#pov some blonde gets spit out of the monster trying to kill you

[poorlemons]

Unmade

[ssa-sugar-tits]

queen of hearts // chapter two

summary: y/n y/l/n was crushed when she found out about maeve donovan. heartbroken, she left her entire life behind. what happens when she becomes the most prolific serial killer the bau has ever seen?

prologue + series masterlist & taglist

content warnings: mentions of violence, minor angst

a/n: reader is literally a psychotic murderer. this is purely a work of fiction and if you or someone you know is experiencing homicidal urges, seek professional help immediately.

-

You take the bus to the second hotel room you booked and fall onto the bed. Pulling your hair into a loose ponytail, you glance into your purse and think back to what you did.

You are not a monster. It's not like anyone's going to miss them. You're not a monster.

You're lying to yourself. Aren't you?

You turn on the TV to snap out of the vicious self loathing over what you did. The news is talking about you.

Go fucking figure.

"The Queen of Hearts strikes again at the Fairfield Inn, claiming her 104th victim. Here we have Agent Jareau from the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit with a profile her team has worked up."

Son of a bitch. The BAU's been called in?

You worked for the damn FBI and you know everything about how they'll try to catch you. How the hell did they even connect the kills? Vigorous work to stay out of their jurisdiction all gone to shit.

"We believe our killer is a woman in her mid 20s to early 30s. She is attractive and manipulative, able to lure married men away for sex and then kill them. This woman does not hold a day to day job as she travels nationwide and occasionally outside of the country. She most likely had an unfaithful significant other about 2 years ago, when the first kill happened. Probably a male with brown hair as those are the only victims she has sexual relations with. We believe she's devolving into a type of thrill killer but is more of an 'Angel of Mercy.' Due to new evidence, we believe this woman sees herself as doing 'the right thing' by killing infidels and exacting her revenge. A trace of blood, A positive, was recovered at the crime scene but as of right now, it isn't enough to match or aid our investigation. If you have any information, please call the number on your screen and do not under any circumstances approach her. Thank you."

You'd forgotten how good they were at their jobs. The man who caused all of your suffering, your pain is working your case. You know you overcompensated with... well murder. But who cares anymore? Any sanity you had, you left behind with him and your relationship. Time to pack up and get the hell out. Nowhere can really be home for you. As you pick up your go-bag and prepare to check out of the hotel, you can't help but wonder if Spencer has started to put the pieces together.

-

SPENCER'S POV - 3 DAYS LATER

-

I rub my eyes and look down at the files. There's no way. Y/N may have been hurt and everyday I regretted that but there is no way she threw away 9 years of work in the bureau and all her values to start killing. At that, 104 people in brutal, horribly violent ways. The thought shouldn't even be crossing my mind. But she fits every parameter of our profile and I've been thinking about it since the day Garcia presented the case to us. 35.7% of the population has A positive blood type and so does Y/N.

"Spence you okay?"

I don't look up at JJ.

"Yeah I'm fine."

I lie.

"You're lying."

The blonde insists. Typical.

"No I'm not."

Another lie.

"Sorry boy wonder, but you have a tell. Now what is it?"

I don't know if I can say it out loud.

"Spence?" she asks me, in her motherly tone. I hate when she does that.

I sigh and spit the sour words out.

"Y/N. She fits the profile."

It somehow sounds even crazier out loud.

"Reid, that's not funny. What's really going on?"

"I'm serious JJ."

She looks at me, glossed mouth agape for a second. I knew I shouldn't have said anything.

"Y/N is gone."

Don't do that JJ. Don't brush me off.

"I know that."

I don't mean to sound angry.

"She just isn't capable of this! We've known her for years, how can you even consider this?"

Is that her only point in Y/N's defense? That we know her? Every killer was known by someone.

"JJ none of us know where she went. And I don't think any of us thought she could just leave everything behind, no looking back. Clearly we don't know her as well as we thought did."

She sighs softly and meets my gaze.

"When she left, I was... confused. And just fucking sad if we're being honest. But Y/N is not a killer Reid." We don't know that. "And anyways we profiled that our unsub was cheated on."

My chest clenches and I have to fight back feeble tears as I look up to her.

"Jennifer..."

She looks like she's about to remark once again but she closes her mouth and realization washes over her face.

"You were involved with Maeve longer than you said, weren't you?"

I gulp tightly. I don't want to cry. I try hard not. But I start to and JJ puts an arm around me. She holds me in comfort, like the sisterly friend she's always been to me. I know a few people walk past and see me but I can't focus on that right now. I can only focus on how even if Y/N is a cold-blooded killer, I still want her. I still love her. My voice comes out as barely a whisper, I'm not sure JJ can even hear me.

"I've never believed in fate or soulmates. It isn't scientifically possible. But I always hoped that by some miracle she'd come back to me. Somehow f-forgive me. And now I'm scared that she's doing this. No I know she's doing it... I have this feeling and I-I can't think, I can't..."

"Calm down, deep breaths ok? Everyone fucks up sometimes Spence and if she really is doing this, she made her own decision."

"But I never wanted this to happen."

I didn't.

"I know you didn't. She was hurt, something like that makes a woman feel not good enough, it makes a woman fixate. But get this into your head, ok? Her decisions are not your fault."

I nod and she stands up.

"Where are you going?"

Please not where I assume she's going.

"We need to tell the team Spence."

Shit.

"No! If we... If we tell them they'll know a-and..." I stammer, cheeks flushing and I stop myself from saying the rest.

If she goes away for this I can never be with her.

"I'm sorry Spencer but you know we still have to tell them... Are you coming or not?"

I hesitantly stand up and keep my head down. I finally have to tell the team what I did. And what the love of my life is doing.

-

[gaitwae]

i miss you •||• Loki x Reader

WORD COUNT: 2847

“You can’t just expect me to be okay with this!” you shout. You were arguing again, like always. You had been partners for three years, now, and even more than that, inseparable. It was often hard to stay away, no matter how angry you could be at him.

“And why not?” he roared at you. You were outside of your office. Loki had walked in with a sullen expression, telling you his wish. It angered you immediately. “I can’t keep putting you in danger like this! We’ve become too emotionally attached. I’m asking Fury for a new partner.”

You bite your lip, clenching you fists so tight your nails could draw blood. “You should at least consider my feelings, Loki!” You step closer, almost daring him to say it. Say what he always says.

“I have to keep you safe!” There it was. The same excuse. One that never really mattered in the end because you had more training and were technically the superior agent. You roll your eyes.

“Why? Why can’t you just deal with me getting in the occasional fight? Why is it such a big deal if I get hurt or if I go out alone?” you ask, seeing his eyes darken with rage but soften with fear. He opened his mouth, but no sound came, so you continued. “I’m one of the best agents S.H.E.I.L.D. has! I can do the dirty work! I’m not a baby, Loki.”

“Yes! That’s why I worry so much!” he argued. “S.H.E.I.L.D. always has us go on the most deadly missions, and you’re so idiotic as to think you’ll make it out without a scrape! I—We almost lost you, yesterday. I can’t be partners with someone like you.” You never fell for his silver tongue, but you could tell he was trying this time.

The statement hurt tremendously, but this was the man who came into your apartment for no reason (and invitation) and let you theorize with him in the middle of the night about missions and suspects. He cuddled you when you watched movies together, mumbling jokes in your ear when a character did something unbelievably stupid. He showed you his Jotun form and occasionally called you “Princess (Y/N)” instead of “Lady” just to tease. You trusted him above all others and vice versa.

The man who randomly bought you things while undercover and begged you if he could keep souvenirs of the little things. He took pictures of you after you bought him a camera, even against your wish not to. He could still end up being the closest to you like he always was. But you wanted to be his partner. No matter how much you complained about it.

“That makes two of us,” you spit. “How could I ever be partners with the God of Mischief and Lies? After all, he is just a monster.”

His eyes harden. “You don’t mean that,” he whispers. “You know I care about you. So much. But being partners any longer will jeopardize our work.” He swallowed thickly. You scared him, you know it. You hurt him. He tries to grab your hand. Rare moments he held your hand. You pull your hand away, still upset.

“How? Agents need a bond of trust, Loki!” you tell him. “Other agents are jealous of our connection, how well we work together.”

Loki POV

Jealous of our connection. No. Other agents were jealous of me, how close I was to (Y/N). They all wanted her, cherished her. She was such a sweet, funny, caring woman. I was a monster indeed. It was an odd pairing, and I could even see why others hated me. But one cannot help whom they are in love with. And who did I love? Her.

“Learn to trust someone else, then,” I suggest, rather rudely. “After all, this monster could betray you.” I used the same tone of voice as she did, mocking her some.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened with realization. “Oh, Loki,” she sighs. I try to keep my cold glare, but I look down to the floor. She walks over to me, putting her hands on my shoulders. One gently reached up to cup my face. I catch it and hold it close. “You aren’t a monster. I didn’t mean that, you know I didn’t.” I nod.

“I know. I know, (Y/N). But look at us. We . . . we should consider how any more losses would affect us. And this—this—this whatever it is needs to be talked about too.” I set a hesitant hand on her waist. “It seems like whenever we are around each other, the world goes from being a dark place to—”

“The Fourth of July?” (Y/N) suggested. After celebrating the ridiculous holiday with her, I understood what she meant. The fireworks, the booms, the thrill. I nod. Though neither of us are smiling, I feel we both understand how happy we are to have each other.

We’re still for a while, she against me and I holding her. Neither one speaks. And for once I’m glad to not be able to use my silver tongue. She finally looks up at me, but a pang runs through my heart.

“I cannot stay as your partner. What would happen if you were hurt because of my ignorance?” I ask her. “I care too deeply to watch you in danger, (Y/N). This isn’t a decision out of spite or selfishness. It’s out of love. We’d become dangerous if the other was in trouble.”

She looks reluctant with her answer. “You’re right, Loki.” She sighs. “You’ll still come over, right? Watch movies and stuff?”

“Darling, I’ll even sleep over and make you that cake you love, with popcorn.” I laugh, even though I’m completely serious. “I’ll brush your hair and play board games. Nothing we wouldn’t do on a day off.”

She smiled softly. “Really?”

“I promise. I will make the time for you.” I take her other and lace our fingers together. She grinned at me. I give her a soft smile. “We just . . . won’t work on the same part of projects anymore.”

Her smile drops. “I know. I know how much I say I’d take another partner all the time, but I don’t want one.” She pouts and looks away from me. I don’t know how to tell her I want to be her partner in more than work.

“It’s the best option,” I say, slow and steady but also sadly. “I promise nothing will change between us.”

She gave a slow, tiny nod. “Okay. Okay,” she says. “But if you don’t go now, I might make you stay.” She looks at me with her lovely eyes. A firm stare. Right now, I’m sure, more than ever, I’m in love with her.

I let go, wishing to kiss her, care for her, but I rush off to find Fury.

Your POV, four months later

Most people at parties have fun. You usually did. Usually. And this year, the Halloween party was at the top of its game. Everyone was looking astonishing. Your costume? A fairy. His costume? A pirate. He sounded the part along with looking it.

But you weren’t having fun.

You saw him with his new partner, Yvonne Cathery. He was laughing with her, probably at something she had said. With her lovely blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She was a typical blonde: very pretty, very funny, and usually everybody’s type. And you felt hatred for her.

Your new partner, Charlotte Mendon, looked at you with a sort of worry. Her dark hair and eyes made her look pretty, but you could care less how she looked. She was one of your best friends, next to Loki and Natasha—well, just Nat now.

“Honey, you okay?” she asked. You shake your head, furious with Loki. He was busy, yes, and he was still coming over and doing everything he promised. The both of you were even close to sharing a kiss, a few months ago. (On a dare, but who cared? He looked eager enough to you.) Still, he wasn’t as close as he could have been. “It’s Yvonne, again, isn’t it?”

“I want to kill both of them, at this point,” you growl. You tense up more when Loki looks over at you. He smiled even brighter, waving. His face was tinted red, but you assumed that was because of his pretty partner. You glare. He looks confused and arches an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong?” he mouths. You point to him. He looks behind him at first, then points to himself. You nod. “Yvonne too?” he mouths more. You nod again. He looks dumbfounded and grins evilly. Yvonne asks him something and he makes an excuse. She pouts and attempts to seduce him into staying. He gets comfortable, walking away.

Toward you.

You light up like a Christmas tree. Why? Because he’s moving so fast, he’s running people over. His eyes are bright and so is his smile, but just as mischievous. Yvonne looks absolutely offended, and somehow, that’s okay with you.

He lifts you, making you let out a noise. He spins you. You try so hard not to laugh and stay angry at him. He sets you down and kisses your cheek, making you blush. “Loki!” you roar.

He pulls back, hands on your waist. “I knew you were jealous, I knew it!” he says, kissing your whole face. His grip was shaky, and you turned your fiery face to where he was sitting. Four whole bottles of hard, white alcohol. Was it a hundred proof? Oh no. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing: He was drunk.

“I-I’m not jealous,” you say, seeing Charlotte smirk. You were, and there was no use lying to Loki. He holds you close, cradling your head and giving a small laugh. You blush furiously, looking down on the ground.

“You are! You are!” He lets out a chuckle and goes to kiss your lips but you were quicker. You put your fingers to his mouth, pushing him away from you, just a tad. He looks surprised at the gesture.

“Whoa, Loki-Doki. Hold your drunk horses. No more kisses. I’m not jealous and you’re in my space. Not to mention ruining my wings; they took weeks to make! Move,” you say sternly. He pouts and lets go of you, though you could tell he wanted to love on you more. (Not that you didn’t like it, but he didn’t need to know that.)

“You’re still jealous of her,” he says, words slurred, a small smirk appearing and disappearing just as fast. “But you’re wrong about our relationship . . . she isn’t even someone I can . . . tolerlareate? Tolerate. I want you!”

“Loki,” you warn. He pouts more. To be fair, it was adorable. But it wasn’t like Loki to drink himself drunk. You press your lips together, using a softer tone. “Tell me what’s wrong, baby?” This was a tone you reserved for emergencies. Like nightmares and on the verge of tears. You were pretty sure this counted as an emergency.

He looks at you with worry and sadness, lips wobbling. “Come back to me. I miss staying up late with you and cooking for you and seeing you every second of the day. To be undercover and shower you with gifts I know you never saw the point in having, because what you wanted you already had and taking you out to dinner. I’m ready to be your partner, again, (Y/N).”

You sigh. “It’s only been a few months, Loki.” They way that he had described being partners . . . it had you worrying that he might just want more than that. You shivered slightly, your heart melting at how sweet he could be.

“But I miss you too much. I worry about you all the time, (Y/N)!” He holds your hands close to his chest, pleading silently. His heart was beating faster than you ever heard it before. It was getting really hard to say ‘no.’ “I almost went off base because you shut off your com. I wasn’t even supposed to be listening to it!”

You blushed. You knew he cared about you . . . but, dang, you were never going to hear the end of this from Charlotte. You look over to her, seeing her put a hand on her heart.

“So cute!” she giggled quietly. You roll your eyes a tad. You look back to Loki, cupping his face. You plant a kiss on his cheek, standing up on your tippiest tippy toes momentarily.

“Okay. Fine. Fine. When you’re thinking clearly again, we’ll talk about it over dinner or something,” you tell him, seeing his eyes light up again. “Got it?”

He beams and nods. “Thank you!” he says, hugging you tightly and kissing your cheek, again. By now, you’re sure you look like the human tomato, even if the room was dark.

“Go get some water, okay? I’m worried about you.” You give him a soft, worried smile. He nodded. You squeeze his hand, pushing him away gently. He squeezes your hand back, holding on as long as he can. It seemed that drunk Loki was a lot more playful than usual Loki.

Charlotte smirks. “Is it just me, or did he seem really touchy-feely tonight?” she asked, her mermaid costume glittering as she sat next to me. I nod.

“He rarely ever hugs me, unless we’re watching something. And even then, he’s not holding me close and teasing or kissing me.” You look back to where he went. The water dispenser. He was drinking out of a paper cup. “Kissing me when drunk. . . . Definitely not what I was expecting. Can you imagine him doing it clear-headed?” You look to Lotte.

She nods. “Yeah, but you might have to dare him or something. Nothing much.” I glare at her. “What?” she asked.

“Seriously, Charlotte. Come on. He doesn’t like me like that —” She cuts you off with a laugh.

“Of course he does, (Y/N), don’t be ridiculous. You see the way he looks at you compared to others. How far he’s been willing to go for you, never mind he ignores what he did right after.” She gives you a light laugh. “I’ll bet my bottom dollar he’s head over heels.”

“You shouldn’t bet that,” you say, giving her a sneaky smile. “You might lose it.” Charlotte rolls her eyes.

“The point is, you might have a wish of yours come true. Why is it so hard for you to believe?” she asks you.

You run your hands through your (h/l), (h/c) hair. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up, Charlotte.” You give a melancholy sigh. “What if it’s just the alcohol talking?”

She gives you a reassuring smile. “Trust me, (Y/N). Just this once.”

-----

“Agent (L/N). Where are you going?” Phil Coulson says behind you, jumping you a bit. “You haven’t been properly introduced to your new partner.” His words are playful.

“Insulting, isn’t it?” Loki says, his voice coming from next to Phil. “One might think she wants to work alone.”

You turn around to face the sleek, blue eyed god. You grab his tie and smirk, pulling him down some to shrink the height difference. “As I recall, you were the one begging for me to come back. Now that we work together again, where’s my thanks?”

Phil makes a light laugh. “I see you’re properly acquainted. How about I leave you two alone?” He winks and walks off. “Don’t do anything Fury would catch!”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. It’s not like we will.” You look back at the god of Mischief. “Did you really mean everything you said to me at the Halloween party?”

“Of course, (Y/N). I admit, I lost a little self control, but everything was true.” He sets a hand on your waist and pulls you close, smirking softly. “And, um, you’ve never called me ‘Loki-Doki’ or ‘baby’ before.”

You blush. “You were drunk,” you say, but it’s still a horrid excuse. You move your hand from his tie to his shoulder, resting your other hand on his inner elbow.

“And? I call you Princess and Lady and darling and sweetheart and love all the time. Whether or not you’re drunk.” He smirked. “When are you going to admit you’re in love with me?”

“I . . . I—” You stop, blushing. “When are you going to admit you’re in love with me?”

He grins, pulling you even closer. You make a soft noise of surprise. He cups your face and kisses you deeply, and for a second, you’re not sure how to respond. He was kissing you. He was kissing you! HE was kissing YOU! He seems to lose some confidence, confused. You kiss him back, though, forgetting that’s what kissing was.

He kissed you a little harder, definitely with more excitement. You wrap your arms around his neck. He pulls away. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you say.

[jay-and-dean]

Captive Chapter 1 : Blue Death.

Gifs not mine 

_Dean x Reader_

Summary : 

Dean Winchester is an enemy.

Every man of letters and hunters are enemies.

During the Great Purge in Europe, when every european Men of Letters allied to eradicate monsters once and for all, using hunters as their cold-blooded hounds, long before the BMOL took an interest in USA, they killed my mother, and made me go through hell. I killed so many of them I lost count, and lived a life on the run. Until one day I heard about American Men of Letters extinction, and decided to try and find peace there.

That was without counting on the exile of some BMOL, and the existence of the two best hunters of the world.The fisrt time I saw Sam Winchester, I almost killed him, and Dean has me now…

He is going to kill me, right ?

____________________________

Future warnings : Violence and captivity, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Chapter Warnings : Violence, blood, pain. This is pretty dark actually. Character death. Swearing. Dean being the bad guy. Reader being the villain... Everyone being quite bad.

***CAPTIVE MASTERLIST***

___________________________

1. Blue Death

            The knife enters the hunter’s flesh in one flowing movement and the tall man looks so surprised for a second. His large hand comes to my shoulder and he looks at me in the eye. Aware of how dangerous he is, even wounded ; I take a step back, taking the blade with me.

 “Sam !” says the British men of letters and I turn toward him with snake’s speed.

He shoots on my direction and I avoid the bullet at the very last moment, but it lodges itself inside the tall hunter’s stomach.

Looking at my attacker -skeptical because he just risked his partner’s life without a hint of hesitation- I wrap my arms around his neck from behind.

“Ketch…” says the bleeding hunter, falling on the ground like a dying wild beast.

I send his gun flying far from us and climb on his back. The men of letters nails dig into my skin while I choke him with all my strength, screaming my lungs out to focus my energy on him. He tries to bang me on the wall behind us but I’m used to pain and I resist, coiled like a constrictor, even with the muffled sound of my rib breaking.

            The lack of oxygen finally makes him weak and he falls on his knees. I scream even louder, compressing his throat more. His hands let go off my arms and he starts shaking.

            The injured hunter tries to get up but fails, groaning and pressing a hand on the open wound I made on his side. The man under me passes out and I let go off him, knowing he’s not dead. My head is spinning from pain and shock. I look at his lifeless form and take my head in my hands.

“Raaah ! FUCK !” I yell, looking around to think.

I kick the unconscious man’s body and hear something break inside him, a bone maybe. My ribs hurt so much I could faint, my heart is racing with rage and fear.

            How did they fucking found me ? I was so careful. Shit ! I’m going to run again, start from scratch once more.

“Fuck you hunters !” I shout, half panicking.

            I take a deep breath and the long hair man seems surprised again. I spit blood and whine, holding my aching chest. Bending painfully I pick my knife and lift it above the man of letters. When he sees me hesitate, the hurt hunter speaks :

“You don’t have to kill us” he says weekly.

“Of course I do…”

“Still… you don’t seem to want it.”

“Shut up ! Fuck you !” I say before putting my knife away.

            I take a big bag and untidily put a few things inside it. The hunter starts to shake, his hands in his own blood, his shirt drenched in thick vital fluid. A knife-deep cut in his side and a bullet a few inches from it.

When I’m about to go through the door, I hear him try to crawl to God knows where, like he needed to do something, anything, even if he’s already doomed. This man is a survivor and I can’t help but admire his will to fight. He crawls toward his gun and I could just leave before he reaches it, but I go to him and take it before he can touch the cold metal.

            I take the bullets out and throw them far from him, giving him the gun back, and he takes it, like that was all he remembers at the doors of death : how to hold a gun. Given his height and weight -I’d say 210 or 220 pounds- and the speed of the blood loss… I say he will be dead in half an hour. There is absolutely no chance anyone finds him here.

            I look at him and he stares at me, like a formidable noble lion looking in the hunter’s eyes. He struggles to breathe, his large and strong body fighting against exhaustion.

But he gives up suddenly, letting his head fall on the wooden ground. One menacing enemy gone, this should be a good thing… I sigh, and take a bottle of medical alcohol I have in my closet.

I kneel beside him and he looks at me with a great confusion behind the agony in his pupils. I press on the wound and he winces, I pour a large amount of alcohol on the cut then on the gun wound and he almost faints.

“If I slow the bleeding and prevent infection, someone may find you before it’s too late” I mutter, hating myself for taking so much risk. “You can’t go after me.”

Before I can find a bandage, he passes out and the door bursts violently.

Another hunter, also tall and strong, is aiming me with his gun, an extraordinary rage burning in his dark green eyes. An old but robust man with a machete and a blond woman in a cop outfit, also aiming a gun at me, follows him.

This is it. This is the end. I lower my hands and stay on my knees, closing my eyes to wait the sound of the bullet that will end me forever.

Finally.

 Dean’s Pov 

 The doctor says Sammy is in a coma, he lost too much blood and even if he wasn’t stabbed on any vital organ, nor shot in his lungs, this is not good. His body started to shut down for good.

But that is when Cas said he couldn’t do anything that I truly panicked. He put his hands on Sam’s wounds and nothing happened. No bright light or miraculous waking.

So here I am, sitting next to my brother, a heavy pain on my stomach, despair on my throat. He seems so little, covered in hoses and machines, strangled by tubes on his nose and on his mouth, needles stinging his pale skin everywhere.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, that was a simple case, that was a simple stab, a simple bullet. Sam Winchester can’t be gone like this. Ketch said we’d be back by Monday…

“Dean, we got the girl” Donna says entering the room, and something hits me. “We don’t know what she is, so we used every protections and spells we know.”

“What if this is why…” I say getting up, thinking hard. “What if Cas inability to heal him is linked to what this bitch is ?”

             I enter the dungeon, clenching my fists. Here she is, tied up to a chair in the middle of the large pentacle, her head down, hair falling on each side of it. Sam’s blood is still covering her and I have to swallow hard not to put a bullet between her eyes right now.

“What are you ?” I growl.

She doesn’t answer, keeping her glare on the floor.

“Oh so you’re not going to answer…”

I lift my arm and punch her face with full force, surprised by the lack of resistance her body opposes me. It’s like she doesn’t have any of that supernatural strength evil creatures usually have.

            She spits blood and clenches her fists. For a second, her weakness surprises me enough to make me waver. But then I see her dark eyes turn blue, an unnatural light blue that remembers me of the monster she is ; so I punch her again, this time in her stomach and she almost faints, coughing and spitting a lot of blood.

             When Ketch talked to us about the return of The Blue Death, I never imagined it had the form of a girl, nor I asked why “Blue” was in her nickname. And I know now. A fucking urban Legend among hunters, the death sentence itself, the monster that only tracks down hunters.

            We tracked her for four months, following a trail of bodies, hunter bodies. Now I wonder how she could have killed so many of them without super strength, because she killed all of them hand-to-hand, with knifes mostly, or just strangling them like she did with Ketch, before shooting and stabbing my brother.

When Ketch woke up, he explained us that she shot Sammy before stabbing him, like a coward, and that she straggled him. They are lucky to be alive. She never left survivors before.

            When he came to us for help to get rid of The Blue Death for good, he said she was hunter greater danger, and I remember smiling, thinking it was probably exaggerated. I believe him now…

            French, German and Italian Men of Letters tried to stop her years ago but she slaughtered most of them, now she’s here to decimate American hunters. I should have listened to him more carefully, Sam and I were reckless and I’m paying the heaviest price for it.

            I’m not doing the same mistake twice, I won’t underestimate her.

            I’m going to break her.

 Reader Pov 

             The pain is unbearable but I’ve known worse, worse than unbearable. If my body wasn’t able to heal a little better and faster than human’s one do, I would have died a hundred times already.

            I think my jaw just cracked, every inch of my face is hurting like crazy, and my broken ribs are now displaced. I can’t breathe properly.

            I should have ran, let this tall long-hair hunter die, run for my life as always… left the country.

           I thought America would be a fresh start, since Men of Letters disappeared here, but it is always the same : BMOL convinces or pays hunters to track me down and my life became Hell again after only six months of my exile.

           I’m used to run, I’m used to loneliness and anonymity. They sentenced me to eternal misery when I was still a child. When they killed my mother, my human mother, to take me. When they tested me, trained me like a slave soldier, when they made me kill so-called monsters.

            The monsters are not always the one you think, and most hunters are dumb, ruthless, fanatical, alcoholic, violent morons. The one beating me right now is no exception, I can smell the booze on him and I can tell by the way he hits me that he is used to violence…

            I just wish he would kill me already.

            The dark is relaxing and I try to concentrate on my broken ribs to fasten their healing, but one of the countless warnings around me seems to have an effect on me, unexpectedly. I’m exhausted and at some point I think I pass out.

            When my eyes open they meet incredibly green ones, highlighted by the red around them. The hunter is squatting in front of me with a stern face.

“What are you ?” he asks again.

Even if I knew, I probably wouldn’t tell him.

I stare back at him and study his face : This motherfucker is beautiful, probably full of himself too, conceited, convinced to be some kind of hero. His jaw is clenched by hate and I wonder what bullshit BMOL brainwashed into this empty suggestible charming head.

“You think you can keep silent, huh ?” he says with a dangerous smile. “You’re messing with the wrong guy, honey.”

With that he stabs my thigh, making me cry out in pain.

“So you have a voice…” he says.

“Fuck you hunter” I whisper as loud as my aching lungs allow, an unintentional smile on my lips.

“You are going to tell me what you are…”

“Or what ? You kill me ?” I laugh sarcastically, coughing blood.

“You don’t fear death” he says. “But you run for months… I say you fear captivity” he rubs his neck. “I won’t kill you, I’ll let you rot in here forever if I have to.”

“I need to pee” I just say, hoping he will finally hit me too much, maybe kill me by accident, put me out of my misery.

He takes my face in his big hand, hurting my already broken face, squeezing so hard my heart races almost to the point of heart attack.

“You still think this is funny, bitch.”

 Dean’s Pov

             It’s been three days and she barely flinched.

Exorcism didn’t work, iron and silver neither. Salt just burned one of her wound, like it would have on any human. She opened her mouth to drink holy water, and no spell worked.

I arranged the dungeon into a cell, to be sure she understands she’s here for good, I need her to break. An iron collar keeps her on a chain-leach, she can reach a chamber pot and lay on the ground, that’s all.

           When I enter the room, she’s sitting on a corner, shaking and holding her ribs ; she hasn’t seen me this time. I stare silently at her : she almost looks like a normal girl, dealing with the most extreme pain and despair. She winces lightly, trying to cover the cut on her leg with a piece of fabric, obviously coming from her shirt. She’s different when she knows I’m here, : no cocky expression on her face now, only exhaustion and a hint of sadness.

“What are you ?” I ask, like everyday, making her jump this time.

“Hungry” she says with that smirk that makes me punch her.

“What do you think this is ? A luxury hotel ?”

“Well if you want to keep me alive, food is not optional” she smiles despite the cuts on her lips.

            I throw her a piece of bread and she looks at it, then at me.

“Not hungry” she says with scorn.

Rage makes me clench my fists. She’s manipulating me, confirming I don’t want her dead, that I need her alive, showing me how strong and determined she is by not eating what I brought her after three days of fast.

           I crouch down and take her hair in my fist, making her look at me.

“Listen to me, whatever you did to my brother, I’m gonna undo it, and you’re gonna die…” I start but a poorly hidden surprised expression on her face forces a pause.

“The tall guy is your brother ?” she asks.

“You already know that” I spit. “You aimed at us directly.”

“No” she simply says.

I search her eyes and something makes me wonder, something about her eyes.

“Yes you did.”

“I don’t even know who you are” she says.

She’s manipulating me again. I bash her head on the wall forgetting to restrain as the image of my dying little brother hits me in the guts, and I yell :

“YOU TRACKED MY BROTHER !”

She lifts her hand on her head and looks at her fingers, they’re soaked with blood. When she sighs, I wonder. That woman is so different from what I thought The Blue Death would be.

“Are you the Winchesters ?” she asks like it just hit her.

“You already know that…”

“Shit… Obviously” she says with a sour smile.

“What does that mean ?” I say, confused by her reaction.

“That I’m so fucking unlucky… Listen, I’m sorry for your brother” she says and I get up to hold back my fists because I know I could kill her right now.

I hate hearing her talking about him.

“He needs my blood” she whispers.

“What ?”

“Give him a few drops of my blood, it usually helps…” she murmurs, her head falling slowly against the wall as exhaustion hits her, her eyes slightly rolling inside her skull.

“Is it a trap ?” I ask with something childish in my hoarse voice.

“No…” she grumbles, letting her whole body coil on itself on the floor.

            Her head doesn’t stop bleeding. I’m afraid that punch was one too many. But I don’t have time to worry about her. I take a needle and jab her arm. Maybe she lied, I can’t take the risk to poison my brother. So I touch her bleeding forehead and carefully lift my finger to my lips, letting my tongue taste the metallic taste of her blood.

It’s the first time I touch her for anything else than hitting her, she flinches slightly and passes out. She’s actually pretty and I wonder what kind of monster can look so vulnerable when she stops acting so tough.

Her blood tastes so much like human blood, except something warm suddenly roams my body : Like a hug from a friend or a shot of the best whiskey. I suddenly feel like I had slept better last night and I’m less hungry and tense. My wounds don’t really heal, they just hurt a little less.

            I look at her now unconscious form in disbelief. Who is she ?

  Reader’s Pov

              I’m so cold my skin hurts, and I’m so thirsty my lips bleed.

            Fever.

            I knew this would happen, my wounds are infected and this is really bad. I haven’t ate for four days. I know I can survive a little longer than other people can.

Eight days without food and water, according to The Men of Letters. Fifteen days with only water, 140 degrees for a whole day, -31 for a whole night. Six days without sleeping, twice more volts than a human… I remember all their measurements. How could I forget ?

            But this is too much, and one of those warnings is still holding my body down. I shiver and try to get up to see if I can stand. I can’t. I fall heavily on the floor and swear under my breath, on the verge of tears. This is fucking unfair. Sometimes I just wish I would meet my father, know who he is, why he did that to my mother, to me…

             I lost track of time, but what I know is Dean Winchester never left me so long. Maybe he is never coming back. My blood must have helped his brother and now he’ll let me here to rot.

I start to panic, breathing quickly, I feel pure, painful fear hit my guts. I don’t even know where I am and I’m going to die slowly and alone in the middle of nowhere : my own worst nightmare, just because I couldn’t bear Sam Winchester to go through it. Shit.

            Please please please, come back. Hit me all you want, torture me, kill me. Just don’t forsake me like everyone did.

            The bread is rotting on the floor and I watch it with held back tears in my eyes. Cramps are tearing my muscles up, but I stopped reacting to them because there is no strength left to this kind of thing, I’m focused on breathing.

            The door opens suddenly. A young boy enters, a phone on his hand.

“She’s alive, Dean” he says looking at you with a sudden deeply pained expression.

“Good” says the voice in the phone. “Give her a glass of water, and something to eat. Don’t let her reach you, you hear me Jack ? Never.”

“Dean, something’s wrong, she’s shaking and sweating… I think she’s ill.”

“What ?”

“Dean… Are you sure she’s a monster ? She looks… I think she’s dying.”

“I’m coming back. Don’t get near her, Jack. You hear me ? Stay away, she’s dangerous. I’ll be there before noon.”

           The young man hangs up and sits on the floor. I can’t move, I can’t lift my head or talk to him.

“You shouldn’t have hurt Sam” he says.

I sigh.

“Are you ill ? How do you feel ?”

“Fever” I just whisper.

“What are you ?” he asks with an innocent voice.

And, in my fever disarray, I finally answer.

“I don’t know.”

             When I open my eyes, the light hurts me bad. A hand is on my head.

“She’s dying of infection, Dean” a familiar voice says.

“A bullet between her eyes and we put her out of her misery. End of the story” I hear the almost comforting voice of Dean answer.

Honestly I don’t have enough energy to care what they decide.

“She didn’t finish me off Dean, she even tried to heal me…”

“What ? Are you crazy ? Sam ! I just spent a week watching you slowly die after she stabbed and shot you ! Now what ? You want me to feel sorry for that thing ?”

“She didn’t shoot me…” Sam says pushing my hair to see the wound on my forehead.

“YES SHE DID !” Dean yells.

“Ketch shot me… How could you be so cruel Dean !” he changes subject. “Look at her ! This is torture and pure cruelty, we are not this kind of person Dean !”

“What ! I can’t…” his brother answers with so much anger in his voice I almost can see his pissed face in my head.

            Then there is only flashes.

Water in my mouth.

Water on my wounds.

The smell of alcohol.

Jack’s voice asking Sam if I’m a monster.

Sam answering he’s not so sure about that.

The cold easing.

The pain easing.

Dark then light.

Then dark.

Sam’s voice trying to catch my attention.

Dean yelling.

The smell of soup.

And Dean yelling again.

  Dean’s Pov

             Sam is still barely talking to me and I just can’t get over how pissed I am.

            With Sam taking care of the monster that almost killed him for good, Jack asking how she’s doing, Cas too, Donna calling Sam to talk about her… It’s like I was the monster. And If Bobby wasn’t there to suggest cutting her throat for good, I would feel like I was the one loosing my damn mind.

            My phone rings and I sigh, putting my glass on the table. I look at the name on the screen : Ketch.

Until now, I never answered his calls, because I was too busy trying to save my brother, but now I have questions to ask him.

“Ketch”

“Dean. I was starting to think she got you too. How is Sam ?”

“Better. He’ll need time to fully heal, but he woke up” I say looking at my glass.

“Oh… I see. And the girl ? Did you burn the body already ? I’m going to need a proof of her death” he says with a hint of badly hidden anxiety.

“She’s not dead. Sam insists in keeping…”

“WHAT !” he cuts me, making me jump and widen my eyes. “Dean you have to kill her right now. Listen carefully : You’re in danger, your brother is in danger…”

“I don’t know Ketch, maybe I have more questions to ask her, like did she really shoot Sam ? Because he says you did…” I grunt.

“Don’t be a fool. This creature is the most clever, dangerous thing I’ve seen. She’s messing with your heads. You have to kill her before she makes you lay into each other.”

I lower my eyes, thinking. At this moment Sam comes out of the donjon and looks in my direction. He has a tray in his hands and I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right” I say. “I’ll have to convince Sam.”

“Screw convincing, you have to defend your family” he states.

I frown. Ketch doesn’t care about family at all, or about us for that matters. Why is he so impatient to see her dead. I mean, he lost a lot of colleagues from her hands but…

I just can’t think straight lately.

            A muffled sound catches my attention. Sitting on my bed, I listen carefully. What if she escaped ? Another sound. The clock says 4am.

            I get up and take the gun under my pillow, walking silently toward the dungeon. The door’s not perfectly closed, I push it with precaution and prepare to shoot her.

            She’s lying on the floor, bloody.

Ketch is sitting on her, beating her with full force. Her dirty clothes are ripped open, he carved something, an enochian symbol, on her chest. For a second I can’t move.

           Her head turns toward me and she sees me but doesn’t react, obediently waiting for death. Her eyes trigger something in me, and it’s like time was in slow motion. I lift my gun and her hands open on the side of her body as Ketch hits her again. He lifts his knife above her heart and mutters “I win. We win, Y/n.”

            I shoot him in the back. Twice. Thrice.

           His body falls on hers, shaking an instant and freezing completely. She closes her eyes, a tear rolling on her bruised face.

           Sam comes running, alerted by gunshots, followed by Jack. I just don’t move, not knowing what to do.

           My brother runs to her, kneels, and pushes Ketch’s corps aside. Looking at him I squeeze my gun and hear his voice saying she’ll rise us up against one another. Then I look at her bloody bruised form in Sam’s arm and I wonder how a girl so pretty and cute can attract so much violent hate.

           Sam takes his t-shirt off to cover her naked chest and the fabric becomes bloody. He looks at me.

“What happened ?” he asks, holding her.

“He was about to kill her” I just say muddled, looking at her pained face.

She clings to Sam, crying silently and, all of a sudden, that leash I tied around her neck seems so tight, I can almost feel it harm my own flesh.

***FEEDBACK IS EVERYTHING <3***

@tftumblin @deans-baby-momma @roonyxx

(Tags are open)

[wandlores]

Thirteen and Counting

Pairings: Regulus Black x Petunia Evans | Sirius Black x Lily Evans Words: 2,393 Chapter One/? - Petunia’s POV You can also read this on AO3.

It all started on October thirteenth. It was the end of the world. Thirteen used to be her lucky number, until it only brought her destruction.

Too many tragedies unfolded involving the number thirteen for Petunia to still consider it lucky. Her parents died thirteen years ago when she was just a girl and left her feeling lost. Her relationship with her sister was forever tainted by the time she was thirteen years old over an argument that would always loom over her in her dreams, and now it was the number that represented the downfall of the human race.

Thirteen minutes. That’s how long it took for you to turn once you were bit by someone you used to consider your neighbor, your friend, your family. That’s what she saw on the news, anyway. It was apparently like clockwork.

No scientist in the world could figure out how this virus came about, but it spread like wildfire.

Petunia was angry, but that wasn’t anything new. She was always angry with the world. She had been for years, but she was now especially angry with herself.

As she watched the world burn on the news and other humans ripping into each other’s flesh, all she could think about was saving her sister. After all this time, that never changed. Maybe she was still hoping the number thirteen held some kind of magic.

And as she now ran through the streets with a shovel in her hand to get to her car, she counted the cracks on the side walk as she cracked former neighbor’s skulls. The only way to save yourself from one of the infected was to kill their brain, to smash it into nothing. All of their memories would no longer be recognizable; their existence would be lost. All they would be remembered for was their last moments, and Petunia didn’t think that was fair. They would only be remembered as monsters.

The first person Petunia had to kill was her seventy-six year old neighbor Lucy. She became infected in her sleep, and she wasn’t even bit. Petunia was hardly spared as tears clouded her eyes and as she gasped a prayer. She cut herself on the kitchen knife she used to put Lucy down.

She had to give herself thirteen stitches.

Petunia thought it was a sick joke, or maybe it was a sign. Whatever it was, it made her stomach churn.

As she made it to her car, she wiped off her shovel on her old ripped Levi jeans and concluded that she stepped on thirteen cracks and officially killed thirteen of the infected.

She hoped Lily would still be at her flat so they could run, but at the same time, Petunia hoped that Lily wouldn’t have to see a world like this any longer. The only problem was that this contradicted her feelings about hoping Lily would have to deal with the chaos she always felt internally.  It was a never ending battle of push and pull.

It took thirteen minutes to get to Lily’s flat, and she was still alive.

“I can’t believe you came for me. I figured you would have ditched town by now,” Lily expressed bitterly, “That’s usually what you do. You just disappear without a trace. This would have been your perfect opportunity.”

Petunia chose to ignore her comment as she packed up the remaining supplies in Lily’s flat. She grabbed the red pocket knife that used to be her father’s and slipped it into her sister's bag. She bitterly thought about how it should have been gifted to her and not Lily. Red was Petunia’s favorite color, but small things like that never seemed to matter when it came to Petunia.

“We don’t have much time,” Petunia told her softly, “Do you have everything you need? I heard the wilderness up north is the safest place to escape. They are setting up refugee camps.”

She watched as Lily attempted to tie her short red hair in a pony-tail. Multiple strands of hair were falling in her face. If Petunia had been twelve again, she would have offered to assist her and find a way to make it stay in place, but not anymore.

Lily slung her army green backpack over her shoulder and took one last look at the photograph of their parents on her bedside table.

“I’m ready,” she declared.

Petunia nodded as she hiked her backpack over her shoulder, and she let Lily make her way out of her bedroom first.

She looked down one last time at her combat boots to make sure they were tied, and she tried to ignore the blood stain from her shovel on her jeans. Then she dared to look back at the photograph of her parent’s smiling up at her. Her mouth felt dry, and she contemplated on leaving it just like Lily was planning, but there was something magnetic about it. There was a pull she couldn't resist, sort of like when she decided she had to save her sister.

She couldn’t leave the photo there to die along with Lily’s old life, so she quickly grabbed it and stuffed it into her bag.

What Lily didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

The first few days they were on the road they hardly spoke. Like when they were teenagers, Lily took it upon herself to put on their father’s old baseball cap once she finally decided her hair would no longer stay in a pony-tail. Petunia could have told her it wouldn’t work before they even left her flat.

The only time they spoke was when they stopped for the day to get some rest and assign shifts to watch out at night for the infected. Staying up alone was Petunia’s favorite part of the day.

But one morning, Petunia was woken up by the sound of her car running and the feeling of her old scratchy seat belt rubbing uncomfortably against her skin.

She sat up in her seat abruptly and realized she was now on the passenger side. Her long blonde hair was coming out of her French braid she did three days ago, and her mouth tasted like death. She turned to her left to see that Lily was driving well over the speed limit, and her window was down so her red hair was blowing wildly in the wind.

“How did you move me over?” Petunia asked groggily, “You can’t be that strong. How did I even sleep through that?”

Lily rolled her eyes, “You haven't slept in days. I'm not daft, and you would be surprised how strong I have had to become looking after myself all these years, Petunia.”

It was another jab, and Petunia knew they would never end as long as they lived, so she didn’t say anything. She just swallowed the taste of death and hoped Lily had nothing else to say.

Hours passed before they stopped to scavenge some food. They were at an old abandoned truck stop. The world had only ended three weeks ago, but it looked as though this place had been abandoned years ago.

“You can get the food while I look for medical supplies,” Lily offered, “Or we can do it the other way around. I don’t care. This place just gives me the creeps, so I want to leave as soon as possible.”

Petunia nodded, “I’ll get some food. We’ll meet up front again in fifteen minutes.”

Lily gave her a look that meant she understood as she grabbed their father’s old pocket knife from her cup holder. Then she was out of the car in a flash.

Petunia decided to take her time. She was still half asleep and didn’t want to put herself in anymore danger than necessary. She closed her eyes for a moment and rested her head against the back of her head rest.

That was until she heard Lily yelling. She must have dozed off.

Petunia was out of the car and running toward her sister’s voice.

All she could feel was panic, and all she could hear was panic.

This could not be the end. No, no, no.

As she ran around to the back of the truck stop with her shovel in hand, she was surprised to see that Lily was being held hostage by a living human with a knife to her throat.

“Let me go, you bastard!” Lily shouted. She was struggling to get out of her captor’s grip.

Petunia lifted her shovel higher in the air.

“Let my sister go,” Petunia said calmly, “We can talk about this. You can have all our supplies.”

Lily shot her a look like she was crazy. Her green eyes were frantic with rage.

“Don’t negotiate with these assholes, Petunia! Are you crazy?”

“It might be the only way to keep you alive, Lily!” Petunia argued back.

“Since when do you care about keeping me alive?” Lily spat.

She always had, she wanted to say. Instead, she just stayed silent.

Petunia almost forgot Lily’s captor was there until he started to chuckle.

“Well, well, it looks like we have some family tension. I’m used to that,” he commented, “But don’t worry, Petunia. I don’t want to harm your sister. Like you said, all I want is supplies.”

“Then I can show them to you,” Petunia stated calmly, “Just let her go.”

The man’s grey eyes studied her cautiously, but he surprised her by letting Lily go.

Lily stumbled forward and toward Petunia, but before Petunia could stop her, Lily had turned back around to punch him in the face.

The man stumbled back, and Petunia braced herself for the upcoming rage. His knife fell out of his hand, and Lily quickly snatched it from the ground before he could.

“That’s what you get for trying to slit my throat, you dick,” Lily told him.

Petunia couldn’t help but snort, and that’s when she heard two people chuckling behind them.

Lily straightened her cap on her head and turned around to the sound of their voices, but Petunia kept her eyes forward as she studied the man on the ground. He was spitting up blood from Lily’s punch.

“Reg, what did I tell you?” One of the men said, “Threats don’t get you anywhere unless you’re man enough to stand your ground.”

Petunia took this opportunity to turn around to see the other men approaching them. The one that spoke was smirking, and he looked shockingly similar to the one that was holding Lily captive. The only difference was that his black hair was longer and wavy, and his nose wasn’t as long. They shared the same grey eyes.

“Well, we need supplies,” the man named Reg replied, “And besides, she looked a lot weaker than she apparently is.”

“So you were going to kill me?” Lily spat, “I’d like to see you try that again.”

The man with the long hair watched Lily in admiration, and he had the audacity to approach her and put his arm around her shoulders. Lily roughly shrugged him off.

The other man accompanying them stayed silent. His light brown hair was slightly in his eyes, and that’s when Petunia noticed the scar occupying his left cheek. He noticed her staring, and she watched as he touched it with his hand self-consciously. Petunia quickly looked away.

“I’m Sirius Black, and this is my stupid brother Regulus,” the long-haired one told them, “And this is my best friend Remus Lupin. We are just trying to survive, just like you two lovely ladies. Do you two have names?”

“Like we would tell you,” Lily muttered, but Petunia shot her a look.

If Petunia was anything, it was perceptive. She could see these men truly meant no harm by the cautious and insecure look in Remus’s eyes and the regretful look in Regulus’s. Petunia couldn’t stop staring at him, and she could see in the corner of her eye that Sirius noticed, but he didn’t comment.

“My name is Petunia Evans,” she told them, “And this is my sister Lily. Please excuse her temper, it has always gotten her into trouble.”

Lily glared at her, but Sirius smiled.

“Well, Lily Evans,” he told her, “It seems we have that in common.”

He was attractive, and Petunia could tell that Lily was well aware of the fact even through her anger. Her face turned as red as her hair, but she quickly stomped away and back toward Petunia’s car in rage.

Petunia knew she should follow her, but she was still watching Regulus. He was trying to wipe blood off of his face with his frayed sleeve, and he was picking at scabs on his knuckles. He was actively trying to avoid Petunia’s gaze. Was it shame? Did he feel bad for holding Lily against her will? Or was it something more?

Sirius must have walked off and followed Lily, because only Remus was left standing with them and cleared his throat to distract Petunia from her thoughts.

“Well,” he said calmly, “I assume we can work out a deal? Maybe we can trade supplies. I can assure you Regulus was not going to kill your sister. He just acts rashly in fear.”

Petunia finally took her eyes off of Regulus and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Or,” Petunia wagered, “Maybe we can just travel together. The more bodies we have, the safer we will be.”

“You trust us already?” Remus asked skeptically, “Right after Regulus held your sister at knife point? I know I said that he wasn't going to kill your sister but-”

Regulus’s head finally shot up after Remus’s comment, but he stayed silent. That’s when he made eye contact with Petunia. His eyes were soft, though he tried to his hardest to make them appear cold and hard. She could see his inner battle, and that’s when she realized they were no different. Maybe thirteen was once his lucky number, too.

“I do trust you,” Petunia told him honestly, “And we need each other survive.”

Remus nodded in agreement and motioned that she follow him back to the parking lot, but Regulus didn’t look away from Petunia as she started to follow him. Petunia would be lying if she said his gaze made her uncomfortable. If anything, it made her feel safe.