled irritably, wrapping your arms around your form for protection. “It just doesn’t feel right here… Like where’s Kate? Where’s Wanda? She left to get drinks before I even got here, and still isn’t back.”
Peter eyed you up. “If you want to go, we can leave now?” He stood up, expression growing grave with concern. In the dim lighting, shadows fell menacingly across his face, his posture tall and stiff, his care morphing into indifference. Don’t trust him, your instincts screamed. Don’t trust anyone.
He must’ve seen your distrust, the hardness in his gaze melting slightly “Y/N…?
“Y/N!” A different voice called.
You swivelled to the left to see Wanda lingering in the doorway, eyes flickering between you and Peter.
“Is everything alright, baby?” She stepped towards you, a softness in her outstretched arms which you craved desperately.
“Yeah.” You took her hand, interlocking your warm palm with hers, cold from the evening chill. You gulped, sensing Peter still watching you closely, creepily. “Can we go up to your room? Please?”
She grinned. “Of course. Seems I’ve missed the party anyway.” She scrunched her nose at you, then tugged you forward and lead you towards the staircase.
You spared one final glance back at Peter, who stood alone and vulnerable in the open space, a mix of jealousy and fear palpable on his face.
...
You lingered awkwardly in the centre of Wanda’s room before deciding to perch on the bed, turning to face her. She leant back against the door, and you heard it click shut, sealing your fate.
“So…” She started, then trailed off. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a selfish shit this whole time and I’m-“
“No.” You waved her off, settling into the comfort of the bed. For the first time that evening, you finally felt at peace, unwilling to be reminded of anything that might stoke your paranoia. “I’m the one that’s been over-dramatic and self-absorbed with all this- just…” You shifted uncomfortably. “I just feel like we haven’t properly had time to talk since this all began.”
“And that’s totally okay.” She assured quickly, practically leaping across the room to sit down next to you. “I don’t blame you.” She took your hands from where you’d been wringing them in your lap, dragging them to rest on her thighs. “I could never blame you.” She admitted, quietly, green eyes gleaming fondly as she stared up at you through her lashes, the gesture pure despite the layer of smoky eyeshadow that encircled her gaze. “Because… I love you.”
You gasped involuntarily, stunned by the confession. Your lips parted to form the words she desired to hear back, yet never got a chance to speak as her mouth landed upon yours. The kiss was soft and hesitant, her hair brushing softly against your jaw as she shifted closer. To rectify the awkward angle, you parted momentarily, swinging yourself over her body to settle in her lap. Immediately, she resumed kissing you, nipping at your bottom lip before sucking it into her mouth, tongue soothing the pain then slipping further to brush against your own. You couldn’t help but moan.
In response, Wanda allowed herself to fall backwards against the bed as you settled on top, straddling her, feeling hands slip underneath your baggy jumper and towards the clasp of your bra. You pressed yourself against her harder, encouraging her fingers to twist urgently and unclasp the strap. Hurriedly, you backed away to shove it off, tugging your jumper overhead with it. Without warning, she grabbed hold of your waist and flipped you over, reversing your position. She quickly did the same, removing her top to reveal a smooth expanse of pale skin. You longed to kiss every freckle, and appreciate every mark, yet found yourself paralysed in admiration.
Wanda smirked, then lowered herself back down to continue kissing you. This time, she moved slower, sensually, flicking her tongue against your lower lip teasingly. Her hand resumed its path up your side, eventually reaching your breast. She palmed at your chest, and you arched into the touch, giving her the chance for her lips to reattach at your neck. Her lips wrapped around your pulse point and sucked, hard enough to leave a bruise, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Her other hand slid down your stomach, your muscles involuntarily flexing at the feeling of her nail tickling against your skin. Her hand wormed its way underneath your jeans, not bothering to unbutton them, and towards your pants, pushing them aside. You moaned; eyes fluttering shut as her finger dragged its way…
A crash sounded downstairs, followed by a scream of pain. Your eyes shot open, yet Wanda didn’t halt at the distraction.
“Wanda.” You murmured, catching her attention.
Her lips had moved to your chest, which you felt her hum against in response.
“Did you hear that?” You asked.
Another scream sounded from downstairs, this time a muffled cry for help.
“Wanda. Stop! Can’t you hear that?” You exclaimed, panic suffusing throughout you. There was no way she didn’t hear either call.
“Hear what?” She said, faux innocently without meeting your gaze, then continued to lather attention along your collarbone.
“You need to stop.” You repeated, firmer this time. “Something’s happening downstairs. Someone needs help.” You shoved flutily against her shoulders, quickly becoming irritated by her carelessness.
“I’m sure it’s Pietro pulling some stupid prank. Just relax.”
“No.” Irritation turned to anger which turned to bravery. “I want to check.”
Her fingers curled suddenly, a wave of pleasure shooting through your core. “But you’re so wet, baby. Let me take care of you first.” Her voice was lost in lust, which had all but drained from you.
“Not now.” You gritted your teeth, pushing her harshly to the side.
Wanda finally broke away to stare at you impassively. “Fine.” She snapped, reaching out for her top. “Go on then.” Coldly, she turned her back to you, leaving you to gather your clothes.
The abrupt change in atmosphere left you stunned. You knew Wanda would be disappointed, but this newfound coldness was extreme- like you were seeing a whole new side to your girlfriend. You stared silently at her back, taking in the tenseness to her shoulders, the upright, frigid posture. Part of you longed to reach out, to melt the frigidity with your own body heat, yet you felt as though you couldn’t. As though a physical barrier had formed between you.
Instead, you sighed and began to dress, eyes darting around the room, anywhere except at her.
Standing up and brushing the hair out of your face, your eyes came to rest on the telephone sitting on the nightstand. As mundane as the object was, it brought a stark revelation to your doubtful mind.
“Who did you call?” You murmured.
“What?” Wanda twitched slightly, still refusing to fully acknowledge you.
“When you were arrested- you’re allowed one phone call…” You elaborated. “Who did you call?”
Wanda paused, answering as she reached back to grab her top. “I called my dad.”
Your mind and pulse were racing, worsening the swirling mix of emotions inside of you. “But your parents are out of town?” You stepped forward, hand resting on the doorknob.
“Yeah… and when I called no one answered.” She explained briefly, finally turning to stare at you, something dark twisting her expression. “You don’t still think it was me, do you?”
“No.” You corrected quickly, beginning to turn the door open. “But if it was you, that would’ve been a pretty clever way to throw me off the track.” The door creaked open, light from the hallway flooding into the dingy room. “Using your one phone call to call me so I wouldn’t think it was you.”
Wanda exhaled dramatically, then rose to step closer to you. “What do I have to do to prove to you I’m not a killer?” She implored, close enough now that you felt her breath fan across your face. Your gaze darted over her features; the softness to her lips, the smooth red colouring of her cheeks, the way her chin quivered almost imperceptibly, a telltale sign that she was anxious. Yet, the usual warmth that you felt in her presence was lacking, replaced by unequivocal doubt.
Before you could answer her, the door suddenly flung back from your grip.
You fell into the corridor as a figure cloaked in black shot past you, a flash of silver hidden amongst the dark mass. You scrambled to sit up, watched helplessly as Wanda was pushed backwards, watched as a steel blade rose high into the air before striking downwards. Watched red crimson blood splatter across the room.
You took in a shuddering breath, forcing your legs into action. You stood tall, your fear numbed by the sight of Wanda’s lifeless body resting where you had sat but moments ago. A growing pool of red was soaking into the sheets, dripping down the edge and staining the carpet.
Slowly, reluctantly, you turned towards Ghostface. He was still now, proud of his work. And as he looked back to you, masked head twisting curiously, you felt sick with rage.
Without wasting another moment, you were off. A horrific sense of Deja vu clouded your every movement as you tore across the landing and down the stairs, not daring to spare a glance anywhere but onwards. Instinct led you through the house, round the corner and crashing against the front door, frantically trying to twist it open only to find it wouldn’t budge. It was locked. Someone had locked you in.
A beat of silence passed as you realised that Ghostface hadn’t followed you.
For a split second, the house was eerily quiet.
“Y/N!” Peter emerged from one of the doorways, bruised and bloody. One hand clutched at his stomach, the other braced against the wall for support. “Fuck. You’re alive. We’ve gotta’ get out of here.” He winced, edging closer towards you, a trail of blood smearing along the wall.
“Y/N!” Another voice called. Both you and Peter turned towards the source of the noise. “Don’t listen to him.” Pietro appeared, stumbling down the last few stairs, equally bloodied and panting from the exertion of dragging himself along. “He’s lying.” Pietro gulped, shaking his head, tears forming in his eyes. “He attacked me.”
“No!” Peter exclaimed. “It was the other way round. You have to believe me, Y/N. Please!” Peter looked to you desperately, taking a wobbly step forward.
“Stop!” You exclaimed, frightened by your own urgent tone. “Neither of you come any closer.”
Pietro whined, thudding back against the wall. “Where’s Wanda…?” He asked, voice pathetically desperate.
You swallowed, a fresh set of hot tears welling up. “She’s dead.”
“Dead?!” Pietro echoed, marred by a mix of emotions you couldn’t decipher.
“She…” Peter trailed off, eyes wide and innocent.
“It’s Parker.” Pietro spat. “His movie nut mind has snapped. He’s gone psycho.” Pietro launched himself suddenly forward.
“Stay back!” You shouted, no real warning behind the threat.
Though, to your relief, Pietro listened. Both of them stood, barely a metre away and waiting for you to act. You trusted neither. A beat passed as you regained strength, coming to a conclusion about what to do.
“Is there another way out the house?” You asked.
Pietro nodded with barely a second to think. “Peter’s locked the backdoor and taken the keys, I saw-“
“No, I didn’t!” The younger boy interrupted, incredulous and frightened.
“But there’s another way out. A trapdoor in the basement. It leads outside.”
“Alright.” You nodded, gulped. “Lead the way.”
“No…Y/N...” Peter whined. “Please, we can’t trust him, it’s a trap!”
“Shut it, Parker,” Pietro growled through gritted teeth, then suddenly appeared to change tactics, snapping his attention to you. “You can’t believe him, Y/N. He’s lost it. Those graphic, violent horror films he loves, they’ve gone to his head. Go on! Ask him what his favourite film is!”
“It’s Aliens… But I hardly see how that’s relevant!” Peter’s eyes were wide and shining, brimming with tears. “Deep down I know you trust me, and you won’t let Pietro win, you won’t follow him into that basement…”
“I…” You began, taking in a shuddering breath. “I don’t know.”
“Come on Y/N….” Pietro dragged out your name, his gaze solely on you. “You can work it out.” He muttered. “Use that smart brain of yours Wanda’s always going on about… Peter’s in love with you, that’s why all his victims are your ex-lovers.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Peter exclaimed.
“But you can’t deny it.” The silver-haired boy continued. “You see the way he looks at you. The way he obsesses over you. He’s lost it. He knows he can’t have you, so no one can- and if that means killing you too then so be it!”
“Y/N I would never!”
“Oh, he would.”
“Shut it, both of you!” You finally chimed in, mind reeling with the information Pietro was pouring into it. You knew you couldn’t follow Pietro into that basement. But you also knew you couldn’t stay here with Peter either. You took a deep, steadier breath. “Ok here’s what we’re going to do. Pietro, you’re going to go down to the basement, wait by this trapdoor, if it’s really there. Meanwhile Peter, can you make it to the phone in the living room?” You asked, nodding towards the end of the corridor.
Peter was in bad shape judging by the pale colour of his skin, and the way he was hunched over in pain, yet he nodded enthusiastically.
“No…” Pietro moaned, bringing his hands up to clutch his face. “No, no, no!” He stood up straight, throwing his arms by his side to reveal an expression of petulant dissatisfaction. “That’s not how this is meant to go!” He yelled, suddenly, taking you by surprise as you stumbled against the wall.
“Pietro… what-“
“Y/N, you’re meant to go down to the basement!” He gestured out at you, movements frantic and irritated. “Where you see Kate- and oof, she’s real messed up.” He pulled a face, and, well, you didn’t have to fill in the blanks there. “While you’re distracted, Wanda comes downstairs and finishes off Peter and that’s where we have the big reveal!” Pietro laughed manically.
Your stomach dropped.
“Then, in an act of self-defence, you stab Wanda as I run upstairs and call the cops and ‘oh yes, officers” Pietro mocked, explaining his sick plans. “We need your help! It was Y/N all along, she faked it all! She has some sick, twisted fetish, murdering the women she can’t have- and Peter and I- we got in the way.”
Bile rose up your throat as you listened in, trying to fight back. “That never would’ve worked!”
“Maybe not by yourself, but here’s where we bring in Kate, who I tragically fought back against and won when I discovered this deranged reality. I’m, of course, devastated by this revelation. That the two of you worked together. The psycho and the pervert.” He said, singsong and mocking.
Footsteps echoed down the stairs, behind your field of view.
“He’s right.” Wanda’s voice was level as she descended, totally unharmed, and eerily calm in spite of everything occurring in her house, serving to confirm your worst fear. She was involved in this masterplan, lacking Pietro’s enthusiasm, but making up for it in the darkness that seemed to shroud her- your girlfriend.
“Anyways,” Wanda continued, “that’s how it should’ve gone if someone hadn’t messed up,” she growled, her frustrations tuned to Pietro. “I played my part perfectly, and you couldn’t hold the fort down for five minutes while I faked my death?” Wanda didn’t spare a glance at you as she walked past you to stand by her brother.
Your heart had plummeted into your stomach, and your body was racked by tremors. Your own girlfriend had been lying to you this whole time. She was a murderer- and Pietro too. He had practically confessed to either killing- or orchestrating the killing, of your best friend. And Yelena, poor Yelena too. She had been wrapped up in their web of psychopathic lies.
Tears burned their way down your cheeks. “But… why?” You tried to put on a brave face, you really did, but your voice shook.
“Why?” Wanda repeated, her face flashing hot with anger. “Why, Y/N?” She took a menacing step towards you, but before she could force her way into your personal space, Peter stumbled in front, placing himself protectively between you.
Wanda chuckled, though there was no humour behind the sound. She swivelled around, pacing over to Pietro as she spoke, “Because I know the truth. I know you never truly wanted to be with me.”
“W-what?” You stuttered out, placing a steadying hand on Peter’s shoulder as his injured body shook with the exertion of standing.
“Pietro never liked you.” She spat, changing the subject. “You know that, right? Nor Kate.”
Pietro grinned, cruel and horrifying.
“He’s a diagnosed psychopath. But neither of you knew that” Wanda continued, “and I bet you also don’t know that psychopathy doesn’t mean no emotions- like those shitty horror films suggest. He does feel things, he just doesn’t know how to react to them.” She shrugged, fixing you with a cold glare. “And so, when I came crying to him that I’d overheard Agatha Harkness talking in the girl’s bathroom about how you and Yelena were in love with each other, well- he just had to do something about that.”
“That’s ridiculous!” You interrupted, desperate to deny the rumours that seemed endlessly to plague you. “Agatha Harkness is the biggest gossip at our school. Just because she says something, doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“See, but I didn’t want to believe it, I really didn’t,” she continued, ignoring you. “But then each time, you pushed me away, it made me realise, she was right.” Wanda cocked her head, crying slightly, though you felt no pity for her.
Instead, you were angry: all of this from a rumour. “So that’s why you murdered… You killed people Wanda, because you were insecure?” You were enraged by her justification, the terror flooding your body having morphed into something much more brutal and unforgiving. “Ever heard of just breaking up?”
“Hey,” Pietro pointed an accusatory finger at you, “don’t talk to my sister like that! She deserves respect, which you’ve failed to give her this entire time.”
“And you…Pietro.” You shook your head. “You were just using Kate for some big revenge scheme. And for what? To make your sister feel better, to kill some people?” You mocked, no longer afraid to provoke the murderers. “What are you meant to be, the next Norman Bates? Only your mother’s never here so you had to fixate on your sister-“
The moment you finished speaking, multiple things happened at once.
Pietro, who had been simmering with rage since you turned on him, lunged forward, hands outstretched to enclose around your neck. He was blocked as Peter used the remained of his strength to barrel into him, slamming the two of them into the wall opposite.
“Y/N, run!” Peter yelled while you stayed paralysed by shock.
You flickered to Wanda, who looked a mix of surprised and devastated. A second later, she looked at you, suddenly understanding what Peter had said, and realising she would need to stop you.
Fortunately, you were a beat quicker and took off in the direction of the basement.
“Y/N!” Footsteps thundered down the stairs behind you. Like a landslide, deadly and unstoppable, Wanda wouldn’t give up until she caught up with you.
But you were faster. Adrenaline gave you strength, speed, focus. You spotted a trapdoor in seconds despite the dingy lighting of the basement, flickering and swaying as you rushed past the lightbulb hanging from the centre of the room.
As it swung, it illuminated a sight your eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to: Kate, her body bloody, slumped against the wall having been dragged into a seated position. You stuttered to a stop. Her face was peaceful, as though she were simply asleep, but not convincing enough to provide you with any consolation. Blood painted her pale cheeks, and you knew she had died in pain. At either the hand of your girlfriend- or arguably worse, her brother, Kate’s boyfriend.
“Y/N.” Wanda repeated, without the prior urgency.
You realised you had been still for a while now, paralysed by the dawning reality of your situation, or more important, the futility of your escape. You had to crane your neck upwards to see the trapdoor, and beneath it an unfortunate lack of stairs. You were doomed.
Wanda was panting beside you; the brief sprint having taken its toll on her. You now noticed the knife clutched in her left hand, its blade clean and shining- taunting you. It had yet to be used, and you wondered whether perhaps Wanda had saved it just for you, whether she had picked it out, thought yes, this is the one I want to plunge into the heart of my lover.
Your girlfriend was undeniably menacing in this state. Her chest was rising and falling, her whole body seeming to shrink and expand with each breath, blocking out the exit behind her.
And yet, you still weren’t scared.
“Is this the part where I beg for my life?” You scoffed.
In fact, you were angry.
“Only if you want to,” Wanda replied though she made no move towards you. “But Kate didn’t.”
So, that confirmed it: your girlfriend had been the one to end your best friend's life. You knew she had brought it up to get a rise out of you, get you to react in some way other than vengeful indifference, but you wouldn’t justify her with it. You could tell by the twist of her lips that it was driving Wanda crazy.
You swallowed. “What about Yelena?”
“That one was Pietro.” She answered. “God, did it drive me crazy knowing I wouldn’t be the one to end her life, that I wasn’t the last thing she saw in this lifetime. But I needed to be at your house, as an alibi, so you could trust me for a little longer. Girlfriend duties, am I right?” She rolled her eyes humorously.
You weren’t laughing, rather, you frowned. “Then why did you show up at my house and drop your secret mobile phone next time?”
“To confuse you, Y/N… I wanted you to doubt everyone, everything you knew- or thought you knew about people.”
You chuckled in disbelief. “You’re insane, Wanda.”
“I’m not-“
“Like your brother,” you continued, ignoring her protests, “you say he’s the diagnosed psychopath, but maybe you need to get checked out. Actually, while you’re at it, get your parents checked too. I’d love to know why I’ve never met them, let alone seen them.”
There was a pause: silence, and then, “You have.” Wanda gulped, your gaze tracing the movement. “You have seen them. When you arrived at the house and walked to the front door.”
Your furrowed brow was starting to give you a headache, but she was making no sense.
“They’re buried in the garden.” She clarified, gaze drifting around the basement, refusing to settle on anything in particular. She hummed, sad and low. “They died a couple years back, and… me and Pietro… we didn’t want to get put into foster care and separated. We just knew we had to make it work for a while.”
Your lips parted, though you had nothing to say. These had been the most emotionally exhausting days of your life, and you wanted them to end.
“But you were so young….” You said, distracted from the present by the sudden exposition Wanda was providing.
“Close enough to eighteen to improvise.” She shrugged, the movement causing the light to catch the metal of the knife, reflecting round the room in a flash of silver.
“Well, I’m sorry, I can’t imagine how difficult that must’ve been…” You sighed. “But it’s an explanation… not an excuse for what you’ve done, Wanda.”
As Wanda stood there, knife glinting in the faint basement light, something in her expression shifted. Her eyes, previously soft and vulnerable as she poured her heart out to you had become hard, filled with cold resolve. She leapt forward, the blade above you, ready to strike downwards.
In an act of self-defence, you pushed upwards, a hand closing around her forearm and halting the knife’s path.
She pushed down as you pushed up, though the effort was futile as Wanda’s whole body shook, unable to find the strength to plunge the knife into your head, which remained barely an inch away from the sharp tip.
“I can’t do this!” She announced, abruptly stepping backwards and letting you stumble to regain your balance. Wanda’s lip quivered as she looked at you, pain etched into her face. The knife she once held so confidently now seemed like a foreign object. “I can’t hurt you Y/N. I don’t understand! You have this effect on me, I…”
Before she could finish her rambling, you lunged at her, instinct guiding your fist into her enclosed palm, smashing the knife out of her grasp. It clattered to the floor with a metallic clang as you both simultaneously threw yourself towards it, struggling and grappling in a tangle of fear and desperation. You struck your elbow back into her face, hard, and she gasped. In the spare moment, you wrestled the knife from her possession and in one swift motion, plunged it into her side.
Wanda cried out in agony.
You dragged the knife out, ignoring the splatter of blood that followed it, jumping quickly to your feet.
Wanda stayed on the floor, rolling onto her back as her hands grasped at her side, attempting to stop the flow of blood pouring endlessly from the wound.
You choked out a sob, everything around you blurred except for the red soaking into the concrete ground beneath her. And then, you remembered: once this had been Yelena, once it had been Kate, and possibly now Peter. This was the second time this evening that you had seen your girlfriend die, only this time you hoped it stuck.
Wanda’s eyes were frantically searching yours, silently screaming for help as her mouth was agape, drawing in shallow breaths. Hurt and confusion filled her pupils… and something that almost resembled regret… But you didn’t have time to think about it. This was for all her prior victims. For all those that she and Pietro had murdered. You would be the one to escape Wanda’s clutches.
You turned back to the trapdoor, your vision finally adjusted to the dim basement light and spotting a ladder tucked in the corner of the room. You scrambled over to it, heart pounding as you dragged the structure across the room. It scraped against the floor, ear-piercing and loud. You hoped it wouldn’t draw Pietro’s attention, wherever he now lurked in the house.
Shaking hands gripped at the rungs, pulling yourself up with all the power you had left. You had no idea what awaited you above this underground nightmare, but you would never be more ready to face it. Slamming your hand into the trapdoor, moonlight flooded down into the room as you kept climbing up, away from the torment.
As your hand grasped onto the cold, solid ground outside, you could’ve sworn you heard Wanda’s voice echo faintly behind you, a soft plea. You halted, the urge to check on her almost convincing you to look back, but not quite.
Your second hand reached up, and you hauled yourself through the frame of the trapdoor and onto the grass, slightly damp between your fingers. It grounded you. This was real. You took in a breath of fresh air, feeling the cool night air fill your lungs and slow your pounding heart. After a minute, you stood, legs carrying you in the direction of Tony’s parked car further down the driveway, its white reflective paint like a beacon at the end of a long, dark path.
“Hey!” A shrill voice rung out into the night, one you dreaded to recognise instantly as Pietro. You glanced towards the source of the sound to confirm your worst suspicions, and there he was, jumper soaked with dark red blood as he staggered forward.
He was injured, badly, but giving chase as you sprung into action.
“Tony!” You yelled, legs burning as you bolted across the garden. “Tony!” You cried out again, this time catching the attention of two silhouettes sitting in the cop car.
Tony Stark and Pepper Potts frantically stepped out of the car as you drew nearer, their eyes widening at the sight of you sprinting, Pietro following closely on your heels. You could almost feel him reaching out for you, could imagine the cool metal of a knife drawing across your bare skin.
“Get down!” Tony shouted, drawing his gun.
You ducked to the side, and he fired a shot. You scrambled to your knees just in time to see Pietro dodge the bullet, ramming straight into Tony and sending the gun flying across the yard.
Pepper didn’t hesitate. She dived for the gun, rolled to her feet, and fired once, twice, her arm unwavering as she stared Pietro down. Tony jumped to a stand, untangling from the struggle as Pietro staggered, his face contorted in rage and pain, before promptly collapsing to the ground a mere couple of feet away from you.
His eyes never closed, his face never finding peace as more blood spilt out onto his jumper, no longer its original colour, but rather marred by different shades of red. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his body, unable to truly believe he was dead, despite how his chest lacked the monotonous rise and falling movement that signified life.
It was over. And yet, you knew that, just like Pietro, you would never find peace.
...
Sirens blared as a never-ending stream of ambulances arrived, paramedics swarming the scene. Red and blue illuminated the house, arguably more imposing than the first time you had laid eyes on it earlier in the night. You stood frozen, your chest heaving as you watched the world fade into obscurity all around you.
And then, “Bring the stretchers! We’ve got one alive in here!”
You waited with bated breath, refocusing on the front door as the first stretcher carried someone out. Your immediate hope was that Wanda had somehow survived, but as you reluctantly remembered everything you had just gone through, you berated yourself for hoping for such a thing.
You stepped forward, away from the paramedic who had been fussing about you since their arrival, and over to the stretcher.
It was Peter: barely conscious, covered in blood and bruises, and impossibly paler since you had last seen him… Since he had sacrificed himself for the mere possibility of your escape.
“Wait!” You called out to the team lifting him through the threshold of the house, away from the brutality inside. “Let me…” Your voice broke off as you drew nearer, examining the true state of him.
They stopped momentarily, allowing you to reach out as if to brush the hair out of his face, then halting at the last moment. He looked so delicate in this state, so easily breakable.
Instead, you leant over, placing your lips gently against his forehead as you fought against a wave of tears threatening to spill.
Whether it was just imagination reassuring your frantic mind, you weren’t sure, but you could’ve sworn you saw the corner of his lips flicker upwards.
And in that moment, you realised something. If Peter was going to be okay, then so would you. Someday.
