#whizz writes
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Lord, Give Me One More Chance
Chapter 1: Requiem
Rating: Mature
Relationships: Ivan (Alien Stage)/Till (Alien Stage), Ivan (Alien Stage) & Till (Alien Stage)
Chapter Warnings: Drug Abuse, Implied/References Non-Con, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Suicide Mentions
Chapter Summary: Till experiences an unusual chain of possibly unrelated events after the sixth round.
A/N: So, uhm, that Round 6 Behind The Scenes Patreon post, huh?
Anyway, give me your flower emojis below if you want to give that one design of Till in a black turtleneck + harness a big smooch and a fancy bouqet.
Read on AO3 / Prelude / Chapter 1 (you are here)
Till’s god died in the fifth round.
The last he had seen of her face was a beastly display of shrieks and torn Mercurian silk. Her long, lithe arms struck her fellow contestant, Luka of Guardian Heperu, hands clasping around his slim neck like a serpent’s jaw. She had beaten the man bloody. Sentinels dragged her and her wild tendrils of pink hair, kicking and screaming.
Then the stage was invaded. Amidst the red, flashing lights and blaring sirens, Mizi was taken out of the competition.
Ivan believed she was not dead. Till wasn’t nearly as certain. Heperu prayed she wasn’t— only so she could be brought back and have several holes burned into her skull, then have it screened live across the entire Virgo supercluster.
Regardless of her fate, something broke out of her skin that day. On the curated stage of a deceased segyein’s ossuary, something ripped its way out of her chest and left behind the dead skin of a depraved, grieving Mizi. Something too raw and too bloody to be worshiped.
Ivan knew it would not kill Till’s faith, but it was tested.
“No, no, I understand. As soon as the round is over, it’ll be off your shoulders. He can be very sweet, I promise, he’s just shy.” Ivan explained saccharinely over the phone. “Thank you. I wish you the best.”
His face fell as soon as he hung up.
Ever the opportunist, Ivan’s guardian sent him off to deliver gifts for Luka before he could make his way to Till’s containment chamber. Last he heard, Till’s hysteria was so loud he had to be collared, muzzled and accompanied by two sentries. If Ivan intended to keep his privileges, including his visits to Guardian Urak’s sector, he had to play his part.
And so, with his gloved hands clenching the package and flanked by two henchmen, he was driven to his guardian’s most sought-out business associate.
Guardian Heperu’s sector boasted a distinct luxury compared to Urak’s. Its expansive alabaster interior housed multiple floors exclusively adorned with trophies of diverse kinds. Ivan was greeted by a receptionist, who marveled at his absence of a collar. One polite smile and a compliment later, he was directed to the escalators.
Luka’s enclosure was at the top, a stunning cage of bone and glass. He was kept in a neo-Gothic chamber, with pointed arches and spinal columns holding up a dome of hazy glass panes. Ivan found him in a gazebo below the great oculus, propped up like a doll in a round, oversized bed and surrounded by cables and pale machinery. Against so much paleness, the bruises on his face can be seen from the entrance.
Ivan and his escort’s entrance was announced by an approving, tinkling sound when they crossed the doorstep. Their black attires broke the bleached monotony, capturing Luka’s and Heperu’s attention.
“If victory came at this price, I’d hesitate to congratulate you.”
Luka acknowledged his presence with a curious tilt of his moonlit head. He seemed otherworldly, as if he were never fully present in this world, the next, or any that followed—somewhere beyond reach.
Guardian Heperu stood by the bedside, his small mouth curling in displeasure. “Nonsense! All victories of the Alien Stage are bloody. This— this is—“ He vented all too eagerly, gesturing aimlessly at his prized possession, decorated with bruises instead of medals. “Absolute animosity. Unacceptable. Shine should be ashamed of herself.”
“All the more to perpetuate the true virtue of the victor,” Ivan said. “And all the victories to come.”
Heperu was pleased enough with his comfort before his bulbous, violet eyes were drawn to Ivan’s package. “You bring gifts?”
Ivan smiled cordially, then handed the steel box to one of his escorts so it could be carried to Heperu’s small, grabby fingers. He took off his white gloves, their purpose fulfilled now that the package was delivered without a trace of human contact.
“Guardian wishes Luka a speedy recovery. This is something you could use to keep yourself nourished and entertained before Luka’s next round. They’re the best on the planet.”
Heperu eagerly unlocked the box’s mechanism and peered inside. “Ah, Gara. Excellent, excellent! He knows how to sort his specimen well. I myself never had the patience.” He looked up at Ivan with a critical eye, and once again, seemed pleased with what he saw. “But you’ve turned out the finest I’ve ever seen. Are you certain you’re not homegrown?”
Ivan shook his head with a little laugh. “No. My qualities are my master’s.”
“Then your master has potential.” A bot was dispatched to take the package, so Heperu could fix the sleeves of his robe. His focus didn’t last long when his appearance demanded his attention. “Send him my regards, I cannot keep you here any longer. My child requires rest.”
Ivan bowed as he was shooed off by flicking gestures of Heperu’s hands.
“Poet.”
Luka’s need for oxygen was so desperate it sucked all breathable air out of the room. Ivan paused, and so did his escorts.
Mizi’s hand prints painted his neck a vicious pink. Heperu had the money to fix it before his next round, but until it was dealt with, it cracked Luka’s acclaimed baritone. “When should I be expecting your requiem?”
It was a better acknowledgement than his dull, absent-minded gestures— and a challenge. Ivan recognized it, and responded in kind, his shoulders squared.
“Soon.” He outstretched his hand in good will. “You won’t be disappointed.”
Instead of shaking it, Luka’s icy fingers took hold of his own. He pressed his lips against his knuckles, dried blood brushing against Ivan’s skin.
“I know,” he rasped, his blue lips stretching into a slow, sordid smile.
Ivan rarely believed in bad omens, but when he left the sector, he made sure to ask for wet wipes instead of contaminating his suit.
Till’s god died in the fifth round. The last he had seen of her face was when tin-cans gathered to keep her on her scratched knees and pointed a rifle at the back of her head.
Her dress was torn. Her fists sore. Mizi’s face was a twisted, alien grimace that showed the strained wrinkle of her skin and the vicious cut of her brow. Seeing her bathed in red lights made him think of Anakt flowers in full bloom, and it was terrifying. Till was terrified. Despite the distance, he could see it clear as day— he drew her jaw wrong. Not only the jaw, but the lips, too. The teeth. The eyes.
Ivan was right.
She was gone. Gone. Gone.
And Till was left all alone as a finalist, which called for celebration.
Urak rented a VIP lounge to a group of gold diggers. They lifted him up on a pedestal to sing them his woes. Till didn’t— sing his woes, that is. He sang whatever came on screen. They asked for Black Sorrow five times in a row. The most recent addition, Cure, seven. A mogul with two planets under his belt, whose name Till remembered only because of how it was growled against his neck, mentioned how he had more flavor than the previous reigning champion and the brand ambassador combined. Till barely processed that he was talking about Ivan, too.
Brand ambassador. Child protege. Model. Musical powerhouse. Titles spat at his face like he was supposed to know what it meant. Like he was supposed to know who Ivan was.
Ivan was.
He was.
That was it. He was; no longer is. What is— is a drenched corpse. Dried and cleaned. Displayed in a museum or hidden in the back of his owner’s freezer, right next to some bougie extract or segyein champagne. He was too expensive to be dumped. What is— is the white coat that Urak let him keep.
Urak’s associates laughed at his fortune, their spittle on his face, and pushed blue pills into his hands. No, it was the spindly one. The one on his neck. Karlak. He was no longer a mere pet, he said. Now, he could party like a segyein.
A dead part of Till, the one with the collar, would’ve told him to go fuck himself on a pike.
What remained of Till, the unshackled one, downed it like it was candy.
And it was easier—so much easier—when he was another famous acid freak, puppeteered by the bourgeoisie. Everybody could have a piece of him, the old money dickwads and the nouveau riche. Till was spun around, weightless, and brought back to the stage, where he sang and swayed for them. Even out of his mind, they thought he sounded like a fucking angel.
Till grunted, his pulsing temple pressed hard against the mic while he waited for the chorus, grasping ecstasy before it slipped through his fingers, like the blood, like the rain—
Ivan is— was— is—
Till’s voice cried out the lyrics and the room boomed. Thunder and lightning. Blazing trails streaking the sky.
Twisted freak. Snaggletoothed bastard. Handsome corpse.
Till knew the shape of his fist better than he knew him. He knew his dead-eyed gaze and the fake quirk of his lips, and the swathe of his pale skin plastered across every holographic billboard. Of course he wasn’t scared of dying. He was immortalized on every commercial Till came across. It would take weeks to wipe his image from public conscious. It would take centuries to wipe him from Till’s.
He walked off the stage and draped himself across some segyein’s lap, who offered him a shot and a pat on the back. Their claw ran through his sweat-soaked hair. In return, Till bore his neck to the room, and the room marveled, its walls sodden with blood and gold. The music smelled like booze, and Till could see cigarette smoke wafting in cloudy patterns above his head. His jaw parted so it could drip down his throat, his tongue curling for a taste, only to be greeted with nothing.
Bored, he stumbled to the stage and sang three more songs. Then he went back.
He tripped on something, and when he rotated, stumbling, he realized it was a comet-white corpse. Till went around it, and fell back onto a table with shatter-screams in his wake. White-hot light burned his eyeballs. He nearly thought they strapped him to a table to poke his skin again, until a spiked shell loomed from above and pincers clacked above his beloved neck. Something roamed across his chest, but Till’s limbs were made of rubber. His head lolled back over the edge of the table, and he flinched at how the room spun. Vertigo struck him. Curtains of pink hair covered the door of the lounge. A tall, anthropomorphic form phased through.
Somewhere between staring at all the unimaginable redness of everything and licking his incisors, a jagged sound crawled out of his throat. “Dead meat,” he laughed, “you’re all dead fucking meat.”
And then— a shatter.
The lounge stopped pulsing.
Groaning in effort, Till tilted his head upwards. Blood-soaked forms of segyein shifted around, and somewhere in the background, he could hear Ivan halfway through the second verse of Cure. Till’s head lolled around Karlak’s pincers to see what all the fuss was about, and was promptly disappointed. A tin-man. The same kind of one-eyed tin-man that dragged Mizi off stage and nearly shot her in the back of her pretty head. He could hear gargling sounds and some warbles. He didn’t know that tin-men could talk.
Its metal head swiveled to face Karlak’s hot-white eyes. Till watched as it stepped forward and raised its arm to—
—shoot Karlak’s skull clean through.
Till’s eyes blinked through the spray of violet fluids. Karlak’s decapitated body slid off him, rolled over and hit the ground with a hard thump, soft belly facing the ceiling.
Another deafening shatter rang out. Till watched with bloodshot eyes at the result. Colors. Colors spraying the walls. Blues and greens and yellows.
A massive indigo form screeched and stormed across the lounge, knocking over sofas. The tin-man blew a clean shot through one of their kneecaps, then another through their chest as soon as they collapsed. Their body skidded to a stop at the sentry’s feet. The room suddenly exploded with glorious, saturated colors, and Till’s hand violently twitched with inspiration.
The rest of the segyein scrambled to the door, clawing at the keypad in hopes of getting it open. One was dragged by the back of its uniform, smacked with the butt of a gun before its head was raised above the edge of a table— splat. Yellow. Its skull was battered once, twice, thrice in continuous splatters of neon liquids and marrow.
It continued. It squashed, punctured and melted forms like sculpting art. Till couldn’t bring himself to move. The show was too fucking good to be true. It only got better when the upholstery caught fire. That— that was when he started cackling.
This was his life. Nothing else could surmise it better: Till splayed out on a coffee table in a blazing VIP lounge, laughing like a maniac while a mad sentry masacred segyein to the sound of Ivan’s requiem.
He had to pause to take a breath and close his damp eyelids. His head was throbbing. When he opened his eyes again, the firey silhouette of the tin-man came into focus, bleeding black out of the gap in its left shoulder.
Then and there, in the center of chaos, was Till. Then and there, haloed by licks of flame, was the cold, red orb of the sentry’s optic.
A broad hand floated towards him, its fingers spreading to close his eyelids.
Till allowed it. He smiled for the cameras.
His body slumped backwards, falling into the familiar comfort of a black abyss.
He heard murmurs of rain. The wind’s whistle followed his descent.
Lower, and lower, and lower.
…
But the spotlight followed him, spearing the darkness to catch Till for one last show—
And Till had no other choice but to open his eyes to a pure, bone-white ceiling.
He screamed.
His hands flew up to claw his eyes out. To block the light. To fight it. To shut it off. Shut it off. He whined through ten minutes worth of mind-numbing agony before his pupils adjusted to the light.
It was a pain to look at, but Till could discern shapes. A ceiling, walls, furniture, floors. A pale figure perched on an old-fashioned, alabaster chair beyond the foot of his bed.
Till recognized him. It was the lab-grown showpony; the other finalist.
The bleached blonde ghoul sat with his legs up on the edge of the seat, his chin resting on his knees while he spun colorful sections of a cube-shaped puzzle. He was mumbling something into his knees.
Till felt something on his face twitch.
“Hey.”
Silence.
Till growled harder, “Hey.”
The ghoul’s, the other finalist’s, eyes snapped upwards.
Gracefully, he hopped off the chair, his white nightgown flowing as he walked, glided, to Till’s bed.
“Where—“
In one smooth motion, he laid his palm down and lifted his legs up onto the sheets, hopping into the bed right beside Till’s frozen body. He leaned in close and personal. Thick, pale lashes brushed against his bloodless cheeks. Up close, there was too many wrong things to consider him human. It was Ivan, but worse. It was manufactured humanity, copy-pasted until it was mere parody of the source material.
“Who did you see?” He asked in a curious, lilting tone.
“What?”
“Not what,” the ghoul sighed and that, too, was musical. “Who?”
Till’s gaze skittered to anything except his murky, champagne eyes. “Flowers, rainbows and dancing corpses. T’was a death parade and I was the only guy alive. Dunno. I was tripping.”
He stared for a solid five seconds before his gaze glazed over, and his mind went fuck-knows-where. Till forced himself to clench his teeth through it, and waited. The competitor rolled his neck. His blue fingertips tapped absentmindedly against Till’s new collar.
He didn’t tell him anything. He sat, he thought, then his lips pursed in a delicate, peeved motion before he slid off the sheets, barely leaving a wrinkle. Till couldn’t even form a sentence before he slipped out of the room with his cube puzzle.
And left him alone with the sentry posted beside the door.
Till released a long, painstaking groan. Nothing was making sense. Urak’s shindig was a blur of colors that still made him crave paint and paper. He assumed he spent his night comatose. The reality of his visions was too questionable to be considered reliable. In which case, why did the ghoul ask him about it? What was he asking him about?
Till’s gaze was drawn to the sentry. It barely differed from the one he saw that night. Same height, same white plating, same optic. Different optic color, indigo; two arms, both intact; and a less robust frame. It didn’t make it look any less capable of snapping a human in half.
Generally, they can’t talk.
“Hey. Tin-can,” Till nodded at it. Its head calmly shifted his way. “Where am I?”
“Heperu’s sector.”
Its voice was smooth and modulated, like a filtered human voice. The organic nature of it sent shivers down his spine.
“Why? Urak lost a bet?”
“Urak has been fatally injured in a surprise attack by the Human Resistance Forces.” It explained in an unnervingly calm tone. “Ten investors were murdered on his property, half of which was lost to bombing.”
Till’s silence was long and heavy.
His head hit the bed frame. The canopy above his bed was so clean and pristine it made him want to climb up and smash it open.
“How— how long is it gonna take him to recover?”
“A month at least. Guardian Heperu volunteered to keep you until his recovery.”
A month. A whole month.
Till couldn’t tell whether he should laugh or cry or both.
Something bunched up in his throat. He swallowed it down and inspected the room. It was so white he could’ve been in a medical facility, and yet, the hue signified more age and less disinfectant.
The size of it, the segyein calligraphy carved into the ivory pillars; the massive, pointed window showing off a view of the two moons circling their host planet; his canopy bed with white chiffon sheets and pointed arches— it was night and day compared to the kitschy indulgences of Urak’s newly attained riches.
This room had none of that. This room had history. It was old money, through and through.
“Is this—“ Till’s arm vaguely gestured at the room, “—mine?”
“This is your enclosure.” The sentry nodded, then gestured at the wardrobe opposite of his bed, an ornate capsule with rib-like engravings. “You can find some of your belongings here, although some of it was damaged in the fire.”
“You come with the package or what?”
“I was assigned to be your escort and bodyguard until the winner of the fiftieth Alien Stage is declared.” The sentry placed its hand atop the holster on its hip. “There is reason to believe that HRF will make attempts on the contestants’ lives in order to sabotage the competition.”
Gingerly, and with far less grace, Till slid out of the bed. He was barefoot, and the tiles were cold and worn under his soles as he made his way towards the capsule. He didn’t know how they knew what his belongings were. Till had never owned much in the first place.
The wardrobe clicked open. The contents made his face morph into a pained expression.
The sentry was right; it was all his. The sketchbook, a stack of papers clamped together with staples, tape and sheer force of will; the two pencils and a pen, one used to vandalize his first page with Ivan’s clean, blocky signature; a slightly singed recorder; and the coat.
Till’s fingers reached for it. The edges of its coattails were heavily singed. The three holes, rusted over with blood, were still there.
He clenched his teeth, shoved the damn thing back inside and slammed the wardrobe closed.
Till had nothing and nobody. No believers, no gods. And yet, Ivan’s death made him impervious to wasting his life out of spite. He couldn’t do it by overdosing. He couldn’t do it by giving in to a HRF fighter’s gun. His fate was in the hands of Alien Stage— again, and forevermore.
There was no other route of escape except one: a demonstration. Win and kill the overpriced pet or die by gunfire, or whatever the tin-cans decide to do after he slaughters the fan favorite.
He pivoted, then made a beeline towards the door with his heels stamping prints on the fancy floor. “Tin-can, show me around.”
The sentry perked up. “It is recommended for you to rest one more day.”
“Can’t,” Till said grimly. “I need to write a requiem.”
The sentry didn’t respond immediately. Its indigo optic flickered. It stared through him, beyond him. Till thought it would block the way, until it smoothly stepped aside, and grandiosely gestured at the door. It spoke like he was more than a mangled thing covered in weary flesh.
“As you wish.”
AO3 / Prelude / Chapter 1 (you are here)
#alien stage#alnst#alnst till#alnst ivan#ivantill#alien stage round 6#alien stage fanfiction#whizz writes
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In Defense of Wuthering Heights
This is not an “I can make him worse” book. It’s a “we can make each other better in the face of tremendous pressure to do otherwise” book. I promise.
I’ve already written extensively about my love for Charlotte Brontë’s Villette and while I love lots of other Brontë books with all my heart, what I really want to do tonight is try to make you fall in love with Emily’s Wuthering Heights (generally the most divisive Brontë novel among modern readers) the way that I did.
The thing that a lot of people don’t know which I really think ought to be printed on all the dust jackets is that the Brontë sisters were the daughters of a revered. They were PKs and it totally shows.
So Wuthering Heights is not a romance; it’s a family tragedy. Specifically, it’s an astonishingly hopeful book about generational trauma.
Heathcliff is Mr. Earnshaw’s bastard son. This is never explicitly stated, but it is implied so heavily that it might as well be. To boot, Mr. Earnshaw favors Heathcliff over his legitimate son, Hindley. When Mr. Earnshaw dies, Heathcliff is immediately and violently cast out of the family and forced into servitude. Mr. Earnshaw’s hidden infidelity is Wuthering Heights’s original sin.
Of course, Cathy and Heathcliff love each other, but it’s a violent and destructive like-recognizes-like kind of love between two people who, on the one hand, absolutely should not be together and, on the other, totally deserve each other. They’re capital T Tragic and capital R romantic: co-dependent, sharp-toothed sibling-lovers who don’t understand their own relationship as kids because their father lied to them. That lack of understanding follows them into adulthood; they don’t really know how to make sense of what they feel for one another, but boy do they feel it.
Cathy tells Nellie “I am Heathcliff” and “He’s more myself than I am” and “whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same,” and it’s half a reaction to the fact that one of her brothers (Hindley) has cast her other brother (Heathcliff) out of the family with a vengeance and half a statement of the fact that although she doesn’t know what Heathcliff is to her, she doesn’t know how to live without him. And while Cathy’s love for Heathcliff definitely fills romantic roles once they’re adults, it’s doesn’t really read as sexual. To use Lewis’s parlance: it’s not eros/gift-love, but rather need-love in the most emphatic sense. It’s storge. Actually, it’s really posessive storge that thinks it’s eros. Hence the problem.
From the other side, Heathcliff is an outsider from the moment he enters the story. He’s an intruder and a presumed bastard. He’s coded as non-white, maybe Romani or similar. (Probably not actually African-black, but kudos to that one movie for at least making the attempt.) He’s… probably kind of a psychopath in that he displays cruelty to animals and then later on becomes a charismatic, manipulative monster. You can make a nature vs. nurture argument—Heathcliff is definitely on the receiving end of a lot of cruelty—but there’s also something Off about him and that too is othering. And after Mr. Earnshaw dies, Cathy is the one person who still loves him.
But of course, they can’t actually marry. On and off the page, that simply cannot be. Heathcliff runs away, Cathy marries Edgar Linton. They hurt each other badly in the process. Neither Heathcliff nor Cathy can escape the harm that Mr. Earnshaw began and Hindley perpetuated. Cathy dies, Heathcliff marries Isabella, and then things get really interesting.
Because the beating heart of Wuthering Heights, the place where you can profoundly see the fingerprints of the reverend’s daughter, is in the third generation. Cathy and Heathcliff devour each other in life and in death, but the children survive. They forgive. The patriarch died without knowing what he had wrought on his children, the second generation died in anguish, but the third makes it out. Or at least Hareton and Cathy II do.
Cathy’s daughter is named for her mother. Heathcliff’s son by Isabella Linton is named Linton Heathcliff. Heathcliff forces Hareton, Hindley’s son and the only one among the third generation not named for his parents, to live in the same debasement that Hindley once forced on him: he denies Hareton any education and forces him into servitude while simultaneously courting his admiration. In essence, Cathy and Heathcliff implore the next generation to go on living their parents’ tragedy and it. Doesn’t. Work.
Heathcliff tries to force them both into awful situations in which they must act out his trauma, his revenge, to go on perpetuating the pain and bitterness. And at first, it looks like they’re going to play their parts. For a time, they’re as awful to each other as everyone else is.
But then they change. Hareton tries to stand up for Cathy II while she’s essentially being held captive as part of Heathcliff’s 12-Step Revenge Plot. Cathy teaches Hareton to read. She laughs at him, but when she realizes that she’s hurting his pride she apologizes and learns to be patient.
“I didn’t know you took my part,” she answered, drying her eyes; “and I was miserable and bitter at everybody; but now I thank you, and beg you to forgive me: what can I do besides?”
And after this, they both stand up to Heathcliff. They say, “This ends here. This far and no farther.” Heathcliff is their dragon and they face him together. And when everyone else is dead in grand, tragic fashion, Cathy II and Hareton are left living.
But it’s not just that Hareton and Cathy II survive. They specifically un-do the failings of the previous generations. There’s a kind of atonement to it. They’re honest with each other, unlike Mr. Earnshaw. Cathy recognizes Hareton’s humanity, something Hindley never did for Heathcliff. Hareton lets go of his bitterness and resentment, while Heathcliff let his fester into cruelty and Elaborate Revenge. Cathy II is willful, like her mother, but she is also kind. Hareton is proud, like his father, but he is also compassionate. They forgive each other, while Cathy and Heathcliff only ever held grudges.
At the beginning of the book, Cathy is dead and has explicitly not gone to heaven; with the Brontës, you’ve gotta take these things seriously. Cathy is not in heaven and Heathcliff is a monster and they both seem to be damned, but they do not succeed in damning their children. And in that (I would say because of that), even Cathy and Heathcliff find peace after death.
I also do think that the fact that the story is narrated by Lockwood (weirded out by all of this) and Nellie (unreliable, cares deeply about everyone involved) can make it difficult to see the redemptive arc in the story as clearly as we might if it had an omniscient narrator, or if, say Cathy II was narrating. We're presented the Cathy and Heathcliff love story as this great, horrible, compelling saga (and it absolutely is), but then the following generation can almost seem like a footnote. They're adapted out of most of the film adaptations. But they're the whole point!
I do get why Wuthering Heights just isn’t to some people’s taste. Really. Some people just don’t go for Big Romantic Family Tragedy and that’s fine. But too many people come to the Brontës looking for Jane Austen or Elizabeth Gaskell and that’s just. Wrong. You’ve gotta at least read Wuthering Heights on its own terms before deciding that you hate it (not directed at anyone specific on here, but I do know people irl...). And you really ought to read it with an eye towards Emily’s faith. It makes a world of difference.
TL;DR- There’s a beautiful, very Christian center to Wuthering Heights and it’s one of forgiveness instead of revenge and kindness instead of cruelty. It’s a book about people who are destroyed by the sins of their fathers and those that manage not to be. In a way, it’s almost a fairytale.
#this isn't an essay it's just a gush sesh i can write more coherently about this i promise#i have on multiple occasions#but wuthering heights is great and no one can convince me otherwise#the knitting circle is populated with a lot of Austen girlies and while I do love me some Austen it's always gotta be the Brontes for me#all three of them write in ways that cut right to the center of my soul#and while Charlotte is definitely my fave i think if Emily had lived longer and written more she absolutely could have been her sister's eq#equal#as it is Wuthering Heights is awesome any y'all (not anyone specific) need to stop making jokes about Charlotte being 'I can fix him'#and Emily being 'i can make him worse'#because if that's your take you have whizzed right by the point#also i took an austen and bronte class and i rewrote part of persuasion in the style of emily bronte and my prof thought it was awesome#just to toss that little bit in there#but even with that! austen and the brontes only really get grouped together because they're great British female writers#they are Very Different and that's Good#anyway#maybe i'll rant about Jane Eyre next#unquiet souls#literature makes us more human#pontifications and creations
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less than 2k away from finishing nano 3 days ahead of schedule oh my GOD
#50k!!!!!! and the whole project is 100k!!! and i'm gonna still need to write more!!!!!!#wowwee golly gee whizz
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Me : I am a writer.
Also me : What the eff do I write for my college essay—
Me : I am a fanfic writer.
#fanfiction#writerslife#writing#college#personal statement#clueless#i can whizz up a good angsty plot in 15 minutes#but i can't write a fricking 500 word essay#why are college essays even legal#dreambigdreamz
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my computer screen keeps glitching and turning black randomly its so annoying -_-
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*pulls up image of otp to stare at for strength* ok time to be a real person now
#just saw some guy whizz by on a wheelchair with such a smile on his face i hope he has a good day lol#i need to find a place with a table (not the library) (i borrowed a book in feb and haven't returned it yet) so i can sit and write#花話
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why did i give myself an 8k minimum for writing chapters and who do i speak to, to complain about me doing this? like it’s almost 5am and i’m telling myself “just hit 2.5k and you can sleep” and i can do it, i have so much story for this chapter, but wHY DID I DECIDE THIS?
#the answer is that i’m a punk ass bitch who perfection issues#also the first chapter is like 8.4k so i’m like#gotta be matchies!#harry potter#regulus black#marauders#ao3 fanfiction#ao3#fanfiction#jegulus#ao3 fanfic#hp#fanfiction writing#fanfic writing#it’s only 365 words bUT I CANNOT WRITE THAT MUCH WITH A MUSHY BRAIN#maybe i’ll whizz through chapters this november and then be ahead enough to post then write
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bruh wtf my brain cycling through Arthur-Kieran-John-Javier-Micah-Dutch thoughts at such a rapid speed that i cannot think anything. free me
#like theyre whizzing past so fast that i cant even think about them before i move on#ferris wheel of Guy but the carnival violated the safety codes and is being shut down#how does one make it slow down please i just want to focus on one dude#^ genuine anguish#rivera writes#rdr2
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#p.s it doesnt matter how many threads we have going always feel free to whack stuff in box (oi oi!)#seriously though i love little fun asks#i love writing drabbles too and making gifsets#so when i reblog drabble things feel free to submit them#cannot stress that enough#even though i said i get overwhelmed#i do#but when adhd is in force i will whizz through 6 million drabbles in no time
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New Camera 🔥
Matt Sturniolo x y/n (fem)
warnings: SMUUUUUTTT NSFW 18+ (umm lots. use of camera/recording, dom matt, degrading, slapping, language, daddy kink, slight choking, unprotected, creampie, j very rough)
authors note: so this won the vote for which y’all wanted first! ask and u shall receive! this one is FILTHY AND KINKY so if that’s not ur vibe, uve been warned…also side note, i feel like this goes without saying but, i write mostly unprotected… guys pls don’t actually do that. wrap it before u tap it🫶 ok luv u!! enjoy!!
summary: your boyfriend matt gets a new camera before going on tour and decides to experiment with it on you…
word count: 2,270 w
~you look good on camera baby let’s go make a film~
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your phone buzzed on your desk.
“be over in 10 babe ❤️” read a message from matt. you went back to fixing your makeup in the mirror, wanting to look your best for your boyfriends last night home. Matt was about to leave to go on tour tomorrow and it would be a month and a half before you got to see him again. even though you were excited for him, you wanted to make sure it was extra hard for him to leave you. after swiping on some lip gloss, you rummaged through your closet and landed on a thin white tank and flannel shorts. comfy, but still cute and showed just the right amount of skin to hopefully get his attention. your doorbell rang and you ran to answer it.
“hi, beautiful” matt said, pulling you in for a kiss.
“hi” you said smiling at him, the chill from outside hitting your mostly bare skin. he closed the door and walked in. his eyes gave you a once over as he took off his coat.
“you look hot” he smirked
“oh yeah?” you replied coyly, turning to head back down the hall.
“yeah. some shorts” he chuckled out, blatantly checking out your ass.
“what these?” you teased, bending over slightly
“don’t start with me, y/n” matt came up behind you and slapped your ass, playfully but hard. the two of you walked to your room and you flopped on your bed, reaching for the remote to your tv. matt followed and unzipped his backpack, rummaging through it and pulling out a box.
“whatcha got there?”
“bought a new vlog camera for tour!” he answered, excitedly
“wanna see?” he sat down next to you, showing off the new device.
“oooo fancy” you knew nothing about cameras, but pretended to be impressed since matt was so enthusiastic. his fingers whizzed around the buttons.
“it’s got awesome quality and it’s so easy to use” he continued, the machine chirped as he hit the red button and pointed it at your face.
“matttt” you whined, covering your face with your hands.
“what are you being camera shy?” he snickered, standing above you continuing to point the lens at you.
“cmon show me that gorgeous face of yours baby” you huffed, dramatically and lowered your hands looking up at him.
“that’s my pretty girl” he cooed, making a smile toy at the corners of your mouth. you could never say no to him. his eyes flicked over you behind the camera and you tried to read what he was thinking. he licked his lips and backed up, silently, getting a wider view of you in frame. you stayed put on the bed.
“take your top off” he stated, flatly.
“matt-what—?” you nervously laughed out
“did i say it was a question? take your top off” something about the harshness of his tone was so out of character it made your heart race. you reached for the hem of your tank and began to lift it.
“damn, baby” matt growled out, lowering the camera to capture your exposed tits. you breathed heavily, unable to bring yourself to move from your perched position on the edge of your bed. your eyes followed as his hands lowered the camera even further to where you had your hands in your lap.
“now your shorts”
“but—matt—im not wearing any underwear” you stuttered.
“and?”
“well you’re filming i mean i—“
“if you’re gonna be a little slut and not wear your panties then i get to treat you like a little slut. strip.” he interrupted, gruffly. you couldn’t help but notice how insanely hot he sounded being so demanding, and hoped he wouldn’t be able to see your already obvious wetness. you reached for your waistband, standing, never taking your eyes off him as you began to lower your shorts to the floor. you stepped out of them and kicked them aside. nervousness spread goosebumps across your skin as you became aware of how completely exposed you were to matt and his camera. this was unlike anything you’d ever done before.
“good girl” matt praised, dryly.
“you wanna give me a better view of that pretty little ass of yours and bend over the bed for me?” you felt as vulnerable to matt’s commands as the machine in his hands. you slowly turned half way and rested your hands on your bed, lifting your ass into better view for him.
“fuck” he exhaled. you could feel him move closer behind you. he brought a hand sharply down against your flesh. you whimpered.
“so sexy” he growled.
“got me so hard just looking at you baby” you turned your head back to look at him. he laughed, sinisterly.
“what? you wanna see what you’re doing to me, slut? huh?”
you nodded, dumbly. he snickered again.
“course you do. get on your knees for me.” he demanded. you followed every order like a well trained dog. you settled down by his feet and looked back up at him, as he readjusted the lens again.
“mmmm you look so perfect from this angle, babygirl” he praised stroking your face gently, before slapping his hand against your cheek just enough to sting a bit. your jaw dropped slightly in surprise, which matt took as an opportunity to slid his thumb into your mouth. you sucked at his digit and he groaned, watching you before sliding it back out of your mouth creating a popping sound.
“take off my pants” he commanded. you eagerly fumbled with his belt and zipper, hooking your fingers around the waste and and pulling slowly. his already rock hard dick sprung out and slapped his t shirt. your mouth almost watered in desperation at the sight of his veiny, practically throbbing, member.
“open your mouth, baby” he exhaled. you looked up into the camera, doe eyed and parted your lips with your tongue out slightly. he pumped himself with his free hand, the tip of his dick just grazing your lips and tongue and then began to slowly insert himself into your warm wet mouth. he ran his hand down your head, petting your hair, soothingly, as you took him all the way down the back of your throat. fighting the urge to gag at his size.
“such a good girl” matt groaned. his pets reached the base of your skull, then latched harshly into your hair. his grip was tight, as he began to thrust into your mouth. you felt tears form at the corner of your eyes as he forcefully fucked your throat. matt let his grasp on your hair go and slid himself out of your mouth. he grabbed your jaw and forced you to turn your messy face to him, getting a clear shot of the streaks of tears on your cheeks and spit running down your chin.
“get on your hands and knees. i need to feel that pretty little pussy of yours” he huffed, patting your face again. you scrambled to the bed, desperate to feel him fill you up. you’d never felt so much heat screaming from between your legs in your life. you arched your back, letting matt have perfect access to your dripping folds. matt dragged a finger down them, teasing you and eliciting a loud whine from your lips.
“soaking for me already huh, slut?” he mocked. all you could do in response was whimper.
“so pathetic for me” he taunted, pressing two fingers against your entrance.
“matt—please—“ you breathed out in agony
“camera can’t hear you, baby. be a good little slut and beg louder for me.”
“Matt—fuck—-please—i need your dick now—“ you cried out, the need for contact almost eating away at your brain. you screamed as matt rammed into you, entirely, and without warning. the unprepared sensation of stretch caused a pleasurable pain to radiant through you. he groaned, finally feeling your wet pussy around his torturously hard dick. he began to relentlessly pound into you from behind, filling the room with deafening slapping sounds intermixed with your screams and his grunts.
“MATT—“ you cried out, overwhelmed by his intensity, collapsing your face into the pillows beneath you.
“what? ” he wrapped his free hand around a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back up.
“don’t act like you can’t handle my cock now, slut.” he snarled, not letting up on his unwavering rhythm in and out of your core. he slapped your ass again.
“understand?”
“yes matt” you wheezed. he slapped your ass again.
“yes, who?”
“fuckk—yes, daddy” you sobbed out
“good girl” his thrusts hit your g spot each time, making your legs shake and stars form against your tightly squeezed eyelids.
“you wanna show me how much you love my cock, princess?”
“yes, daddy” you hardly could think straight
“bounce that perfect ass on my cock, baby” he said, slowing his thrusts. you obeyed and began to rock your hips back and forth, fucking yourself on his dick.
“good girl. doing such a good job” he sang out, one hand gripping your flesh while the other captured your movement on film. you whimpered again, your hips stuttering.
“you tired, princess?” you nodded and let out another pathetic sound.
“need daddy to take over again?”
“yes—oh fuck—please daddy-“ you managed to mumble out. Matt pulled out of you abruptly, causing you to whine at the loss. you couldn’t move anymore, but the last thing you wanted was for him to stop fucking you. he slapped your ass again
“turn over” he growled
“i wanna see your pretty face when i cum in your pussy” you felt like you could cum from his filthy requests alone. you’d barely even landed on you back before matt slammed back into your throbbing entrance. he struggled to keep his balance momentarily, too desperate to feel you around him again. he kept one hand supporting himself upright and the other still holding the camera, pointed at you as his picked back up his steady thrusts.
“so perfect—look ss-so good—with my cock stuffed inside your little pussy” he huffed out between thrusts
“OH—fuck—yes—your cock feels so good, daddy” you moaned out, helplessly. your eyes rolling back into your head. matt’s free hand wrapped around your throat, constricting your breathing perfectly.
“watch me while i fuck you, slut” he growled.
“yes, daddy” you wheezed out against his tight grip. he removed his hand and you gasped for air. within moments of his dick pounding perfectly back against your sweet spot, you felt your orgasm begin to crest.
“FUCK—IM—“ you panted.
“that’s it—good girl—cum all over daddy’s cock” he ordered. your walls clenched and throbbed around him uncontrollably, causing him to let out a string of curse words. you felt his dick begin to twitch deep inside you.
“ohh-hh-fuck—shit” he stuttered out, his thrusts becoming wilder and less expertise.
“mmm—close—“ he groaned, his jaw dropping slightly.
“mmmm fuck yeah cum inside me, daddy” you whined out, your high still settling.
“shit yeah baby? you want me to fill your little pussy?”
your brows knotted and your nodded your head desperately.
“fuck i’ll fill you up—so full of cum—baby you’ll look—-so perfect—spilling out of you” he huffed
“OH FUCK FUCK BABY IM GONNA CUM” he cried out as his whole body shook. he thrust deep into you one last time, halting as his cock spasmed against your walls. releasing a multitude of spurts of his hot white load. once matt seemed to regain his senses, he clicked the red button again—ending his taping. he pulled out of you slowly, making your legs shake. he glanced down at your trembling sensitive entrance leaking his release in pulses and bit his lip in a satisfied smirk, snapping one last photo of the mess he’d made of you.
“MATT!” you laughed out in embarrassment, shutting your legs and rolling onto your side.
“sorry…i had to. too hot not save” he said, smiling and flopping down next to you.
“are you okay? was that too much?” he asked, pushing your hair out of your face.
“no way. i loved that”
“you swear i wasn’t too rough with you?” he said with worry. you shook your head vigorously
“not at ALL! that was HOT” you replied through a smile. he fought a grin, biting his lip clearly extremely pleased at your enthusiasm.
“so can i ask what inspired the camera?” you questioned.
“well, now on tour i can reminisce what it’s like to fuck my crazy hot girlfriend” he smiled at the ceiling.
“hey!” you slapped his chest playfully “you know you can always facetime me and we cannnnn” you dragged your words out, looking off into the distance above his face in teasing suggestion.
“oh don’t you worry, we’ll have phone sex all the time. this is just for when you can’t call me and i need to…y’know” he glanced down at his crotch.
“jesus, how many times are you planning on jerking off” you teased
“twice a day. minimum.” he matter of factly stated, grinning again.
“MATTHEW!” you scoffed out in shock
“What? not my fault you’re so sexy” he laughed, leaning in to give you a peck on the lips.
“yeah yeah whatever. just NEVER show that to anyone”
“are you kidding me? you think i’d ever let anyone else get a look at you like that? nhhuhh nope.” he shook his head dramatically
“only i get to see how perfect you look getting your brains fucked out” he leaned in, kissing you playfully again. you giggled, feeling a slight blush.
“i love you, you freak” you said against his lips.
“i love you more, baby”
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ok y’all were on to something with wanting this one cause WHY DO I LOVE IT?? rly hope everyone likes it ahhh 🫶🫶
also guys imagine matt accidentally posting the wrong video and posts ur tape instead of a car video?? HAHA
#matthew sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo x yn#matthew sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#nick sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#smut#sturniolo#fanfic smut#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo smut#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo smutt#chris sturniolo fluff#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x you#christopher sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets smut
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Lord, Give Me One More Chance
Prelude: Final Prayers
Rating: Mature
Relationships: Ivan (Alien Stage)/Till (Alien Stage), Ivan (Alien Stage) & Till (Alien Stage)
Chapter Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapter Summary: Till had only seen him as a corpse.
Read on AO3 / Prelude (you are here) / Chapter 1
Till didn’t believe in gods until he saw his first flower in Anakt Garden.
Gods were forbidden. Systems of belief were foundations of solidarity, and the segyein didn’t need human solidarity unless it tastes like entertainment. If it’s a big story broadcasted live across the entire supercluster and makes the skies rain money, you could worship the fish for all they cared.
Not Till, though. Till didn’t care about Anakt fish and their jagged, metallic teeth or gods. He scored himself a drive with the wildest tracks of human cries. He got smacked around for it, but it was still on him, so it was worth it. So worth it. Anakt Garden only ever taught the classics; pretty, resonant sounds smoother than nebulas that Till reiterated only because he had to. The theory was boring, the songs were boring, and his vocals were average.
What Till truly liked to do was hidden in the trees— crumpled paper wrapped around the thinner branches. He’d carry his writing tool everywhere, glued to his arm with medical tape under the sleeve of his shirt. He’d take it out when he discreetly plugs the small archive into the nearest system, and he’d listen to sounds that made him shiver. He didn’t think that humans could sound like that, like scraping tiles with the needle of a syringe, or that music could be the shriek of an electric, stringed instrument accompanied by beats so intense they’d rattle a spaceship. Bright, colorful lights, shiny boots with sharp heels, nets and flying tongues. It defied everything Till was taught about being human. These sounds, whatever they were, were alien.
He decided that this— this was music, and swore he would replicate it on paper.
Problem was, it never worked. Till never translated screams and groans and growls before. He had gotten so upset with himself he dug his teeth into the collar on his mouth for hours before he fell asleep in his confinement chamber. The lights would turn back on, his muzzle would be removed, and he’d scurry back to his tree where he’d scribble for hours. It was rinse repeat until his very first recital with the children of Anakt Garden.
Till was held back because they thought he would bite off someone’s hand if he joined, but he’d been more docile lately. Unbeknownst to them, it was largely because of his archive of ‘rock’n’roll’. It worked better than putting him under, so the caretakers read his behavior as a sign that he was ready to join the group. The muzzle was removed, and for once, Till didn’t run.
It was boring. It was painstaking and long. It was the best thing that happened in his life.
The children were lined up in a straight, horizontal row so their instructor could observe their movements and correct them if needed. Four kids down was a girl that belted out the chorus like it was her lifeline. She made the same old song sound like something Till could listen to a thousand times over.
Her hair was colorful and vibrant. It was pink, a diluted tint of the red blooms that crowned her head. He’d only seen the flowers on pictures, and nothing that colorful grew around his tree.
Till chased the petals that fluttered in her wake. He chased the whole damn crown when it slid off her silken head. It fell into a dark section of the Garden, a restricted area where hologram repairs were taking place, and he got smacked around real good for that.
It didn’t matter to him anymore because her name was Mizi. And if a god ever existed, then she was one. If belief was entertainment then Till was going to be the biggest act in the entire Virgo Cluster.
He returned to his papers invigorated, and the chaotic cries of his once Earth-bound brethren spoke to him like never before.
Day in, day out. Write the sounds. Draw the soft, divine lines of her face. Worship through song. Bite through the medical examinations. Build his way towards his first album. Draw her again when he needs inspiration. Bite Urak’s hand. Draw her one more time when the bruises make his head spin.
“You drew her wrong.”
Till jumped in place, bumping his back against the bark of the tree. Looking back, he noticed a kid looming over his shoulder, radiating warmth like a living boiler. He didn’t even notice him.
“What are you talking about?” He spat at him. His fingers tightened on his stack of drawings.
The boy raised his hand. He mercilessly pressed a finger against the outer lines of Mizi’s face and traced her jaw. “This part is longer now. It slopes down like this.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“It does. She’s growing, so her bones grow in this direction—“
“I know how her face looks like.”
“Then why are you drawing her wrong?”
“I’m not drawing her wrong. That’s how she looks like.” Till twisted around to face the intruder, glaring at his black, black eyes. He was leaning, but Till could tell he went through a growth spurt. He’d grow to be tall enough to look larger than life if he straightened up.
He didn’t look phased by Till’s response. He wiped Mizi’s jaw with her finger, smudging the line.
Till slapped his arm. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“I’ve never seen you in my life.”
The boy bore his empty gaze into the drawing. Then in a quick motion, he pulled his pencil and a paper out of his grasp. He sprinted before Till could snatch his things back.
“Hey!” Till shrieked. Really shrieked. Like the shriek he made when Urak dragged him around by his hair.
He rose to his legs, his drawings fluttering out of his lap, smudged and forgotten as he chased the black-eyed bastard across the picturesque plains.
“Come back!”
They ran past the trees, past the children. The bright, saturated colors of Anakt Garden faded. The grass fractured. The sky lost its vibrant hues. Till found the thief at the glitched opening of the restricted section where he got into trouble. It was where illusion met reality. Green bled into gray, electric hums whirring from the maw of a tunnel that led somewhere beyond the Garden. Framed by its opening was the boy, laying on his belly, hunched over the stolen piece of paper.
“It’s just a pencil! Give it back!” It was the only one he had. He could’t get another one because the only gifts Urak gave him were claws and needles. The papers and the pencil were all he had until someone feels generous again. “Give it back—“
The thief rolled onto his back to raise his masterpiece above his head. Till could barely see it, but he felt his heart drop into his stomach when he saw a sketch of Mizi on the back.
The boy said nothing at first, too distracted by his creation.
“I practiced my signature for autographs, since I don’t have anything to write with except my fingers.”
Liar, Till sneered.
He looked around for signs of segyein, smelled the air for their scent. Red flowers littered the floor. Smashed red petals haloed the boy’s body as he continued to turn the paper around. When he was done, he straightened, then turned to show his work to Till— strange letters written in fancy script. Red blotches smeared the upper corner, faded and thick red strokes of segyein symbols.
“I tried using different means,” the boy explained. His grin was small and modest as he looked down at the pencil. “But I find the graphite much better.”
Till ground his teeth. The red against his paper was sending shivers down his spine. “Why did you do it?”
The thief blinked at him as if the answer was obvious. “I’m a needy believer. What else am I supposed to do?”
His answer didn’t make any sense. Till’s eyes were on the drawing in his hand, something that did make sense. One side had the repeated signatures filling the paper top to bottom. The other side had his smudged sketch of Mizi’s profile, and the bloody smudge bled through the paper, tainting her face like a terrible, mortal wound.
Till clenched his fists. He stomped towards the thief, smacking the paper out of his hands and slamming his foot against his chest. Now he was starting to look more familiar. Did he punch this kid before? Did the kid punch him back?
Till grabbed the front of his shirt. “I was fine. I was drawing her right. I was doing everything right. Why did you—“ The kid pushed him. Till lunged, his fists flying. He felt a crack. “Why aren’t you talking? You wanted a fight? You’re getting it! Look, you’re—getting it!”
He wasn’t fighting back. Till remembered he always fought back. The only time he had ever seen him smile was when he had his fist buried in Till’s side.
“Answer me! What’s your damage—“
The kid’s lips moved. Till paused. “What?”
“Smile for the cameras, Till.” The boy croaked, red dripping down the ends of his lips. “The stage is your altar.”
Till paused.
With a whopping score of eighty-nine points, Till is set to join us in the finale—
Red in the water. Red blooms on a white suit. Till’s fist was in the air, frozen after the third punch.
The boy’s jaw was sharper than he remembered. His shoulders were broader, and he would still be taller than Till if he stood up to his full height.
He was dead long before Till laid his hands on him, punctured by three bullets. Cold, wet and bloody, he laid under him like a fallen monument. Not even his fists could make him move again, even if it’s to block a punch.
Till watched the beaten corpse of a believer, his believer, as sentinels dragged it across the flooded stage.
He remembered his name.
“Ivan,” he muttered numbly. “The pencil, Ivan. You didn’t give it back. Hey. He has to give it back.”
But nobody listened. Nobody. No mortal or god.
“Give it back. Give it back.”
AO3 / Prelude (you are here) / Chapter 1
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Slashers React to You Being Harassed
Warnings: Being verbally harassed by a gross man, some cuss words
A/N: A lot of you seemed to really like the last "Slashers React" fic I did, so I figured I'd write up another one. This came out a little cheesy, but oh well? Hope you enjoy!
Context: You were feeling a little cooped up recently due to being stuck inside from the flu. Now that you were feeling better, you wanted to go out and take some time away from home. But of course, you could never have more than a few minutes of peace. Some older man decides that you are the perfect one to pick on. He attempts to flirt with you, and even after saying "no" a handful of times, he still doesn't get the hint.
Michael Myers
You were honestly a little scared
Not for yourself, but for what was going to happen to the man
Even after weeks of insistence, Michael refused to let you go anywhere on your own
Even if he wasn't right next to you, he was lurking somewhere nearby
He was a blatant and proud stalker
So you knew that it wouldn't take long before-
Welp
The man is now dead with a slit throat
That was quick
"You could have stepped in sooner, you know?"
He just grips onto your hand and drags you back home
"But I've only been outside for five minutes!" you protest
He forces you to stay inside for another couple of weeks
Jason Voorhees
This disgusting man was now attempting to reach out and touch you
You took a step back and tried to put some space between you two
But in the blink of an eye, a large machete burst through his chest at you, your clothes getting splattered with blood
You scream
The now dead man drops to the ground as your eyes meet his killer
"Jesus, Jason! A bit of a warning next time, please."
He just tilts his head at you
You start grumbling about how your clothes were basically ruined now
Jason just picks you up and swings you over his shoulder
"This was my favorite shirt," you continue groaning
He gifts you with a small pocket knife the next day to take with you when you go out
Brahms Heelshire
You promised Brahms you wouldn't step too far off the Heelshire property line
So the fact that anyone was even over here seemed odd to you
And now here you were, wishing Brahms wasn't so weird about leaving the house
Because unfortunately, this man didn't seem like he was going to go away without a fight
So you did the only thing you could think of in that moment
You screamed
It lasted a few seconds
But the man didn't seem fazed
"There's no one else out here, Sweetheart," he said
"Hmm?" a voice spoke behind him
The man spun around and was immediately thrown to the ground
Brahms bashed his head in repeatedly with a rock
"Thank you-" you started
Brahms just grabbed you by the arm and drug you back inside the house
He didn't let you go outside for a while after that
Billy Loomis
You were about ready to punch this man yourself
But you didn't want to risk anything since you were alone
This man was good sized and you knew that trying to fight him probably wouldn't end well for you
But lo and behold, you wouldn't even have to lift a finger
A knife was quickly plunged into the man's throat causing him to bleed out in seconds
After a moment, you finally looked up and saw Billy in front of you
"Thank, God," you sighed, hugging the boy
It took you a second before you pulled away, looking at him in confusion
"Wait, how did you know I was out here?"
Billy avoided your gaze
"Were you stalking me?"
"I like to call it, observing"
You let out a groan
Stu Macher
You're crazy if you think Stu was going to let you outside by yourself
This boy is glued at your hip 24/7
The only reason why this other man was even flirting with you right now is because Stu went off to "take a whizz" as he likes to say
Thankfully, this doesn't normally take him long
So as this man continued to push his luck, Stu walked up next to you, his eyes a little dark
"Is there a problem here, babe?" he asked a little too nicely
How you answer this is definitely going to affect what Stu does next
But this man was pissing you off so...
"Yeah, he won't leave me alone"
And that's all it took for the man to end up dead on his side, a knife in his chest
Afterwards, Stu and you continued your little venture outside
He just held you a lot closer to him the whole time
Eric Draven
You were honestly getting freaked out by this man
In a city like this, anyone could be hurt
But your moment of panic soon died down to the sight of a black crow perching on the nearby building
"Thank you," you murmured
"What was that?" the man spat back
You couldn't help but smile a bit
"You're about to get your ass kicked"
He just laughed at you
Your smile grew when you saw a figure approach the man from behind
He noticed this and turned around, only to be met with the city's best vigilante
"Hi"
The man was suddenly struck with a metal pipe
And he continued to be struck another 17 times
Eric walked up to you after he was done, his painted face dripping with red
"You didn't have to kill him," you said
Eric just shrugged
"Oops?"
#slasher imagines#slasher fandom#slashers preference#slash fanfiction#slashers x reader#slashers headcanon#slasher preference#slashers#michael myers headcanons#michael myers x reader#michael myers#jason voorhees headcanons#jason voorhees x reader#jason voorhees#brahms x reader#brahms heelshire#brahms heelshire x reader#billy loomis x reader#billy loomis headcanon#billy loomis#stu macher#stu macher x reader#stu macher headcanons#eric draven x reader#eric draven
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SWEET AND RIGHT AND MERCIFUL | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader
request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says: OMGGGG EM CONGRATS ON 3K !!! soooo deserved and i’m so so happy for you!!! please may i request tea for sunshine!reader 🥹🩷 maybe the moment when she realises just how much she likes him (perhaps she was in heavy denial beforehand)? I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOUUUUU 🩷🩷🩷
description: The Sunshine rookie Spencer had heard so much about is the first one to make him laugh since he got out of prison.
length: 4.1k
warnings: Lucky Strikes episode, talks of humans eating humans, cm gore, blood, violence etc. UnSub gets creepy with reader. sex jokes, spitting water.
author's note: dedicated to @avis-writeshq because she is my GIRL when it comes to Spencer Reid x Sunshine brain rot, and also because she requested a Drabble for them but I couldn't stop writing and here we are with a full ficlet.
It had been three weeks, three painfully long weeks since Spencer Reid had returned to the BAU, nearly ten years since she’d seen him lecturing at Pennsylvania. He looked different, but then Emily had said quite literally on her second day that their endgame was getting him out of prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and it seemed only natural that being a fed in a foreign jail would knock someone around.
She’d been too nervous to speak to him on their first day working together, had stuck to Luke’s side like glue because he was closest in age to her and he didn’t seem to mind the way she could speak a hundred miles per hour. They had only really had any contact when she was chatting with Garcia in the kitchenette at lunch, when she was talking to the tech whizz about the crochet set she’d bought even though she couldn’t seem to wrap her head around the way everything bobbed and weaved and bobbed again, and how the woman on youtube seemed to make the tiny bumblebee seem so achievable while hers looked like a yellow turd.
He’d come up behind the two of them, his footsteps deadly silent despite the fact he had sneakers on, and she wouldn’t have even known he was there had Penelope not lit up with glee at seeing Reid poking around their office again.
“Coffee, honey?” Penelope asked, looking over the girl’s shoulder, and it was only when he murmured a ‘mhm�� that the rookie noticed he’d crept up behind her, leaning over to grab his mug from the cupboard, and she hopped to the side immediately.
“S-sorry, just shove me out the way next time, my mom says I have zero spacial awareness.” She said with a nervous laugh, and he didn’t seem to care as he granted her a small glance, pushing the button on the coffee machine and clunking his mug beneath the tap.
“Have you met our newbie, Spence?” Penelope asked, friendly as ever even though the women caught the way his jaw seemed to feather with clenched muscle, like he was holding himself back from snapping, and his eyes were tired as he looked over at Garcia, barely flicking his gaze to the new face despite her prompt, “This is Y/N, she’s joined us from cold cases,”
“Hi,” The woman chirped with a quick wave, despite the fact he was stood only a foot away from her, “It’s nice to meet you after everyone’s spoken so highly about you, Penny said you like invented the term genius,”
Spencer pursed his lips, trying not to make a backhanded comment about how dumb that sounded because of course he didn’t invent it, of course it was coined in the mid seventeenth century from the latin gignere to mean ‘exceptional natural ability’, and the last time he checked he wasn’t even born then. But he stopped himself, because she was just being nice, and it wasn’t her fault that he hadn’t been sleeping or that he couldn’t eat dinner without waiting to hear a buzzer go off to let him know when it was meal time, and it certainly wasn’t her fault that she was just a few decibels too loud with her cheerful tone and smile that he could hear in every syllable.
So he just gave her an awkward smile, and an acknowledging nod, the whir of effort from the coffee machine slowing down as his drink finished pouring, and he grabbed his mug, not even caring that the ceramic scolded his fingertips because he’d felt so much worse before and gotten through it.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” He said coldly, not returning the sentiment, and he’d turned before he could see the way her smile dropped, her brows creasing in worry as she watched him head back towards his desk.
“Did I say something wrong?” She asked with a small voice, and Penelope wrapped an arm around her shoulder giving her a kind squeeze and a sad smile.
“It’s not you, sweetie, he’s just-” Garcia swallowed, her own pout growing over her red painted lips, “He’s not like the Reid we used to know, he’s struggling,”
And so she nodded, chewing at the inside of her cheek with a frown. It felt silly to have her feelings hurt, except she’d been thinking about the day two agents from the BAU came to give her sociology class a talk on geographical and societal factors compelling crime, how she’d headed straight to her tutor that evening to swap her major to criminology. Because she’d hung on every word Agent Hotch and Agent Reid had said, which definitely had nothing to do with the fact the younger of the two was so dreamy in his glasses and tweed jacket.
She’d been excited to meet him again after nearly ten years, maybe even thank him for changing the trajectory of her entire life. He was still handsome, and despite the fact she’d grown up since then, had only thought about him as that hot guy who gave a lecture in her class that one time, she still had felt that silly fluttering feeling in her chest the second she saw him talking with Emily in her office the morning he got back.
And he’d look at her like she was a girl scout selling cookies; a passing face, a summer temp, no one worth getting to know.
She pretended like she wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed, he’d been to prison for god sake. The guy had bigger problems than a little nobody girl from another department.
Things weren’t much better the day they got the case.
“You might want to cover your eyes for this bit, my little sugar plum,” Penelope said, looking at the rookie with soft eyes, and Emily smiled at her gently, knowing the girl had a bit of an innocent streak, not completely unlike Penny when she’d started the job.
“Why? I’m sure it’s nothing-” She cut herself off when Penelope clicked onto the next page, and the image of a woman who could only be described as utterly butchered flicked onto the screen in full size, “Oh,”
“Oh, indeed, rookie,” Rossi said with a wince, looking at the mulch of blood and muscle where her legs had been removed, and her fingers severed clean off as if with a carving knife.
Luke looked up at the girl, where she’d gone a little peaky, and he patted her back gently, sliding his bottle of water over to her without a word.
“All the telltale signs are here,” JJ said on a sighed breath, images of the rest of the crime scene flicking up on the screen.
“Pentagram, legs and fingers gone,” Rossi agreed, Luke and Matt looking between the team with a questioning glance, as she downed a sip of the water.
“There’s even one neat aspect right here,” Emily said, the tip of her finger pointing to one of the pictures of the floor outside the bathroom stall where the body was found, “Her earrings and jewellery are laid out equidistant on the floor,”
“Sure as hell looks like him,” Rossi said, and she cleared her throat, looking to the older man on her left.
“Like who?” She asked, her eyes snapping to Spencer who opened his mouth to speak, which seemed to be the only time he ever did bother making conversation; when there was a body on their hands.
“Floyd Feylnn Ferrell,” He said, as if the original case had only been wrapped up last week, but then with his memory she wasn’t exactly surprised, “A psychotic cannibal who’d been killing under the radar for years,”
“He killed ten prostitutes and then moved up to low risk victims,” Prentiss added, the rookie’s eyes wide. It wasn’t anything she’d never heard of, but it never made it easier knowing something even worse was coming after the murders.
“He kept slipping through the cracks and avoiding justice so people referred to him as ‘Lucky’” JJ said, her eyes darting over the crime scene photos that seemed to take her back ten years to when they’d seen almost an identical set of photos, like Hotch was about to call ‘Wheels up in twenty’ any minute now.
Rossi sighed, looking at the younger girl who watched him wide eyed, “Have you eaten today, rookie?”
She shook her head dumbly, “Why?”
“Because the worst of it was he owned a barbeque joint,” Her face dropped even more, if that was even possible, “And he fed one of the victims to the search party,”
Her hand flew to her mouth, blinking at the seasoned agent in terror, because that was something she hadn’t ever thought would enter someone’s mind until she heard it. As simple as it sounded, for someone who had seen cases going back twenty, thirty years, some particularly heinous in nature, there were new lengths she didn’t realise a human could ever go to, let alone would.
Penelope stopped, shutting her laptop lid and glancing at JJ in a plea for help, as the thought of what had happened after the Flynn case rushed to the front of her mind, when the guy she’d thought wanted to take her out on a date shot her.
“I have a computer…” The blonde trailed off, heading for the door to the office room with a dazed look in her eyes, and the rookie watched her leave, her neck and palms clammy as she thought about what Rossi had just said.
“I think I have a computer too-” She rushed, and she bolted from her seat before she could think of anything else, dashing after the technical analyst because she feared she was going to throw up if she didn’t get a breath of fresh air.
Spencer watched her hair swish as she scurried out the room, and he wondered how long she would last if she couldn’t stomach just a few photos. He had struggled with the gore at first, sure, but he’d never ran. Maybe he was being cruel, but he couldn’t say that a girl like her exactly fit the part of an FBI agent, she seemed… pure, like driven snow, and if anything he’d hate for the bloodied parts of their job to stain a girl so squeaky clean.
Emily nudged his shoulder, nodding towards her retreating figure when he looked up at her questioningly, “You keep an eye on her in this case. She’s still learning,”
And Spencer grit his teeth, because he hated the idea of babysitting when he had a dozen of his own problems, but he nodded indignantly.
He just hoped she didn’t make things too hard for him.
–
The door swung open behind Lori Flynn, the UnSub’s sister, the midday Florida heat boring down on her back, Spencer bristling at her right as Luke pocketed his badge.
And then there he was. The guy from the photo, his thick, wiry glasses exact matches to the ones he’d been wearing the day he got caught, though she supposed a mental facility didn’t exactly have funds for replacements.
“It’s no problem, Lori, I’ll speak with them,” His voice was a strong southern twang, and almost chillingly calm. His sister looked over her shoulder at him, the woman fretful as she glanced between the four agents, ten years of troubles on her shoulders. She sighed, running a hand over her neck nervously and headed back inside to be with her son, leaving them alone with their suspect on the doorstep, “You’ll have to wait, I’m on my way to church. It’s right around the corner so I’m within the thousand permitted yards from the monitoring station,”
He quickly glanced at where Matt and Luke stood behind her, the former with his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed up the thin, twiggly guy who looked like the type to live in his mother’s basement until he died, not the type to cannibalise and murder.
His eyes darted over to where Reid towered over him, familiarity flicking in his face as he looked at the agent, and he smiled slowly, like something out of a horror, the uncanny valley of a face so normal when she knew he was so sick somewhat terrifying to her. He fed one of the victims to the search party. She heard it rattling around her skull as she saw the whites of his teeth, and she imagined him ripping into her then and there, her hands shaking.
“Hey, I remember you. Where’s your friend, Agent Morgan?” Floyd said, and she felt Spencer tense up beside her, which she guessed meant it was a sore subject as she jumped into the conversation, her lips moving before she could think better of it. She’d always had a habit of talking too much when she was nervous, or to fill gaps, or when she could tell someone was uncomfortable, she’d always been told it was one of her more irksome traits.
“You wouldn’t mind if we took a look around, would you? Just while you’re gone?” She asked politely yet, for once, she regretted ever opening her mouth the second he turned his attention on her.
She felt something cold and dreadful run down her spine as he looked straight at her, his sepia eyes trailing down over her neck, running over her body and down to her hands that fidgeted at her sides.
They waited on baited breath, her stomach flipping with sickness as that manic smile drew even wider, trained solely on her, a thought privy only to himself somewhat amusing to him. She felt herself lean away without even meaning to, incidentally feeling Spencer’s arm bump into hers as she did, and the three men seemed to tense up as they watched Flynn smell the air, savouring every second of it, his eyes blown wide with something unreadable. Lustful yet starved, like he was on a four day fast standing next to an open roast.
“You’re awful pretty for an agent,” Floyd said, that drawling accent of his turning her stomach, and his eyes trailed down over her calves, and she cursed herself for wearing a midi skirt. But she hated jeans on her thighs, hated the way Florida air clung humidly to her skin when she didn’t let it breathe, but she thought she might just hate the way his mouth filled with saliva more, “Do you like running, agent?”
“Sometimes,” She whispered, shrinking in on herself even more as he took a step out of the home.
And Spencer felt his chest drop at the sound of it. She sounded petrified. But then, he would be too if someone his size looked at him like he was a five-course banquet. And he regretted ever thinking of her as babysitting, as defective, because she was clearly trying her best, and this was where it had gotten her. Right on the UnSub’s menu.
“I bet you do a lot of running, chasing after bad guys, huh?” Floyd pushed, leering towards her with another smell of her perfume, and she could have sworn his smile only widened into something cheshire cat-esque. She nodded with a worried gulp, her breath picking up when his hand began moving up to where a rogue stray hair fell out of her bun, running over her collar bone, her heart beating so wild and heavy beneath it.
And it was enough for Spencer to act, because within the blink of an eye, he’d side stepped in front of the rookie who seemed frozen in her spot, and Floyd’s arm was shoved away where it hit Spencer’s bicep. Flynn was forced to stop looking over her clammy skin with heavy swallows like he was imagining just how she would cut and marinate, and instead was confronted with a frown that could send any man scarpering, Spencer’s lips pressed into something furious, his shoulders seeming only more broad than they usually did when he purposely blocked Flynn’s view from her.
“You’d better get going, Floyd,” Spencer said, his voice a deadly sort of calm, and his arm stuck out behind him to keep her where she was as he spoke, “You’re going to be late for church,”
And Flynn listened, despite his smarmy smile as he dared a look at her when he passed by, despite the fact his eyes trailed back down to her jugular like he was ready to sever it there and then to string her up and cure.
Spencer’s hand fished around his pocket, glaring at the back of Floyd’s head as he strolled down the street, tossing the keys to Alvez, “Take her back to the car, don’t let her out of your sight,”
And the two of them listened while he and Matt swept the house, because anyone would be insane not to when Spencer looked so angry he could have put a hole through Flynn’s head without blinking an eye.
–
“Eating people, who eats people, what on earth is that all about,” She muttered, the four of them in the SUV heading back to the station. She sat at the front with Spencer where he drove because Luke and Matt were gentlemen and had offered her the extra leg room, and Spencer had zero qualms because he was under strict instruction to keep an eye on her.
She did that alot, he realised. Muttered when she was thinking about something. Where he went deadly silent when troubled, too focused on sorting through the mental files that seemed to be so resistant to organise these days, she was his entire opposite, always talking or humming a tune under her breath or playing an invisible set of piano notes on her knee, something to always keep the space filled.
He’d hated it the first few days, the sound like a blaring alarm coming from over by her desk, cutting through his limited attention span, grating on his nerves and making him have to bite his tongue to stop himself from yelling at her to shut the fuck up. But then, it wasn’t exactly personal to her, even the sound of the coffee machine had been enough to pull at his hair in frustration. At twelve years old, it spluttered and whirred and kicked back at every drink it made, every second of it winding Spencer’s patience up like a jack in the box.
But he found himself listening in on her mumbles, glancing over at how her frown screwed up her doe eyes, her lip pulling between her teeth whenever there was a tiny pause in between her words, before she started again. He’d quickly realised it was the easiest cheat in the book to know when something was bothering her, that she was so much of an open book, not at all cold and guarded like him or so many other profilers he knew, that he wouldn’t need to bother deducing her like she was his next UnSub to know what was wrong. She would just tell him as it was, wear everything vulnerable on her face.
“Something the matter?” He pressed, Luke also keeping a close watch on her from the back seat as she shook her head to herself, and her head snapped over to the driver’s side, her expression entirely caught even though she’d not exactly been subtle about her turmoil.
“M-me? “ She pointed to herself, and Spencer nodded, trying not to smile because sometimes she could be clueless, not the dumb kind but something sweet, naive, and he found himself somewhat jealous that she didn’t need to be the smartest person in the room to be worth something, she could just be herself, “Yeah, I guess I just,” She huffed, running her hands over her skirt, “I don’t get why anyone would want to eat someone else, it just-” She shivered, not in a theatrical or fake way but like a ghost had walked over her grave just thinking about Floyd smelling at her.
“Some cultures used to cannibalise other members of their society as funerary practices as early as twenty-four thousand years ago,” Spencer said, and she stopped fidgeting to listen to him, “There’s evidence that the Magdelanians in North Europe used to turn their dead’s skulls into cups they would then drink out of,”
“That I can understand, those guys were probably starving and it’s not like they can just chow down on a damn sabertooth as an easy lunch or something,” She said, and he bit his lip from stopping her to explain that the two of them were about four thousand years apart from one another, “But like, when there’s a burger king or taco bell on every corner, why are you eating women. Who eats women for breakfast lunch and dinner, like raise your hands which one of you would ever eat a woman,”
Luke sniggered, and Matt smirked at the innuendo of it, the double meaning of her words flying entirely over her head.
“I dunno, Alvez, do you like eating women?” Simmons asked, a smug grin in his words as the boys cackled childishly, and Spencer rolled his eyes with amusement.
“Pretty partial to it actually,” Luke chimed in, and she whirled in her seat to look behind her of scepticism, “How about you, Reid?”
“You guys are so weird,” She murmured, and Spencer took a quick glance off the road to see her looking entirely baffled, her feathers ruffled at the fact she was left out of the joke.
“They’re talking about oral sex,” He explained, because he remembered when that had been him for the longest time, and how it had made him feel like the butt of every punchline to not understand why everyone would smile at him knowingly, yet he found himself doing the exact same to her, his lips twitching at their corners.
Spencer watched her scoff, looking back at the two grown children in the back, “I take it back, you guys aren’t weird, your gross. Why can’t you be mature like Spencer?” She huffed, sitting back in her seat and fixing her skirt, “See if you were grownups like Agent Reid and I, you’d know the term isn’t eating a woman, it’s called focalratio,”
Matt pulled a face of confusion, flicking his eyes to her, “Isn’t that to do with a camera lens?”
“Do you mean fellatio?” Spencer asked, trying his hardest not to smirk because he didn’t want to make her feel stupid, except she just waved a hand at him.
“That’s what I said. I see why they call you Doctor Read and not Doctor Listen,” She giggled at her own words, watching the trees go by her passenger window, almost entirely oblivious to the way Spencer’s face cracked into a grin, something easy and charmed in his chest.
And for a moment, he saw exactly what Penelope had been talking about when she wouldn’t stop talking about how likeable she was and how it was harder to hate her than it was to love her.
Luke took a sip of his water, the bottle nearing the end as the Florida sun warmed it up, and he figured he might as well finish it before it became stagnant and undrinkable.
“Actually the term fellatio describes only male genitalia, the female equivalent would be cunnilingus-” Spencer explained, and he knew she was listening because he felt her eyes on the side of his face as he spoke, except he was cut off by the sound of her screaming so loud he nearly slammed on the breaks then and there.
“LUKE!” She yelled, and when Spencer looked, she had water dripping down the back of her hair, soaking her shirt to her skin, her black bra straps suddenly clear as day as they pressed against her dove white top. Alvez looked mortified, and he found himself apologising between coughs, water dribbling down his chin where he’d been so shocked to hear that word coming from Spencer’s mouth that he’d completely forgone swallowing and simply spat the whole thing out right through the gap between the headrest and the seat.
And Spencer laughed; it was quiet and foreign and nothing on the roaring cacophony coming from Matt in the back, as her and Luke descended into a squabble, her proclaiming him as a disgusting alpaca man as she tried to dry herself off with his jacket. But she caught it, the small chuckle coming from her left, and she looked at him, the sodden shirt almost forgotten when she saw him laugh.
She thought then that she wanted to make him laugh like that a million more times. And she knew she had it bad for Spencer Reid all over again.
#em’s inbox ᯓ★#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#matthew gray gubler x reader#sunshine!reader#post prison!spencer reid x reader
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Being spencer’s girlfriend and meeting the team for the first time? I think it would be cute!!!! 🫶🏻
it WOULD be super cute! thank you so much! i got huge sibling vibes from the team while writing this so hope that’s okay too!
the tray holding yours and your boyfriends coffee wobbles slightly in your hand as the elevator doors ping open, giving you full view of the bau offices, your eyes widening when you realise just how big it was
caught up with staring you almost forget to actually step out of the elevator, the doors sliding shut just as you manage to pass through them, somehow keeping hold of the coffee's as you do
suddenly it dawns on you that you don't really know where to find spencer. big glass doors separate you from the offices and people whizz up and down the hallway behind you, none of them paying the slightest bit of attention to you
you use your shoulder to push the doors open just enough to squeeze through and when you turn you realise the office is mostly empty, a few people sat at desks but luckily, spencer is there too, stood by what you assume is his desk, looking down at a chess board
"hi," you greet him quietly as you walk up to him, your voice muffled by your, his, scarf that's snug around your neck, "spence," you say slightly louder when he doesn't acknowledge you
he turns, looking thoroughly confused, his features softening when he notices you just feet away from him, "hey honey, what are you doing here?" he asks, rushing to take the small tray of coffee out of your hands before you drop it
pulling at the scarf you start unraveling it from around your front, "well you forgot your lunch, so i was going to bring it but then i also forgot it," you explain, cheeks reddening, "so instead i got pastries and coffee" you finish, waving a paper bag in his direction with a smile
spencer chuckles at you, "thank you," he wraps an arm around you, pulling you in, his lips pressing against your forehead, "is it snowing outside?" he asks, pulling away, his eyes darting to the window and then back at you
"how'd you know?" you question, head titling slightly
gentle fingers push your baby hairs back, "you have snow in your hair sweetheart," he says softly, his fingers dropping to wrap around your wrist, pulling you into the small space by his desk, "here, sit" he reaches over to grab an empty wheelie chair from the desk next to his
with a soft sigh you fall back into the seat, it rolls back slightly, the back hitting the edge of the desk, "where is everyone?" you ask, watching your boyfriend sit directly in front of you, your knees bumping his
"uh," he looks around while you pull pastries from the bag, "they must all be on lunch" he comes to a conclusion with a slight shrug, "it's never usually this quiet"
you slide the bag over to him and pull your knees up to your chest before balancing your croissant on your knee while you turn to grab your coffee, making sure you have the one with less sugar in it
slowly your chair starts to spin, spencer's eyes widening slightly as it does. he shuffles closer, extending his legs either side of you, holding you in place, "where did you get these?" he asks, eyeing up his apricot danish which already has a bite missing
"the market," you answer with a nod, "we have to go there this week, please," you smile softly, knowing full well he would never dream of saying no to you
spencer's eyes flicker up, behind you and then back to you, "of course, honey" he says as other voices start to fill the office space, "they're back"
your eyes widen at him, not daring to look over your shoulder at the people. somehow you sink further into your chair, the huge scarf falling around you like a blanket. meeting the bau was inevitable but not right now, not while you have flakes of pastry over your leggings and snow soaking your hair
"hey guys," spencer smiles slightly as people start to wander over. in your head you start naming them, emily and jj come over first, david and aaron on their tails and behind them, penelope with derek's arm thrown around her shoulder
"hey kid, you didn't tell us you were expecting company," david says, standing behind your boyfriend, hands on his shoulders while the older man smiles at you
"well actual-"
"aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?" derek says, teasing, like a sibling would. spencer scowls at him, though there's no heat behind it, causing you to giggle into your coffee
you can tell spencer contemplates just saying no but eventually he sighs, "honey, this is the bau," he gestures at his colleagues and you stifle a laugh, "guys, this is my girlfrien-"
"girlfriend?!" penelope shrieks, cutting spencer off. she shakes derek off of her to move closer, "oh my, you're gorgeous! how long? why didn't i know?" she finishes, whacking spencer on the shoulder
aaron and david pat your boyfriend on the back, like fathers would before brushing past, sending you gentle smiles as they do, retreating back to their offices.
the girls, plus morgan, pull up their own chairs, forming a sort of semi circle in front of you. "so, spill," emily says, gesturing between you and spencer
"what do you want to know," spencer replies, ripping an iced bun in half. he offers you the bigger bit, smiling to himself when you ooh excitedly.
jj sighs, exasperated but still light hearted, "how you met, how long you've been together, everything spence, c'mon"
"we met at a farmers market, he accidentally ran into me, spilt hot," you shoot a look at your boyfriend who stares at his lap with a slight smile, "chocolate down me but then he bought me flowers to say sorry and i was a goner from there," you explain
penelope opens her mouth but spencer beats her to it, "sunflowers"
"that was," you trail off, thinking, "just over a year ago now" you know spencer too well, already looking at him, eyebrow raised, "go on"
"four hundred and two days and counting" he says with a grin, leaning over slightly to brush crumbs off of your scarf
derek holds his hands up, "hold on, you've had a girlfriend for over a year and never thought to mention it" he says, the others nodding in agreement
"aaron and david knew," you slide into the conversation, throwing spencer under the bus, he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.
“why would you say that?” spencer asks you desperately, you shrug and sit back, watching as jj, emily and morgan burst into chatter, offended that they weren't told while penelope silently scoots over to you
"is that the scarf i made him?" she asks and you nod, knowing it was her christmas gift to him last year, "ohmygod, i'm going to make you a matching one, don't argue, you won't win!" she says all smiley
"when were you going to tell us? at your wedding?"
"no! it jus-"
"boy, do not say it just didn't come up, do not make me smack you in front of your girlfriend"
jj stands, rolling her eyes at the boys arguing while emily jumps in every now and then, fuelling the fire, "great to meet you, we will arrange a girls night soon"
"oh yes, of course! lovely to meet you, finally" you laugh before she wanders away from the scene still unfolding, "are they always like this?" you ask penelope, offering her the bag of goodies
"oh you're my new favourite person," she hums, taking a donut from the bag, "and yes, they're always like this, welcome to the chaos, enjoy your stay"
leaning back in your seat to fully observe, you scoff, "oh i will"
thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily!! send prompts to my ask box!
❥ spencer reid masterlist !!
#❥ my works#spencer reid#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x fem!readr#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds#❥ spencer reid#❥ spencer reid fic rec#❥ my spencer works#❥ spencer reid drabbles
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driving lessons
lando norris x reader
a/n: just wanted to get back into writing and i've gotten super into F1 the last few months
"Alright, y'ready to start?" Lando asks from the passenger seat.
You hum, running a hand over the gear shift.
"Yeah. Let's get this shit over with."
Lando chuckles at that, rolling his eyes. It's weird for him, turning his head the other way to look at you in the driver's seat of his McLaren. He usually hates to give up control, especially when driving is involved.
"You might start to really like it once you get confident." He suggests. "Might even put me out of a job if I'm not careful."
You double check in the rearview mirror one more time. It's a crisp, early morning on a quiet residential street that Lando picked for you to practice your driving in. He's determined for you to pass your upcoming drivers' test and finally get a license. When he'd approached you about teaching you to drive a few weeks ago you'd jumped to the wrong conclusion.
"I'm sorry if I ask you to drive me around too often," you'd apologised immediately. "You can always say no, I don't mind getting an Uber or catching the train."
"Nah, it's not that, lovie," he'd corrected you, pulling your body closer on the couch and resting his curly head atop of yours. "I like being useful to you and driving you places. I just worry about you when I'm away, there's always so many creeps on public transport. I just want you to be safe."
Your heart had squeezed at his words. Maybe he was right, maybe it was time to finally learn to drive?
"You're all clear." he informed you, twisting around to double check the road behind you. "Just take off the handbrake, put the car into drive and pull into the road, okay?"
You do as he says, switching on your indicator before pulling out.
"Oh yeah," he laughs his famously high pitched laugh. "Definitely indicate too, good idea."
"I'm better at this than you already." you laugh.
You continue to drive along the narrow streets, slowing down to let a stray cat scamper across the road. Lando seems to grow impatient at the pace, motioning for you to speed up a bit, please.
“I didn’t know this car could go so slowly.” he says, rolling his eyes. “Gonna have to have a word with McLaren about it.”
He directs you to an intersection and you blink at the sight of so many cars whizzing past.
"Lan, help me," you turn to him with wide eyes.
"You're fine, love." He grins. "Wait for your gap and then merge the way they're going."
"But they're going so fast." You say. "What if I time it wrong and fuck up your car? This is not the ideal car for someone who can't actually drive."
"This is a great car." he defends.
"The doors open up instead of out." you deadpan. "This car is out of my league."
He shrugs as he stretches out in his seat, the picture of relaxation.
"I've added you onto my insurance as a learner driver," he says casually, almost yawning. "It'll be fine."
You ignore the butterflies in your stomach at his statement and follow his instructions, carefully merging in behind another car. Lando cheers, placing his big hand on your thigh and lightly tracing his fingertips along your inner leg.
"Stop that!" you shriek, slapping his hand away.
"Huh?" he blinks at you in confusion. "I'm being a loving boyfriend? I love when you have your hand on my leg while I drive, I thought you'd like it too?" he splutters.
You take one hand off the wheel and bring it to your mouth to hide your laughter.
"No," you say, cheeks tinged with a pink blush. "I physically can't concentrate on the road when you're touching me. Like I cannot think about anything else but you."
It's Lando's turn to blush now and he turns his face towards his window to hide it, pretending to be oh so invested in the stores you drive past. He knows the effect you have on each other, but it gives him butterflies to be reminded of how you see him. You've only been together a few months and he gets overwhelmed at how quickly you can turn him from a confident, sometimes even cocky guy to a pile of pink mush and hearts in seconds.
"Right," he blows a puff of air out his cheeks. "You're doing great at this. Maybe we can get you driving the Jolly next?"
thank you for reading! feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated <3
#lando norris x reader#lando norris x y/n#lando norris x you#lando norris fluff#lando norris#f1 fic#f1 instagram au#f1 x reader#formula one x reader#formula one smau
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Text
Stay With Me
pairing: spencer reid x reader
summary: "you’ve been shot countless times, huh?”
“that sounded a bit more reassuring in my head.”
genre: angst & fluff
word count: 1.1k
author's notes: almost a year of no writing, but i'm finally home (i posted a new fic)! it's been one hectic year for me. uni was crazy & i started my clinical rotations. plus, i did my thesis & it even got a distinction mark so i'll be presenting it at a research congress pretty soon (yay!). with that, i'm really sorry for ghosting ao3 & tumblr. i couldn't find the time to insert it in between uni & breaking down lol. anyway, i'll be posting a lot more while i'm on break. i hope you'll enjoy reading my first fic after a year of zzz. have fun! also posted on ao3 (spencereids).
YOU CAN HEAR SIRENS AND PEOPLE SHOUTING.
They say when you are knocking on death’s door, hearing is the last of your senses you will lose. If you’re dying, you don’t know it. Nothing makes sense at the moment. It’s all just blurry hues of blues and reds and shouting—Stay with me—the smell of something metallic. The only thing you’re sure of right now is that your head hurts and it seemed like a van ran right through you with how achy your body feels right now.
Who’s that? You mused. Why are they yelling at me? I’m right here. You turned your head slightly and tried to open your eyes.
It’s quite the task.
“T-That’s it,” The person, whom you think was yelling at you, said. “Stay with me, Y/N. Don’t close your eyes.”
You groaned and gripped the person's hand tightly as if to stand up, but you couldn't. Everything ached. And the person holding you, just kept on talking, their voice a low murmur at first. But even through the haze of pain, it was starting to sound familiar. You recognized that dulcet tone, the rich, smooth sound that could captivate your attention with random facts or lull you to sleep with equal ease.
The voice, you realized with a flicker of a smile, belonged to Spencer, its familiar cadence a warm current cutting through the blossoming pain.
“Reid?” You croaked.
Your throat’s dryer than any other desert in existence right now. And you sound worse than you look—you think—you don’t know for sure, except the fact that you can’t move much.
“It’s me,” Spencer chuckled while sniffling. “I’m right here.”
“What’s going on?”
Even through the haze of pain, a new wave of discomfort bloomed in your shoulder, sharp and insistent. Before you could react and get up, Spencer's hand tightened on yours, his voice laced with a tremor you'd never heard before. "Don't move, Y/N. You've been shot."
He applied pressure on your wound—which you just noticed. The pain hit you in a delayed wave, a white-hot stab that stole your breath. You hissed a weak sound that did little to mask the spike in your heart rate.
"Stop moving or you're gonna bleed out even more!" Spencer's voice, usually so calm and collected, was laced with a raw panic you'd never heard before.
"Easy there, tiger," you tried to joke, your voice raspy. "I've been through worse. I’ve been shot countless times. W-why are you so worried?"
The question came out in a shaky whisper, the concern evident in his voice a stark contrast to the usual intellectual debates you shared.
Spencer's grip tightened, momentarily cutting off your circulation. "Because you could have died, Y/N!" he snapped, his voice cracking with a choked sob. "You… you were…"
He trailed off, unable to put into words the terrifying image that had flashed before him when he saw you collapse, after hearing the sound of a bullet whizzing by and hitting you.
The sight of your vulnerability stripped away his usual composure, leaving a raw fear he couldn't conceal. It took him a moment to regain his composure, his voice softening as he continued, "You shouldn't be so glib about this. It was a nasty shot, close to a major artery."
Despite the pain, a warmth bloomed in your chest. You'd never seen Spencer like this, so shaken and afraid.
"Okay," you murmured, forcing a weak snicker. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, at least I got you to patch me up, right, Dr.Reid?"
A ghost of a smile glinted across his face, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Hold still," he mumbled, amused but also bothered at your dreadful timing for jokes. He applied pressure more gently this time. "You’ve been shot countless times, huh?”
“That sounded a bit more reassuring in my head” You quipped.
A bit lightheaded from the pain, you clutched Spencer’s hand. The shriek of approaching sirens and the glare of headlights cut through the haze. You struggled to focus on the lifeline thrown in a storm of confusion.
"They're here," Spencer said, his voice tight. A sheen of sweat beaded on his forehead, a stark contrast to his usual cool composure.
"About time," you rasped, trying to lighten the mood. The effort cost you a fresh wave of dizziness, the world tilting slightly on its axis.
To which, Spencer shot you a look that was half-annoyed, half-worried. "Don't try to be a hero. You're losing a lot of blood. Any movement can dislodge the clot forming in your wound, renewing the bleeding. So, stop moving!"
"Just keeping things interesting," you mumbled, the words slurring slightly. “Wouldn’t want my last moments here on earth to be so grim…”
Spencer's jaw clenched for a moment, then he sighed, the sound heavy with relief. "You always were a pain," He muttered, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You’re going to be okay, he thought.
The sirens reached a fever pitch, pulling up right beside you. A flurry of activity erupted as paramedics swarmed, the rest of the team trying to make sure you were tended to and that you were going to be okay, their movements a bit panicked but practiced, and efficient. Relief washed over you, a sweet wave that threatened to pull you under.
"Hold on, Y/N," Spencer said, his voice desperate despite the composure of his words. He kept his hand pressed firmly on your wound, his touch a grounding anchor in the chaos. “Help is here. Everyone’s here. Just… stay with me, okay?"
"Going somewhere," you slurred, your eyelids drooping.
"No, you're not," he said fiercely, his voice barely a whisper above the shouts of the paramedics. "You're coming with us."
You coughed a sharp rasp that sent a jolt of pain through your shoulder. "Stats say shoulder wounds aren't usually fatal," you wheezed, trying to distract yourself from the ache.
Spencer's hand stilled for a moment, looking at you like you’ve grown a second head. "What?"
"Yeah," you continued, your voice weak but persistent. "L-look, I get it, you're scared. But statistically, shoulder wounds aren't as serious..." Your voice trailed off as a wave of nausea washed over you.
"Maybe you shouldn't be reciting medical statistics right now," Spencer said sharply, his voice laced with a hint of panic.
“S-shouldn’t that be my line, boy genius?” You continued to joke, as the world dissolved into a scramble of flashing lights and blurry faces.
The last thing you registered was the feel of Spencer's hand tightening around yours, his touch a silent promise that resonated louder than any siren.
#criminal minds#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds angst#spencer reid#spencer reid fandom#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid angst#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#mgg#spencer reid drabble#the bau team#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid x oc
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