#mary antoinette x reader

[adiluv]

❥ COMPOSER / BLOODY QUEEN + COOKING HCS. ˚⊹꒷

🕊️୧・꒰word count꒱ total—1605, frederick—816, mary—789.

🌸୧・꒰warnings꒱ possibly ooc ꒰mary꒱, not heavily edited.

🐇୧・꒰adi moment꒱ request here! i ended up adding mary to this request, since i thought it would be interesting to have a character that could cook with one that can't. ꒰i also just love mary ♡꒱ hope you enjoy! ꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱˖⁺‧₊˚

જ⁀➴ frederick kreibrug, the composer. ˚⊹꒷

꒰🎹꒱・Frederick can only be described as a natural perfectionist, and this trait isn’t something that so easily disappears whenever he enters the kitchen. After all, he’s lived his entire life with expectations being piled onto him by both his fans and his family—and while he may no longer have any affiliation with them, such high external pressures do eventually tend to seep in. Regardless of what the subject matter may be, if he doesn’t do something to the very height of his abilities, then what’s the point of doing it at all?

꒰🎹꒱・As such, he’s the type of chef to use a recipe and follow it to. The. Tea. His amazing memory tends to become extra useful in remembering the steps, his muscle memory even allowing him to get near perfect measurements every single time. Similarly to memorizing your favorite music pieces, I do also think he’d be quick to memorize any dishes you mention your enjoyment of. He also does his best to avoid using any unnecessary cookware, as he’s never been a big fan of having to wash everything afterwards. At least within the manor he’s not always the one that has to clean the dishes after meals, though the survivors that do can appreciate his efficiency.

꒰🎹꒱・He’s most experienced with savory dishes, mostly due to his attempts to recreate the food he’d eat before being disowned by his family. They’d been quite insistent on the importance of eating well, believing that one couldn’t perform their best if they did so on an empty stomach—a sentiment that Frederick continues to carry despite their estrangement. He will pile extra food onto your plate if you have a match coming up, especially so if he knows that the hunter is one that you tend to struggle kiting against. There have been times where other survivors have attempted to tease the both of you for this… though the silent look that he gives them tends to ruin the mood.

꒰🎹꒱・Even if he doesn’t have the time or energy to make something for you, he’ll still be sure to ask whether or not you’ve eaten properly before you head over to the waiting room. He’s quite menacing with it, too, even though you know he means well—and he’ll absolutely nag you if you respond in the negative. Did you lose the match? Oh, how unfortunate… Perhaps you got too distracted by the sound of your stomach rumbling at some point? Next time, you should make sure to eat properly before running around. Did you win the match? Well, congratulations! But you didn’t eat too well beforehand, no? You must be starving. Go sit down, he’ll quickly prepare something.

꒰🎹꒱・Depending on your personal threshold for spices and seasoning, you may or may not find Frederick’s food to be in need of a little extra flavor. He’ll be slightly surprised if you end up bringing this critique to him, not really seeing much of an issue with it himself. He’d probably assume that he messed up on the recipe somewhere along the way, so it’ll take a bit for you to convince him that while he does follow things with extreme precision… there are also times when breaking away from the recipe can help. Although it takes him a bit to fully accept that conclusion, he’ll still allow you to add additional seasonings to his food—and deeply appreciate it once he realizes how much better it is.

꒰🎹꒱・Regardless of how much more he enjoys your additions, I don’t see Frederick as having a particularly high spice tolerance—though his poker face works wonders in hiding that. In most cases, so long as it’s not extremely spicy, he can manage to maintain his composure until the meal is over and he can chug as much water as his heart desires. However, when that method fails him he’ll become red in the face ꒰which he still tries to keep straight꒱ and awkwardly fidget within his seat. Offering to go and get him some water will result in him looking at you like you’re an angel.

꒰🎹꒱・He’s a big fan of cooking with you, despite the extra mess and time that it’ll take. Granted, it does take him some time to get him to loosen up entirely—perfectionist tendencies shining through when you first start—but the activity does come to grow on him by the time your food is ready. I don’t see him as the type to be too goofy with it, though he’ll humor you most of the time. He’ll often ask if you’d like to make something with him when his brain gets too fried from compositions, and there have been many times where you’ve had to guard your creations from the other survivors. It’s fun, to him, and you might even find him drifting away from the recipes of his childhood over time. No need to remember them, in his eyes.

જ⁀➴ mary antoinette, the bloody queen. ˚⊹꒷

꒰🪞꒱・Mary, on the other hand, has absolutely no idea how to cook—though this isn’t exactly something that you could blame her for. Having been regarded as a member of the nobility for the entirety of her life, eventually even rising up to the title of queen—she’s never had much of a reason to bother herself with learning. Especially so considering that she had personal chefs to do the job both more efficiently and skillfully than she could ever dream of. 

꒰🪞꒱・This inability of hers to fend for herself in the kitchen isn’t something that changes when she enters the manor, either, considering that she’s one of the undead residents. Make no mistake here, she could eat if she desired to—in fact, she actively enjoys swooping in and stealing the food of living hunters—but she faces zero consequences if she decides not to. With that in mind, stepping foot into the kitchen isn’t exactly something that she does often. If I’ll be honest, most of the hunters would be totally fine with keeping her out of the room as a whole, too.

꒰🪞꒱・Not only is Mary very vocal about her displeasure of being forced into something so ‘unbefitting’ for her status, but all the more concerningly—has nearly burnt down the kitchen during each and every one of her attempts to make something. It’s gotten to the point where even Joseph—who’s not the greatest cook himself—jokes that asking Mary to cook something is the same as setting off a ticking time-bomb within the kitchen… though the downright nasty glares that she sends over in his direction are quick to shut him up. You can’t help but find it a little funny, but I wouldn’t recommend saying that to her face. 

꒰🪞꒱・While I do think she’d initially be less than welcoming to the idea of finally learning how to cook, she’d probably also give in if you ask her enough. She’ll insist that the only reason behind her agreement was due to how ‘annoying’ your repetitive begging and whining was, but she simply just hates to see the sad look on your face whenever she denies your requests—a truth that the both of you are well aware of. Do be warned, however, the task of showing her how to cook is far from easy, and you’ll have to stay by her side throughout the entire process. She’s clueless, but at the same time refuses to ask for help when she needs it. She’d probably be the type of person who believes that turning the oven to the highest temperature will cook the food faster—and you’re honestly lucky that the manor possesses no microwaves, because she’d absolutely put metal inside of one.

꒰🪞꒱・Another product of her upbringing, Mary has exceedingly high standards when it comes to food, with you being only partially spared from her high expectations. She will, however, gush over anything that she manages to make, believing it to be incredible despite any criticism she receives. Once again, her status as one of the undead hunters does protect her from issues such as food poisoning, leading her to eat all of her creations with a straight face… all while you’re physically convulsing from how terrible the taste is. She initially becomes offended by your reaction, but calms down slightly once you remind her that your stomach is far more sensitive than hers.

꒰🪞꒱・Despite how prideful she is, she’d feel utterly horrible if you became sick from eating one of her meals, and the entire thing would lead her to wanting to give up on cooking as a whole. I already see her as the type of person that becomes frustrated whenever she’s not immediately good at something, and seeing her significant other getting sick because of her certainly doesn’t do much to help. Although, assuming that you do convince her to continue cooking once you recover, I do think that the entire experience would get her to open up to suggestions. She’d hate to see you suffering within the infirmary for something avoidable, after all.

꒰🪞꒱・Considering her sweet tooth, I think that Mary would likely be more invested in baking than in cooking, even if it’s the harder of the two. ꒰Though she certainly isn’t helped by the fact that her favored pastries are more on the luxurious side.꒱ While it would require quite a bit of time—which you have an abundance of within the manor, anyway—she’d probably really only learn how to make some more basic dishes. Of course, it’s still amazing progress considering her starting point, so I don’t think she’d mind all that much. Be sure to deliver a few compliments of your own, too. She enjoys seeing you smile, especially when she’s the reason behind it.

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#꒰📍꒱﹕my writing ⋆ #identity v #identity 5 #idv #id5 #idv composer #idv bloody queen #frederick kreiburg #mary antoinette #idv frederick #idv mary #frederick kreiburg x reader #idv frederick x reader #mary antoinette x reader #idv mary x reader #identity v x reader #idv x reader #identity v headcanons #identity v headcannons #idv headcanons #idv headcannons

[n01r-kn1ght]

And then they got married

I live for the pride and prejudice au

Au by @llamagoddessofficial

#llamagoddessofficial #happy birthday llama #undertale fanart #underfell #horrortale #red #skull #sans x reader #p&p au #aggre(g/v)ation #may this fanart please you #also reader has marie antoinette syndrome #undertale comic #comic

[course-up-leave]

#f1 x reader #haikyuu fluff #good omens fanart #marie antoinette #surreal #catradora #devdas #girls kissing girls #michael afton #twitter headers #reaction gif #actuallytraumatized #rap monster #frerard

[thing-term-meet-wife]

https://casey-947.mxtkh.fun/ab/R6IyW2B

#exjock #f1 x reader #marie antoinette #catradora #girls kissing girls #twitter headers #sope #actuallytraumatized #decorating #rap monster #gothgoth #frerard #classic rock #george russell

[m0chisenpai]

But You, Are Mine

Game of Thrones

Oberyn Martell x back!reader x Ellaria Sand

Part of the Marie Antoinette series. You don't need to read the other parts but if you'd like more background I'd suggest reading some of the other imagines before this one.

Oberyn loved his son. Of course he loved each and every one of his daughters, but a part of him could not help but yearn for a son. And so as you pressed his first son to your flushed and heaving chest he felt his own heave as Ellaria hugged herself behind him. 

"A son..." Oberyn sat himself beside your body. He pressed kiss after kiss to the side of your face, thanking you, praising you.

"You did amazing my love, so amazing. Bearing my child is a gift I could never repay."

Your tired smile was all you could offer as your arms held your first born, your son to your chest as the midwives made work of cleaning you and your babe.

When you first found yourself to be with a child you were beyond furious. You begged the midwife to check again, you’d been careful for years, you were young. Grandmother taught you to not let a single drop taint your womb lest it was legitimate that could bring favor to your house name. And you had too much life ahead of you! But alas the women once more told you that you were with child. You’d miss your flowering twice. It was a telltale sign.

You were calm, too calm as you stood and walked down the stony walls. Maids looked upon your stoic face in concern as they were so used to your joyous greetings. Your gaze was blank, so cold that whispers began to spread among the palace that very day. Your hand carefully grazed the hidden dagger within your dresses, sliding it beneath your sleeve. 

And as you turned the corner you saw the one who cursed you greet you most joyously in your shared chamber.

Oberyn found out when you had taken your most prized gift and pressed it to his throat, cursing him to the gods. Yet despite this predicament he held the most joyous smile with the sharp weapon just inches from putting an end to him. 

Ellaria managed to talk you down, her gentle hand curling around the fist and lowered the slim dagger. She understood your anger was truly the pain of loss, you were becoming a woman. And it was painful. She held you in her arms watching as the anger morphed itself into bitter pain, into sadness that drenched your cheeks with bitter tears that she wiped away.

She would try to bring it up in conversations. She offered to send word to your mother about the newborn, you waved it off. You would fall into silence, or spit out a short response. It was as though the thread between the three of you was being pulled tight.

You refused to speak to Oberyn. He first found it to be part of that quick temper he fell in love with. But slowly it festered. Unforgiveness planted seeds which blossomed into a garden of silent hatred. You would mumble to yourself in the mirror, to your stomach at times. He heard you curse it, his little snake. That’s when the thread snapped. The day you cursed the babe back from whence it came. 

“It has done nothing against you to earn you bitter hatred!”

“I never wanted it! I never wanted this burden Oberyn! What do you know? You merely plant seeds, but do you know the burden of a mother? My mother told me stories! The pains, the aches, the near death.” You hissed each word. “You’ve damned me and I hate you both!” 

“Take your words back” Oberyn’s voice is hoarse. He could care less about your hatred towards him, but his babe? He refused to allow the child into a world without a mother to love. Your lips pressed tight as your fist shook, and Ellaria wrapped her arms around her lover.

“Let us go Oberyn, give her time to breathe…please.” She begs, her eyes are tired as she guides him out the room, her gaze staples upon your broken resolve before the doors shut, much like your heart. 

You and Oberyn found yourselves in a period of silence. When it was time to break fast, enjoy a mid day meal, Ellaria would notice the stiff tension between the two of you. At this point you had just barely begun to show. You hid your bump like it was a dirty secret, like you were ashamed. Your favorite dresses are replaced with ones much looser. You felt disgusting. Your diamonds, and jewels no longer held the shine to them. 

It was a day where Oberyn was needed to attend to his duties, Ellaria was to accompany you. And as she went to your dressing quarters she saw you crumbled to the ground, surrounded by your gowns. Your jewelry scattered as you blubbered incoherently. 

It broke her heart. Because after she watched you quickly fix yourself and whisper harshly to your reflection as you dabbed at your eyes. She watched you pick up broken pieces, and it made her ill as she sat upon your bed waiting for you. When you stepped out you jumped at Ellaria sitting on your bed. “How are you flower?”

And she felt her eyes water as the mask smiled and breathed out, “well.”

Slowly you found yourself sleeping in your personal chambers apart from Ellaria and Oberyn. His heart tore in two. He had forgotten what it was like without your form. He missed how you’d tug the sheets to yourself on the more chilly nights. Or how Ellaria managed to always hold you to her chest and massage your head till your slow breaths lulled him to sleep. 

You were at the stage of aching. You could no longer run after the girls in the gardens. You couldn’t keep your meals down, Oberyn nearly broke down your door hearing your whimpers and curses in your bed chamber as you heaved. One of the midwives would sit beside your side, dabbing at your damp head with cold towels, messaging your back and belly with oils.

They’d deliver updates to Oberyn daily, the babes was healthy, it was fine as was the mother. How she was moving a bit more, keeping some food down. A sad smile found its way to his face when she informed the prince how she adored cherries. You would sneak bowls of them in your rooms and the servants would find bowls filled with stems and seeds. 

So now he makes sure every morning you awaken to a bowl beside your chaise.

“Ellaria,” he never sounded so broken in his life, “have I truly cursed her. My precious rose.” 

She can only wrap him into her arms and kiss his tears away. “No my love.”

A trip, just you and Ellaria. Oberyn bid his paramour a safe travel, he said the same to you, but you kept your eyes ahead, hands folded beneath your aching stomach. The villa was set atop a hill. You remember Oberyn bringing you to see it. As you walked along the beaches you saw it just barely in the distance andi inquired who was to live there and he revealed the gorgeous second home to be your own. 

It felt incomplete without him there. 

You sat on the beach beside watching the girls dance about in the waters. Ellaria picked up Loreza twirling her in her arms eliciting a gleeful cry of joy that in turn made you smile. They asked if you would join, but you declined. You were tired and your feet were in pain. 

The sun slowly began to set and the girls sat upon their own blankets eating whatever pastries and meats the villas cooks provide in woven baskets. You managed to hold down a few berries, sipping on cool water.

“My love,” Ellaria stood looking down at you. Your eyes gazed down at her hand which she offered to you. “The water should be much cooler now.” Her arm draped around your back in support that eased some of the pains. She matched your slow steps not once rushing you, and when the gentle waves hit your feet you let out a small groan. 

It felt like heaven surrounded you as you waded in more, pulling your skirts up to avoid getting them drenched. Ellaria smiled from beside you as your eyes stared out to the golden sun. Your eyes looked down as you stepped onto something hard and smooth.

“Mama! Auntie Y/N! Look!”

“For the baby.” 

You smiled down at the little one taking the small pouch of shells. “I am sure the little one will love them”

The storm had blown past. You and Oberyn work slowly day by day to build back the relationship you had. Apologies are exchanged. Affection returns slowly but surely. And by the time your water has broken, you cling to Oberyn and push through hours of painful labor demanding he stay by your side.

“Have you thought of a name?”

“No, not yet. I think that’s a gift Oberyn is worthy of.”

“Oh my love..." Ellaria cooed softly as she sat beside Oberyn, her hands brushing your curls off your damp forehead. Her nimble fingers smoothed back the baby's soft curls. He was so quiet, so beautiful. A beautiful combination of yourself and Oberyn. 

Oberyn begged to name him and who were you to withhold it. And so now as he takes the bundle of life swaddled in the softest of blankets in Dorne. His eyes scrunched tight, silent gurgles that pull at his heart. He rbrings his son to his face to place a kiss upon his forehead.

"Orion, my first and beloved son" Oberyn breathes.

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #oberyn martell x black!reader #marie antoinette!reader #ellaria x reader #ellaria sand x reader

[ashwit2muchkash]

PROUDD PRUDEEEE (i live vicariously through tumblr smut)

#ashwit2muchkash #girlblogging #female hysteria #cute boys #im just a girl #x reader #pink #kys #coquette #this is what makes us girls #marie antoinette #lana del rey

[girlboybug]

Haunted

“my wicked tongue, where will it be, i know if i’m onto you, you must be onto me.”

or the one where it’s halloween at saltburn and you and farleigh ditch the party downstairs to celebrate with a little weed in your bedroom.

what’s playing 🎧: haunted by beyoncé

pairing : farleigh start x fem!reader (afab bodied)

*UNEDITED*

word count : 6k

CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUT, virgin!reader, bi coded! reader, heavy petting, grinding and dry humping, oral f!receiving, mentions of fingering, mentions of blowjobs, little bit of tip sucking oops, handjobs, light hair pulling, boob worship, sub coded farleigh for two seconds, smidge of overstimulation

TRIGGER WARNINGS : both reader and farleigh are high when they engage in the sexual activity but it’s all consensual they’re both equally high, ummmmmmmm hints of slut shaming in the beginning by farleigh but it’s not fr fr bc his ass is mother slut let’s be honest

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY FROM ME TO YOU :3!

a/n : comments rlly motivate me so if you enjoyed this plz lmk down in the comments <3

venetia and felix are nowhere to be found amidst the neon mess of bodies that inhabit every orifice of what was once an almost eerily quiet and empty corridor just this morning. leaving you to be doomed to a fate of enduring a poorly put together semblance of…you think frankenstein, having a one sided conversation with you. “can i get you another drink?” he asks over the booming music and for the first time in the entire interaction you smile a genuinely smile, and nod with urgency. “god yes—please,” you respond eagerly, handing him back your cup. he takes it with an undeserving great sense of pride, and you exhale with relief once he disappears from your line of vision, hoping he loses you in the crowd.

“interesting costume choice,” a familiar, annoying, voice comments behind you. without even turning around yet, you find yourself rolling your eyes. you give him a once over and scoff. his fangs protrude from his smile, and you wish it looked cartoonish and stupid, but alas, he unfortunately looks good. really good. but over your dead body you’d ever admit that.

fake blood is dribbled from the corners of his mouth and two neat dots rest near his pulse on the side of his neck. a brow rises and crinkles your forehead, aiding in the faux judgment you cast upon him. “rich coming from the guy who’s wearing the most generic costume known to man.” you retort back, subconsciously withholding a level of snideness. you like the build of veiled insults you two toss back and forth, it’s never fun if you start off too strong. you enjoy the way you both ease into it. it’s a flow you’ve both unknowingly created for each other.

his head shifts to the side when he rolls his eyes and exhales under his breath, and your heart falters just a little lower within your ribcage when you see a bright red kiss stain on his jaw.

“it’s in reference to bram stoker’s dracula, a classic piece of literature, but you?” his eyes flicker over you, a little upward curve growing in the corner of his mouth. “i thought you’d be better than defaulting to a sexy version of marie antoinette.” he folds his arms over his chest, peering down at you, unbeknownst to the excitement that bubbles in the depths of his chest as he awaits whatever response you’re brewing in your head to bite back with.

heat plants itself like a seed in the pit of your stomach and extends its branches through your chest and across your cheeks at his observation. but a hefty cloud of pride quickly replaces it when his words ring through your head again.

he thinks i look sexy?

“i’m not a sexy marie antoinette. i’m just. Her.” you reply with a sense of smugness, seemingly stealing his, when a look of oh fuck flashes across his face. he’s quick to rid himself of it but you caught it, and you’ll be damned if you let go of the one time farleigh let himself waver in front of you.

“i meant slutty.” he replies cooly, uncaring, and you nod, a stupid grin on your face that he wishes he could wipe off. “you called me sexy.” your grin only grows and he’s already rolling

his eyes once more. “i know no one compliments you like you wish they would, so anything that remotely sounds like one is enough for you to latch onto, but i promise,” he steps forward and leans his neck downward towards you, not bothering to bend down to meet your height. “i meant slutty.”

a rush of something you don’t want to distinguish floods the shoreline of your lower stomach and trickles heat between your inner thighs at the way he speaks to you, but you hide it, barely allowing yourself to even acknowledge it. “the biggest slut i know calling someone else slutty, that’s funny,” you internally groan, knowing your reply wasn’t as witty as you’d intended.

before farleigh can verbally retaliate, your name is called out and you recognize who it belongs to, your dreaded frankenstein. you panic for a moment, dreading being back in conversation with him and you glance up at farleigh, hurriedly switching your bodies around, successfully shielding yourself with his stature.

he’s confused for a moment before realizing what you’re using him for. he laughs and you smack his back, hushing him. while you hide behind him you take the fleeting moments you have to outline his broad shoulders with your eyes, and how they trail into a slim little waist. his perfectly tailored suit hugs him just right, and it makes your throat get a little tight. you never took the time to notice farleigh’s physique, rather opting to semi-playfully belittle him. you find hints of regret in that.

he turns back around to face you and you snap back into the present, not the paused moment in which saltburn was empty and all that occupied it was you and farleigh and his broad back and small waist. “coast is clear.” he says, switching his weight onto one foot. “frankenstein? really?” he seems unimpressed, almost… irritated? you’re unsure.

you grumble and smooth down the invisible

wrinkles in your corset. “don’t start.” but he does anyway.

“didn’t know that was your type.”

“what?”

“somewhat stupid looking, bumbling.”

“what’s it matter to you?” you ask, wondering how far he’ll go with his dissertation on why the guy he has zero knowledge on is an idiot. “it doesn’t. it’s just getting a bit sad seeing that the only people who are interested in you are so…lacking.”

you suck on your teeth and nod, shrugging before you reply. “least i’m not fucking my teachers.” he heartily laughs, sticking his tongue in the bottom corner of his lip. “and yet, they all still trump your sorry excuses of flings.”

you open your mouth to correct him but you shut yourself up before you embarrass yourself. instead you just shake your head dismissively. you perk up when you remember a little secret pick me up you’ve been hiding. you reach into your cleavage, unaware of the way the sight stirs something inside of farleigh. you pull out the joint you tucked away for safe keeping, waving it with an offering smile. “wanna share?” you ask and he chuckles in shock at the proposition. “weed? you’re a pothead now?” you sigh annoyedly and glare up at him. “you wanna share or not? quick before i change my mind.” he smirks and nods, eyeing the joint then you. “i’ll oblige.”

he follows you to your room, holding your waist to wade through the pool of people, with you flush against him. you ignore the way his hands mold around your waist, his long fingers curled across your dress, and you especially ignore how you feel his rings through the thin material of your dress.

you don’t care.

you lean against the open window of your bedroom with the joint, not wanting to taint the air with the stench, knowing elspeth’s keen nose would immediately clock it the moment she walks into your room.

farleigh coughs a lot more than you would’ve expected him to and it makes you beam with a feeling of superiority. “you smoke like half a pack of cigarettes every day, how on earth is this making you cough so hard?” you snicker, handing him a water bottle you keep by your bed.

he glares at you, taking a hefty swig from your bottle, setting it down before extending his hand back out for the joint, determined to prove a point. “forgive me for not being used to smoking weed, unlike you, you addict,” he mutters through an exhale of smoke. you actually guffaw at his snippy little reply, for once in shock of something he has to say. “me? an addict? weed is probably the most harmless drug like—ever, whereas you, keep a keychain of literal cocaine on you almost at all times.”

he hates that he happens to have exactly what you just said on his person in this very moment. he tucks it away into his pocket and huffs. “i just do it socially, you’re probably up here all the time smoking alone like a loser by the window,” he has an infuriating self satisfied smirk when he speaks to you and you laugh sardonically, nodding along.

“well,” you say, taking in a hit, and letting it gently fan over his face when you exhale. “no one’s forcing you to engage in something apparently so below you,” you motion towards the door with a lazy jab of your head. “doors that way if you’re not enjoying yourself.”

he remains unfaltered in your cloud of smoke, letting it envelope him. he breathes it in, leaning against the windowsill. “do you want me to leave?”

“i always do.” you don’t miss a beat, a look that tells him you don’t really mean it is thinly covered with a fake smile, eliciting a chuckle through pursed lips from him. “i don’t believe you.” he murmurs when he inches back toward you, plucking the joint from your fingers. he takes another hit, it’s smoother, he’s more in control of it, and something flutters inside you seeing the way he closes his eyes as he exhales the smoke out the window.

“you’re insufferable,” you say hushedly, gently, and he chuckles quietly, handing you the joint. “and yet you keep me around anyway.”

“not by choice.”

—

as the night rages on, the joint you both share dwindles down into a dull roach, and you crush the bud into your porcelain ashtray, tucking it away and beneath your nightstand.

your legs feel a little wobbly, your body has significantly loosened up and your center of gravity feels a bit off, but you feel good, and it seems farleigh feels the same. his eyes are low and hooded, they look a little red — it’s cute, kind of endearing too but you keep that to yourself like a bashful secret. his face and overall demeanor seems to be relaxed as well, a lot more loosened up than he was just an hour prior.

you smile at him, and there’s nothing hidden under the action, there’s no cover up for anything. you’re just happy to be with him in a moment like this. and he returns it to you, full sentiment and all, filling you with a sense of contentment. “feel nice?” you ask breathily, collapsing onto your bed. he joins you, plopping down beside you when he replies. “mmhm. i like it,” he says, and his voice sounds a bit rougher from the smoke, his words laying on the edge of a rasp.

you shuffle around to lay on your side, your palm supporting the weight of your head, settling into a comfortable position. he copies your actions, switching around on his side to properly face you. he looks beautiful with the way the moon creeps in through your parted window, the pale light complements the highlights in his curls and makes them look golden; he looks golden. but when your eyes fall on the red kiss on his jaw, everything turns back to copper.

“who gave you this?” you question him quietly, sadly. like it physically hurts you to ask him. your fingers hover just above the lipstick stain, unable to get yourself to touch it. in your induced state you’ve convinced yourself that if you were to ever touch farleigh’s face, it won’t be in the spot someone else tarnished with their own touch first.

“why?” he answers your question with another question and you huff under your breath, your filter too worn out from the weed to hide your frustration behind a poker face. “why can’t i ask?” you push a little further and he snickers lazily. “why do you wanna know?” he counters and you roll your heavy eyes, letting yourself fall onto your back once more.

he scoots closer to you, angling his neck to look downward at you, and he pouts with faux concern. “you jealous?” he asks, perking up and leaning towards you with a beaming smirk. you scoff, swallowing the lump in your throat as you turn to look away. the proximity of your faces is too much to bear, but not for him, his index and thumb guide you right back by your chin to face him. he keeps your gaze on him in place, his wide palm cupping your cheek. your skin tingles under the coldness from his rings.

“tell me which one it is,” he says through a hushed exhale, leaning on his elbow, his eyes still angled down at you, his lips in an unintentional pout. “are you jealous of me, because why wouldn’t you be,” he hums on an airy note, drawn out and easy. his gaze flickers down to your lips and back up to your eyes. “or of whoever left it?” your mouth goes even dryer than you thought it could, and you’re unsure of what to say, what to think, and between the lack of space between both of your lips and the questions he’s asking, you’re left frazzled. scrambling for something, anything to say.

you’re not sure how to reply, you’re shocked he even asked that to begin with, and now it’s your turn to visibly falter in front of him. he looks at you expectantly, and a little part of him feels he’s won some mini challenge in your ongoing battle to embarrass the other. but there’s a different type of smugness in his small victory, perhaps a confirmation on something he’d been wondering about for awhile.

“i’m not jealous of either of you,” your voice falls upon a faint breath and his brows push together, nodding patronizingly. “oh i’m sure.” he pushes a little harder on your buttons, waiting for when you finally do something about it.

“why would i be jealous of someone who gets with just anybody?” you add, sitting up on your elbows, unintentionally leaning in closer, engaging him in the push and pull. he follows your flow in motion, inching in closer, just a little, keeping the space between you both minimal. he laughs softly from the center of his belly, flicking a brow up. “versus what? someone who doesn’t get with anyone? sounds boring.” he adds, tilting his head, your noses brushing against each other’s. “boring is better than whatever you bring back home at night.” his chuckle falls across your lips at your response, and you find yourself parting your lips to breathe him in.

“are you admitting to having a non-existent sex life? i’d say i’m shocked but i’m not,” he replies, his voice at the end of a whisper, a hazy, knowing smile rising in the corner of his lips. you take in a deep breath, smoothing out the duvet beneath your palms as you reply without a second thought to what you’re confessing to. “i’d rather get none than contract every std ever by fucking everyone who roams the halls at oxford,”

farleigh laughs initially, taking your playful jab before he pauses and looks at you a bit more seriously. a little too serious for your liking. it makes you burn up and inwardly panic. did you say something wrong? go too far?

“but you’ve had sex before…right?” he asks to clarify, sitting up a little straighter now. the burning sensation in your cheeks only heightens now. “um,” you’re once again left wondering how to reply but your pause acts as his answer alone. he sits all the way up now and you groan when you begin to hear the gears in his head shifting.

he says your name like he’s awestruck and you grab a pillow, pretending to suffocate yourself with it. he tosses it off of you and pulls you up to look at him. “you’ve really never…done it?” he asks again, unbelieving to this revelation. normally he’d find this to be a pot of gold chock full of new material to use against you but right now he’s in too much disbelief to act on any of this.

“no,” you huff, avoiding his stare. “why not?” he asks, lowering his voice in a softer tone this time. “dunno,” you shrug. “no one really caught my eye enough for me to wanna do it, and then you know college rolled around and i was just too busy for it.”

he half scoffs half laughs but it all stems from shock. “it’s impossible to be too busy for sex,” he opposes and you laugh dryly. “yeah for you, but i actually care about my grades,” he shakes his head, shooing any topic of academics away. “yeah yeah whatever,” he waves you off, as if he’s clearing the air for his next round of questions. “you’ve at least kissed someone right—“ you’re shutting him up with a pillow thrown against his chest and he laughs, pushing it out of the way. ”of course i have farleigh, don’t be stupid,” you laugh, embarrassment still blooming in the depths of your chest.

“i had to check!” he says defensively and your embarrassment grows when you realize he really was genuinely asking, meaning it’s believable that no one’s ever kissed you.

god.

you bury your face in the pillow that acted as your weapon just seconds ago, unable to face him.

his laughter rings pleasantly in your ears, his hands prying you away from the pillow, wanting to see you. “have you done…anything at all?” he asks, like it’s sensitive information he’s pulling from you, he’s gentler when he questions you, easing you into the topic. you nod, biting on your thumbnail as you recollect your sparse experiences.

“tell me about them,” he says, leaning back on both elbows, still turned to face you. you rest on your stomach, your forearms supporting your weight, situating yourself to share your run ins with fleeting intimacy. “well, it was freshman year back at oxford, some guy i think his name was theo—“

“theo wright?”

“uh yeah i think so—“

“well there’s your first mistake.” he says matter of factly, his words dying down towards the end when he sees your irritated expression.

“can i finish please?” you glare and he laughs, nodding. “is what you probably asked him right?” you stifle the laugh that almost slips out, opting to narrow your eyes at him annoyedly instead. “shush.” you huff.

“anyways, i dunno i think it was at some dumb welcoming freshman’s party and we went upstairs and we kissed in some guy’s bed and he rubbed my inner thigh for like 5 minutes, completely under the impression he was touching my clit.” you can barely make it through the description of your time with theo without farleigh doubling over and laughing, nudging your arm with his head.

“oh my god that’s good,” he exhales at the end of his laughter, pretending to wipe a tear from the corners of his eyes. “you poor thing,” he sighs, patting your cheek. “and did you say anything? like…correct him maybe?” and you shake your head dejectedly. “no. i had to pretend to cum so he would stop.” you admit, the regret from that night pinging through you.

farleigh coos at you apologetically, “poor baby,” he hums, patting your cheek, his ringed pinky casting away an imaginary strand of hair, finding any excuse there is to be near you, to touch you. you melt under his touch, fighting the urge to lean into it. “that’s the closest thing you’ve had to a hook up?” he asks, fully focused on you, making you a bit nervous from all his attention being directed at you. there’s no audience to perform your shared act for, it’s just you and him, and you think you like this change of pace.

you shake your head, laying back against the headboard, resting your legs across farleigh’s, to which he welcomes without hesitation, throwing an arm over them casually.

“i had one more. it was with noa…” you trail off, a bit shyer expressing this particular experience. farleigh however is nowhere near shy, the word is nowhere near his vocabulary, instead his interest has been piqued and it’s visible in the way his ears just about perk. “wait, girl noa or boy noah—uh keaton or deacon?”

you’re silent for a moment, letting the muffled thrum of music fill the air before you speak again. “keaton.”

he laughs, shocked but impressed, his tongue poking the hollow curve of his cheek as he nods. “noa keaton, interesting...” he repeats back, mostly to himself, somewhat in awe.

“don’t be weird about it,” you groan and he shakes his head, rubbing your calf comfortingly. “no no i’m not i just wasn’t expecting that. good for you though,” he winks at you and you’re rolling your eyes.

“yeah. anyways she um…she fingered me in the library,” a fluttery feeling lines your stomach at the memory and farleigh catches onto your pauses, noticing a more positive physical reaction when you mention her. “yeah? was it good?” he asks lowly, his voice huskier than it was a moment ago and you nod, leaning your head against the cold wooden headboard. “it was—thankfully; she actually knew what to do, you know?” he nods, chuckling. “makes sense. did you get to finish that time?” he asks as if he’s actually concerned, and the way his hand keeps running up and down your legs makes you feel as if he just might be.

you’re not used to discussing such topics with farleigh, it’s unfamiliar and his bluntness and shamelessness in being open with how curious he is as to whether or not someone has made you cum is catching you off guard, but most concerningly, it’s making you ache. “no,” you finally answer, sighing sadly. “almost did. but we also almost got caught and then you know, she dropped out. haven’t heard from her since.”

you expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. he takes a moment of silence and it acts as yet another surprise tonight; farleigh is capable of being quiet.

“so you haven’t had any experiences worth writing home about then, huh?” he verges on a whisper, his voice cradling the sides of your face, guiding your eyes back to his. you nod and he hums in tune to something similar of patronizing. “let alone any real ones,” he adds, his thumb swirling over your knee. you shrug lightly, anxiously fiddling with the ruffles at the skirt of your dress.

“do you want one?” he asks, his eyes keeping you still in place and you gasp silently, swallowing thickly. “want what?” you manage to reply, your nerves blanketing over you. “a good experience.”

you stare at him for a second, unsure if he’s really just said what he said, but in the case that he did, you nod like you’ve been entranced by a siren song. with the way that farleigh speaks to you while maintaining eye contact, the way his hand tempts you alone with a few gentle touches upon your leg, you might as well have been.

he smiles at your agreement, sliding his hand down to your ankle and tugging you towards him. you gasp, yelping with low volume as you slide down your bed. he pulls you in close, climbing further into your bed until he’s on top of you.

his hooded eyes peer down at you, drinking you all in, so beautiful and pliable beneath him. he brings his thumb to your bottom lip, running along it and smearing your lipstick across your chin. he dips between your lips, smirking to himself when you kiss the pad of it.

he pulls away leaning downward until his nose nudges yours. “tell me i can kiss you,” he tells you, his words fanning out against your lips, and you nearly moan from the proximity itself. “i want you to kiss me.” you whisper back and you sweat you see a smile on his lips before they’re on yours.

you moan with relief, embarrassingly desperate to have farleigh on you. you’re chest to chest, lips interlocked with his cock pressed up against your clothed crotch, grinding lightly. he groans in your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip as if it were secreting nectar. he’s starved from the weed consumption, and all those months of this incessant back and forth you two shared is all coming back full force, and you can feel it in how hard he kisses you and the hunger that lies underneath it all.

his hand travels from the back of your knee, gliding over your leg and up your thigh, squeezing your hip when his hand finds purchase there. he ruts into you in waves, breaking apart from your lips, much to your dismay, to kiss and nip at your neck, rinsing you of the disappointment from the momentary lack of closeness.

“farleigh,” you breath out, your knees locking him in on either side of his hips, pushing up to meet his grinding motions. “what baby?” he mumbles, raspy and heavy and it makes your clit throb. “feels s’good,” you sigh lazily, arching your back into his chest. he chuckles, his ego rising with every little moan you give him.

“better than what theo did?” he asks, pushing his bulge right up against your clit, and you whimper, nodding stupidly. his signet ring tickles you through your thin panty hose when he inches closer between your thighs. your breath stops in the middle of your throat as he nears your cunt. “can i touch?” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours. you moan under your breath, nodding. “please?” you beg, heavy eyes of yours gazing at him from beneath your eyelashes, lips pouted desperately.

he doesn’t make you ask again, he’ll save that for another endeavor he hopes you two will indulge in again. for now he’ll give you what you want without making you work for it. at least, too hard.

he rubs you through your panty hose, sucking in a sharp breath. “fuckin’ soaked through baby,” he groans, kissing you hard.

the wind in your lungs has abandoned you, the air in the room playing cat and mouse with you amid your struggle to keep up. farleigh’s touches making the feat all the more increasingly difficult. he sends you one last kiss on your lips, sponging one to your chin, then down your chest, nipping at the swell of your breasts.

“can i take this off?” he murmurs, his chin just beneath your sternum, fingers toying with the laces of your corset. you rest on your elbows, looking down at him, the way he peers up at you alone could convince you to commit the most heinous crimes. you nod, reaching down to untie them, but he’s quick to stop you. “let me do it,” he says, grasping your wrists. you swallow thickly, glancing at how his large hand easily holds both your wrists with ease.

he takes his time unlacing your corset, wanting to savor this juncture in time. he’s slower than you thought he’d be, treating you like a ribbon wrapped present, if he’s too rough it may all fall apart and honestly you just might if he doesn’t move any faster.

“farleigh,” you whine, sitting back up. “hurry up or it stays on,” you nearly growl and he laughs, tugging everything undone with a harsh tug, opening your corset and baring your breasts. you gasp, instinctively covering yourself. he shakes his head, tsking you when he pulls your arms away. “thought you wanted me to hurry up?” he bites back just a little, playfully, and you glare at him. he doesn’t care, he’s already lowering himself back between your thighs, holding you by your calves to spread you open.

he grips your calf, the other squeezing your thigh, using them to keep you wide open for him. his hands are warm and firm around your flesh, and his tongue is wet and hot against your clothed cunt.

the small act alone propels you into hedonism, reminding you of how good pleasure can be, how all consuming it is, and in this moment it feels as though farleigh is the only one who can provide any relief for the burning engine grinding in the pit of your stomach, aching to be satiated.

“farleigh,” you whine, throwing your head back when he mouths at your cunt, his tongue burns through your thin layers but it’s not enough, you want his tongue to brand itself right up against your clit.

your desires and needs are caught through your drawn out breaths, tugging at the air in jagged gasps. he reads through all your little sounds, and without any coherent words needed, he digs a nail into your pale pantyhose, ripping them in the crotch and pushing your panties to the side, burying his tongue right where you need it to be, searing your soaked flesh with every broad flick of the wet muscle.

you gasp almost like it hurts, but it’s quite the opposite. he laps you up and devours your cunt like he’s trying to reach your heart, grappling around your legs and gripping your hips to keep you in place, starved for something sweet. his eyes that have held you inside silent conversations amidst a gathering of people are now shut, tucked away behind his eyelids and long lashes, too focused on the way you taste and how he can’t seem to get enough of you.

he’s never been this hungry before, and maybe it’s the weed or maybe it’s the simple fact he’s fantasized about this more often than he’d like to admit. on more than just a singular off handed occasion, his hand has slipped beneath his boxers, jaw clenched, eyebrows drawn together and teeth gritted, almost begrudgingly to the act itself.

but he always gives in.

the fantasy is always the same, it’s prompted by whatever stupid argument you two found yourselves in, and he shuts you up with his mouth latched onto your cunt, erasing any quips or snarkiness left in you and replacing them with the sounds of you struggling to barely even moan his name. and now that it’s real, he can’t just stop now, he wants to prolong this moment for as long as he can.

his nose swipes across your clit, pulling a drawn out moan from the depths of your chest, and you shudder, trying to find something to hold onto for security, but farleigh’s a step ahead of you, eagerly offering his hands for you to take. you do so, desperately, lacing your fingers together and whimpering when he takes in a dull quick breath before pouring himself into your cunt, flicking his tongue right there, and moaning to himself at the way you just melt into him.

you roll your hips into his mouth sporadically, with no real rhythm, your body reacting with violent jerks as if his tongue were electric, and he takes it all in stride, squeezing your hands lovingly.

and when he sucks on your clit, it’s too much, you can’t take it, it pulls you into a state of thick molasses, gleaming and aureate, only to settle into the center of your stomach, pushing inward and arching you forward into pure ember, sizzling through you until it reaches your fingertips.

you can hardly hear or feel yourself breathe, everything’s buzzing and muffled, honey coats your skin and encases you in its sweetness.

you can’t help the twitching in your hips and lower stomach, whimpering in pleasured agony when you come back to earth and feel farleigh’s mouth still on you, moaning to himself and toying with your clit between his lips.

you’re untangling your fingers, and he grunts when you try to squirm away from his mouth, but he’s not having it, gently smacking your hipbone, silently chastising you.

you whine, taking in hefty gasps, it’s starting to hurt but in a way you can’t say is bad. it’s just so overwhelming, it makes you burn from the inside out and you can’t stop the thin stream of tears that escape from your heavy eyes. your bare breasts heave in the thick air, your mouth is parted with a choppy flow of pleadings with farleigh.

he slowly relents, planting one last firm kiss against your clit, peppering smaller ones across your hips and lower tummy, making his way back up to you. “hi,” he smiles as if he wasn’t just tongue deep inside your cunt. he swipes away the streaks of mascara tinted tears from your eyes, laughing breathily at the sight of your lack of coherence. “hi,” you exhale, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. his eyes shut when he leans into you, taking your lips in his. the taste of you is heavy on his tongue, heat fanning across your cheeks when you realize that bittersweet taste in his mouth is you.

your hand rests on his chest, slowly slipping lower and lower until you reach his bulge, palming him with fervor but maintaining some form of sensuality, albeit fueled with a sense of rushed desperation. you break apart from his lips and his head tilts forward, chasing after your kiss. you sponge a kiss against the corner of his lips, angling a downcast tilt towards his cock, mouth agape and eager to take him in. but he’s holding your jaw, stopping you and bringing you back to meet his gaze.

your eyebrows knit together with almost a betrayed curiosity. “why not?” you ask, almost naively, and he shakes his head, his thumb gently swiping across your bottom lip. “you don’t have to do that baby,” he promises, and it only increases your desire to take him in your mouth when you can practically hear all the inhales and exhales of smoke he took prior, how it leaves a rich rasp in his voice.

“i know i don’t have to, i want to,” you just about cross your heart for him to emphasize the genuine ache to suck him off, already feeling that familiar throng of tingles set off again between your thighs.

“another time, it’ll be too much for you right now,” he unintentionally sounds patronizing and it rubs you the wrong way. you let out something that’s a more annoyed version of a scoff, folding your arms. “i can handle it farleigh, if you think i’ll be bad just be honest and don’t hide behind fake reasons.” a cloud of insecurity beginning to muddle your mind.

he rolls his eyes, a faint smile on his lips betrays his act of annoyance. “you and your pride,” he mutters under his breath, a veil of adoration lacing through it.

“don’t be a brat,” he murmurs with a luster of playfulness, “i just don’t want to overwhelm you with too much too soon,”

you frown, moving away strands of hair from his face, sighing. “is this okay then? too much?” you whisper hotly in his ear, leaning up into him. you reach beneath his dress pants and boxers, wrapping your hand around the thickness of him and hiding your surprise at how big he feels in your palm, and how you can barely wrap around him with your fingers.

he falters above you, groaning in the crook of your neck with whimpers of please. you take this opportunity to guide him a little further on his side, lightly pushing him onto his back. you tuck yourself into his side, his arm pulling you in and holding you close. you shove his pants down just enough to fully free his cock. arousal thrums all along your cunt once he’s freed from his pants. a twinge of gratefulness is in your gaze when you look back at farleigh’s low eyes. taking him down your throat admittedly would’ve been a difficult feat and you’re relieved he stopped you from doing so.

however you won’t admit to that, instead you wrap your hand around him, dragging your thumb around his tip, giggling when he winces with pleasure, curling into you.

you rest your chin on the top of his head, whimpering above him when he takes one of your nipples between his lips, swirling his tongue around them as you jerk him off.

“fuck,” he bucks his hips into the warm curl of your palm, running his fingers across your ribs, tugging you in closer towards him. he moans your name like its a saving grace into the valley of your breasts, inhaling your sweet perfume deeply. “does that feel good?” you ask softly, genuinely, and he groans, nodding.

“j-just, squeeze me right there,” he swallows hard, wrapping his large hand around yours when you travel a little further up his cock. you nod attentively, taking note of everything he likes. “tell me what else makes you feel good,” you murmur through kisses, planting them across his cheekbone. he fucking whimpers into your dampening flesh and your clit throbs at the sound.

“i like when you touch me right here,” he admits breathlessly, guiding your thumb to his tip. you nod, taking longer strokes, tightening your slickened grip and glazing over his sensitive tip.

“just like that, fuck,” he groans, panting heavily at the rhythm you’ve developed together. “you’re so cute like this,” you giggle lightly in his ear, teeth grazing his ear teasingly. you pump your wrist a little faster, feeling cocky at the way he falls apart in your hold, completely and utterly at your mercy.

he can’t help the way he tries to fuck your hand, grinding his hips desperately, neck bared for you when he throws his head back. you slide your arm a little further underneath his neck, cradling him close to your side, using your free hand to scratch at his scalp. his hips jerk and he moans, leaning into your gentle touches.

your eyes fall onto the wretched kiss stain on his skin once again, clenching your jaw. you smear it off of him, the flare up of jealousy sanctioning something in you to start dragging your wrist up and down a little faster, squeezing him a little tighter. pride rises within you when you see how receptive he is to it, trembling in the confines of beneath your wings.

you kiss the top of his head as he defaults right back into the sanctuary of your chest. his stubble tickles your skin, and you grow fond of the sensation. your poor hole clenches around nothing when your eyes peer down to see his cock weep in your hand, precum leaking and dribbling down your knuckles, agonizing over the same desire you possess.

the wet sound eliciting from your hand and his cock is stirs a familiar buzz in your clit and you wonder what the tip of his cock would feel like rubbing against your clit. skin to skin. with each drag of your hand over him, you start to feel the ache settle back inside you, wishing your hand was your cunt taking him in. feeling each vein you feel right now but inside you, feeling his fat tip prod and hit right where your fingers could never reach. your fantasizing shows through the way you continue to jerk him off, growing hungrier and hungrier with each stroke.

“baby,” he groans into the thick air, as he lays helplessly beside you. “i wanna see you cum,” you whisper in his ear, unintentionally cushioning his face with your breasts and the act alone almost has him cumming in your hand.

he grips your lower back, burying his face in your chest, his body going rigid and firm, his cock twitching in your hold. “shit i think i’m— fuck baby tell me i can cum,” he begs, pressing needy kisses across your chest. you nod, pulling at the back of his curls forcing him to look at you. “you can cum for me farleigh,” you pour your words out to him like a rich wine and it’s all he needs to let go.

he can’t stop his eyes from falling shut in a tight pinch. his body locks up, his mouth parts open to pant in the air, his neck still displayed for your teeth to sink into, hips sporadically fucking into your pumping wrist.

you quickly release him, ducking down to wrap your lips around his cock head. you hold back the smile that threatens to pluck the corner of your lips upward when he gasps loudly and whines your name with a pure churning ache.

you shut your eyes when he cums on your tongue, pleasantly surprised at the taste. he cums more than you would’ve expected but you take it all, eager to please him.

you gently lap at his tip, pushing your forearm on his stomach when he convulses from the sensitivity. “f-fuck, baby,” he breathes out, pulling you back up to him. he brings you down to his lips, guiding you onto your back when he kisses you.

it’s his turn to taste himself on your tongue and the thought of his cum gracing your mouth has his softening cock giving one last twitch. his hands run up and down your sides, savoring your skin and praying his hands and fingers memorize each curve and indent. “you’re so hot,” he whispers against your lips. you peck him, feeling warm. “i know.” he smiles, pecking you back.

he collapses beside you, straightening out the charm from your necklace back to the center of your collarbones and despite everything that transpired between you two, the small action still makes you feel flushed.

“would it be okay if i slept with you in your bed tonight?” he asks quietly, anxiously. you nod, turning to look at him with a delicate smile that tells him you’re more than happy to have him stay with you. “i’d be upset if you didn’t.”

relief floods him, in return allowing him to abide by his instincts to scoot closer towards you. he curls into your side completely, long limbs overtaking you and intertwining you two until you feel like you’re one.

“night.” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your shoulder, unsure if he’s still allowed to plant a kiss there. you’re too sleepy to notice, content enough with being in his arms. “goodnight,” you repeat back softly, pulling the blankets over your bodies.

#farleigh x reader #farleigh x you #farleigh saltburn #farleigh smut #farleigh imagine #farleigh start #farleigh catton #farleigh x fem reader #farleigh fanfiction #farleigh start smut #farleigh catton smut #saltburn #saltburn smut #saltburn movie #felix catton #venetia catton #elspeth catton #sir james catton #oliver quick #saltburn fanfiction #pan!farleigh #bi!reader #halloween #halloween au #au

[floatyflowers]

Dark! Napoleon Bonaparte x Reader

You are Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI's daughter who was sent away before getting captured or beheaded like your family.

Honestly, you wanted to forget about everything that happened, and move on.

However, that unfortunately was impossible especially when Napoleon Bonaparte became the emperor of France.

Napoleon invited you to come back to court, assuring that you will be safe under his protection.

You hesitantly agree, praying that it's not a trap.

And surprisingly, it wasn't, Napoleon received you in his court with a smile and open arms, not caring about the opinions of others about that matter.

The reason for Napoleon's passion towards you is because he saw a painting of you and immediately became obsessed.

When you found out that the French emperor plans on making you his mistress.

You planned to escape, not wanting to be put in a scandalous position.

However, during your escape in the middle of the night, trying to leave the palace with your servants.

You didn't expect to see Napoleon waiting for you at the exit with his soldiers.

He only smiles at you upon seeing your frightened expression.

"I do not remember giving you permission to leave, my dear"

#tw: toxic relationships #Yandere Napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #Napoleon bonaparte x reader #yandere historical characters #history

[apolloanddaphnis]

Eddie Munson x Horror!Bimbo Reader Headcanons Part Dos 🦇 🗡 💗

She loves dolls, like Barbie dolls. She has so many of them, she calls them all Marie Antoinette, and has each one in the case holding their own head.

Sometimes she wears Eddie's band shirts as a dress (he's a guy and it's the 80s so his shirts and jackets are oversized because let's face it our little coffin cutie isn't gonna be Nancy's size. Nothing wrong with her size because Nancy is hot and perfect her body is perfect but the group needs other perfect bodies.) And when she bends over he can see her thong because our neighborhood gore whore ain't the type to wear shorts underneath and protect her virtue.

Eddie. Goes. Feral!

He makes up any excuse to rub against her or touch her back.

Their friendship is already at the place where she sits in his lap. And at lunch it takes everything he has as she has her cunt that is only protected by a thin thong that presses between her slit, that is pressing against the crotch of his denim and wetting it. It takes every thing he has not to unzip and slip it in. Because that would not be friendship anymore...no...

He nearly cums in his pants again when she stands up when lunch ends to see her face flush.

Horror!Bimbo makes Eddie's lunch for school everyday. She makes him club sandwiches, double decker sandwiches, soups in a thermos, meatloaf sandwiches, she goes all out and his friends always weep with envy as they eat pb&js and baloney sandwiches.

She also goes over to the trailer often to make dinner. Excited constantly about trying new recipes, using her allowance money to buy the ingredients for her recipes. But Eddie doesn't allow that to go far, he always puts money in her pocket literally, has to force her to take it, doing more deals to make more money for her. Eventually she stops putting up a fight and takes the money because Eddie gets a 'do what I tell you or else' look in his eye.

She does his laundry and when she's over tidies his room up a bit and brings over fresh sheets from her place.

When horror!bimbo finds his playboy and penthouse stash she asks him if she would be pretty enough to pose for these magazines because she has always wanted to. "You're way sexier than Kim Morris bunny, but there is no way I'd ever let the world see that. "

Eddie would always drop casual dominance with her, and it always made you a fuzzy brained wet mess. Like whenever they walked through the hallways together and he'd gently guide her with a hand on her lower back. Or when they cross the street and he will hold his arm out in front of her until they could cross because one time she almost got hit in the parking lot. Or when he always has her sit either next to him or in his lap. There's also him always making sure she eats, asking "what did you have for breakfast?" "Did you remember to pack lunch?" "Sit, eat, you won't wait to serve us to eat your dinner." He even packs snacks for she so you can munch throughout the day. He nearly lost his shit when there was a time our coffin bimbo was starting a diet, only ensures and slimfast. "You're on some good shit if you think I'm allowing you to starve yourself and ruin your perfect body bunny, not on my goddamn life, you must be certified crazy if you think I would allow that!"

He makes her feel cherished and taken care of.

And when they go to a drive in movie or Benny's or anywhere he never lets her pay, and when she runs through her allowance quickly, he gives her more money.

She knows he's been working more to take care of her, so bimbo!reader will run him nice hot bubble baths because her Eddie works so hard for her.

She honestly loves being at her best friend Eddie's more than at home. Even added some touches to his room, like her stuffies, her favorite horror novels, her clothes, her soap, her skin care, hair stuff, perfume, just slowly nesting. Even brings Pyewacket and Socky (Socrates) over to be watched by Wayne during the day since he works at night. Pyewacket actually LIKES Wayne, maybe because he feeds him those Vienna sausages...

And when poor Chrissy Cunningham doesn't see it coming when reader notices her getting close to HER Eddie, and surprises Chrissy with spiders in her cheer locker..

#eddie munson x bimbo!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie fanfic #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x horror!bimbo reader

[skinomyteethh]

Nikki Sixx x reader fanfic? Can be anything :)

mistakes

pairing: nikki sixx x fem! reader

summary; overcoming addiction is hard, especially when you feel like you're in an overwhelming, somewhat lonely place.

contains/warnings; substance abuse i think, nikki relapsing, slight angst?, etc.

authors note; HIIII TYSM FOR REQUESTING!!! I really hope you like this, I honestly didn't know how to end it and it may be all over the place, I haven't written in a WHILEEEEE. also theres some hidden message in the but i cant put it into words rn lolol!

⁶𖤐⁶

moet et chandon decorated the large, wooden cabinets of the dining room, making it look beautifully elegant and sophisticated. the variety of random desserts and pastries made her think of marie antoinette's famous but factitious phrase 'let them eat cake!'

[name] hummed, carefully fixing the flowers in the vases which sat in the middle of the long dining table. it was unlike any other gathering or party Nikki and [name] had ever hosted or gone to. it was unlike the usual rock 'n' roll scene filled with endless booze and random naked women.

as the people began to arrive, the atmosphere was extraordinarily nice. people well versed in etiquette filled the room, cigar smoke lingered throughout the air. nikki shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking around, somewhat nervous. it was unusual of him to be so quiet, so reserved. a small smile spread across his face upon seeing his wife 'in her element'

yet, nikki felt as if he didn't belong there, it was too calm, too relaxed for his liking and what he was use to.

just before the dessert was served he excused himself, walking towards the stairs of his rather luxurious house. nikki entered the master bedroom, opening the multiple dresser drawers frantically searching, for something that would take these feelings away, heroin.

he grasped the medical grade needle, leaning against the bed, ripping the cap of the needle off. nikki opened the bottom drawer of the bedside table, grabbing a somewhat long piece of rope, tying it around his upper arm. nikki took a deep breath, sighing in ecstasy as the needle and the continents of the needle flowed into his veins.

nikki laid his head down against the mattress, closing his eyes. [name] felt somewhat confused, nikki had been gone for far too long. she pranced upstairs, pulling the hem of her dress up as to not step on it. sounds of vomiting could be heard from inside the master bedroom, she knew exactly what that meant, exactly what nikki had been doing.

she quietly entered the bedroom, leaning over and glancing into the connected bathroom. nikki's head hung over the toilet bowl as he once again began vomiting, it was the aftermath of the heroin. [name] glanced down at the ground, picking up the discarded needle, throwing it into the trash can by the vanity.

the loud and unexpected sound of the needle clashing against the metal trash can scared nikki, he haphazardly stood up, his expression filled with worry as he spotted her sitting on the surprisingly neat bed. nikki had broken his promise.

on the day of their wedding he promised he would quit and even go to rehabilitation, but now he had broken his promise and it seemed to have shattered her heart. nikki cautiously inched closer to her, attempting to somehow be able to explain the situation.

"[name] I...." he was caught off by her abrupt movement as she tilted her head up to look at him, though the look om her face did not radiate anger nor frustration, it radiated disappointment but she also seemed somewhat understanding. "why nikki..?" she questioned, her tone was soft and once again the disappointment was evident.

he looked down at the carpet before looking back up at her, sighing before he parted his lips, beginning to speak. "I felt overwhelmed, I didn't know what to do. I felt like I didn't belong there.."

a calm and sophisticated scenery was not what he was use to, it made him feel like an outsider, a weirdo.

nikki glanced back down at the carpet, he excepted her to lash out at him, scream at him for slipping up, but she didn't, instead he felt her arm wrap around him securely and lovingly, he laid his head down on her shoulder, sighing.

[name] seemed to somewhat understand him, her hand gently caressed his upper arm before she freed him from her grasp, speaking once again. "I know quitting isn't easy, and as you begin sometimes you'll slip up unintentionally." she glanced over at the doorway, sighing deeply before placing a soft, quick kiss on his lips.

#nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx fanfiction #motley crue x reader #motley crue fanfiction #vince neil x reader #tommy lee x reader #mick mars x reader #fanfic #mötley crüe fanfiction #nikki sixx fic #mötley crüe x reader #angst with a happy ending #mötley crüe fanfic #nikki sixx imagine #motley crue #mötley crüe #meow

[sapphire-writes]

A Late Night Game

Pairing: Aemond x Reader

Summary: Y/N, Aemond, Aegon, and Helaena do not wish to rest, but instead play a game together after a feast. Based on heads up, specifically in Marie Antoinette (2006)

Word Count: 962

Warnings: none, pure fluff

A/N: Was going to try and put this in my fic A Song of Flames & Fury but don't think I'll have a place for it but couldn't get the thought out of my head! Thought I'd try my hand at an imagine, let me know if I should do a part 2!

“Am I in the room right now?” Helaena asked the piece of paper stuck to her forehead reading Maegor the Cruel. 

“No,” Aegon, Aemond, and Y/N said in unison. 

The feast had long ended, and the Targaryens had been alive with spirits so high they could not think of sleep. The hour of the nightingale was soon upon the foursome as they lay sprawled throughout the royal chambers of Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena. The four of you often found yourselves in each other’s company long after the festivities of the Red Keep had ended. 

Helaena sat draped over a chair, with Aegon seated on the floor below her. Y/N was beside him, her head in the lap of her husband Aemond. A game, Helaena had suggested, to pass the time. They had all written the names of historical figures, animals, and creatures within a bowl and stuck one to their forehead with the help of some spit. Aemond was always in a competitive mood and agreed to participate as well. 

You had been married to Aemond for little over a year. After your father agreed to a betrothal to unite your houses you had been shipped off to King’s Landing. Aemond had been taken with you right away as you shared several interests in history, philosophy, and art. Aemond’s eyepatch is not on his face, he is completely comfortable with you and his siblings seeing his sapphire. 

One of the greatest joys that came with marrying your prince was the family that came with it. Helaena had accepted you instantaneously, calling you ‘sister’ the moment you stepped foot in King’s Landing. 

Aegon enjoyed your presence as well. Especially how you called him out on his tomfoolery. You found that Aegon was not as vicious as the stories you had heard about him. He reminded you more of an immature sibling. 

“You’re next,” Helaena said, nudging Aegon with her foot where he sat on the floor. The candles burn bright, illuminating the room as the sky outside turns lavender with the promise of sunrise.

“Ah yes,” he said, clasping his hands together and leaning forward, tongue between his teeth seemingly very focused. 

“Am I…large?” he asked, holding his hands out to demonstrate the size he was thinking. 

“Quite,” Aemond answered, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at the paper that read Vhagar stuck to Aegon’s head. 

“Am I a man?” Aemond asked causing Aegon to snort. Y/N shoved him, glancing at the paper that reads The Mother. 

“No, you’re not,” you answer and Aemond’s eye narrows. 

You raise your hands in play defeat. 

“In the game, my love,” you reassure him, “am I a princess?” 

“Highly unlikely,” Aegon answers and you frown. 

“It must be yes or no Aegon,” you protest. 

“No then,” he answers, “am I larger than a castle?”

“Yes,” you and Aemond say together. Helaena giggles, kicking her feet back and forth. 

“Larger than the Crowlands?” Aegon continued, causing you to point your finger at him, eyes wide. 

“You get one question, we’ve been over this!” you tell him laughing as he buries his face in his hands. 

“I need to know now!” he says tearing the paper off and staring at the name. 

“Oh how clever,” he scoffs crumpling the paper and tossing it at Aemond who swats it away. 

“I do not believe Vhagar to be larger than the Crowlands, brother,” Aemond answered.

“Am I a dragonfly?” Helaena asked, staring at the ceiling. Aegon knelt to face her. 

“You’re not an insect, Hel, we’ve already told you,” he said, and she took a sip of the wine she dangled in her delicate fingers. She snapped the fingers on her other hand. 

“Right right, a Targaryen. Yes. Am I me?”

“Gods I hope not!”

“Aegon you’re out! You’re not playing!” you tell him and he pouts. 

“I can’t play now either? You’re cruel, you should have been Maegor,” Aegon said and your mouth drops open along with Helaena’s.

“Aegon!” you and Helaena say in unison. Helaena tears the paper from her head looking at it, before tossing it at her brother. 

“Foul play!” Helaena scolds and Aegon can’t help the giggles that escape him as he rolls on the floor. 

Y/N sits up and faces her husband, eyes narrowing with anticipation. Aemond smirks at you, and you flush. You truly believe no matter how long you are married, his gaze will always have you flushing like a maiden. 

“Am I from the North?” you ask and Aemond hums.

“No. Am I in the room right now?” he asks.

“One would say so,” you answer, and his eye narrows. 

“You are always in the room-”

“AEGON!”

“Right, sorry!”

“Am I from the Stormlands?” you ask and Aemond jerks his head up in confirmation. 

“Am I a god?” Aemond purrs, and you lick your lips at the sensuality of his question.

“Yes,” you breathe, and a satisfied smirk appears on his face. 

“Am I a historical figure?” you ask and he nods his head as though he has already figured it out.

“Am I the Mother?” he asks and you curse. 

“Yes,” you grumble, not bothering to look at your paper before discarding it. Aemond continues to smirk at your competitive nature as Aegon cheers. 

“Finally!” he calls from his spot on the floor. 

“You win,” you tell your husband as he climbs atop you, placing a kiss on your lips.

“Do I get to claim my prize?” he murmurs against your lips, before deepening the kiss causing fire to pool in your belly.

“I guess the game is over,” Helaena, says softly, a smile playing on her lips. 

“Good, I need more wine anyway,” Aegon said, finding his feet with a groan. 

#aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #helaena targaryen #aemond imagine #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #Aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x fem!reader

[wintervalewritersecond]

christmas miracle - wednesday addams

requested: yes! requests: open! Is it possible for a wednesday x reader where after the battle of Crackstone and going home Wednesday realize that she has feelings for Reader and fast forward to nearing christmas Reader visits Wednesday to give her a present reader promised back at Nevermore and before reader left, wednesday tells reader her feelings but needs time to process it because she is not use to romantic feelings?

A/N: merry christmas! <3 i tried to incorporate some addams family tv show and musical elements in it as well :') I'm sorry if it feels rushed, i wanted to have it finished before Christmas ended <3

wordcount: 2,144 warnings: they/them pronouns, characters may be ooc.

A Christmas miracle has come true when Wednesday reveals her emotions to you. In a way.

"Oh, hello darling! Lurch, get their bags, will you?"

Morticia Addams opened the door with a smile on her face. Her eyeshadow is as black as night and her lips are painted a bloody red, though you guess it fits the Christmas theme as well. You had been invited to the Addams household this Christmas. Your own parents were not going to be home and back at Nevermore you had promised Wednesday a gift. After exchanging multiple letters, she had invited you.

You were excited to celebrate it with her. You were used to the whole Santa Claus tradition, but you knew that Wednesday had something else prepared. Lurch then takes hold of your bags, already up the stairs so place them in Wednesday's room.

"I can not believe we finally have one of Wednesday's friends over. Please, let me show you around."

You follow the tall lady through the hall and into the living room. On your way to it, you can already see tons of strange and unusual decorations. A small guillotine stood in the hallway, a beheaded Marie Antoinette doll resting next to it, though the head seemed to be missing.

"Ah, that is a gift Wednesday once received. Oh, how she loved that guillotine. She even had it on a birthday cake once."

You could have guessed that. Wednesday has become your best friend in the last semester, so you knew exactly what the girl liked or disliked. A guillotine at the age of seven? She would have been thrilled. Finally, you enter the living room.

It is absolutely grand. Luxurious fabrics and curtains, tons of taxidermy, a dark piano, and a noose hanging from the ceiling. Though you are not nearly as dark as Wednesday or her family, you surely did find all of it interesting.

"Wednesday!"

The pig-tailed girl walks down the stairs, her face stoic, yet it looks like she is enjoying herself much more than she did at Nevermore.

"Y/N, welcome. I hope you like our Christmas decorations," Wednesday looks over at the dead Christmas tree which stands in the middle of the room.

"Oh, of course!" You smile, looking at your friend.

She is wearing something similar to her usual attire. A black dress with white accents, yet not too many. You recall her saying that that would take away from her ability to look ghostly.

"This tree has been in our family for years," Morticia mumbles dreamily, "It belonged to Gomez, you know!"

Gomez walks out of the same entrance that Wednesday had come out of, his suit crisp and nicely ironed. A big smile is on his face as he greets you, also gesturing to the tree.

"Yes, I picked this many moons ago! I took each and every prickly needle out of it myself. I was so convinced that Santa Claus would hang more on it that way."

Gomez and Morticia share a loving look, making Wednesday's nose scrunch up lightly before stepping closer to you. She hated to see her parents so... In love. The emotion itself already made her have rashes on her skin, and not the ones she enjoys.

-

The dinner had gone splendidly. You had heard tons of stories from when Wednesday and Pugsley were younger, how Morticia and Gomez met, and much more.

"Ah, the game," Gomez takes another bite of his food. "You know, Morticia is amazing at organizing those. One time, we tried to invite some parents over. You know, there was a whole incident with the pool and the piranhas, so we tried to make it up to them. A beautiful dinner made by Morticia, and our family tradition has always been the game."

"What is the game?" You curiously asked, your plate already empty. Morticia's cooking was truly extraordinary.

"Well, we have one called 'Full disclosure', and-"

"Okay, Father. That is enough. I am sure that Y/N can wait with hearing that."

Wednesday pushes her chair back before looking at you.

"Let us retire to the bedroom. The bright Christmas lights are giving me a migraine and it makes me want to hit my head with a hammer."

The girl already walked off without waiting for you to respond. You look from Wednesday to the rest of the table, quickly thanking them for the dinner and stories before hurrying after your friend.

Wednesday is standing at the door that leads to her bedroom. You had never seen her house before, and Wednesday was also not the person who would talk about her home all too much.

"You will be sleeping in my room. We would have given you the spare room, but Pugsley is still working on his taxidermy."

"Ah, no problem. Besides, I have had sleepovers at your dorm before."

The girl grimaces.

"Unlike those horrid happenings, there are no pink glitters and bright neon nail polish here. I would rather set myself on fire than see any of that today."

She opens the door before walking in. Your bags have been set in the middle of the room, neatly organized by size. Wow, Lurch is organized.

The room has the same elements as the dorm that Wednesday slept in at Nevermore. A typewriter, record player, her cello standing in the corner, and Thing patiently sitting on the bed.

"Thing! I haven't seen you in ages," you laugh, sitting down next to the hand. "I got you a small gift."

You rummage through your bags, trying to find the small tube of hand cream.

"A-ha!" You hold it above your head, a grin on your face. "Your favorite! It was the last one in Jericho!"

If a hand could jump, it would have. You place the small tube next to him as Thing tightly grabs onto it.

"Great," Wednesday says. "His ego is going to go through the roof. For only a hand, he sure has a lot of nerve."

"Oh, come on, Wednesday! And besides, you know that I got you a gift as well. I promised you back at Nevermore."

Wednesday knew you promised her. You had written about it in multiple letters, ones that the girl kept in a small box. She thought your letters were disgustingly sweet. It is like you sprayed your sugary-smelling perfume on each thin piece of paper. After everything went down with Crackstone, you had written to each other much more. Wednesday still hates technology, and she wants to avoid it as much as she can.

She looks you up and down, raising one eyebrow.

"Well. I might have something in return."

She didn't tell you that. You look at her before blinking once, reaching into your bag yet again. Last week it was finally finished. You don't quite know what to expect. She might hate it, but she might also not mind it. A package comes out of your bag, neatly wrapped in black wrapping paper and closed with a thick, black ribbon. Who knew that black paper was so hard to find.

You step closer to the girl, the gift in your hands and a smile on your face. Wednesday is curious, one eyebrow still raised. What could you have ever gotten her?

"It uh... It's a small set. Couldn't decide what to do," you let out a laugh. "I can always get rid of it somewhere. If you don't like it."

Wednesday takes your gift, carefully opening the ribbon before lifting the top of the box off. Inside are two smaller packages.

She opens the biggest one. Inside is a doll that seems to be split in half. Only the head is in the box, and Wednesday knows it all too much. It matches the doll from her childhood too well.

"Marie Antoinette. The one from my guillotine."

Wednesday runs her fingers over the small details of the dollface. The eyes look as lifeless as ever, the eyelids opening and closing when the head gets moved forwards or backward.

Only once was the doll mentioned to you. Wednesday remembered losing the head while trying to scare her classmates, and she never found it back. That is, until now.

"Yeah. I saw the guillotine. Wild for a 9-year-old," you laugh. "Open the next one. It's better. I hope."

Better than the first gift? Is it a real beheaded body?

The box is a bit smaller than the one that contained the doll head, though a bit heavier. In it hides a wooden plaque, neatly stained with some type of varnish. A scorpion, its tail curled and its claws seeming to be ready to clip. The small silver plate says 'Nero' in a handwritten font. It was put on there quite messily.

"I tried to take a taxidermy class. I know you really loved Nero, and I know that this isn't exactly the same, but I hope you still like it. I fucked up his legs a bit."

One of his legs was indeed a bit crooked, but Wednesday didn't care. Her eyes are fixated on the small scorpion as she almost seems to be pulled back into her childhood memories. Her silence makes you nervous. You are used to Wednesday being quiet and only using her gaze to shutting people up, but this silence is different.

She truly is at a loss for words. No one had ever been this thoughtful with gifts for the girl. Not when her cake existed out of a functioning guillotine, not when her mother had let her visit a funeral home for the first time, and not when Pugsley allowed her to bury him alive on his birthday.

"No," she nods. "It looks exactly like him."

You let out a breath that you didn't know you were holding. Thank god she liked it. Taxidermy used to freak you out, but after being surrounded by things much darker than it, you got over it quite fast.

The scorpion gets placed in an empty space on her desk, that is where Wednesday spent most of her time anyway. But, her gift for you is also there. A small, tiny box is hidden in the drawer.

Wednesday doesn't feel nervous. She never has. Though now, her dead heart seems to be beating. It feels like she will throw up, her throat feels tight and she doesn't know what to say.

"Thing, leave us."

Thing doesn't care. All he wants is to use the hand creme. He runs out with the bottle of creme in his grip as the door closes back behind him. Wednesday then turns around, the small box now in her hands before walking over to you. She sticks her arm out, staring at you before you take the box carefully.

"I feel like I now should answer your letter. In real life."

She gestures for you to open the box, and it reveals a small ring with her initial on it. It looks exactly like the necklace that she wears herself.

"My mother and father might believe in unconditional love, but I always thought it was fake. Emotions are what makes you weak, and I have tried to avoid them as long as I could," she continues. "They make you feel disgusting. I want to rip all my hair out, strand by strand. You make me want to bite off all my fingers as I get electrocuted at the same time."

You look up at her, your eyes sparkling and a smile on your face.

"This means I... like you," she mutters. "But, on one condition."

Whatever condition it is, you will take it. You had expressed your interest on Wednesday before, but she was quick to shut you off. She insisted that she was not the person you would want to be with, trying to scare you off. You respected her choice as the two of you still decided to stay befriended. But this news is the best Christmas present you might have ever received.

"Anything."

"I need time. I am not used to any type of romantic feelings. I need to figure this out on my own. Seeing my parents being so sweet with each other makes me want to stab myself until I bleed out. Just... time."

You slip the ring onto your finger. A perfect fit.

"Wednesday Addams, I would kill for you if that is what it takes."

A small smirk forms on her face.

"Now, don't excite me too much."

You stand up, admiring your ring before opening your arms to give the girl a hug. An 'oh' leaves your mouth when you realize what you did as you drop your hands, just smiling at the girl. She looks at you before sighing.

"Only. One."

A Christmas miracle. Truly.

#wednesday addams #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams oneshot #wednesday addams x reader #request

[princesssmars]

i'd love just about anyone, so why was it you?

a victoria neuman x reader

your talent for singing is finally starting to take you places in the city of lights. so why did it have to introduce you to a woman who might ruin it all?

wc : 10.248

contains : fxf relationship. readers hair and skin aren't described. fluff. angst.nsfw including sex and language. the french. barely proof-read.

a/n : i cant believe there are no fics for this fine ass woman yet but i am nothing but a pioneer idk. in my daydreams this was like mafia au victoria but i literally never write or dream of those so i opted out lmao. go watch gen v. everyone always talks about how good the cover is but nonante-cinq by angele is a beautiful album so i recommend listening to that for french vibes. enjoy <3

it was the most stereotypical and overplayed song ever, but damn did you love la vie en rose.

just the concept of the song was romantic to you. to live every day like it would be magnificent, like you could know a day would be your last and look back at it and not regret a single thing. it meant looking at the world with a positivity that these days was mostly faked or artificial.

after the life you've lived, the things you've seen firsthand, you need that positive light in your life more than anything else. especially right now, as your manager is hounding you over the phone about your next gig.

now you loved your manager, nancy, you really did. she took you in and was honest when no one else would be, stood by you when no one else wanted to give you a real chance. but sometimes it felt like she didn't really believe in you. obviously, she believed you had talent, or else she would have 'left you in the dust for the rats to pick apart,' in her own words. it was almost like she couldn't fathom that what you had was real, like you didn't truly deserve all the things that were coming to you.

but as long as you were paying her, she didn't bother to speak up on it.

you were listening to her drone on and on into the speaker from your phone, holding the object up to your ear with one hand as you hold a menu to order something from the cafe waitress who's waiting beside you.

"ill have an uhhhh... le marie antoinette, and a coffee with sugar and cream please," you hand the menu to the waitress after she writes down your order, heading back into the cafe with a smile. this cafe was one of your favorites, nestled below an apartment building in one of the inner city arrondissements so you could sit outside beneath an umbrella and admire the city before you. "nancy, i don't see why i can't just...politely turn it down? it sounds like it's a glorified pin-up girl gig, le bellevilloise is offering for me to sing there exclusively for three months-"

"no, that's what im trying to tell you if you'd let me finish." you can hear nancy's telltale sigh through the phone. she had a short temper when she was stressed, something you sadly had in common, and you could hear her clicking a pen through the receiver. "this is an international gala slash fundraiser, attended by the one percent of the one percent. billionaires, senators, diplomats, everything. the event organizer asked for you specifically, so turning it down is a bad look. aka, you're doing it. go out and get a pretty dress. ill send you more details later."

the phone shut off and you let out a huff of air, crossing your right leg over your left beneath the table. once you have your meal and bite into your pastry you can't help but close your eyes at how good it tastes; the combination of the crunch of the macarons, the near-overwhelming sweetness of the cream, and the savory juice that leaks from the raspberries never gets old.

you don't know how you feel about this whole gala thing. sure its a great way to make connections and earn a fat stack of cash that will probably last you few weeks, but you've learned before that the people that you most admire, celebrities, politicians, even superheroes, can't be trusted. and being in a room full of them to perform wasn't at the top of your christmas wish list.

but like everyone else in the world, you were finding money hard to pass up on. just by the lowball nancy told you, you'd be able to comfortably pay the next month's rent and fix up your electric scooter, maybe even enough to save up for that beautiful flat you saw online with the grand windows and nice floor plan.

it'd only be a few hours of singing and kissing up to a bunch of snobs and you'd be done. easy peasy.

finding a dress wasn't to hard. your modeling connections from before you started to focus on singing gave you access to a few, good quality clearance pieces for your picking. you figure that the people you were performing for would prefer something classy and elegant, so you picked out a sleeveless black dress with black opera gloves, accessorized by a diamond necklace and earrings. one of your stylist friends, alex, who you asked to help do up your hair told you 'you're definitely gonna shag a rich man looking like this, just ask them if they have any friends for me!' and after a quick 'please don't wish that upon me' and a spritz of perfume you were ready.

the hours before you got on stage were nothing short of both nerve-racking but exhilarating. you rode in a standard taxi, your slight jitters noticed by the slightly balding man in the front. he eyes you pretty oddly when you got in the car before using you if you were a model, telling you that his daughter would like an autograph if you were. you felt slightly flustered when you had to tell him you weren't, but gave him some tips to tell his daughter if she wanted to pursue it. after around twenty minutes of driving through the city the car stops and you're escorted by a crew member into a grand building, those types you pass by and dream of getting the chance just to step into.

after that its a rush of meeting the event planner who gives you another run down of the evening and then meeting with the band members, a nice group of jazz players who you had heard about on the news for their blends of old and new methods of performing music. they played you a piece on their instruments in their dressing room, and it felt like hanging out with old friends listening to tunes as one twirled you around and the others laughed and the air felt warm and fuzzy.

later its time for your set, where you'll sing as the guests come in and take occasional breaks to save your breath and let whoever is hosting this talk. so you get up on your mini stage, make sure you look alright and you're in tune with the band, and then you do what you do best.

you've never felt better than how you do while you sing. every time you do so you tell a story, tales of success and tragedy and love and heartache. while you sing your favorite thing to do is to admire the crowd. when you were younger it gave you horrible stage fright, but as you grew up and saw just how much people loved your voice it made you confident, if not the tiniest bit narcissistic.

as you look out at the guests of tonight you see what's expected. important and powerful men donned in suits, their wives standing on their arms in glamourous gowns, you swear that you even see some fairly famous celebs in the mix, and they were all listening intently to you and your voice.

and that's when you saw her. near the back of the room with a glass of red wine in her hand, dark hair flowing over her shoulders, and darker eyes trained on you. in this profession you get used to people staring at you for hours on end, but something about this woman unnerves you slightly.

a short while later your set is over and after a round of applause the organizer tells you to enjoy yourselves, and that you're free to indulge in whatever food is left. after a brief touch-up in the dressing room and making sure you look presentable, you head out to get yourself something to eat. you keep getting stopped by people telling you how beautiful your performance was, how they'd love to get in contact with your agent to book you for future events, and your regular dose of creepy old guys hitting on you. but besides that things were going pretty well.

some servers were waking around with trays of champagne, but you figured since everything was complimentary you would treat yourself to something stronger. you head to the bar and order yourself a strong cocktail, and as soon as you finish your order a figure sits on the stool next to yours.

"get me a scotch on the rocks, thanks."

you glance at them from the corner of your eye and feel your heart beat faster when you see

it's the woman from before. from this close distance, you can admire her entirely, and god is she gorgeous. she looks so put together, not a hair out of place, and wearing a perfectly tailored suit that makes you guess she's some kind of wealthy businesswoman.

after not so secretly checking her out, she turns her body towards you and looks at you with a smile.

"im sure you already know, but you have an enchanting voice."

you look down bashfully, thinking the same about her. she speaks like she's so sure of what she's saying like there's no room for debate or argument.

"thank you. no matter if i know or not, it doesn't take much to make me a little nervous every time i perform."

the bartender brings over both of your drinks and she tilts hers to you.

"trust me, theres no need. you're nothing but a natural, one of the best singers i've ever heard."

"ah, now you're exaggerating. is there a reason you're complimenting me like you're being paid to do so?"

she shakes her head, setting down her glass of liquor with a clink. "not anything nefarious, if that's what you're thinking. just glad i get to talk to a beautifully talented woman."

jeez, she was laying it on thick. normally this was coming from some fifty-year-old man with greasy skin and weird teeth, but it felt nice coming from her. she was obviously gorgeous, leaving her body language open in case you wanted to decline and she would walk away in a moment's notice.

"im glad i get to talk to you too, miss?"

"victoria. its a pleasure to talk to you, miss y/n."

for around an hour or two the both of you sat at that bar, blocking out the fake laughs of investors and boisterous noises of people who got a little too friendly with the free champagne. she was so attentive to you. asking about what got you into singing and what brought you to paris by your non-native accent. you normally kept the finer details of your past a close-guarded secret, but you figured there couldn't come any harm from telling this attractive stranger a few things about yourself before never seeing her again.

"you're telling me at only sixteen years old, you flew to paris by yourself and made a living for yourself? you've got balls on you, sister."

"yeah yeah, but im nothing special. i just got tired of all the bullshit in the u.s., y'know? the greed, the cynicism, the-"

"superhero bullshit?"

you giggled while she smirked, observing your smile and how it made your eyes squinch.

"well i wouldn't put it like that but...superheros? really? its just, they make it so american, in a really really annoying way. i just couldn't deal with that being a reality. and where better than paris? it seems like voughts all but forgotten about it recently, thank god.”

"i understand. and i know we just met, but it does suit you. 'beautiful runaway finds passion, life, and love in the city of lights'. best cliche there is."

"and what a damn good cliche it is to be. although i haven't been that lucky on the love front."

her eyebrow raises and her nail traces around the rim of her glass.

"im sorry but i simply cant believe that. someone like you would have people lining up for a chance to talk to you, let alone date you."

you dryly chuckle before taking another long swig of your glass of champagne, dancing just on the edge of being intoxicated. you understood why everyone else was drinking this, it was sweet but strong.

"people have tried, of course. but sadly most of my escapades end in tragedy. very melodramatically. but enough about me, I'm guessing this isn't gonna go my way and you have someone waiting for you at home?"

"im offended you still think so low of me. but no, there was someone but it didn't work out. now its just me and my daughter."

god, she was a milf. if there was a god you prayed he would let you get lucky tonight.

"well, im sorry to hear it didnt work out."

"are you really?"

she looks at you with a smirk on her face.

"no, im not."

that was all she needed to ask you to come back with her to her hotel.

and not just any hotel, she was rich enough to be spending two weeks in the damn ritz. asking again what she did for a living didn't get you very far, the only hint you got being that it helped her change the world. ominous but whatever. it had to be legitimate if she was invited to that gala.

the cautious and common sense side of you is snuffed out for the night the moment she set her hand over the covered skin of your thigh in the car, the feeling of her hand on your lower back leading you through the pristine lobby of the hotel, that same hand helping you take off your dress and take you apart slowly over the rest of the night.

when you wake up the sun is peeking through the curtains, the softness of the sheets your laying on calling you back to sleep before you get up and look around.

you only got a few seconds to admire the room last night before victoria was on you, and now in the light of day you could truly take everything in. you find a note left by the woman, letting you know she had to leave temporarily for an important job thing and that she'd be back my lunch, inviting you to call up room service and enjoy the room intil then.

you were expecting for her to tell you to pack your shit up and go, so despite the oddness this was a nice surprise. besides, there was no way you were gonna pass up on ordering a five-star breakfast you didnt have to pay for.

after indulging in a meal brought by room service and finding ways to pass the time, you text your manager after she happily lets you know that your night was a success and that your payment should be cleared shortly. while you're in the middle of wondering if you should answer her query about the host wondering where you wandered off to last night, the sound of a door opening makes your head jerk towards the small entry area, victoria coming in through the doorway dressed in a tan suit and carrying a large black briefcase on her arm.

"ah, youre still here!,” she sets her bag on a glass table near the door and strides into the room, eyes connected with yours the whole time. you weren’t feeling nervous before, but under her gaze you wonder if maybe you should have taken that free meal along with some tiny soaps from the bathroom and headed back home.

“yeah, figured i’d stick around for whatever. besides, i had to stay and blame you for my manager thinking i got kidnapped.”

“i’ll make sure to apologize and send her an edible arrangement. besides, i hope to take up more of your time in the future.”

your eyes bulge so hard you’re sure you look like a moron. you cover it up by getting up to get yourself another cup of coffe from the tray the food came in on.

“well i should’ve guessed this was more than a one night stand when you allowed me to order up breakfast. but now i have to admit i’m slightly scared you’re actually plotting to traffick me.”

"trust me, that wouldn't be good for business. id just like to see you some more, if that would be alright with you.

was that an actual question? after the night you had and the way she’s been treating you, you didn’t see much of a choice except to say yes.

she tells you that a few hours later she has a flight back to america, but that she wouldn't mind spending the day with you if you're free. you agree to get a little bite to eat and it turns into a whirlwind day of showing her around the city you call your home. she has to wear giant sunglasses the whole time and have a mysterious security detail not too far behind, but you wouldn't change anything about it.

at the end of it all, she bids you goodbye in front of your taxi, admiring the cute outfit she bought for you so you wouldn't have to go home in your dress from the night prior, promising that she'll keep in touch with you once she gets settled in back a new york, jokingly telling you she'll send you a postcard. as you sit in the back of the taxi, your heart inflates a little as you take in the events of the last day. you never liked to mix business with pleasure in this way, partly because most of those business people were gross perverts and also that it could damage your career beyond repair, but with victoria you can't help but think that it was worth it.

eventually, a few days pass by, and the only calls you've gotten are from friends congratulating on what they heard was another great performance. and as nice as all the praise and the new gigs you started to get felt, the longer you heard no word back from victoria, it started to eat away at you inside.

back at your favorite cafe you sit with two of your oldest friends, jamie and chloe, as they ramble about the details of their changing lives and jobs. you don't know when you zoned out but eventually, chloe's manicured finger lightly pokes at your cheek, giggling when you make a playful motion to bite it.

"where'd you go just now? take me with you before jamie keeps talking about his new lover."

"hey!" jamie pouts, "you're just jealous because i've been regularly having passionate sex allll night long while you're still vying over your boss." you hear a shocked gasp behind him and you all turn to see an elderly couple looking at jamie like he's said the most blasphemous thing they've ever heard.

"really classy, james." you snort.

"what the hell! you're supposed to be on my side! everyone has noticed how you've been in a better mood since that gala. alex told us how they checked up on you afterwise and you showed up a day later with a new outfit and a hickey on your neck."

"that is- god, that’s so intrusive and so like them,” you rolled your eyes. you knew as soon as alex saw you that morning that they’d be gossiping to everyone about the state they saw you in. “and i don’t kiss and tell like that. at least not in public like this.”

“ok, so we’ll stop by your place tonight with some wine and talk all about it tonight. agree?”

“what? no-”

“agree!” chloe beams and shakes hands with jamie across the table, blowing you kisses before leaving her share of the bill on the table and leaving with some excuse of having to be somewhere. you glare at jamie as a warning before he gives you a kiss on the cheek and does the same. you grumble before biting into your muffin.

a few hours later you’re sitting on your soft sofa with jamie’s head in your lap and chloe on the other side, talking and laughing about old stories from your jobs. you take a sip of merlot right before jamie brings up what you were hoping they’d forgotten about by now.

“ok ok, enough chatter. seriously, chlo, you cackle like a seagull. y/n, when are you going to tell us about this mystery lover of yours? do you need another glass of wine to start talking?”

“don’t even think about pouring me another glass. look, there’s not much to say, ok? i was singing, she was staring at me from across the bar, we flirted a little, that was it!”

they stared.

“you want more?”

“how could we not? we haven’t seen you like this with anyone! not since we took you on that tourist tour on the seine!”

that…that took you for a spin. you remembered it clear as day, them tugging you along when they’d heard since you came to paris you’d been focusing on building up your image and working. it was more a joke, but the lights of the boat, the sky and the lights made you feel like you were in the most perfect moment of your life. hearing them compare that to how you looked now had a nervous feeling building in your gut.

“we spent the night together. and it was…good. really good. she let me stay while she went out, bought me a new outfit then said she’d be in touch.”

your friends are silent. way too silent. you’re afraid they’re about to laugh and judge you before they’re squealing and tackling you, pulling back when you groan after you almost spill your wine on your clothes.

"god, why are you always the lucky one? this isn't fair! at all!" chloe groans while dramatically resting her head on your shoulder, jamie still giggling as the wine clearly starts to take an effect on him. "please, please tell us what happens next before i scream."

"no thats- i mean, thats it. so far. for now." you stutter along your words as your friends' faces go blank yet again, except this time without a hint of a chuckle or smile.

"what the hell do you mean 'that's it.'? she ghosted you?" jamie gasps.

"no, she didnt ghost me-"

"sweetheart, im sorry to say this but you have been ghosted. in a really dickhead way."

"its not like that! she's a busy person with a serious job and a kid and responsibilities!"

you briefly hear chloe snicker "milf?" before you roll your eyes.

"she's gonna contact me. and even if she doesn't, maybe it was just a nice one-time thing! everyone knows I'm great at those."

jamie snickers before chloe smacks his shoulder in a second.

"why? why did you laugh?"

they share a look before she smacks his shoulder again.

"would you stop? i have pains, you know this. but y/n, we know you. we love you. but your latest stints haven't been...the most successful. or left you in the best headspaces."

"he's right, honey. remember the last girl, hannah? one of the worst situationships i've ever seen. you told us you would be alright when she broke it off and then we found you at that lousy bar at eleven in the morning..."

you start biting at your lip. there was nothing you hated more than when they told you the truth about how you could act. it wasn't your fault that all the time your relationships got messy, or that you got attached a little quickly. people didn't understand but a life like yours could be lonely. standing up on a stage and performing for people who want you to do just that and only that: sing and look like a glamourous pin-up doll. most of the time its the other performers who even bother to ask if your throat is alright after singing for hours.

so yes, sometimes you rushed into relationships. and you might have done it again in the dumbest way possible.

"i just...she let me stay after, y'know? and she came back and brought me with her again. why go through that effort just to leave me behind like trash?" your friends pouted before closing in to comfort you, rubbing your back and giving you small affirmations.

for a month you go into a rut. unless it's performing or going to the dentist for a checkup you don't leave your house. you become pretty good acquaintances with the grocery delivery boy, benny, who started panicking when he realized he forgot one of your items until you assured him it was fine. it wasn't the first time you'd grown so oddly attached to a romantic prospect, and it wasn't the first time you'd gotten hurt by it. you spend your time moping on your couch and binge-watching your favorite show for the third time when your phone buzzes from beside you.

nancy schmancy : call me.

you rolled your eyes. she could have just called you in the first place, but no. she had to be extra about it. you press the call button and don't have to wait even five seconds for her voice to ring in your ear.

"do you want to know what mister barbier just emailed me?"

"i think you already have that answer for me."

"he said, and i quote, 'tell y/n i send my best wishes. her performance last night was hauntingly beautiful, and i'm hoping it was one of her greatest acts yet.'"

"if you ask me, it sounds like i did a pretty good job."

"it sounds like he thought you were singing your damn suicide note!" she groaned, and you could hear her face scrunching from over the phone. "i don't know what is going on with you recently, and i don't want to sound insensitive, but if you can't manage to keep your work and personal life separate, even i can't help you make it far in this business. clients may say they want you to be expressive but they only mean so far. unhappy music means unhappy customers, capeche?"

"i understand, nancy. ill send a personal apology to mister barbier."

"good. ill call you soon to let you know about any new gigs. take care of yourself. seriously."

the line clicks and you toss your phone onto the couch and take another sip of sauvignon blanc from your rose-shaped wine glass. it pained you to admit it, but nancy had a point. if you kept letting yourself mope in your feelings you'd run out of people who wanted you to sing, and if the point came where you were out of gigs...you didn't even want to think about it. if you weren't singing you weren't living.

only a few hours after that call you manage to get back to normal. you go out and get your own groceries, deciding to indulge yourself and buy the ingredients for some recipe you saw online months ago. one of your clients cries at your performance, ecstatically telling you they'll be in talks with your manager to set up a stable contract. things really start to look up. two weeks later you even manage to get the number of a cute girl, elise, a tall woman with dyed hair who reached for the same vintage music box as you at an open market.

you're smiling as you look down at the messy ink on a slip of paper, the numbers and tiny smily face distracting you as you enter the hallway to your apartment. so distracted that you nearly trip over a object on the floor, looking down to see...a bouquet?

a really gorgeous bouquet you notice as you bend over to pick it up. its a collage of dusty blues and off-colored ivories, and when you brought it closer to your nose for a whiff you felt a sense of bliss. you bring it into your apartment with a skip in your step before you spot a piece of paper among the flowers, plucking it from the collection and reading it over.

upon closer inspection, you can see its a postcard, the cover a flattering shot of the statue of liberty with text that reads "love from new york city!". you try to calm your heart down at the location and the 'love' part, but you've already gotten your hopes up when you turn the card around to read the message:

xxx-xxx-xxxx

sorry for the wait. i'll make it up to you, angel.

you'd never felt so conflicted as you did in the past five seconds. half of you was vindicated that yes, this attractive woman didnt leave you high and dry and did actually have a deeper interest in you, but the other part was angry. and embarrassed that you were angry, because again, you spent less than a day with this woman, she didn't owe you anything. but also yes the hell she did.

before you could get yourself together you were harshly tapping the number into your cell, biting at your lip as the phone slowly rings.

"y/n, is that you?" echoes from the line, victorias voice sounding and running over your head like soft silk. no, no, stop it. focus.

"howd you know it was me? im sure you have other people who'd be calling you this late."

"certainly not anyone with a phone number from paris. besides, i was hoping it'd be you."

"well, i would have been flattered two weeks ago but unfortunately i dont think your words could phase me right now."

she sighs and the line goes silent. you feel bad for being catty for a few seconds before you brush it off. she's the one who played with your emotions and promised to call you but never did. she had this coming.

"im sorry, really i am. i've been busy with things at work and my daughter-"

damn it, she pulled the kid card again.

"i just...dont like being lied to. or led on. maybe its my fault for beeing too clingy-"

"no, no. dont apologize. if it means anything youve been on my mind for weeks now."

"yeah, same here. except my thoughts havent been all that nice." you laugh.

"deserved. and id like to make it up to you."

"oh yeah? let me guess, this time we'll spend two nights together?"

"close. how about two weeks. in new york."

you don't know if you should laugh. you feel like you should, so you do. but she isn't.

"you...you're being serious."

"im being serious."

what do you even say? what do you even do? of course, whatever higher power there is would make your life stable and steady for the past few months then throw this in to shake you up. you really should have been expecting it, considering...

you shake yourself back to the present. victoria is still waiting on the other line, unwilling to rush you into a decision, apparently. you'd applaud her for her chivalry if you weren't so stunned.

"victoria, come on. we've only met once, and while it was nice it was brief. now you want me to upend my life and career to jet off to america? it sounds crazy."

"you make me a bit crazy, honestly. besides, you were telling me in bed you haven't been in the states since you left, i have a feeling you miss it more than you let on."

you shuffle in your spot, reminded that you're standing in your cold-ass kitchen and you haven't changed out of the outfit you wore out today. but half of your uncomfortableness is from a feeling gnawing at your chest because she's right. at this point you can barely remember the night you left your childhood home, but you know it was rushed. you wanted to forget everything.

"i think you're also forgetting that i have a blossoming career here. are you gonna pay my definitely going to be pissed off manager her wages? plus i was supposed to be first pick for this really good gig-"

"i'll pay for everything, i promise. dont forget that i have connections. in two weeks they''ll be singing you praises across the globe."

you close your eyes and take in a breath.

"can you make my ticket first class?"

-

one thing you didnt miss about america? just how...much everything was, all the time.

your flight was quiet. victoria didnt hesitate to book you an expensive ticket, almost taking offense to your request for a nice one and scheduling you for business class, sending you a text to get lots of rest in the ultra-luxe beds on the plane. it was probably one of the best nights sleeps you'd had in months.

when you got off the plane there were two tall escorts holding a sign with your last name on it, taking the suitcases from your hands before you could say anything and leading you into a sleek black car. a voice in the back of your head starts screaming but you ignore it. for now.

the men in the car give you some basic rundowns, how they'll constantly be hovering over you during your stay for your "protection", and that they'll be taking you to settle into a hotel until victoria makes contact, and the little voice starts freaking out again and telling you that you've slept with and are fraternizing with a mob boss. at least it's more exciting than your last few flings.

the car goes silent after that, and you put in your earbuds as you watch the city go by. you weren't from new york, but you loved watching movies set in the bustling cityscape. the buildings really are humongous, and you see so many different types of people it sets your brain on a whirlwind.

you look back down at your phone after the fifth 'the seven' advertisement in one block.

yet again you're led into a clearly extremely expensive hotel, breezing through reception before you are led to a luxuriant hotel room, the bodyguards ignoring you as you giggle and flop onto the bed, waving them off when they tell you they'll be posted outside.

the sheets feel heavenly on your skin, and with the soft sunshine from the window beaming down on you and the gentle hustle and bustle of new york outside, you think you could fall asleep in a minute. but, begrudgingly, you peel yourself form the bed and open your suitcase to start putting your clothes away before taking a quick shower in the giant bathtub.

just as you exit the shower and wrap your body in a towel, your phone starts ringing and as soon as you read the 'v' in the contact name you push answer and bring it to your ear.

"hello? vic?"

"hey, hon. eager to talk to me?"

"you called me. and 'hon'? really? we've moved to petnames already?"

"figured id start making up for those weeks with no contact. and id like to do so again tonight. i wanna bring you somewhere."

your mouth quirks up in a smile as you re-adjust the towel around your body, the phone nearly slipping from its quick placement between your phone and ear, "id really like that. i hope its out to dinner, i didnt care to eat any of the plane food."

“yes, it’s to dinner. but its up to you if you want it to be fancy or casual. i know its tacky but there’s this pretty cute french place near where i live...”

“that vaguely sounds like an invitation to your place, but ill let it slide. are you gonna pick me up or are your special agents going to escort me everywhere for the next few weeks?”

“special agents? what agents?”

a bead of water drips from your neck down your back and it feels like the tip of a knife. a pressure builds in the back of your throat and your fingers grip the fabric of your towel. “what…that’s a joke, right?”

her laughter rings in your ear and you are seconds away from hanging up the call.

“sorry, sorry. i sometimes have a weird sense of humor. you'll get used to it.”

“i doubt it.”

“and i'm hopeful. i'll let you go so you can get ready, i'll be by in under an hour.”

you hang up after a sweet goodbye and gently sit on the toilet. your brain is rushing to catch up after the conversation like your body goes on autopilot when you hear victoria's voice. its terrifying and its thrilling. and you don't know why a part of you likes the feeling.

after you brush your teeth, do some quick skincare, debate over shaving just in case, and spend twenty minutes picking out a cute outfit, you finally hear the gentle knocking on the door while you're double-checking over the content of your purse.

rushing to open the door, you're greeted with the sight of a smiling victoria, her hands tucked into the pants of her clearly expensive pinstriped pantsuit. you're admiring the look of her hair tucked back into a ponytail when she's reaching forward and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"you look perfect. come on, i made us a reservation."

and it turned out to be a perfect night. she did end up taking you to the french place, allowing you to order whatever you wanted. that place was weirdly empty, only a handful of other patrons inside. you were pleased to see that the waitress was french herself, having a small chat about the customs and foods she missed while she praised the authenticity of the food at the restaurant.

only a day and you had already forgotten how forward the people back home could be, because the waitress throws a subtle look at victoria and compliments you on finding such an attractive woman. when she leaves vic just smiles.

“ok, id say at this point we’re doing pretty good with the communication thing, right?” you ask, taking a sip of the pricey wine your date ordered.

“yeah, id say that.”

you finger the rim of your glass, the nerves getting to you before you ask your question. "i want you to tell me what your job is. your actual job, not some vague ass title. you have security following gus around, so i feel like i should know."

"no, no, you're right. i just didnt wanna scare you off. or have you think differently of me once i told you." she sighs, thumbing the napkins on the table. "i work in the government. i'm a congresswoman, to be exact."

you don't doubt she's a politician for a second, because she shows no hint of nervousness at your lack of emotion.

"are you...a good congresswoman?"

"i don't really know how to answer that." she laughs.

"i'm sorry. i knew you were important enough to be at that gala, but a politician is...tricky."

she reaches across the table and lays her hand palm up, smiling when you rest yours on top of it. "look, i get it. i should have told you sooner but please understand why i didn't. i wanted to get to know you as normally as possible, without all of the press and politics in the way."

"normally as possible, huh? that includes sleeping together on the first night?"

you're trying to show your acceptance of the situation with your humor, but you can tell victoria can sense your uneasiness at the situation. here you were thinking you had found some under-the-radar millionaire to dote on you and instead, you'd roped in someone whose job was entirely in the public eye that could be put in danger at the flip of a switch.

"how about we finish up and take this back to my place? i'll tell you everything that you wanna know about me. no matter how personal."

you stare into her eyes for a few seconds and decide that she looks genuine, getting confirmation that her daughter is staying with a friend before ending your meal and following her to her place.

for the amount of money she's ready to spend on you, you're surprised to see that victoria lives in a chic but quaint townhome only a twenty-minute walk from the restaurant. she gently takes off your coat and instructs you to sit with her on the couch, pressing on a remote to turn on her fireplace.

after a few hours and two more glasses of wine, victoria had opened up to you about nearly everything in her life. the mysterious death of her birth family, being adopted by a man who helped pushed her to go into a political career, her polite but loveless marriage with her ex. she even shows you a picture of zoe that she has in her wallet, taking the chance to gush over her daughter. she seems like such a sweet girl.

maybe it's the wine or maybe it's the way vic is opening up to you so freely, but you decide to tell her more about your past. how you always wondered why you barely stuggled moving to another continent at such a young age, or the fact that you dont even remeber why you had the drive to leave your parents home in the first place. you didnt even remember the last words you said to each other.

and throughout it all she's nothing if not attentive, she doesnt ask questions unless you give her permission too, keeping her eyes on you and gently placing her hand over yours.

you feel a turning in your stomach when she moves a stray hand of hair behind your ear. you told yourself to try taking things slow this time, but your body is starting to feel fuzzy and shes looking at you like she wants to devour you.

she decides to indulge you and gently brushes her lips against yours, smiling at the way your breath staggers. your head moves forwards to finaly get her to kiss you but she jerks her head back.

"i want you to tell me what to do."

god, your stomach feels hot. this is new, but a really arousing style of new. the last time you both slept together she had taken a careful but unwavering charge, unraveling you with a steady hand a sweet smile.

"cmon just...please?"

"no. tell me what you want me to do."

you sigh and bite at your lip. "i want you to lay me down and fuck me. right now."

so she laid you down and she did. there were no words to describe how much you enjoyed that night on her couch, the way she could read your body like a book and brought you to ecstasy again and again and again...

and when you wake up a soft blanket is draped over your body, a brekfast of coffee and some crepes set in front of you.

the days after are a whirlwind. discreetly as possible victoria takes you on a tour of new york city, to more expensive restaurants and hidden jewels that most tourists skipped over.

youre lounging in your hotel room when you decide to inform your friends of how your trip is going. while slightly hesitant they seemed more than happy that you were enjoying yourself with someone who took a genuine interest in you.

until you told them her job.

"my love, are you insane? a politician?"

"an american politician?" chloe gasps, continuing off of jamies shock.

"hey, im american too dont forget!"

"of course you are, but please, you understand why this is not good, no?"

"you know how fishy they are, especially with all the supe business going on. that place is getting more dangerous by the day, and i dont think you should be seeing someone whos contirbuting to that."

it pained you to admit it but jamie had a point. the three of you would always laugh in amused horror at how badly things were going on in your birth country, and the politics...it was less than pleasant.

not to mention the supe business. every corner of the world had to deal with the annoyance that was vought and their "products", even france. but so far you'd just had to deal with a few perverted looks from traveling supers and talks of some stupid theme park a few miles out of the city. meanwhile, it seemed like every day a new superhero was being introduced to the American public. it unnerved you.

"i understand. i appreciate both of you looking out for me. trust me, i'll be on my guard for now on." you mumble, picking at the material of your sleeve.

"of course, songbird. we'll call again soon."

the call ends and drop your phone on the nightstand. you look at the eiffel tower cutout in your phone case and your heart aches.

the next morning you're eating a a breakfast of coffee and fruit crepes when your phone rings, dragging your atttention away from the trashy dating show you were watching on the bedroom's tv. when you see nancy's name you hesitantly answer the call.

"nance? is everything alright?"

"everything is great. i'm just here to check in about your next gig."

"my next- nance, im on vacation. please tell you didnt forget and booked me for a job when im across the ocean."

"no, im not that stupid, hon." she sighs. "i didnt even arrange this job, victoria did. im just the messenger."

you blink once. then twice. you remember vic saying something about helping you with a job but you honestly just thought that was bullshit to get her to come stay with you.

(or get in your pants. but you don’t think you’d be too upset about that now.)

“ok. thank you, nancy. tell me the details.”

it’s a lot more extravagant than you expected. victorias friend, an actual senator, was holding a fundraising event for some government program he and vic were both involved in. nancy wasn’t told what the program was, but that you would have to go through a security debrief before being told you'd be given a team to help you prepare. and picking from a selected closet of dresses. fun.

you ignore the feeling of nervousness that’s building up in your gut. because while all of your gigs were important, they were never this important. you push it down as you call victoria and thank her endlessly, when you tell your friends the minimum amount that you can tell them, and when victoria picks you up from outside your hotel twelve hours before the event even starts.

she pressed a small kiss to your hand, laughing at the grumpy and tired mumble you let out when you sit in the car seat. it only passes once she gives you a coffee she picked up, the caffeine waking you up and putting a smile on your face.

the content feeling turns into shock when you enter victorias' place and see zoe, vic throwing a short explanation of “busy babysitter” over her shoulder as she heads into the kitchen.

its a bit awkward at first, sitting on one couch as she plays on a black nintendo switch on the other. it helps when you ask her about whatever she’s playing, the girl diving into a rant about the farm game she’s playing and how she’s trying to catch a certain type of fish.

victoria comes back with a tray of breakfast for the three of you before asking her daughter how school is going, how her friends are, etc. its nice to get a glimpse into victories private life during the morning, the close bond she has with her daughter. you notice some tension but decide not to bring it up.

the morning goes by too quickly, zoe being picked up to be dropped off at a friend's house after giving you a sweet goodbye and you getting rushed upstairs as the team comes to the townhome to help you prepare. its a nice change, having other people doll you up instead of having to worry about trying to do everything correctly and by yourself. and its a perk you don't have to spend your own money to do it.

the team members are nice but punctual, finishing your hair and makeup in record time with not a second wasted. you barely get time to notice yourself in the mirror before you're ushered into a gorgeous gown, soft fabrics and a chic and elegant style.

when your finished you’re finally allowed to observe yourself while your transportation and is prepared, and it feels like you’re looking at a dream version of yourself.

as you admire yourself in the mirror vic comes up next to you, clearly enjoying herself as her eyes slowly drift up and down your body.

“you look…ethereal.” she whispers, pressing a small kiss to your cheek after you turn to smile at her.

“only because of you. i don’t know how i could ever make this up to you, vic. this is just…”

“trust me, you’ve already done enough.”

while you knew there would be some press at the event, you didn't expect over two dozen paparazzi to quickly start flashing their cameras in your direction as soon as you got out of your ride. questions about who you were wearing, the relationship you had with vic, etcetera etcetera. you would've buckled from the sudden pressure if it weren't for victoria’s steady hand on your waist, the press of her arm through her red pantsuit.

the venue is downright insane, so grand you start to wonder if you're in one of those gilded age mansions you used to read about in new york magazines. climbing pillars and art on the ceiling of the main hall, which you don't get to admire since you’re yet again whisked away to get ready.

after a few more touch ups you aren’t afforded a minute to prepare, guided to the edge of the performance area. the sinking feeling is back in your stomach. the biggest moment of your life and you feel like you’re going to be sick.

the lights dim and you glide onto the stage, able to see the shadows of the guests faces from the flickering table lights. it’s eerie, the amount of them staring up at you with eyes you can’t even see.

you were given a set list a few days prior, only a couple of songs for the payment you would apparently receive after this. the songs piqued your interest, a collection of classical melancholic pieces from around the fifties. vic told you her friend was a vintage nut, but you didn't know why he chose these for you to perform when the event seemed to have an uplifting aura.

either way it felt…different, singing this time. the spotlight was on you and you’ve never felt as beautiful as you did in this moment. everyone was watching you, so hooked on the melodies escaping your body that you could see the emotions brining some people to the edge of their seats.

you don’t let it show but you grow a bit anxious at the sight of supers in their uniforms in the crowd. you don’t see anyone from the seven, but you do notice a woman you recognized from some commercial about climate change and earth preservation, the green of her dress and the nature motifs in her outfit give you a clue as to what her power was.

just when you feel yourself about to slip, dangerously close to hitting a note at a weird pitch, you see victoria, getting deja vu at the sight of her staring at you from the bar like the first night you met. she's looking at you like she's never doubted you for a second, like you're an angel sent from above that's blessed her life.

you hold her gaze when you sing. noticing the soft smile on her face when you sing a lyric about how the feelings in your heart feel so intense you fear you're going insane.

when the first song ends the lights come back on and you're met with a polite yet thunderous applause, the smile on your face so wide your cheeks start to hurt. the presenter comes back on stage, praising your performance with a swipe at his eyes before telling the guests that the host would be on shortly, and after he gives a short speech you'd be back to sing some more. with a gentle nod and wave, you step off the stage.

you feel like you're walking on air, with no doubt that was one of your best performances yet. your emotions got a little intense there but nothing you couldn't manage, and everyone seemed to like it anyway.

you're able to send a quick text and a picture to jamie and chloe before you hear the sound of the door to your quaint dressing room open, not able to turn around before you feel hands around your waist and plush lips on the side of your neck, the sight of victoria wrapped around you in the mirror making butterflies swarm in your stomach.

"i take it you liked my singing?"

"like doesn't even begin to cover it," she mumbles into your neck, raising her head slightly to be able to hold eye contact through the mirror. "i'm so lucky i found you, y'know that?"

you playfully brush her off, telling her you have to freshen up for some mingling before you get back on stage. she gladly helps you with your makeup, and while you weren't expecting her to be so touchy tonight you definitely aren't complaining, especially when her hand starts to drift closer to the space between your legs. it takes an embarrassing amount of mental strength to deny her, promising you'll continue once you go back to her place.

once you're finished getting ready she leads you back out to the hall, introducing you to numerous business people, politicians, celebrities, etc. you try not to fangirl when you meet a singer whose songs you've been obsessed with lately and when she asks you to perform at her cousins wedding. victoria just smirks when she leads you away and you let out a tiny squeal under your breath.

once the networking is done you're able to take the time to sit down and eat some of the catered food, almost moaning at the tastes of the food. you sometimes forget just how good food could be in the states, and these rich people pulled out all the stops. you try not to eat too quickly or impolitely as victoria talks with her tablemates, some people from her job apparently. after the first introductions and praises they gave you you mentally tapped out of the situation. she luckily covers for you when they question your mood, laughing when she tells them you've had a long day of being treated like a singing barbie doll.

everyone in the room quiets down when the hos taakes the stage and starts his speech. he introduces himself as robert stendham, and you feel a little embarrassed that this man gave you the chance to sing here and you didn't even know his name. you're thinking about how odd it is that you weren't introduced before this when he mentions something about the program and you perk up.

"...extend a personal thank you to general jameson for finding the time to escape his duties to fly in and be here with us tonight, and a special thanks to director neuman for helping me with this project and finding the beautifully talented y/n to perform for us tonight."

there was a brief few seconds of applause, victoria looking around and giving out smiles while you wondered what the hell she was the director of.

"as you can see, we have a few supers with us tonight. people like hazelwood, whose efforts against climate change have lead to over a dozen organizations plating millions of trees and clearing millions of pounds of trash for the ocean. because that's what supers are supposed to do-protect us. not act like degenerates who get to do what they want because of their abilities."

your eyebrow twitches, sensing the slight anti-supe propaganda from the end of his speech. well, not anti every supe, just the ones who act like gods among men, which you could understand. but you still felt an uneasy feeling rising in your stomach. you feel vic's palm rest over the top of your hand under the table.

"which is why im incredibly honored that director and congresswoman neuman has extended a hand to me to invest in the federal bureau of superhuman affairs, and to further extend that hand to you to help participate in this monumental institution..."

everything is a fog and your brain taps out once he starts talking about what this burerua does, how they closely monitor supes and jail the ones who've caused public harm. your head feels hot and your chest feels cold, and you can't stop your body from going on auto-pilot and excusing yourself to the bathroom before finding some balcony on the higher floor.

the cold air of new york shocks your body back into normalcy, but the pounding in your head persists. it feels like a panic attack ut so much worse, like your fight or flight has been activated without anything even happening. had you rushed into all of this? chasing a girl and a dream like you were a teenager again?

yet again the door opens behind you and someone comes to stand next to you, able to tell who it is by the scent of brown sugar and the glimpse of dark hair blowing with the slight breeze.

"you alright? mr. brandon from the tech startup was asking about you, tried to make me invest in some room light plant grower hybrid-"

"why did you bring me here?"

you cut her off and the air is quiet, save for the sounds of cars and the city and the wind. it's weird, standing in a tense silence like this with her.

"how are you feeling?" she whispers .

"are you- " you turn, nearly giving yourself whiplash with the speed at which you turn to look at her. the look on her face, like she's just observing you and how you're reacting. it only upsets you more. "are you being serious?"

"yes, i am. tell me."

"no, answer my question first. why are you avoiding it?"

she sighs, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face before reaching to grab your hand, which you hesitantly let her hold.

"as you heard, im part of a buereau that monitors supherhumans, keeping track of them, making sure they cant use their powers for harm. so far we've only had to deal with supes here in the states. until one day, this couple comes in that believe their daughter has used her powers on them."

she reaches for something in her pocket and your grip tightens. she pulls out a polaroid and holds the picture up for you to see. you feel like you're going to vomit when you see you, smiling, standing with your parents in a backyard.

"what...what is this? how'd you get this?"

"the couple gave me this picture, and told me how weird the least few years have been. friends and family asking where their daughter went, how she was doing, a daughter they didnt even remeber having."

you bring a hand up to your head, hopelessly trying to dissipate the splitting headache that's forming.

"but then they said the memories started coming back. glimpses of a child running in the grass, birthday parties, graduations, talent shows-"

"stop, please just stop." you gasp, hunching over as good as you can with the restrictions of your gown. it doesn't even feel like the world is just spinning, it feels like its being played in some celestial game of pool. "so what, you're saying...you're saying i did that? to my parents?"

"yes," she reaches for the side of your face, guiding you to look up at her. "and you can do so much more. you already have."

this can't be happening.

"why do you think people react so emotionally to your singing? you think its just because you're amazing? that's not even half of it."

your breathing is picking up again.

flashes of memories start appearing in your vision. so many happy times with your parents that you forgot, friends that you left behind. how your parents didn't support your half-thought-out plan to become a singer, how you made them forget. made yourself forget.

"i don't want you to think i did all of this just for what i want. i didn't. i care about you, and i want you to help me. but you need to trust me."

the blood is rushing back and from your head, and you think about how weird her eyes look against the backdrop of the city before you pass out.

finally. FINALLY. ong i wrote like 1k in the past day because i said just get this shit over with but its done! 5 months later! hope you enjoyed :)

#the boys #the boys x reader #the boys series #the boys smut #gen v #gen v x reader #victoria neuman x reader #victoria neuman #victoria x reader #victoria neuman fluff #victoria neuman angst #victoria neuman smut

[angiecatz]

Ja, Christmas Spirit Part: 1

König x F!Reader

A/N: Christmas came early, I know I said Dec.1st But I just couldn't resist!

Summary: “You, A young author, were gifted an enchanted pen that allowed you to unknowingly bring characters into your world. And you just so happened to be writing fanfiction with that pen. So, you are thrown into a cliche Hallmark movie timeline with your biggest fictional crush, König and the only way to send him home is to find your “Christmas spirit.” But can you bear to see him go?”

WC: 5.8k

The cold was the perfect time to write. You could be bundled up, have tea, AND be productive? What was not to love! No one could nag in your ear about going outside and getting sunlight. There wasn't much sunlight to get.

It was a big upgrade from the heat of summer that made you feel sweaty and tired. Those were the times when no writing got done. You mostly just slept through all of Summer.

For those reasons, you loved winter. Along with the fact that Starbucks was selling peppermint mocha again. To hell with everyone who said it tasted like toothpaste.

Maybe part of you felt sad that you were sitting alone in your room three days from Christmas. The only thing to look forward to is also the thing you dread. Writer's block had hit like a bitch this fall.

Now, you finally had some inspiration. You didn't even have to set your phone on mute nobody ever called anyway. You just turned on your favorite playlist and sat down at your desk.

The plan was to spend the evening writing about your fictional little worlds and AU’s.

You had everything set up, your papers, laptop, and tea. You already had a loose idea of what you would be writing. You had scrolled through Pinterest, and even made a board or two for the aesthetic.

First, you would start with the planning phase of writing in your trusty journal.

You opened your desk drawer and pulled out a small decorative box. Inside, laid on a golden silk plush pillow was the fanciest pen you had ever seen in your life. Even though it's already at the very least your fourth time seeing it, it still blew your mind.

With white and gold, it looked like something Marie Antoinette would have LOVED if she had been around for it. Straight out of Versaille. It must have cost a fortune, your best friend had bought it for you as an early Christmas present.

You hadn't used it when you got it. You wanted to wait for the perfect moment and this was it. You carefully closed the box and placed it to the side. Next, you placed the tip of the pen on the paper.

The ink flowed onto the paper like a gentle stream, letter by swoopy letter you wrote out the name König.

Yes, the perfect moment for the perfect pen was a fanfiction moment. You had to keep your dedicated readers fed after all. An x-reader of course. The little people scurrying around on Tumblr and Ao3 loved x-readers. They especially loved the tall man who wore a shirt as a mask and went around shooting and breaking backs.

You’d be lying if you didn't feel like barking every time you saw him. But that was your little secret, one only the anonymous people of the internet were allowed to know.

The writing came easy, and for once you didn't want to pull your hair out. ‘It’s all in the pen,’ you thought. It must be. This was too easy. The pen glided across the paper like a knife on warm butter.

You lost track of time and quickly filled out three whole pages of ideas. When you looked up, the sun had gone down and you could see the street lights on through your bedroom window.

How time flies when you're having fun. It took a great effort on your part to place the pen back into its box and close the notebook.

Even as you crawled into the warmth of your bed and closed your eyes all you could think about was a certain 6 '10 monster of a man.

You woke up uneasy. A deep gut feeling that you got even before you opened your eyes. A prey-like feeling, It felt like someone was watching you.

You knew you should open your eyes, but it was just so much easier to keep them closed. You even reached out to pull your blanket closer to your body. Maybe if you ignored it, it would go away. Yeah, that was a wonderful idea, You fought the urge to just pull the blanket over your head and hide. It was probably nothing. You would have heard if someone broke in anyway.

But no matter how long you waited, whatever ‘it’ was didn't seem intent on leaving. You waited in vain for a few more seconds.

Then you got the most wonderful thought, ‘Hey! I am a grown-ass woman. I ain't scared of no ghosts!’ So you snapped your eyes open fully expecting to see nothing but your room.

Instead, your eyes met the weird tactical pants of someone who is very much not see-through. Your eyes climbed the form in horror.

Up, up, up, and even more up, up, up, Until you reach the cold blue eyes, the only thing you could really make out against the dark backdrop of your room.

That is very much not a ghost. In your ‘I'm a grown woman’ thought you failed to realize that grown women have grown problems. And sometimes those problems are intruders here to rob and kill you… Or worse.

You would have loved to say you let out a good blood-curdling scream, but what came out of your mouth was more akin to the high-pitched squeak of a startled rabbit.

You scrambled out of bed as fast as you could, which proved to be not very fast according to the giant weighted blanket you insisted on sleeping with.

It ended up being you having to roll out of bed and then rolling too far onto the floor with a blanket tangled up in your legs.

The man just gave an amused high-pitched chuckle. Great now not only is he going to murder YOU, but he's also going to laugh and make you feel embarrassed while doing it.

He kneeled onto your bed to peer over the other edge to look at you, who was currently stuck in something that looked vaguely like the family guy death pose.

“Are you alright?” He asked in an accented voice.

Aw, how sweet, the burglar cares if you're alright! Perhaps if this was one of your stories you would think that gesture is sweet and kind of hot, but this is real life. And that question rang disturbingly.

After a few seconds, you had finally gotten yourself together and were able to stand up. Although maybe you shouldn't have, because the quickness of your movements sent a bunch of blood from your brain to your feet and caused you to stumble a bit and feel lightheaded.

Great. You are one hundred percent ready to fight off the strange man. Top physical and mental fitness! No chance you would lose! The man before you came into view as your eyes finally focused and blinked away the sleep.

Your first thought was ‘GODDAMN!’ His stature and build were very impressive and horrifying. Your second thought was, ‘What a strange mask’. Black with eye holes cut out and bleached tear streaks. It looked vaguely familiar. Scratch that it looked really familiar.

The man tilted his head to the side like a curious puppy, “Did you hit your head?”

You thought you must have, long before you woke up this morning. Might have even been when you were a baby and the hallucinations were just setting in today. There was no way in hell this mountain of a man before you was the König.

The one from a video game. He wasn't even a main character. You are not a woman of science but you are one hundred percent sure video game characters do not randomly come to life. There's no possible explanation in the entirety of the universe that would make this make sense.

But even the accent was to a tea, and you were pretty sure sniper hoods were not a common choice for burglars.

Unless this was some weird stalker that knew of your ‘obsession’. Again, flattering in fanfiction but terrifying in real life.

“What?” You managed to stutter the words out somehow.

“Maybe you really did.”

You felt the need to defend yourself, “I did not!”

“How the hell are you? How did you get into my house?!” You quickly added on. This was strange, your eyes darted around in hopes of finding something to defend yourself with. Water bottle, walmart heater, pillows. Yup, you were thoroughly unprepared to defend yourself.

“You already know who I am.” He slowly climbed back off of your mattress and returned to his full stature.

“No.”

There was that stupid fucking head tilt again, “No?”

“You’re just some crazy dude! I'm calling the cops!” As soon as the words left your mouth you realized that maybe angering him was not the best idea. He was back on the bed in a flash, his large arm stretched and his hands grabbed hold of your outstretched arm.

“What the fu-”

It only took him one hand to yank you onto the bed and soon you were on your back with him on top of you, using his body weight and hands to keep you pinned to your own mattress.

“Do not play dumb with me little lamn, now send me back,” His voice dipped dangerously low as he hissed the words out.

You struggled against his hold. You tried to rip your hands away, and buck your hips up in hopes of throwing him off, but none of it worked. It just made him press your wrists further into the mattress.

“What the hell do you mean send you back?! I don't even know who you are!” You bit back.

“Liar! I have seen your journals, I have seen that cursed pen!”

His hold wasn't letting up. This man was truly crazy with his nonsensical accusations.

“I really don't know! Let me go!”

He actually listened to you and let one of your arms go. You thought he had maybe come to his senses and was going to let you go. But no, he reached into his own pocket and pulled out a grumbled paper. His other hand stayed firmly over your wrist.

He managed to unscramble it himself and shove it in your face. Your eyes had to adjust a moment to make sense of it.

“A writer’s heart, pure and kind, Is the secret to unlocking the mind, For 'tis true what the tales say: That the path to our worlds lies this way.

Only once we find our inner hope, And unlock the secrets of the world at our scope, Shall the world be a brighter sight, For the spirit of love and joy must ignite!

Seek within, find your true self, And unlock the spirit upon your shelf, Then him, your spirit can save,”

It was in your handwriting, with the delicate nature of the pen. This was yours. Torn from a page of your own journal. The thing was though, you had no memory of ever writing such an absurd poem. You don't write poems. They were the one thing that ruined your high school English grade.

And you certainly wouldn't write such a pretentious one that sounded like it came from a Hallmark movie. You happened to have a strong dislike of the channel.

“What the actual fuck is going on?!” You demanded, and you snatched the paper from him with your free hand. You had long since given up trying to get out from under him.

“That is what I would like to know. One moment I was on the field and next I was in a white room and now here.”

“Then go back to the field I don't care! Just get out!”

“I CAN’T!” He yelled back. He was off you like a shot, you stayed frozen on your bed as he thundered over to your bedroom door. He was finally leaving, you thought. He yanked your door open so hard he almost ripped it completely off its hinges.

The noise of it slamming into the wall made you flinch. You sat up in your bed and watched him, too scared to try and escape.

His hand reached out, albeit a little shaky and unstable. His fingers had just barely grazed the threshold before he had yanked them back and a loud ZAP rang out through the room. It sounded like he had just run straight into a human-sized bug zapper.

“I can’t leave. I've tried everything.” He muttered as he clutched his hand.

Now that he mentioned it your room was in disarray. Your window was propped open and multiple books were scattered across the floor.

Things had just gone from murderer-level scary to supernatural-level scary. A category that was very very hard to wrap your head around.

A strange man, who just so happened to be a dead ringer for your favorite video game character, a strange letter, and now an unleaveable room?

You had to see this for yourself. You got yourself up and neared your door. You kept extra care to stay as far away from ‘König’(you might as well accept it by now). You didn't want to get zapped. That shit looked like it hurt.

But if you got zapped then maybe you weren't having some weird mental breakdown and König wasn't just some dude and the actual König.

Like ripping a bandaid off.

You braced yourself and you pushed your fingers through the threshold of the door, squeezed your eyes shut, and…..

… …. …..

Nothing. No zap. No excruciating pain. Nothing. Zip. Nada.

You were perfectly fine. You even waved your hand around a bit. König bristled up at this and stuck his own hand in the door beside yours. No zap. He too also waved his hand around a bit.

Wonderful. He had tricked you. He wasn't König and that stupid poem must have just been something you wrote after a really long night. This dude was an excellent actor. Could it be this is some crazy culty acting school assignment? You really need to stop coming up with such outlandish theories.

You pulled back your hand and jumped back in case he tried to grab you again.

As soon as your hand was back in the room there was a zap and König yelled out in pain. He jumped back like a hissing cat.

“What is this?!” He demanded.

“How the hell should I know?!” You responded.

In the distance, bells rang. With a soft jingle jingle that came through the open window. You looked back at König, and behind him, you could see tiny little snowflakes starting to fall.

That was strange. You rarely ever get snow. Not once in your life had you ever gotten a white Christmas. Must be global warming…

Enough of these games you thought, “Get out of my house.”

“Did you not just see? Don't you think I've tried?!” He gestured widely to your bedroom door.

“I walked out the door just fine!” To prove your point you backstepped till you were past the threshold of your room and in your hallway.

There was no zapping, not that you expected it this time. You were perfectly fine. You walked out the door just fine. So maybe trying to negotiate with some intruder you should make a run for it. So that's just what you do.

If he isn't faking the zaps then he can't run after you, and if he is? Well, you just hope your sudden sprint caught him by surprise and gave you enough time to reach your front door.

You had neighbors, nosey ones at that. If you ran out all crazy they would surely call the cops. Wouldn't be the first time they called the cops on you, this time it would be for a good reason.

You got all the way past the bathroom when you heard thundering footsteps behind you.

Shit.Shit.Shit!

Hearing someone much bigger than yourself run after you is another type of fear. You could hear him getting closer and closer with each step. He was much quicker than you, that much was obvious.

You had just barely graced the edge of the hallway when a strong, large, pair of arms wrapped around your midsection.

You shrieked as anyone would, You tried to thrash around in his arms but the tight hold he had on you only allowed you to wiggle a bit without feeling like a too-tightly gripped stress ball. If he used even a miniscule amount more of his strength you were sure you'd pop.

Your lack of ability to struggle allowed him to maneuver you like a rag doll. He flipped you around so his hands held you firmly right below the armpits. Your legs dangle uselessly.

He was shaking, and so were you. You were worried he’d start shaking you and demanding answers you don't even know the question to. That couldn't be good for your brain.

“How and why am I here?” König yelled the question he had already asked multiple times.

“Why would I know?! I just woke up to you standing over me!”

“What was that room then? And the letter?!” The angrier he got the more jumbled his pronunciation got, and his accent was slowly becoming more and more noticeable.

“I DON'T KNOW!” Your voice cracked and your tears threatened to spill.

König finally seemed to take your answer seriously, “You really don't know?”

“I’m just as confused as you are.”Now please put me down you thought.

He understood your silent plea and placed you back on your feet. He nodded and turned his head to the kitchen you both were just mere inches from. Here, he had a direct line to the back patio door.

He stepped into the kitchen with no problem. With a sense of confidence, he quickly stepped to the door, he had finally found an exit. He had gotten past your bedroom, only a few steps more and he’d be free.

As soon as his fist closed on the doorknob, an electrical current was burned through him, from the very tips of his fingers to the ends of his hair. His mouth just dropped open in a completely silent scream.

When he finally was able to pull his hand away from the old-fashioned door knob, he stumbled right onto the floor, twitching and convulsing.

You gasped and ran to his side. He might be some weird Call of Duty-dressed burglar but he was still a person. And if he died in your house aren’t you legally responsible?

Your mind ran through your limited knowledge of first aid. Why couldn't you have taken some classes sooner? Your research for fanfic wasn't nearly enough.

You placed your hands lightly on his back as he shook. You had to do something. You had to figure something out. You were running out of time. He would die. He would die right here on your kitchen floor and the police would come take you away.

Breaking Bad

YES! Yes yes yes that's right! You could remember it so clearly. One of the characters started convulsing so they turned them on their side. That's got to be right. T.V. occasionally gets medical advice right.

Isn't that only so they don't choke on their vomit? This dude doesn't look like he's about to throw up… Still, it's the best idea you've got.

So that's what you do. Inspired by Breaking Bad, you rolled the mammoth of a man onto his side. It took some effort, he’s completely dead weight and you haven't hit the gym in a while.

Eventually, you got it right. You have him propped up with some throw pillows from your couch in what you thought was the proper position.

Next, He needed help. Real help, not help from some random twenty-something woman who writes fanfiction in her free time. Help from a professional.

He balanced and did not immediately plop over when you took your hands off of him, That must be a good sign, right?

Nonetheless, it allowed you to race back to your room, grab your phone, and race back in record time. You kneeled down next to König again and typed in shaky numbers. You missed typing a couple of times and had to restart. Three numbers should be this hard, get it together!

9 1 1

The phone rang and rang. It rang for too long. Aren’t 911 operators supposed to pick up immediately? That's their whole point is it not? To answer in emergencies? He could die at any moment and nobody could be bothered to pick up the phone.

You must just be tripping yourself out, you reasoned. You're too freaked out and so the seconds feel much longer than they actually are. That has to be the reason.

You focused on Königs breathing instead of the ringing in your ear.

The line goes down with a long beep. No answer.

Shit.

So much for emergency services.

Well, that's just great. Now he's really going to die. You must be going crazy at this point. You look at your kitchen window from your spot on the floor. You could see it, the snow piled upon the window sill. Perfect and untouched. Such a strange thing. It had only just started snowing a moment ago.

Slowly bell chimes started to ring outside your house. It sounded like there were Christmas Carolers right outside the door. Maybe they could help?

You felt dizzy. Way too dizzy to be normal. Your phone slipped from your hand and onto your wood flooring. The edge of your vision went blurry.

When you woke again it was to the smell of cinnamon and gingerbread. You hadn't made gingerbread in a long long time.

You were warm and pleasant. Wrapped up in a knit blanket near a fire in your fireplace and some roasted chestnuts.

Strange. You could have sworn you had passed out on the kitchen floor with some dude.

Oh well, that problem could wait for tomorrow. You were way too warm and comfy to even think about getting up. There was some moving next to you, and the couch dipped and creaked.

That made you open your eyes. Right next to you, passed out on your couch is König(you couldn't think of anything else to call him), a blanket wrapped around him.

“What the Fuck….” You whispered.

You could hear Christmas music playing in the background, from your T.V. You don't listen to Christmas music. With much wiggling, you were able to free yourself from the confines of the blanket.

König managed to sleep through it. You were on your feet, thankfully in the same clothes you remember being in. The real problem started when you looked down at your coffee table. There was a platter of Gingerbread on a festive platter right in the middle of it.

You don't own festive decor or gingerbread. Did König do this? How could he have done this when just moments ago he was having a seizure on the ground?

Your question was answered by a blinding white light like a nuclear bomb had just gone off in the middle of your living room.

You shielded your eyes with the crook of your arm. A feminine disembodied voice spoke, “A writer’s heart, pure and kind, Is the secret to unlocking the mind, For 'tis true what the tales say: That the path to our worlds lies this way.

Only once we find our inner hope, And unlock the secrets of the world at our scope, Shall the world be a brighter sight, For the spirit of love and joy must ignite!

Seek within, find your true self, And unlock the spirit upon your shelf, Then him, your spirit can save”

The poem from earlier. The voice was not one you remembered so you asked, “God?” You weren't really expecting an answer but she did.

“No. I am the Christmas spirit.”

No Christmas spirit.The Christmas spirit. You almost laughed. You would have thought it was just some weird prank. But the blinding light was too true.

“You have things to do,” The Christmas spirit said.

“Things?” You asked.

“König must go home, he's not from here,” The spirit continued.

“You can't possibly mean….” You trailed off. There was no possible way König was the König from the video game. You had already gone over this. But a lot of things have started to seem possible lately.

“Only you can send him home, just follow my poem.”

How perfectly vague. Wonderful answer that wasn't even an answer.

“Oh wow, I'm the chosen one and the only one who can save him how original.” You said sarcastically.

“Only you can send him home, just follow my poem.” The voice repeated.

The light filtered out and the dimly light yellow lighting of your living room trickled in in its place. The voice and godly light were gone.

“I wasn't lying,” A male voice said behind you.

You looked over your shoulder. König was awake. Sat on your couch leaned over with his elbows balanced on his knees. He looked up at you with haunted blue eyes. That whole experience proved the limited story he had provided you with.

“The Christmas spirit,” you said.

“Ja, The Christmas spirit,” He agreed.

How absurd. People love to say things like “This only ever happens in movies” but this kind of shit really ONLY happens in movies.

“I would like to go home.”

“I would like you to go home.”

Wonderful then, You were both on the same page. You repeated the poem in your head. You ran over it till you found the first line that could be a clue.

“Only once we find our inner hope, And unlock the secrets of the world at our scope,” You mumbled.

“Hope?” König asked, “Hope for what.”

“Maybe we need to find our Christmas spirit? That's always what the characters in the movies have to do.” You looked around your living room, it wasn't decorated for the holidays at all. You never hosted so there really wasn't a point. The strange cookies and Christmas music was the only thing festive and they were not even yours.

So was that it? You just needed to decorate your house for Christmas? That was going to prove difficult by the fact that the back patio door was a death trap. You had an inkling feeling that the front door would be the same.

“I don't celebrate Christmas….”

“Neither do I,” You responded.

König shifted uncomfortably. Emphasis on uncomfortably, König was very very uncomfortable right now. Turns out it is kind of awkward to be sitting on the couch of some girl he had almost killed a few moments ago.

There was no way out either. Oh, what König would have given to be able to just run out and straight back onto the battlefield.

You, on the other hand, were not that uncomfortable. Just mildly annoyed and amazed that a real-life video game character that you had just been writing fanfiction about last night was sitting on your couch.

“Oh!” You said.

König jostled just slightly at your sudden exclamation.

“We can just look it up!” You don't know why you hadn't thought about it earlier. You had a perfectly working phone. If you ignored the 911 incident.

The results came up in seconds. You clicked on the first link.

How to find your Christmas spirit: 1. Focus on the present: Try not to get caught up in the past or worry about the future. Instead, focus on the present moment and find joy in the simple things around you. 2. Practice appreciation: Find things to be grateful for each day, whether it's a favorite meal, a beautiful sunset, or the time you have with loved ones. Gratitude can help shift your focus away from negative thoughts and feelings. 3. Spread kindness: Do something nice for someone else, whether it's baking some cookies, volunteering at a local charity, or simply offering a kind word. Helping others can bring a sense of joy and fulfillment. 4, Nurture your spiritual side: If you have a spiritual practice, consider incorporating it into your holiday festivities. This can help you find a deeper sense of connection and meaning during the season. 5, Take a break from the hustle and bustle: Sometimes, the busiest and most hectic times around the holiday season can make it hard to find your Christmas spirit. 6. Try to take some time for yourself, whether it's a quiet walk in nature or a hot bath, to reconnect with yourself and your inner peace. 7. Remember that finding your Christmas spirit is a process, and it might take some experimentation and trial and error to find what works best for you. The important thing is to be intentional about your efforts and to allow yourself to enjoy the holidays, even in the midst of their challenges.

Blah. Blah. Blah. A lot of worthless advice. You were honestly expecting to get something like “Bake cookies” and “Decorate your house.” Not a whole bunch of hypothetical feelings and emotions.

“Ok. So we're in the present.”

König nodded. You continued, “We need to not focus on the past then.”

You sat down on your couch, right next to König. You missed how he stiffened up and straightened his back. You gave him your name. Step one is taken.

“....König,” He responded.

“You're in the military, no?” You knew the answer. You had spent a lot of time writing fanfiction about him.

“Mercenary.” Yeah, one-word answers. He didn't seem to be all that interested in talking to you.

“We have to talk if we’re gonna find out Christmas Spirit or Whatever.”

“I still think we should just decorate.” He looked around your living room for areas to start with.

“Well I don't have any decorations, and I can't exactly go outside.” You huffed as you flopped back against the backing of the couch.

At your words, Koning jumped up onto his feet with an idea, “What if you can?”

“What? Yeah no I don't feel like getting shocked.”

“I couldn't leave the bedroom until after you did. Maybe it will be the same.”

Maybe it would. But that was a gamble. Either you can walk through the front door or you die of some strange electrical Christmas shock. But the thing is you don't gamble. You're pretty sure you can find your “Christmas spirit” inside your own house and stay very much alive.

“We don't know if it will be the same,” You sighed.

“We have to try!”

Wow. He seemed to really want out of this house. You frowned when he said ‘we’ he wasn't the one having to walk through an electrical field just to see the sun.

When you didn't respond König continued, “You have to have hope.”

His words were erratic as he made his way to your front door. You watched him but didn't bother getting up to follow him. You watched his wide shoulders hunch as he leaned down to look through your peephole.

“I can see your driveway that is good, Ja?”

“What else would you see?”

He ignored you. He stepped away from the door and stood there. Maybe he was counting the grain of wood, you thought. He stared for a long second. And then another. And another. König finally turned back to you with a confused dear, like he actually expected you to open it.

“I’m not touching that thing.”

König closed his eyes for a good, long moment, “You are right. I can't expect you to put yourself in danger. I should be the one doing the protecting.”

He turned back around and raised his hand for the doorknob. You shot up from your spot on the couch and shouted, “STOP!”

He froze and looked over his shoulder back at you, sniper mask wrinkling in weird places and catching to the shape of his nose.

“Don't do that. We know what happens.” You weren't about to have him convulsing on your floor again. That would be such a hassle, no other reason.

“You're probably right. I'll open it.” You said as you attempted to make your way to the door. You were stopped by Königs arm that flew out to act as a barrier between you and the door.

“I can not allow you to do that. You could get hurt.”

“What the hell?! A moment ago you were basically begging me to do it.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” He lowered his arm, only to place his hand on your shoulder and push you back.

OH hell no! Now you have to do it. For nothing more than spite. Spite was a great motivator. You ducked under his arm and made a reach for the door knob. König was a trained killer. He had the agility and the strength to catch you before your hand even got close to the doorknob. He swapped you up into his arms and held you tightly against his chest.

Like this you could feel his heartbeat against his chest, you could feel every muscle in his contract and twitch as you squirmed in his hold.

“We will find another way. You will not put yourself in danger.”

You stopped squirming in his grasp. You knew you couldn't get out of the grip he had made that glaringly obvious this morning. You could admit defeat.

König placed you back on the ground, and you stared at your shoes all sad and mopey-like.

“Do not be sad. Girls like you shouldn't ever be sad. We will find another way.”

You nodded and pointedly ignored the ‘girls like you part.’ He seemed to take your response as the truth and your agreement and moved away from the door. That's when you made your second dive and succeeded.

“Scheiße!”

Your finger wrapped around the door knob and your eyes squeezed shut as you thrust your body against it. It flew open with your weight and sent you flying right into the snow. It was all silent as the snow started to work its way through your pajamas.

The snow crunched behind you as König stepped out of the house.

“That was very stupid.” He kneeled down next to you.

You gave him a half-hearted thumbs up, “It worked though.”

“That it did.”

You could hear the birds and some cars as they zipped by. It seemed the rest of the world was normal and you were the only one who had a video game character randomly show up in their bedroom. Lucky you.

Taglist: @bubbleseven @homicidalsquirrels

#konig x reader #cod x reader #cod x y/n #cod x you #konig x you #konig x y/n #konig mw2 #könig x reader #könig x you

[railingsofsorrow]

Colorless Mountains

[BAU team x reader]

request: “Hello, hope you're having a good day/night. I was wondering if I could request BAU Team x GN reader who has Marie Antoinette syndrome?

[...] maybe reader has a dark past and that's when it first started but what if it got worst after being kidnapped and tortured by an unsub?”

A/N: based on some research, I'm using the assumption that the marie antoniette syndrome is not permanent, meaning that reader suffered from hair-whitening after something traumatic that happened and then her hair became colored again. just keep that in mind so it doesn't get confusing, okay? that's all. thank you for the request and good reading!

summary: during a case in New York, you come in contact with an unsub whose backstory hits too close to home.

pairing: platonic!BAU team x gn!reader

w.c: 6.2K

warnings/content: case related violence; explicit discussions of past trauma; mentions of sexual abuse and PTSD and being taken advantage of; the alternation in the use of pronouns to refer to the unknown subject is intended (hate that they only use He to refer to a suspect, completely ruling out women, who are just as capable of committing crimes); mention of scars and substance abuse; hurt/comfort; reader is mean at some point; recovery is not a linear path; smoking; platonic relationships are the main focus; grammar mistakes probably; for the love of god do not take!! the profile!! seriously!! I am not an expert; nerds geeking about scouting knots; friendly banter.

navi

masterpost

requested by @xweirdo101x

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

❝ some memories never

leave your bones.

like salt in the sea; they

become part of you

— and you carry them. ❞

[ paper wings ]

FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION — BEHAVIORAL ANALYSIS UNIT DEPARTMENT

Getting back to work after a traumatic event can be unnerving.

It's actually the hardest part of a recovery process; turning back on your fears — or rather facing them face to face without running to hide in a corner straight away.

You've done that a few times in your life. Running away, hiding. Although, back then, you didn't have anyone to catch you if you were falling. So why shouldn't you hide? Why shouldn't you run? It wouldn't have made a difference. Leaving the past behind is the best alternative you've got. It's not cowardice, it is a matter of protection.

That's what it was for you, anyway.

The scars don't disappear when you leave the place that broke you, they decorate your arms and scrape the skin that once was clean. They stay as a reminder. And looking yourself in the mirror becomes a rare occurrence because you fear what you're going to see is merely a shattered reflection. Which is true.

In your case — besides the white lines across your body — there is your hair.

The Marie Antoinette Syndrome is not very well-known. Despite your skepticism, you couldn't simply deny the fact that it was very much real after your hair turned sheer white overnight when you were seventeen.

The syndrome is caused by high levels of emotional stress on one's body. Surprisingly, age is not a determining factor in this case, people of all ages can be affected by this hair-whitening process.

You spent four days in the hospital, three of those had doctors coming in and out of your room, doing blood tests, repetitive questions, throwing you into MRI's and whatnot so they could attempt to figure out why your hair lost all its color.

Attempt failed. If they had done some reading, maybe, they could have spared you from being poked and prodded and exposed so much. It was a psychiatrist who cracked your case. She gave you one of many explanations, of course, and that's when you remembered reading about the condition but never giving it much thought — until it happened to you.

The Marie Antoinette syndrome, also knowns as Canities Subita, was named after Queen Marie Antoinette. According to historical facts — which Spencer rambled on and on about when you first entered the BAU — the queen's natural hair turned white the night before her execution in 1793. She was only 35 years old.

What happens is that the amount of hardships and distress a person goes through can cause the production of melanin in the color of one's hair to be compromised.

Nine years ago, in the first night you spent on the hospital after the worst day of your life, your hair had lost all the darkness it always carried. Besides the innocence that was striped from you that night, every time you looked in the mirror you saw a stranger staring back. A ghost, if you will.

Nothing had been the same.

It's a common thing to happen to a human being: you never believe something awful is going to happen to you, until it does.

And then, you end up in the hospital again. Usual hair color gone and a new trauma to add to the list. That's the nicest way to put it.

“I told you I am fine.”

You said to Penelope for the third time that morning. She had cornered you as you poured coffee in your mug in the kitchenette area.

“You weren't supposed to be back yet,” she hissed, poking your shoulder. “Hotch gave you a week off. More if needed, may I add — don't look at me like that, yes, I overheard.” She interrupts before you even said anything. “Why are you back after three days?” You ignore the way her voice softens at the last part, admitting the tone of pity. You didn't need anyone pitying you, especially people from your team.

“I'm fine,” you shrug, lifting the mug to your lips. “My leg is perfect, I'm sleeping like a princess and I'm ready to work.” You're also very good at lying but that was not your best act.

Before the blonde could call you out on your bullshit, her phone chimes with a text.

“We have a case.”

Saved by the bell.

The surprised looks you receive when you enter the conference room are enough to increase your annoyance, but you mask it. It's fine, that's expected. You'd be surprised if any of them had returned to work three days after being abducted. That's not enough time to recover, but you couldn't stay at home with the presence of intrusive thoughts looming over your brain.

You needed to do something other than laying down in fetal position on your bedroom. Anything to make your mind occupied, and working helps with that.

“Three bodies were found in Forest Park, New York. Lewis Jenkins, Mason Reeves and Caleb Marshall. And before you ask, crime fighters, yes, they did have a connection. All three went to the same university, St. John's. They even attended most of their classes together and formed a fraternity house of some sorts.” Garcia couldn't stop her disgusted expression. “I honestly think these should be extinguished.”

“Fraternity houses?” Derek chuckled softly, clicking on another page of the casefile on the tablet. “They are not that bad, sweets.”

“I can say that sorority houses can be a nightmare,” Emily mumbles under her breath. “Were all of them found in that same position? And tied up?”

“Yes,” Penelope zooms in on one of the photos that displayed one of the men's bodies with his arms tied up behind their back, as well as their feet, with a rope. “However, Lewis Jenkins...” the slide switched to a body with a slight difference in the M.O. The man's hands were tied up in front of his body and his legs were untied unlike the other two.

“What if he was the first victim?” JJ chimes in.

Rossi nods, “Jenkins could have been a trial run and then he evolved.”

“The other two clearly have a pattern.” Emily says. “Both are positioned in the same way with almost the same lacerations.”

“They used the double overhand knot.”

Spencer's head snaps into your direction. “I was about to say that.”

You clear your throat, noticing every pair of eyes fall on you. “That's one of the knots you learn when you're in scout camp. They have categories like boating and climbing...” You examine the picture more carefully, studying the threading with familiarity. At least those three summers you were forced to be on scout camp were worth something now. “The double overhand knot can be used on both situations.”

“It's also a stopper knot,” Spencer's voiced as his eyebrows knit together in mild confusion. “That's an... interesting choice.” You stare at him with amusement after hearing the slight judgy tone he let slip. He clearly did not approve the use of such knot.

When Hotch checks his wristwatch, you know it's time to head out. The discussion is interrupted and continued on the jet as you flew to New York.

QUEENS, NYC — FOREST PARK

As you arrive at the disposal site, that you, Derek and JJ were responsible to check, the heat immediately made you wish you had bring a bottle of water. When you saw the warning about a heatwave you didn't expect it to be that bad.

“This is just a dump site.” JJ observes the surroundings as the CSI professionals collected physical evidence. You quietly analyze the location of each body while pulling your strands up into a bun so your hair would stop sticking to your neck.

“The unsub may come out here to relive his work.”

“They obviously has a vehicle, most likely a truck or a van.” You agreed with Derek, not seeing any possibility of the crime actually happening there. Not the entire thing, at least.

JJ brushes a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, “Still...” she drawls, “there are no tire marks close by. And the road is at least thirteen thousand feet far from here.”

“Maybe he had help?” Derek seems doubtful of his opinion.

“Or we could be close to where they keep the victims hostage.”

“Either that or there's something significant to him about this place. But what?”

Both JJ and Derek share hums, exhibiting they were on-board with your idea.

INTERROGATION ROOM 3 — 112th POLICE PRECINCT, NYC

Four out of the seven FBI agents watched the interrogation happen through the one-way mirror. Inside the room, Spencer and JJ conducted the interview side by side as the witness, Felicity Lance, sat in front of them. Her arms folded across her chest as she stared holes at the grey table.

She was nervous, that much was clear. What was left for you to know was the reason for her uneasiness.

Last night, Garcia gave you some interesting information on a few of St. John's students.

“So she was the last person to see Mason alive?” Emily asked.

Garcia hummed in agreement. Then a gasp echoed through the audio. “You won't believe what I just found.”

“I would be great if you shared, baby girl.”

“Okay, so remember that I told you all three belonged to the same crowd in college?” A collective yes echoed through the room. “Guess what: Caleb Marshall's brother, Riley Marshall, and Patrick Moore were also part of that disgusting crew. And why disgusting, you may ask? Because both faced harassment charges filed by Riley's ex-girlfriend, Felicity Lance.”

Thus, the witness you were currently questioning right now wasn't only the last person to see one of the victims, but also someone who had motive to hurt Lewis, Caleb and Mason. After building up the profile, she was also a suspect.

“You keep saying he but what if it's a woman?” You muttered with annoyance at their choice of words.

Derek had given you a skeptical look. “She'd have to have a lot of strength to carry out all of this herself.”

“She doesn't necessarily has to be working alone.” Emily catches your point. “What if her best friend is just as mad as she is by Riley Marshall and his friends that they decided to take justice into their own hands?”

You had stopped focusing on the interview half an hour ago. The main reason was the incessant pounding in your head that got in the way of your thinking. You didn't have the best sleep last night, tossing and turning the entire time, besides your leg, where you had been shot four days ago, was giving you trouble.

You missed the time when painkillers used to be magical. Ever since you started working in the BAU no amount of pills would diminish your migraines.

“She kept the same story she told the police,” JJ informs as they strode back into the room you were gathered in.

“She's consistent.” Spencer adds, walking forward. “But any time we mention Sylvia she gets defensive. It could be a coping mechanism for her death.”

Leaning back on the wall, you press your thumb against your forehead, taking a deep breath in for two seconds and exhaling for three.

“Does the last name Marshall carry any relevance in New York?” You blurt out, forcing the discussion in the room to halt immediately.

Deputy Ray is the one who speaks up, “Gary Marshall.” He pauses. And you don't need to have your eye on him to realize the way he's cautious about his next words. “He's a politician that has a strong influence in the city. Also part of the city council.”

You let out a scoff and the room becomes silent. Of course he's part of the city council. This is how the charges were dropped. Why wouldn't Gary Marshall fix his son's problems if he has money to spare? And you have the assumption that this wasn't Felicity's idea.

You know you should avoid reacting like this, but your body seems to be having a mind of its own and your mood is getting sour by the minute. You just really needed to lay down.

The voices again felt like far away waves in your ears and you suspect part of the dizziness in your vision is due to the lack of water in your system. There's a heatwave happening and when was the last time you hydrated yourself?

Derek's voice nagging you to drink water echoes through your mind. Okay, you would admit that he was right after you followed your gut.

“Hotch, can I try something?” You prompt, eyes glued to Felicity's fidgety frame.

You realize that the Deputy was gone and the only ones left in the room are you, Derek and your boss. The rest was probably in the other interrogation room to question Riley and Patrick.

Your eyes snap to him. Stern gaze studying you thoroughly, scrutinizing every twitch he could find in your expression. He's caught your attention drifting somewhere else. You bet he even knew where your mind wandered a minute ago, you just hoped he didn't catch the wave in your step.

“Are you alright, Y/L/N?”

Derek was about to ask the exact same question when you cut him off.

“Yes. Can I try something with her?” You bring back the focus on the real matter. You had lies to dig around here, lives at stake, certainly your well being wasn't more important than that in the moment?

Hotch seems to internally struggle but he settled for accepting your request. You ignore the look of disbelief Derek offers him before you enter the interrogation room, where Felicity is.

You introduce yourself and offer her some water. She looks hesitant but she takes a sip of the plastic cup.

Felicity has kind eyes — it's the first thing you observe when you enter the room. Her make-up is smudged and that's not the only thing that reveals she has been crying, another indication of that are the bloodshot eyes that you weren't able to see through the one-way mirror.

“So you think Felicity Lance and Sylvia Kosorog did this?”

“I think it's a way too personal and specific M.O to be ruled out.” You sigh.

“The bodies didn't have any sign of sexual assault, did they?” You ask Spencer and Rossi, who were responsible to check the coroner's reports.

“No,” Spencer said. “And the ligature marks were made post mortem. However, when the garrote was used, they were still alive.”

The wall between the two of you bothered you. But now you could analyse from the tone of her voice to every movement she makes without mistaking it for your declining senses. The fact that you were no longer standing helped on stabilizing your breathing for the moment. You feel fine.

“Am I a suspect?” Felicity gulps down the water fast. “Is that why you haven't let me go yet? Cause I was in my dormroom the entire night Caleb was killed.”

You brows raise in faux surprise. “Oh, no. Don't worry, this is just protocol. We don't think you lied in your statement.”

Her shoulders slump as she leans back, visibly relieved.

“I do have something that made me curious though,” you pull up the file that had been laying on your lap ever since you sat down. Felicity's eyes narrow at the manila folder. “was it you that filed a harassment charge against Caleb two years ago?”

She looked back up at you, frowning. “Caleb? No. I didn't file anything against him though he certainly deserved it.”

Tilting your head, your eyes scan over Felicity's statement in front of you. The silence was too much for her as you expect it would be, so she gave you the starting point you needed.

“You took what back?” You ask, folding your arms. “The charges? The ones that claimed he sexually harassed you along with Patrick Moore?”

“I used to date Riley Marshall. He's, uh, he's one of the last people that saw Caleb alive. They're friends so I'm sure he'll be here anytime now too...” She was picking at her cuticles. “We had a fight, I was mad and I wanted to get back at him. That's why I took it back.”

“He didn't do it.” You watch the clench in her jaw and how she struggle to swallow the lie she is about to say. It sounds rehearsed as if she has been repeating that out loud for a long time. “I told you, I was mad and I wanted to—”

“—get back at him. Yes, you mentioned that.” You push the crime photos towards her. It took a whole minute for Felicity to absorb what are in those images and even when her eyebrow twitches, her expression remains almost emotionless. Not looking away. “Have you seen these before?” You know she has. JJ and Reid had brought it up when they were interviewing her. She had the exact same reaction. There is hatred underneath that mask she worked hard to keep impassive. It was hard to remain numb over crime scene pictures, or feel something other than disgust for the people who have hurt you. Physically or emotionally. You could say that for sure.

Felicity gives you an unimpressed look. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing.” You shrug. “Well, I mean. If someone that hurt me had ended up like that... I wouldn't be sad either.”

“He deserved it.”

You give her a careful look, she pushes all of the pictures back to you harshly.

“Felicity, why do you keep saying that? You dropped the charges, right? I don't see any reason why boys like that would deserve such an awful death.”

She scoff, eyes glazing with fury. Bingo. “Boys like that. Do you have any idea how many times I've heard that? How brilliant they are. How lucky I was to be dating Riley Marshall – He is not the prince charming people claim he is! None of them are. You think my charges were dropped out of nowhere? How many girls do you think didn't do the same thing just so they could have a peace of mind? Sylvia got the worst of it!”

“Sylvia, your best friend?” You ask, offering some tissues. You have dropped the act now. There was no point in playing devil's advocate now that you got what you wanted.

Spencer tapped his pen against his knuckles. “Felicity didn't express any other emotion beside forced indifference while seeing the crime scene photos.” He paused. “Beneath the mask there was anger. More than that, rage.”

“As if she wanted to be relieved but their death brought only the despair of injustice.” You completed his train of thought.

She was seventeen. First year in college with the major that she chose and work her ass of for. Then, in a random night five assholes ruin her life because they simply wanted to have fun. Death is the least they could suffer. Hell, it's too easy. How can people escape unscathed as they destroy you?

Long story short, your theory was right. Sylvia Kosorog was responsible for the murders and Felicity Lance knew about it, but she was not involved in Sylvia's plan, which consisted on murdering Riley Marshall, the man who had raped her during a party back in her first year of college, and the rest of his friends and brother, Mason Reeves, Patrick Moore and Caleb Marshall, who had covered for him and lied when she tried to get the justice he needed.

Felicity nods, sniffling. “She... She was never the same after what happened.”

And well, Gary Marshall tried paying her off as well as he did with Felicity Lance.

Lewis Jenkins was in the wrong place at the wrong time, Sylvia never planned on hurting him because he was not involved, although he was friends with Riley's crew.

“We're going to follow a lead,” JJ approaches you as she readjusted her bulletproof vest. Her meticulous gaze laid heavily upon you and you had a suspicion it was about the cigarette dangling from your lips.

You acknowledge her with a nod, “I know, I was in the room when Garcia found the location.” And when Hotch ordered me to stay back.

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” You slowly let out the smoke, turning to her.

JJ sighs, her frustration is very much explicit but that doesn't phase you.

“You're compartmentalizing.” She firmly stated, diverting her attention from your cigarette to you. “Ever since you came back, it's like you're not here. Your mind is always elsewhere—”

“I'm doing my job just like you are, JJ.” You snap, throwing the cigarette in the nearby trash can. She had hit a nerve.

“I'm not talking about your professional skills. But this is not how you heal, you avoid talking about it all together and...” Her hands clasp on both of your shoulders, bringing you closer. “I'm worried. You're not being you, Y/N.”

“What is there to talk about?” You step out of her reach, earning a hurtful look. “I was kept hostage and tortured for a day and a half, almost killed a man, I can't take off this fucking sweater or else all of the barely healed wounds on my arms will be on display and just as I was getting used to the normal color of my hair, this happens.” You pulled some of your white strands irritably. “Is that what you need me to say? Do you need be to scream it from the rooftops, JJ?”

And I can't get over my past. It follows me and it buries me beneath the earth of my sorrows. I can't crawl out of that endless mountain.

She's taken aback by your response, you can tell when she almost flinches at your jab.

“And who are you to tell me I'm compartmentalizing?” You run a hand through your face as a humourless laugh escapes you. “You were back to work not even two days after being held captive and tortured as well. You couldn't stop looking over your shoulder for more than ten minutes and your trust on anyone was definitely compromised—not that you trusted people completely before either. Don't point my flaws at me when you have no idea how to deal with your own issues too, Jennifer.”

That was a low blow and you're plenty aware of that. But you are tired of your friends trying to fix your problems. You are an adult and you've been dealing with the same things your whole life, by yourself, it is none of their concern.

MOTEL — ROOM 72, NYC

“Okay,” she says shortly, shoulders tense. “If you want to talk, you know where to find me.” She walks away when Hotch announces they are leaving.

The jet wouldn't be ready until the morning, so you were stuck in New York for one more night. Granting you one sleepless night in an itchy mattress of an old motel room. If you were at home, at least you could stare at your blue ceiling.

The case didn't end well.

They were able to find Sylvia, who had Riley Marshall as hostage. He was her endgame, had been all along. Riley Marshall was the one who took advantage of her as she was drunk. He was the one who spiked her drink as all of his friends watched the scene happened like it was a TV show on display.

Riley lured Sylvia out to the beach, tied up her arms and legs with a rope and raped her. A couple of pictures from the incident were found in his dorm room and he was finally arrested. Along with Patrick Moore. Nothing much Gary Marshall could accomplish with his strong influence now. Thankfully.

Sylvia killed herself.

You kept wondering that if you had been there, you could've talk her out of it. But ever since the beginning, her mind was set. Still, the what if's haunt you.

They have haunted you for nine years. You are aware you can't go back in time and make different choices; the only choices that matter are the ones you make in the present. But what if you had accepted your friend invitation to go to the party instead of choosing to stay reading in your college bedroom? What if you had chose to lock your room instead of leaving it unlocked for your roommate? What if you hadn't fallen asleep so quick? What if you hadn't trust him enough to let him come to your room as he pleased in the middle of the night? What if you hadn't accepted that joint?

What if...

From the moment you left your apartment, three days ago, your skin had been on fire, your brain replaying memories you didn't want to relive ever again. That night. That person who you used to call your best friend. The unsub who burned scars into your arm a few days back.

Why can't your brain repress those things as it did to childhood? Why can't it feel like a fuzzy flashback which you wonder if it is true or if you made it up? Those memories, you know they happened. You know for a fact because you can feel them everywhere.

Maybe getting back to work right away wasn't the best option. But deep down, you chose gruesome pictures and murder facts over the horrifying silence of your apartment for a reason you didn't want to admit.

Recovery is hard. But does it ever get easier?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You flinch at the sudden disruption of silence in the room. Your breath hitches before Derek's frame cleared up for you.

“Sorry,” he says softly, inching closer to sit at the edge of his bed. The old wood creaking loudly. Right, you were divided into pairs because of the budget. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

“It's fine, I just didn't even remember we would share a room.” Your stance relaxes bit by bit. It's been a while since your trust issues bothered on sharing a bedroom with another person. Thanks to therapy. You needed to get back to that.

You can feel his stare burning on your cheek and you request him to spit it out.

“You can talk to me, you know that, right?”

Annoyance wash over you. “Did JJ put you up to this?”

Derek furrows his eyebrows, “No?” He scans you for a brief second then sighed. “I just want you to know that you can. If you want.”

“I would appreciate if you all just stop babying me.”

“We're not babying you and you know that.”

“Feels a lot like it,” you say through gritted-teeth, searching for your nightwear.

Derek leans back on the headboard, eyes slipping shut. “I'll be here when you stop being a brat about it.” He let out in a whisper, a smile curling at the edge of his mouth as if he knew you better than you knew yourself.

He probably does. He most certainly does.

Derek Morgan is the person who you are the closest to in the team. Penelope coming right after him.

At first, you had warmed up to Spencer due to you being close in age, though your interests weren't that similar. Derek had this whole flirty persona going on that intimidated you at first but you quickly became attached to each other. He understood your silence and you understood his. He didn't force you to speak up, he just reminded you that he was there, like tonight.

Sometimes, it is nice to have that reminder.

“I can't stop thinking that that could have been me.”

You don't meet his gaze, knowing for a fact he is listening because he had only one of his headphones on before you got into the bathroom to brush your teeth.

“It's not you,” the bed creaks under his shifting. “It will never be you.”

When you finally turn your attention to him, he's patiently waiting for you to carry on with a reassuring smile.

“Y/N, you're not a bad person.”

“It could have been.” You push, pulling your knees to your chest. It's such a vulnerable topic; your past. It never gets easier talking about it. It's never something you cherish in remembering. “There was a point in my life were all I could think of was revenge. Even if he went to jail. Even if he was rotting in there. I wanted him to suffer the same way that I suffered. But it still wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough.”

“I wanted to kill him.”

“Well, when you told me what happened, I wanted to kill him too.” Your best friend admits, causing your brows to shot up. He offers you a look that silently asks what? “And let me tell you something,” he pauses, completely taking off his headphones and moving to a sitting position. “If I had found the bastard, I would've ended him right there.”

Your lips twitch slightly, “You would've kicked a door in his face?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He points at you as you laugh, a grin stretching up on his face. “Keep giggling, Snow White. But I'm not joking around.”

You turn your body on the side, bringing the comforter to your torso. You take a long breath before speaking. “You know, what happened that night... What he did, doesn't bother me as much as what I could have done.” And you keep going, interrupting his protest. “I could have fought harder. I could have screamed louder. I could have— I could have— kicked or grabbed the pocket knife in my bag that was so close... but I didn't. I didn't do any of that. I couldn't move, Derek. I was— I was useless. When I look in the mirror, all I remember is how I woke up in the next morning.” The white in my strands make sure of that. It takes me back to the worst day of my life every time.

“You were seventeen, Y/N.” You shook your head, groaning. He wasn't having any of that though. “You're telling me you should have been prepared for something terrible to happen to you? For someone you trust your life with to just break you into pieces?”

“I was a coward,” you say shakily.

“Don't you ever say that. Hey, look at me. Y/N,” he calls out sternly. When you glance up at him, he's giving you a serious look. “Don't ever say that again. You are one of the bravest people I have met. And despite of everything you went through, you are nothing but kind and loveable. If you tell me that's cowardice, then I'm sorry but you're very wrong.”

“What happened that night,” he adds with caution, “it was not your fault. The only person to blame is him and him only, do you hear me? And he will rot in jail because of that. He doesn't deserve anything but that.”

His words sit in your head for a while and he allows you to bask in the comforting quietness.

“Thank you.” You whisper to the darkness after you both have turned your bedside lamp off. “You're one of the bravest people I've met too.”

“No need to thank me, Snow White.” You can hear his smile. He throws you one of his pillows and you shriek, dumbfounded. “And you're beautiful. Colorless hair or not.”

You stay quiet, smiling softly.

“Call me Snow White one more time and I'll rip the hair you don't have in your head off.” You say after a while and the sound of his chuckles is the last thing you hear before you fall into a deep slumber.

That's the first time in a long time that you sleep through the whole night.

BAU PRIVATE JET

JJ is pouring coffee in seven mugs when you approach her. You can't help thinking she should throw one of those mug at you, it's what you deserve.

“Need help with that?”

Her smile is tight and she doesn't look at you.

“That's okay, I got this.”

You bite your cheek, “JJ.” She halts as she's grabbing the tray, you take that as your cue to continue. “I'm sorry for the way I treated you, it wasn't fair. You were just trying to help and I was too in over my head to notice it. I am truly sorry.”

You feel as if you can finally breathe when your friend looks at you. “I get it, it's... it's okay. I shouldn't have pushed you to talk about it either.”

“What I said, it was way out of line.” You insist. “You're my friend and it wasn't right to throw that at your face. I know how much you struggled getting back to work, I— I was just angry. Not at you, at myself.”

JJ nods understandingly, a smile curving the corners of her mouth. “I know, Y/N. And I get it, really. If anything, I should apologize too, it wasn't my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

“I'll forgive you if you forgive me.” You give her a cheeky smile that she replies with an eye roll and promptly orders you to take everyone's coffee to them. That's when you're sure the two of you are okay.

You feel a soft squeeze in your shoulder, when you turn around you see Aaron walking past you to sit down in his seat beside Rossi. Earlier this morning, he had praised the way you conducted the interview with Felicity Lance. Then, proceeded to lecture you about your interrupted recovery process while giving a pointed look at your still unhealed leg.

You have the next few days off. And Penelope is already sending never-ending lists of options to make you busy. Your phone is blowing up.

Your head snaps up mid-typing as you feel eyes glued to you. Spencer is leaning on his hand, head tilted to the side as he lazily blinks up at you and downwards. Confused, you follow his gaze and immediately understood what he meant.

The chess board stared at you and a black piece had already moved forward.

“You know,” you turn your phone off after sending a quick reply to Penelope. “it's not fair. You already had a wide angle of the game.”

Spencer shrugged, unbothered. “You took too long to make your move.”

“I need a verbal warning, Reid. Surprisingly, I still can't use telepathy.”

“Telepathy is overestimated. The most unique and not very well-known supernatural ability is chi manipulation.” You watched amusedly as he happily gesticulates his hands to ramble about the topic. “It consists of the fortification of the mind, body and soul in order to acquire bodily functions like self-healing, pain resistance and superhuman strength. This kind of ability actually gained more recognition in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, through Doctor Strange's character.”

You gaped at him, letting the chess piece slip from your hand. “You watched the film!”

He paused, lowering his hands to his lap. “You recommended it.” He said as if it were the most obvious thing.

“Yeah, but it's Marvel. I didn't thought you'd actually watch it. What did you think? Who did you love? Who did you hate?”

“And... There we go.” Rossi mumbles a few seats back with a soft sigh.

Emily snickers. Her eyes were shut but she could hear the conversation in the seat beside hers. She stole a look at yours and Spencer's animated comments and hand gestures.

“Kids, hush!” Emily exclaims, throwing a paper ball at them. She hit Spencer's forehead and a laugh bubbles out of her. Ouch.

Their paper ball rustle made everyone let out a collective groan as you watch everything silently, your face slowly breaking into a grin.

Recovery is hard. But you haven't been the only one that went through it. And if you have these people by your side, your team, you believe you can do anything.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

❝ I can't abandon the person

I used to be,

so I carry her. ❞

[ unknown ]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

sources: [1] [2]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N: sorry for taking so long to post, I hope it was worth it <3

#criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #bau team x reader #reader insert #requested #bau team x gn!reader

[specialagentlokitty]

BAU x Male!reader - past work

I was wondering if I could request BAU Team x Male reader who used to work in x-files(classified cases dealing in supernatural phenomenon) and has both seen/been through things that are humanly impossible. Reader having Marie Antoinette syndrome and they react very differently compared to the others on the team calm/clear level headed(nothing seems to surprise them) But what if the team take a case that has to do with a 'cult' and the team get a chance to learn what kind of work reader did from the way he knows information of what dealing with the real thing is, and reader starts to avoid sleep cause nightmares start being more frequent. Reader getting some comfort from the team - @xweirdo101x 💜

Sitting in your car, you watched as your phone rang for the third time, and with a heavy sigh you sent them to voicemail so you could read the messages they were sending you.

You called your boss back and stuck it on speaker, setting it in your dashboard as you began to read through some of the papers you had.

“You’re ignoring our calls.”

“Sorry Hotch, I was driving, what is it?”

“We have a case, where are you right now?”

“Hold on.”

Grabbing your phone, you began to check your location before telling him.

“You’re not that far off from the town we’re heading to, are you able to meet us there and get everything set up?”

“Yeah of course, see you later.”

You hung up and put in your destination on your phone, checking how far you were and you were only a couple of hours out.

After sorting a hotel room and everything, you began the drive to the town for your next case.

When you got there, you checked yourself into the hotel first, sorting a few other rooms for the rest of your team before heading to the police station.

“I’m looking for the sheriff.”

You handed the woman your badge and she checked it before smiling, pointing you in the right direction.

After speaking with him about the reason you were here, getting some files from him and setting up a room for the team you began to read through everything.

You weren’t aware of how much time had passed until you heard people walking in.

“So this is where you ran off to, you’re really far away from home.” Derek said.

“Well I was in a drive visiting some people, so I happened to be driving past.”

You set the pen next ti the whiteboard and turned around so you could start talking to them about everything you had been working out while you waited for them.

“You’ve been busy.” Rossi chuckled.

“I had some time to kill, did one of you grab my go bag?”

“Yeah, I have it it’s in my room.” Hotch said.

You nodded, sitting back down at the table.

“How did you figure all this out? Reid only got halfway through the trip here.” JJ said.

“Previous work. Oh by the way the morgue are waiting for one of you.”

With that you wondered away to do something else.

You tended to work on your own, and this was a particular case you had to work by yourself because you were convinced there was more to it than what you thought.

Sitting back in your chair, you tapped your pen against the papers.

Grabbing your laptop, you logged in and pulled up some old encrypted files beginning to work on them and read through them.

Closing the down, you put your laptop away.

“Reid what’s your thoughts on the case?” You asked.

“Well, based on the evidence, I would say it’s some sort of cult, though it doesn’t refer to any religion or cult I’ve read or heard from before.”

You got up, walking over you stood behind him, resting your hand in the table as you began to look through his papers.

“Not a mainstream religion, are you sure it’s cult?”

“Everything points to that, these are very well thought off kills, they’re meticulously planned, everything is precise and done with care.”

“I devised the murder itself was with poison, is that correct?” You asked.

“Yes, the tests didn’t show anything, but Hotch and Derek did find that there was an injection point under the tongue.”

You nodded your head and pushed yourself away from the table.

“I have to make a few calls, I’ll be back soon.”

Grabbing your phone you left, going to your car to make the phone calls.

You were connecting all the dots, and you needed some way to solve this without getting your team involved for their own sake.

Unfortunately it didn’t work out that way, because a few days later when the profile and been delivered and you knew exactly what you were doing, while you were sorting something out the team had made their move.

Hotch told you to meet them there, and you had to rush to get there but it was too late.

They were tied in the middle of a pentagram, and you stepped inside, ducking by a bookshelf as you rummaged through your bag.

“What are you doing?! Get us out!” Emily hissed.

“Give me a moment.” You replied.

Taking a small vile, you opened it, pouring the dust into your.

Walking over, you knelt down, gently blowing the dust at then and you watched as a shimmer appeared around the circle.

“Just like I thought, barrier.”

“What the hell does that even mean?!” Derek snapped.

“It means that I can’t get in, you can’t get out, I need to break that barrier to help you.”

Heading back to your bag, you grabbed the knife you kept in there, putting the hilt in your mouth as you stuffed it out of the way.

“Are they still here?”

“They went upstairs.” Reid said quietly.

Nodding your head, you looked towards the stairs, grabbing a marble from your pocket.

You rolled it across the floor, towards the stairs and it triggered a trap, a large spike of ice shooting down from the ceiling.

You heard running from upstairs and stood up, holding the knife in your hand, grabbing the hilt of your gun with the other hand.

“Get out of here!” Rossi yelled.

They all shouted and panicked while you stood there calmly, not a single emotion present on your face.

The three woman came running down, stumbling back a few steps when they looked at you.

“They said you died…”

“Apparently they lied, I never died. I left, and you have been causing issues, so, now I’m here. Let’s talk.”

The team could only sit there and watch as a fight broke out, and you had detained two of them before turning to the third who was younger than the others.

“New blood?”

She backed herself against the wall and nodded her head.

“You’re going to break that circle and let my team go, do you understand me?”

“Yes sir…”

She undid the circle and let them all go, holding her hands in the air as she turned to look at you.

“Are you going to kill me…? I heard you kill people…”

“No. And I have. You’ve been misguided, there’s another team coming, I’ll have a talk with them. Sit down.”

She nodded, sitting on the floor and you turned to your team.

“I will answer all your questions after this.”

And that’s what you did, after getting the young witch into a training school for young supernaturals you went back to the hotel to tell your team everything.

In a way it was like a weight lifted off your shoulders, but life was never that simple.

The case had opened memories you had tried so hard to forget, sleep was hard to come by now, so you took some days off to try and work it out but nothing was helping.

You were growing more and more tired, to the point where it wasn’t safe for you to drive or work.

Walking into your living room, you sighed, running a hand down your face as you set your coffee on the table.

Your door opened and you gripped the hilt of your knife.

“It’s us!” Rossi announced.

“Living room!”

You set the knife back down and turned to the doorway to watch as the teamed came in.

“How’re you doing kid?” Derek asked you.

You shrugged a little, sitting in the arm of the couch.

“Could be better but that’s life.”

“Is this about the case?” Garcia asked you.

You nodded your head letting out a small sigh.

“There were things from my previous job that I was trying to escape, but I suppose some things can’t be buried forever.”

Emily walked over, sitting next to you.

“You know you can talk to us right?”

“I know, but trust me it’s things you don’t want to hear about. It’s nothing that won’t pass. I’m just constantly on edge, I have nightmares and flashbacks.”

“Come here.” JJ said.

You looked at her and walked over, sitting next to her in the larger couch, and she rested your head on her shoulder.

“We’ll stay here, keep an eye on things okay?”

“Yeah! We’ll watch over you while you sleep.”

Garcia walked over with a blanket and covered you up and they all sat around you.

“Go on, it’s alright.” Hotch said.

“The moment you start having a nightmare we’ll wake you up, it’s a promise. You did it for me so I want to do it for you.” Reid said.

You smiled a little.

“Thanks guys, I don’t think it’ll work, but thank you.”

You grabbed a pillow, putting it in JJ’s lap so you could lay down, and she ran her fingers through your white hair.

They did everything to soothe you into sleeping, and when you were asleep they quietly spoke to one another.

Even if they needed to stay here for the next few weeks, taking turns to look after you they would.

They knew you had been through a lot at your old job, the scars and your ability to remain stone cold in even the most upsetting situations gave that away and they wanted to help you

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds imagine