Fem Reader - Blog Posts

WHERE LOVE GROWS

jane volturi x fem! reader

JANE IS AGED UP TO SEVENTEEN (was on the cusp of being eighteen)

This is probably a two partner series. If not, I'm sorry.

Reader is written to be any skin color, height, and body type. (When I say 'pale', I mean for your skin color, aka just tired or bleeding out.)

Look at this! I'm writing fan fiction!

There is no smut but there is a small make out, if you don't like that i understand. but you could also skip it.

I don't use y/n, I use (name) or [name] so if you hate that, sorry ig.

Warnings; blood, makeouts, attempted burning at the stake, throat slitting, bodies, jumping.

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"JANE! ALEC! RUN!" The (haircoloured) teen screams, groaning when a villager yanks on her long, (textured) locks. The stronger male winding her hair around in his locked fist. (Name) just barely catching the terrified twins running off into the darkness.

Good. She thinks. Better me than them.

"You thick fool! Damn your blood!" The larger burly man yells loudly. His spittle hitting the side of her face, while (name) scrunched away in disgust.

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(Name) pulls her wicker basket off the splintering wooden table. Nodding to her father in acknowledgement when he enters their houses lower floor

"I don' wan' you goin' o'er there so much." The older (lastname) male states. Placing one hand out onto his hip while (name) manoeuvred around the taller male. Sneakily taking a few bread and other food preservatives and chucking them into the basket. Snatching a cleaned cloth piece to put discretely on top, covering the goodies.

"But papa, if I don't go they'll starve!" (Name) protests, adding in a throwaway bible quote as the seventeen year old plants a small kiss on her fathers cheek. The teen exiting her house with only her token basket and cloak soon after, shivering slightly from the unexpected cold, she pulls her hood up.

She wasn't wrong by any means. The village people had a nasty habit of isolating anybody different by any stretch of the word. And sadly enough their sights had been set on a shy pair of siblings since their 'unnatural' birth. Their crime? Being twins in the sixteenth century.

(Name) skips a little on her already practically carved in path. The teen following her already made footsteps etched into the hard dirt from years and years of walking. The woods were thankfully quiet, no harmful animals inhabitanting the slowly dying lands. All the 'men' hunted them down.

(Name) rolls her eyes at the thought of the villagers. You can hunt down a sleeping fox but you wait until their mother's dead for truly torment her children? The way she saw it, they were all just a bunch of bullies.

The (skincoloured) girl makes it of course safely to her destination. Raising her knuckles to the rotting wooden door. The door loudly creaking open quickly after revealing the face of- Jane.

Sweet, freckled, lovely Jane stood calmly at the door, in all of her beautiful glory. The (haircoloured) perking up almost like an excites puppy at the sight of her blonde lover.

(Name) pulling her hood down with a doopy smile painted on her face. "It's me!"

"It wouldn't have been anyone else." Jane deadpans, stepping aside to let her girlfriend bypass her and place the 'stolen' treats on the table. Ok, maybe she wasn't as sweet as (name) had previously made her out to be. But who cared? (name) had more than enough sweetness for the both of them.

With such differing personalities, neither of them really knew how they had even gotten together. Not to mention the unforgivable fact that they were both girls and one was an unwelcomed outcast. But they had, against the odds.

And while they were perfectly proud of their earned love, they weren't as brave or as stupid to think that everyone else would be. So they hid their relationship of course. Chaste evening kisses and small make outs here and there being as far as they could've gone without Jane's brother alec catching on. The poor oblivious boy. Speaking of said boy-

"Alec's out." Jane states, not even needing much of a prompt to give up the wear abouts of her twin. The blonde seemingly noticing when (name)'s eyes trailed around the weathered down cottage.

(Name) only smiles, walking over to the cabinets (she knows her way around) and reaching upwards for two plates to grab before a pair of arms enclose around her waist. The now startled teen letting out a little yelp.

Her blonde lover only chuckles, pushing her longtime 'friend' up against the wooden countertop and planting a few feverish kisses on her mouth. "Love-the-the-food!" (Name) practically whines against the other girls mouth. Jane swallowing down any of her girlfriends stuttered complaints, her paleish hands rising to skillfully unlace (name)'s corset. An act that flusters the (taller/shorter) girl even more.

Jane shushes her, lightly dragging her tongue against (name) 's bottom lip, tugging the upper half of the teens dress down to pinch and pry at the soft (coloured) skin.

"I've been craving you all weekend." The slightly older girl disconnecting their lips in favor of leaving wearing hot open mouthed kisses down her lovers neck.

The blonde ducks her head into her girls neck. Against her better judgement biting harshly and leaving an array of multicoloured marks imbedded in her lovers neck. Driving the (haircoloured) girl deeper into the counter. She's always been a little unnaturally strong.

(Name) lets out a small moan, trying in vain to cover her mouth with one hand while the other stayed firmly clutched to the poor countertop. A especially hard nip to her sweet spot sends her eyes rolling into the back of her head, her mind numbing.

"J-jane!"

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(Name) is thrown roughly to the splintering wooden ground. The teen sitting up quickly after, her hand coming up to clutch at her busted, bleeding lip that one of these assholes had given her.

"Where did they run off too?" Lefoy forgaity, the leader of this little possé questioned, the short yet stout older man kneals with a smirk down to her eye level.

(Name)'s eyes narrow, her lips drawing subconsciously into a sneer before she feels her head back. Lunging forward and sending a fat spitwad out of her mouth, it splating directly onto his big fat dumb face. The townies behind her all gasp

Lefoy gives the girl a fearsome glare, raising his hand back and slapping her right back into the ground. (Name) bracing her arms for the discomfort as the villagers cheer around her at the abuse.

In the crowd, (name) looks up to see her father the coward of a man refusing to meet her gaze. The (skincoloured) teen giving a shakes exhale. Oh that's how they knew where i was. Traitor.

The villagers continue to slap her around for a little. Though less in interrogation and more in just prolonged mocking. Them all taking hits and jeering at the teen when they realized her father was doing nothing to hold them back.

(Name) spits the contents of her mouth out onto the dirty floor. Openly glaring at her perpetrators as dark red blood dribbles down her chin.

The (haircoloured) girl chuckles, wiping away said blood with her hand, dragging it onto her dress shortly after. Not like I'll need it soon.

"Where are they?!"

For the life of her (name) doesn't even know why they want them in the first place. They had all just marched their merrily way up to the twins cottage, spouting insults and such. Alec had just gotten back from fishing, carrying a grey pale of fish, excited that he'd brought food home. The girls only having time to hurriedly fix (name) 's dress.

(Name) had of course told them to run, thinking she'd be able to talk the townies down, but obviously, they were mad at her too.

She couldn't tell them where the two where if they paid her. Though, even with the money, she'd never. Instead taking the beating, now bruised, bloody and a little disoriented.

"You devilish kitchen whore! Where are the witches?!"

(Name) shakes her head, raising her arm in defense once she notices another townie step up from the collective cluster. Yelping a little when her hair is the victim again. Her poor scalp.

"I said I don't know!"

The girl is thrown to the floor once again, with a hard punch. This time it luckily landing on her cheek, she doesn't think she can take any more mouth punches. "Witches whore!" An involuntary tear runs down her face, her eyes watered and red from the pain. She wipes it away quickly, she refuses to allow the monsters to see her cry.

Her torment is interrupted by a lanky man running out of the woods, screaming bloody murder about something. "We've found em'! We've got em'!"

(Name) shakes her head in disbelief, "No." She takes a small, painful breath. Jumping up and pushing one of the men away from her. Using the villagers shock to her use and running painfully of into the woods.

They shouldn't be able to find her easily, she knew the woods better than anyone.

(Name) doesn't even know what she's doing. The teen doesn't have a sound plan in mind, probably the concussion. She thinks bitterly. She's run off her path.

Speeding up while grabbing at the surrounding trees whenever she loses her balance momentarily. She hears the townies loudly going off behind her, tipping and cheering at the chase she's giving. (Name)'s blood runs cold and she swears her heart skips many beats.

The overgrown branches nip and drag at her legs and feet. Leaving bright angry red scratches wherever they touched at her sheer speed.

(Name) makes it into town, running wildly around the dirt street, looking for the twins. She stopped herself from screaming out their names, not wanting to draw out any left over villagers. Stopping and hiding sometimes whenever she felt off balance.

Smoke's toxic smell soon fills her nostrils and makes (name) stop right in her tracks. Looking up into the sky and following the mass of black smoke seeping into the once clear blue sky.

Town square!

The seventeen year old takes off again. Running thoughtlessly into the no doubt most popular part of town.

Bypassing the idle townies who she doesn't give a second glance, her arm outstretched towards the slowly burning pyre. Her eyes staying completely on Jane's teary blue ones, who look at her in both shock and horror.

Why-

(Name) is grabbed from behind, yanked right off her feet a knife planted on her throat. No!

She barley registers Jane's loud scream of her name over her own loud heartbeat. The organ practically ramming itself against her rib cage. Poor Alec looking like he'll pass out any minute.

(Name) keeps her drifting eyes on jane. Sweet jane who has a bruise forming near her eyebrow and rope burns around her neck. Her sparsely freckled lovers crystal blue eyes blearing from smoke or tears she can't tell. Lovely jane with her body wrestling against the rope and glaring angrily at the townspeople who curse and yell bible quotes to the three.

Jane deafening scream brings (name) back into the present, her mouth going dry while the metallic taste of blood fills it. A thin slash of red is painted against her throat. The villager behind her spout something about the devil to the now dying girl.

Oh, her throats been slit.

The (haircoloured) girl opens her mouth, closing it quickly after as she soon falls to her knees. Her head knocking against the ground while she clutched half heartedly at her bloody throat. The thick red substance running through her fingers while she gasps for breath, her unblinking eyes looking around the separating crowd and settling on her body.

"(Name)! Look at me!" Her blonde lover screams, gaining the bleeding girls attention, the paling girl looking up to her friend's slowly burning pyre.

"I-i-" The blood trailing into a circle around her body. A foggyness filling the teens head as she registers her fate. I am going to die.

She's rapidly bleeding out in front of her girlfriends eyes, and she can't do anything to stop it. (Name)'s hand falls to the ground next to her, the teen no longer having the strength to keep it up. At least she's dying before Jane.

Jane takes deep breaths in and out as she watches the light leave (name)'s eyes. Her (coloured) eyes becoming, lifeless and her body finally slumping down into a limp. She wants this entire town to burn. She wants the villagers to hurt to feel incomprehensible levels of pain. Jane stares emptily at the people below her, her eyes falling mostly on a certain town Baker. How could you? That's your daughter.

Not even sparing a glance at the strange looking men who now flank the town square. A dark haired male walking up to the pyre while the entire town is restrained by his lackeys. Well, entire town minus one girl.

The long haired male arrested himself as aro and with his unnatural beauty he somehow convinces the town to pawn the twins off onto him and his group.

Jane and Alec being turned and subsequently coming back in their newborn thirst to slaughter the town shortly after.

The newly turned vampire stops short right in town square. Clenching her fists by her side, her loves fathers blood dripping from her chin. They hadn't even had the gall to bury her body.

The blonde lowers herself to gently hold the dead girl to her chest. Closing her eyes for a moment while stroking her hair. She should've protected her.

The earth is silent around her as Jane raises her lovers deceased hand. Pulling the wrist towards her mouth and biting down, injecting her venom in quickly after. She'll deal with the consequences later. After (name) opens her crimson red eyes and her body moves anew with the life that was taken from her in this very spot. After Jane tears into her newly changed lover for pulling such a dangerous stunt. After (name) lives. She'll deal with any punishment for such a crime.

When her bite didn't change anything Jane lets out a heartbreaking dry sob, lowering her head into her (name)'s neck. A small sense of deja vu from only a day earlier washing over her. Jane chuckles bitterly. If only she could warn herself.

The vampire bites down on her neck this time, a bit harsher than before, more desperate. Punching down angrily and creating a crack in the stone when nothing happens again. Why couldn't they have come earlier?

" 'M sorry," Jane gives tearful apologies to no one, breathing in the last of her girls fading scent. Digging her pale, sharp fingers into (name)'s torso. No doubt creating small punctures into the dead girls body. Flashes of her time with (name) speed past whenever she closed her eyes. Jane letting out small hiccuped sobs that the surrounding vampires would no doubt hear. Not finding it in her to care for privacy. Only attempting to quiet herself when she hears footsteps behind her.

"Jane." A unnamed volturi member speeds up behind the mourning girl. The pity in his voice pisses Jane off. "We must be going, daylight's soon."

How dare he? Jane's blood red eyes narrow into slits. Rush her? A word goes off in her brain, ricocheting around the forever stunted cavity. Jane turns her head around, staring unnervingly at the older looking vampire. Her face, blank of emotion, arms still gripping her lovers long dead carcass protectively. Her thirst not even on her mind. He wants to separate us. Like they did.

And there, in the leveled village, with her arms entrapped around her only love, her head dizzy with red hot rage and face sticky with the blood of her victims. She opens her mouth and whispers her now coveted word.

"Pain."

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Think it lowkey fell off at the end there but I liked it. There'll probably be a part two so watch out for that ig. Bye.

Do the dead comfort you? Pt.2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Spencer does all he can to save you from the hands of a psychotic unsub, and he makes a promise to remain by your side in the aftermath of the ordeal.

Content: Dead bodies once again, (tw) torture, stalking, breakdowns, hospital visits, blood, (tw) sexual assault, trauma, Spencer to the rescue & being a tad protective of the pretty girl he only met once before, the reader realizes she can't use her morbid sense of humor to cope with everything, hurt/comfort I guess?

Author's note: Here’s part two!!! I was listening to Ethel's new album while writing this and holy moly I was in the zone and wrote most of it in one go. (Pulldrone is exactly what was playing when I wrote the scenes while she was kidnapped and I feel like the eery ambiance encapsulates the utter sense of dread and despair that hits the reader once she realizes how serious the situation is). Hope you all enjoy <33

Let me know if you guys want a part 3!!

5,331 words (it’s a long one aha)

part one

masterlist

When you finally managed to open your eyes again, a sharp, dull pain radiated through your skull. The harsh fluorescent lights above didn't help as they glared down at you. At least you weren't on the floor. Nope, just restrained to an ice-cold metal slab. Fancy that. This must be how all my patients feel before I embalm them.

You attempted to look around the room but the bright lights from above prevented you from doing so. As you regained consciousness, you began to realize that both your wrists and ankles were restrained to the embalming table. And you were only in your underwear. The panic had begun to set in and you tugged at the restraints, but to no avail, they wouldn’t budge.

"Struggling won't help", a voice echoed through the room, "I made sure of that."

Your head snapped to the right as you took in the man who now began leaning over you. At first, he didn't even look real. He stood over you, bathed in the cold, sterile glow of the morgue’s overhead lights, his figure stretched and distorted by your disoriented mind. A nightmare stitched together from shadows and flesh, from surgical steel and the sickly scent of embalming fluid. His eyes—God, his eyes—weren’t just looking at you; they were studying you, cataloging every inch of your body as if you were a specimen he was about to dissect.

On any normal day, his face may have been forgettable, the kind you’d pass on the street without a second thought. But at this moment, in this place, it was the only thing in the world. The sharp angles of his cheekbones cast deep, skeletal hollows in his skin, making him look half-dead, like something that had crawled out of the very slabs you worked on everyday. His mouth curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile, wasn’t quite a sneer—just wrong, like he wasn’t used to making expressions that mimicked human emotion.

Then came his voice, it slithered into your ears, so sickly sweet that it made you nauseous, "You’re quite the fighter, aren’t you? But they all stop fighting eventually.”

You tried your best to focus on anything else at that moment, the details of everything else but him. The thin, latex gloves that he wore, they were stretched way too tight across his knuckles. The way his coat —a pristine white lab coat, because of course it was—fluttered slightly as he moved, the motion strangely elegant. You could smell him too. He smelled clean, too clean, like antiseptic and soap, but underneath that all was something rotten, something decayed. Maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe it wasn’t.

As he began mulling over which embalming tool to pick up first, his fingers hovering over them as if one of them was beckoning to be chosen, you realized just how exposed you were. For the first time since waking up, at the mercy of this thing, wearing a man's skin—you started to believe you might actually die here.

The sound of splintering wood as the mortuary door crashed open was deafening. You flinched violently, your body instinctively pulling against the straps that pinned you to the cold metal table. Relief and terror fought for dominance in your chest.

They’re here. Oh God, they’re finally here.

But then, just when you had begun to relax for the first time in hours, you felt the scalpal press harder against your neck. The tip of it broke through skin, not deep, but enough to make your breath catch.

"Don’t move,” the unsub growled under his breath. His voice was sharp, his calm façade cracking under the pressure. You could feel the tremor in his hands now, the desperation radiating off him.

Your pulse thundered, the pain from the cut on your arm flaring as you tried to keep still. The various cuts and injuries that littered your body were nothing compared to the fear the tiny blade at your neck instilled in you. You bit down on your lip to stop it from trembling. Don’t panic. Don’t make this worse. They’re here. They’ll get me out of this. Please let them get me out of this.

"FBI! Drop the weapon!" A commanding voice filled the room.

"Come any closer and I slit her throat!" The man bellowed. Up until this point he had not raised his voice once, and the sheer volume caused you to flinch again, the scalpal breaking through more skin. You could feel a warm liquid trail over your collarbone.

Your eyes darted to the doorway, tears stinging as you caught sight of the dark vests, the guns, the agents—saviors. But the unsub only pressed closer, his body partially shielding you. The scalpel was an unrelenting threat, cold and unmoving against your skin. The sharp sting at your neck anchored you to the moment. A hot tear slipped down your temple. I’m going to die here.

From Spencer's position in the doorway, his sharp eyes took everything in. The unsub’s trembling hands, the scalpel pressed against your throat, your bloodied arm, and—God—your state of undress. His chest clenched painfully, guilt and anger battling inside him. He only hoped the unsub hadn’t gotten too far before they arrived.

She’s absolutely terrified. One wrong move and she’s dead. Come on Spencer, think!

His jaw tightened as he saw the unsub’s gaze flick toward him, possessive and unhinged. Spencer’s hands twitched, his instinct to charge forward barely restrained. Stay calm. She needs you to stay calm.

"You don’t want to do this,” he finally said, his voice softer than usual. He took a slow step forward, keeping his hands visible. Carefully, he raised them, shifting the gun away from the man. He was acutely aware of the five other guns trained on him, ready to fire if he made a wrong move, which was why he was willing to take the risk. “This doesn’t have to end badly. Let her go, and we can talk this through."

There was a slight pause in the unsub's movements.

“You’re in control right now,” Spencer continued, his tone gentle, almost soothing. “But if you hurt her, that control is gone. You don’t want that. You don’t want to make this worse.”

Spencer’s gaze flicked to yours, meeting your tear-filled eyes. You looked at him like he was your only lifeline. The desperation in your expression hit him like a punch to the gut. The only thought running through his mind like a mantra was that he needed to get her out of there, fast.

The tension in the room was suffocating, each second seemed to stretch on for eternity. Then, the unsub shifted slightly, but it was enough for Derek Morgan to lunge forward like a strike of lightning.

The scalpel hit the floor with a sharp clang as Hotch slammed into the unsub, yanking him away from the table. Chaos exploded around you—shouts, the scuffle of bodies struggling—but it barely registered. Your chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, your throat raw as you fought for breath, tears blurring your vision.

Spencer was at your side in an instant, undoing the restraints that held you down, while simultaneously giving you a once-over to take in any serious injuries he may need to keep in mind for the first responders.

You were in such a state that you barely registered whose hands were touching you and your heart rate immediately spiked. Your eyes were shut and you began thrashing on the table whilst whimpering loudly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s over,” Spencer’s voice broke through the haze.

You blinked, realizing he was kneeling beside you, his hands moving to undo the straps that held you down. You flinched as his fingers brushed your wrist, a sob escaping your throat before you could stop it.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “He can't hurt you anymore. I promise.”

As the final strap came loose, you tried to sit up, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. Your legs felt weak, your hands trembling so badly you couldn’t push yourself upright.

“Here—let me help you.” Spencer’s hands were gentle as he guided you into a sitting position, his movements careful, almost hesitant.

The moment you were upright, you instinctively reached for him, clutching his shirt as your body shook with silent sobs.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you. His vest felt stiff under your cheek, but his touch was warm, steadying. “You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe now.”

You couldn’t stop crying, the reality of everything crashing over you. His hand rested lightly on the back of your head, the other drawing soothing circles on your back.

Spencer’s heart twisted at how small you felt in his arms, how vulnerable. Gone was the sarcastic, spunky girl who had left such a strong impression on him after just one meeting. He held you tighter, his own breath uneven as he fought to keep his emotions in check. She’s okay. She’s okay now. But she’s so scared. I need her to know she’s safe.

When you finally managed to speak, your voice was barely a whisper. “He almost…” Yet another sob prevented you from continuing.

Spencer shook his head, cutting you off gently. “But he didn’t. He didn’t, okay? You’re here. You’re safe.”

You buried your face in his chest again, your fingers clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. And in that moment, he didn’t care about protocol or what anyone else thought. All that mattered was comforting the girl with the shattered spirit in his arms.

The sharp, sterile scent of the hospital was the first to hit you as the nurse wheeled you through the emergency room doors. The fluorescent lights felt too bright, their clinical glow exposing every bruise, every scrape, and every jagged line of your vulnerability. They reminded you of the lights in the embalming room. The embalming room. That man. The tools piercing your skin.

You were vaguely aware of Spencer at your side, walking just close enough that his hand occasionally brushed against the armrest of the wheelchair. You wanted to tell him you were fine, that he didn’t have to stay, but every time you opened your mouth to speak, the words got stuck in your throat. You didn't want to do this alone.

The nurse guided you into a small room, where a doctor was already waiting. Spencer stopped just outside the doorway, shifting awkwardly, his hands buried in his pockets.

“We’ll take it from here,” the nurse said gently, giving him a polite but firm smile.

Spencer hesitated, his eyes darting between you and the nurse. You could see the conflict on his face, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for an argument.

You managed to find your voice, though it came out weaker than you intended. “Spencer…”

His gaze snapped to yours expectantly, his features softening.

“Can you… stay?” The words were barely a whisper, but the way his expression shifted—relief, determination, and something almost protective flashing across his face—made you feel a little steadier.

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, stepping into the room. He pulled up a chair near the bed, sitting close but giving you enough space not to feel overwhelmed.

The doctor began her examination, her voice calm and clinical as she asked you questions. “Any dizziness? Nausea? Are you in pain anywhere besides your arm?”

You answered automatically, your voice hollow as your mind wandered. The doctor’s questions blurred together with the sting of antiseptic on your wounds, and the rustle of the hospital gown you’d been asked to change into felt deafening in the quiet.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the unsub’s hands on you, the way his gaze had stripped you of every ounce of dignity. The memory was suffocating, curling around your chest like a vice.

Spencer’s voice cut through the fog, grounding you. “Hey,” he uttered softly, his brow furrowed with concern. “You okay?”

You blinked, realizing the doctor had finished and was watching you with the same concerned expression.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction.

Spencer didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he waited until the doctor left the room before leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied you.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up again, "You're not fine."

You looked down at your hands, the hospital gown feeling too thin, too revealing, despite being more covered than you were earlier. You didn't know how to respond.

Spencer hesitated, noticing the sudden vulnerability in your expression. “I uh... I need to ask you a few questions… about what happened. It’s just procedure—to make sure this guy gets what he deserves. We don't have to do it now, but I'm here when you're ready.”

The sincerity in his tone made something in you crack. You weren’t ready to talk, not yet, but the way he said it—as if there was no question that he would be there for as long as you needed—made you feel a little less alone.

“You don’t have to stay,” you said quietly, though the thought of him leaving made your stomach twist.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “Not until you’re ready for me to, at least.”

You glanced up at him, expecting to see pity in his eyes, but all you saw was quiet determination. It made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t expected.

You took a shaky breath, your hands clenching into fists as you tried to steady yourself. “Ask the questions,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm with determination.

Spencer’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward slightly, his voice soft but insistent. “You don’t have to right now. We can wait until you’re ready. You don’t have to rush through it.”

But you shook your head, a flicker of something fierce in your eyes. “No… I want to do this now. If I don’t… I won’t ever.” The words tasted bitter in your mouth, but you pressed on, your heart pounding as the weight of what you were about to do sank in. “I need to nail this bastard. For me, for them… for everyone he’s hurt.”

Spencer remained quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, weighing your words. Finally, he nodded, his expression unreadable but softening with understanding. “Alright..." he hesitated, "This is going to sound silly, but can you close your eyes for me and tell me... what he did to you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the request. For a moment, you didn’t know how to react. But the quiet, sincere way he asked you made something inside you settle, just a little. The room felt quieter now, the world shrinking down to just the two of you.

Closing your eyes, you tried to push the memories to the surface, to bring them into focus. Your heart beat faster, but you steeled yourself, knowing this was the only way to make him pay.

"When I woke up from being knocked out… I was tied down to the embalming table in my underwear, the straps were tight," you began slowly, rubbing your wrists absentmindedly. The sensation of the straps still lingered, and it made your skin crawl. "I couldn’t move."

Spencer stayed silent, his gaze never leaving you, his presence grounding you even as the weight of the memories pressed in. "Take your time," he said quietly, voice gentle but firm.

You took a shaky breath, nodding, trying to find the strength to continue. "He... he just stood there for a while, watching me. I could feel his eyes on me, like... he was enjoying it." You paused, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. "I couldn’t even scream. I just had to wait for him to decide what he wanted to do next."

Spencer’s jaw tightened, his mind was piecing it together, filling in the gaps even if you didn’t want him to. But he said nothing, giving you the space to speak. You appreciated that more than you could express.

There was no avoiding it. You had to talk about it. You had to say the words, had to help the FBI put together the full picture. You took a slow breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

“He—he used different embalming tools.”

Spencer looked up sharply, he noticed the pained expression on your face and realised just how hard this was going to be for you.

Your heart started to pound. As soon as you said it, the memories came rushing back.

The metal table was freezing against your bare skin, your body trembling with something beyond the cold. You pulled at your restraints, but they were too tight, digging into your wrists and ankles.

“I’ve always been fascinated by preservation,” the unsub mused, his fingers trailing over a set of gleaming instruments. “The way death can be… delayed. How a body can be made beautiful again.”

You didn’t say anything. Your throat was raw from screaming earlier, and you were running out of ways to keep yourself from panicking.

The unsub turned, holding up an embalming trocar—long, sharp, and glinting under the fluorescent light. “Did you know this is used to remove fluids and gases from a body before preservation?” He traced the tip lightly down your abdomen, not pressing hard enough to break skin. “It’s important to prepare the body properly.”

Your breathing hitched, and you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself not to react.

His expression darkened. “You’re supposed to be still,” he murmured, and without warning, he pressed down.

Pain flared white-hot in your side as the tip of the tool pricked your skin, just enough to draw blood. You gasped, your body instinctively jerking against the restraints.

The unsub sighed, shaking his head. “Messy,” he muttered, wiping the small bead of blood with his gloved hand. “I’ll have to try again.”

You inhaled sharply, coming back to yourself. The hospital bed, the warmth of the blanket, the steady presence of Spencer beside you—it was enough to pull you out of the memory, but your skin still burned where the tool had touched you.

Spencer’s knuckles were white where he gripped his knees. His breathing was slow, controlled, but his eyes—his eyes were burning with something deep and unsettled.

“He used a trocar,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “He—he didn’t go deep, but he wanted to see me flinch.”

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was trying to will away the image forming in his mind. “And the other injuries?” he asked, his voice strained.

You swallowed. “A needle. He… he injected something into my leg. Some kind of preservative, I think. It burned.”

Another flash—

The burn spread up your thigh, a fire beneath your skin. You cried out, muscles seizing, your entire body locking up.

The unsub tilted his head, watching with interest. “Formaldehyde is quite versatile,” he said conversationally. “It won’t kill you. Not yet. But I wonder how much your body can handle before it starts shutting down?”

You bit down on your lip, hard enough to taste blood.

You took a slow, shaky breath, forcing yourself back into the present. The hospital bed. The warmth of the blanket. The steady presence of Spencer beside you.

Spencer’s hands had curled into fists. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching.

“What else?” he asked, voice strained.

You hesitated again. “He used the embalming pump.”

Spencer’s breath audibly caught in his throat.

The hum of the embalming machine filled the room, a steady, mechanical noise that only added to the horror of the moment.

You were still strapped down, too weak to fight, but your breath was coming in panicked gasps as the unsub adjusted the tube connected to the pump.

“This is a test,” he murmured, almost absently. “A small amount, just to see how the body reacts.”

You barely processed his words before you felt the cool sensation of liquid seeping into your veins.

Your vision blurred for a moment. It wasn’t enough to kill you—not yet. But it left you dizzy, sluggish, your limbs feeling even heavier than before.

“Fascinating,” the unsub muttered to himself. “I wonder how much you can take.”

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "The last thing he did... he told me exactly what he was going to do to me. Everything he'd done to his other victims—every single cut, every injection, every—"

Your breath hitched, your throat closing around the words.

"But I—I was going to be his favorite," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Because I had spunk. Because I fought back."

A shudder ran through you, your entire body recoiling from the memory. You couldn't say the rest. You didn't need to say the rest. The way his voice had darkened, the way he'd described it, savoring every detail like a promise—

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that could block it out.

Spencer's hand closed over yours, grounding you. His grip was firm, steady, as if willing you to feel something other than that sickening sense of violation crawling under your skin.

“That’s enough,” he said, his voice low but unwavering.

You shook your head, your breathing uneven. “But you need to know—”

“I do know,” Spencer cut in, his voice sharp but gentle. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with something unreadable—but underneath it, there was a quiet, unshakable promise. “You’ve given us enough.” He exhaled, slow and controlled, but his next words carried the full weight of his conviction.

“He’s never going to hurt anyone ever again. I swear to you—I’ll make sure he rots in prison for the rest of his life.”

A sob caught in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t ready to cry—not yet. But for the first time since it happened, you felt the faintest flicker of relief.

Spencer wasn’t just listening. He was hearing you. And he was going to make sure you got justice.

You weren’t alone in this.

And for now, that was enough.

As the night wore on, the hours began to blur together. You knew you wouldn't be able to sleep that night, and as guilty as it made you feel, Spencer didn't seem to mind. Throughout the night, nurses came and went, checking your vitals, re-bandaging your arm, and murmuring reassurances that didn’t quite reach you. And through it all, Spencer stayed.

The hospital room had settled into an almost eerie calm. Machines beeped softly in the background, and the dim lighting made everything feel slower as if the world outside had paused. You were sitting up in the hospital bed, the scratchy blanket pulled tight around your shoulders. Spencer sat in the chair beside you, his legs crossed, thumbing through a book he’d found somewhere in the waiting area at a speed you didn't think was humanly possible.

The silence was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. The FBI agent that had first pushed the unsub away from you in the embalming room stepped inside. At first, his presence intimidated you, his muscular frame and broad shoulders made him an imposing figure, but there was an undeniable warmth in his deep brown eyes. His smooth, dark skin contrasted with the sharp angles of his jawline, and a hint of stubble shadowed his face. He was holding two cups of hospital jello, one red, the other green.

“Thought you two could use a little pick-me-up,” He said, holding the cups aloft with a charming smile. “It’s not gourmet, but it’s better than nothing.”

You managed to return a weak smile back, taking the red jello as he handed it to you. Spencer set his book aside and accepted the green one without hesitation.

“Thanks, Morgan,” Spencer said.

Morgan gave you both a once-over, his gaze softening when it landed on you. “If you need anything, just holler. But I’ll give you two some space.” He gave Spencer a pointed look as if to silently remind him to keep an eye on you, then slipped out of the room.

You began poking at the jello with the plastic spoon. The silence stretched between you and Spencer, not uncomfortable, just heavy with unspoken things.

"You know", you said finally, your voice a little raspy, “jello might be the most depressing food ever invented.”

Spencer glanced up from his cup, his lips quirking in a faint smile. There she is. “It does have a strange texture. Did you know it’s made from gelatin, which comes from—”

“Animal bones,” you finished for him, giving him a sidelong look. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

He blinked, a little surprised, then nodded. “Right. I guess... you would know that.”

You smirked faintly, the smallest flicker of your usual sarcasm peeking through. “What can I say? I'm full of fun facts. Comes with the job, really.”

Spencer tilted his head, studying you once again. "Your job... I can't imagine it's easy," he said carefully, his voice gentle.

You hesitated, your spoon hovering just above the jello. For a brief moment, you considered brushing him off with a joke or changing the subject like you usually would. But when you met his gaze, there was something about the way he was looking at you. God, stop looking at me like that. His unwavering, earnest stare made you feel safe enough to answer honestly.

“It isn't most of the time” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “But it’s worth it.”

Spencer didn’t respond right away. Instead, he kept his gaze on you, his expression soft yet intent—like he was trying to unravel everything you weren’t saying. His eyes, sharp with quiet intelligence, searched yours as if they could decode the weight you carried, the thoughts you never voiced, the depth you kept hidden from the world.

There was something about you that fascinated him—not just your words, but the silences between them, the guarded way you spoke about things that mattered. He could tell there was so much more beneath the surface, layers of emotion and experience you refused to share. And yet, just for a moment, it felt like he could see them anyway.

He finally spoke, "Why?"

You sighed, setting the jello cup on the bedside table. “Because… when I embalm and prepare a body, when I make someone look like the person they were before…” You paused, swallowing hard. “I get to give their family one last chance to say a proper goodbye. One last moment where they can see the person they loved, not the person the world left behind.”

Spencer kept his gaze steady as he took in your words. He could tell how much those words meant to you. Surprisingly, his expression held a little bit of understanding and even awe.

"That's... incredible." he said finally, "I had never thought of it that way."

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, well… not everyone thinks it's incredible. Most people just think it’s creepy."

Spencer’s lips quirked into the smallest smile. "I mean, technically, you do spend a lot of time with dead bodies."

You gave him a pointed look. "And you spend a lot of time profiling serial killers, but you don’t see me calling you creepy."

Spencer tilted his head, considering that for a moment. "Fair point."

A comfortable silence settled between you, the heaviness of the conversation lifting just a little.

Before the conversation could continue you blurted out, "Thank you."

Spencer glanced at you, “For what?”

“For staying,” you said simply.

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. “I couldn’t leave,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Not when you…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands. “I just couldn’t.”

You nodded, understanding more than words could convey. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel completely alone.

As you leaned back against the pillows, your eyes growing heavy, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were going to be okay.

After your third day in the hospital, you were finally discharged. The hospital doors slid open with a quiet hiss, letting in a crisp evening breeze. You inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with fresh air—something that didn’t reek of antiseptic or overcooked hospital food. The gauze beneath your shirt still tugged slightly with each breath, but the soreness was manageable.

Freedom. Finally.

Beside you, Spencer hovered with the same quiet intensity he’d had when you arrived at the hospital, arms crossed like he wasn’t entirely convinced letting you leave was a good idea.

“You know, I appreciate the escort,” you said, adjusting the strap of your bag over your good shoulder, “but unless you’re planning on kidnapping me back to my hospital bed, I think I can manage from here.”

Spencer blinked. “I just— I wanted to make sure you got out okay.”

You smirked. “What, did you think I’d trip over my own feet and fall into traffic?”

“I— statistically, you’re not at full mobility, and with your pain medication, your reflexes might be slightly impaired—”

You rolled your eyes. “Spencer, I’m not going to faceplant into the street.” Then, after a beat: “At least, not immediately.”

The corners of his lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile but failing miserably.

The silence stretched for a moment. For all his intelligence, Spencer still looked like he wanted to say something but hadn’t quite figured out the words. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was debating reaching out.

You tilted your head at him. “You okay there, Doc?”

He cleared his throat, straightening. “I just— I hope you know that you, um… don’t have to go through this alone.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I was alone in the embalming room with a serial killer, so technically—”

Spencer shot you a look.

You snorted. “Okay, okay, I get it. Not the time."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just meant… I know how trauma can make people isolate themselves, and I just wanted you to know that you have people who care.”

You nodded slowly. There was a warmth in your chest at the sincerity in his voice—softer, earnest.

“Well, in that case,” you said, shifting your weight to your good side, “since you care so much, would you... wanna get dinner sometime?”

Spencer’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, you know. The thing where people sit at a table, order food, and consume it?” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I mean, unless you don’t want to—”

“No! I mean— I do! I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, looking both overwhelmed and adorable in a way that made you bite back a grin.

You decided to put him out of his misery. “Spencer," your voice softened, "I’m trying to ask you on a date.”

He froze.

“Oh.”

You smirked. “Yeah. Oh.”

Spencer’s brain seemed to reboot in real time. “I—yes! Yes, I would like that.”

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “Good. You can pick the place.”

He nodded, still looking slightly dazed. “Right. I, um, I’ll text you.”

You chuckled, stepping back toward the curb where your ride was waiting. “See you soon, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer stood there as you got into the car, still blinking, like he was trying to process what had just happened.

As you pulled away, you saw him through the rearview mirror—standing there, hand running through his hair, a small, boyish smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time in a long time, despite everything that had happened, something felt right.

a sweet thing called love

for tiny mikey

@keizos @kallikrein @nozomiasl @saturnmitsuya @souyawn @mqtsuno @blondbirb @lostinthe-jojos felt like tagging you guys, hope you all like it ! ♡

-have you gone insane, mikey?! -emma! your dolls are dead! -no! mikey! i’m sorry!

kindergarten it’s a weird period of a person’s life. and to manjiro sano, it was no exception

he couldn’t complain though. barely assisting to the classroom, spending the day eating in his seat, watching other kids do the things that, well, kids do. and ignoring his exhausted and poorly paid teachers, observing them while they attempted to get the class attention, unimpressed and mostly bored. he has always been a reserved and mature (only when he felt like it) kid. certainly one of a kind

there were actually just a few things he could count with his palm that caught his attention, but they were all outside school and all involving his older brother at some point 1. his motorcycle 2. his gang 3. all types of candy  4. showing off his talent at the dojo 5. and his brother somewhat girlfriend this last point, we could say, it’s the most important for him now

it was tuesday, and on tuesdays, mikey has a two hours class with miss yukishi, an elder woman that imparts writing to the lower grades. she has decades of experience at his school and an impeccable record in the field of teaching

mikey didn’t like her class at all, simply because he always had work to do as shameless as it sounds, and she smelled like rosemary and wet soil much to mikey’s disguise. but she was kind after all, one of the few professors that managed to get him to focus. and on that particular day, he felt like attending and giving her a chance. mistake or not, he was surely glad he took the decision to be present

the assignment for the day, was writing a note with a minimum extension of 10 words, to whoever he wanted about any topic. his options were:

his older brother, no. he is dumb his little sister, no. she will make fun of him his grandpa, no. he is busy and he probably don’t like those kind of things keisuke from the dojo, no. he is even dumber y/n from his brother middle school oh, y/n from his brother middle school

young manjiro thought about love the same way he felt about santa claus. an illusion, something that makes people freak out, and act stupidly. he was used to feel embarrassed of his brother and the weird things he did for girls, so he swore to the gods that he would never lacerate his dignity like that. until he met you

see, he never felt attracted to any of his classmates, of course not. girls his age were missing teeth, wore funny pigtails, used too much glitter on their school artwork and were extremely nosy. they bothered him. while you, you were quiet and sweet, way too tall compared to his diminute height, your hair was perfectly combed and you always smelled nice. besides, the best thing of all, you hanged around his house sometimes, and you always watched him practice at the dojo, complimenting him and bringing him snacks. you were amiable, you were pretty

and he likes pretty things he likes pretty victory, he likes pretty praise, he likes pretty candy, he likes pretty girls like you

so one day, he definitely saw why his brother was whipped for you, he understood it and reciprocated it, much to shinichiro’s misfortune

he vividly remembers a few nights ago, catching the two of you sharing a few pecks on the lips in his house backyard, when you both thought no one would see you. and it certainly was a strange feeling for him, like when you want something from a store and you arrive just in time to see that someone else is taking the last piece, exactly like that. he was mad, he frowned, and he went to sleep without having dinner

a very much concerning thing coming from him

in that moment, he decided that he was taking action by himself, and with miss yukishi most recent assignment, he had a plan

you might have shared some kisses or whatever disgusting things, but he knew his older brother was a dumbass and that he probably hasn’t asked you out yet. so he was taking advantage on that later, mostly like plan b. for now, the card was his holy grail

a couple of classes later, staying a few hours after school time for practicing, some elderly advices for troubles with the ladies and thousands of attemps in the trashing can, he finally wrote something eligible. miss yukishi was patient and she was good at what she did, so little manjiro finally accepted her to what she truly was, a great teacher

now, he just had to give it to you

but how?

it shouldn’t be that hard, right?

-how did you dare to write stuff like this to my girl?! you tryin’ to ask her out or something?!

the thing is that, emma found the card under mikey’s pillow while roaming curiously on his room and she had the brilliant idea to run to shinichiro and make fun of him together. it seemed like a good plan for starters, until the older one figured out who the card was for, and his burlesque smile turned into a disgusted grimace

-she is not your girl yet! you are a coward enough to not make a move, so i will beat you to it!

lie his brother was a lot of things to him, a prick, a pathetic gangster wannabe and a lovefool. but shinichiro sano was not a coward, and he was just talking things that he knew would get on his nerves. a risky road to take, indeed

-that’s so not happening! and it is actually not your problem! thank god emma told me about this -she is a snitch! snitches deserve to die!

the little girl was hiding under his big brother’s leg, fearing for her life and the safety of her toys. fat, hot tears falling from her cheeks, regretful. that’s just how kids were, doing things without thinking. she didn’t expect all of this to happen, not at all

-hey! apologize to her! and to me too! how can you stab your brother from the back like that, huh?! -you both can kiss my butt! -you little shi-

-good evening, grandpa sano. can i come in?

the three pair of eyes gleamed and directed down the hall at the same time, where your voice was heard

-she is here!

emma screamed and mikey jumped to snatch the piece of paper from his brother’s hand, running to you -give me that! -no! y/n! don’t read anything he gives you!

you were just greeting the old man, and in an instant, you felt the three of them ambushing you

-hi y/n. this is for you, i wrote it. open it now- mikey was sweating and clinging to your waist, subsequently grabbing your hand and carefully placing the piece of paper inside. it was not just paper, actually. it was his tiny heart, his innocent emotions harboring for the first time, all of this, in your palm -huh? are you guys okay? -please don’t- shinichiro was practically on the floor, with pleading eyes. what the hell was going on? -please hurry, could you read it now? -o-okay, calm down you too

they didn’t even greet you, and you noticed emma’s watering eyes, something you will take care of after this mess. you needed to open it

and when you did, it had the words

you are sweet like dorayaki that is why i like you

mikey

it was done, you read it. he followed your eyes scan the paper in front of him, his effort, his feelings. everything stood there, freezed. relying on your reaction, waiting. certainly not patiently, but waiting

he was, nervous? he doesn’t really know. his heart felt like stopping from how fast it was beating, and he was breathing so harshly that he even felt dizzy for a moment. this is all new to him, and he wasn’t sure if he was really enjoying it anymore

so this is love? ew

until you crouched in front of him, and folded the tiny piece of paper on a square, holding it close to your chest. you looked at him tenderly, and smiled

-this is really nice of you, manjiro. your writing improved a lot, i’m very proud of you- you even noticed that -you really think so?- his eyes were glowing. compliments fell on his ears every once in a while, in the dojo and sometimes at school. but hearing it from you was a diferent level, you were that special, and you had no idea -yeah, of course. and also, you know i like you too, mikey you leaned closer and smooched his left cheek twice, leaving marks of your cherry chapstick all over it -be good, okay? and be sure to thank miss yukishi for teaching you what you now know, treat her nicely and be grateful always, can you do that for me? you were well aware of his blind hatred to miss yukishi, and with this, you hoped he learned a lesson. he was a kid after all, and he still needed to learn about a lot of things -sure thing. can i ask you something too? you hummed, stroking his hair gently, placing his gold locks behind his ear, carefully listening his words -can you give me another kiss? -hey!

before shinichiro could even bark again, you grabbed his face and another big loud kiss was now planted on his right cheek. from all the smeared balm you couldn’t really see if it was a natural nervous blush or the cosmetic pigment, but you decided to believe it was the first option, and your smile went wider -there. now i payed my debt, right? -can i have another? -absolutely not, go get a shower or something. we are going out- shinichiro interrupted, stepping between your crouched figure and his brother -whatever, mom -yeah, yeah. go to your room, you smurf

-thanks again mikey, i loved it

you loved it

-before you leave, i want to know something

you and shinichiro were going out together, and he was staying at home, as usual. other times, when the two of you spend time alone, he is left with this certain sensation of emptyness that makes him sleepy and uneasy. but now, this feeling in his heart is due the way he emptied it completely that night, he wasn’t glad you were his brother’s, but you were aware of how he felt, and not only that, you even said you liked him too, so he was content. you even kissed him three times

he was so ready for not washing his face in months and running tomorrow to the dojo to show keisuke your marks on his cheeks

oh, first love 

-are you serious right now? -let him talk, shin- the older one rolled his eyes, squeezing your hand tighter

-can i be next? -next in what? -when you get rid of my brother, can i be your next man? -are you sure you are four years old, manjiro? -sadly, yes -that’s it, you are done

Speeding Bonds: A Sainz Siblings Story

This is my first F1 fanfiction, and I'm excited to share it with you all! It's a bit short, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Your feedback means a lot to me, so if you like what you read, let me know! If there's interest, I'll definitely add more to the story. Thanks for taking the time to check it out!

Character: Name: Ji-min Sainz Age: 23

Background: Ji-min was adopted from South Korea into the Sainz family when she was just a baby. Growing up in Spain, she was immersed in Spanish culture but always felt a connection to her Korean roots. She has a warm relationship with her adoptive family.

Ji-min discovered her passion for music at a young age and pursued it fervently. She auditioned for a talent agency in Barcelona and was selected to be a part of a five-member girl group called "Eclipse." Despite her busy schedule as a K-pop idol.

Meanwhile, her older Carlos Sainz Jr. was making a name for himself in the world of Formula 1 racing. Their paths rarely crossed due to their different careers and lifestyles, but Ji-min secretly followed Carlos's races, feeling proud of his achievements yet also envious of the attention and recognition he received.

As Ji-min's popularity as a K-pop idol soared, she kept her family background a secret, fearing that it might overshadow her own accomplishments and potentially cause unwanted attention. However, deep down, she yearned to connect with her brother.

The story:

SMS

Ji-min: Hey Carlos, it's Ji-min. Hope you're doing awesome today! 🌟

Carlos: Ji-min! What's up, little sis? 😄 Everything good on your end?

Ji-min: Yeah, all good here! Hey, I was actually wondering... would it be cool if I came to one of your races? I've been dying to see you in action, big bro! 🏎️💨

Carlos: Of course it's cool, Ji-min! I'd love to have you there cheering me on. But... are you okay with everyone knowing we're family? I mean, it's kind of a big deal to go public with this stuff.

Ji-min: Totally cool with it, Carli! I've been wanting to shout it from the rooftops for ages. 😄 Plus, I'm super proud of you, big bro! Let's show the world what the Sains siblings are made of!

Carlos: Haha, you're the best, Ji-min! Thanks for always having my back. 😊 Alright then, I'll hook you up with a pass for the race. Get ready for the full VIP treatment!

Ji-min: Woo-hoo! VIP treatment, here I come! 🌟 Thanks a million, Carli. You're the best big bro a girl could ask for!

Carlos: Anytime, Ji-min! Can't wait to see you at the race, little sis. Get ready for some serious fun!

Ji-min: Counting down the days big bro! Vamos!

The day of the race:

At the Australian Grand Prix 2024

Ji-min made her way through the bustling crowds, the sun beating down on her as she walked. She was dressed in a simple sundress, a soft pastel blue that fluttered gently in the warm breeze. The fabric flowed loosely around her figure, offering comfort and ease as she navigated through the throngs of people.

A pair of oversized sunglasses shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight, partially concealing her face and adding a touch of mystery to her appearance. She pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, strands of dark hair framing her delicate features.

Despite the casual attire, Ji-min moved with a graceful confidence, her steps light and purposeful as she weaved her way through the crowd. She kept her head down slightly, avoiding direct eye contact to minimize attention as she made her way towards the VIP area.

Occasionally, she caught snippets of excited chatter from nearby fans discussing the upcoming race and the drivers competing in it. Ji-min couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through her veins as she neared the entrance, her heart pounding with anticipation.

As she reached the designated entrance for VIP guests, Ji-min took a deep breath, her excitement bubbling beneath the surface. With a confident smile, she presented her pass to the security personnel and stepped inside, ready to witness her big brother's momentous victory firsthand.

Her eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of her brother. She was so absorbed in her search that she didn't notice the people around her, her gaze moving to her phone screen as she typed out a message to Carlos.

"Hey Carli, just arrived. Where are you? "

Lost in her phone, Ji-min didn't notice the figure approaching until it was too late. With a sudden jolt, she collided with someone, nearly dropping her phone in the process.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, looking up to see who she had bumped into.

Standing before her was none other than Lando Norris, one of the drivers competing in the race. Ji-min's eyes widened in surprise, recognizing him instantly from his racing gear and signature smile.

Lando grinned apologetically, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "No worries! "

Ji-min nodded, feeling a blush creeping up her cheeks. Sorry for not paying attention."

Lando chuckled, waving off her apology. "Not a problem at all." giving her a friendly nod before continuing on his way.

As Ji-min watched him disappear into the crowd, she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement coursing through her veins. Little did she know, her encounter with Lando was just the beginning of an unforgettable day at the races.

----

Ji-min's heart raced as she finally spotted her brother amidst the hustle and bustle of the Ferrari garage. Carlos stood surrounded by his team, his familiar smile lighting up his face as he greeted them with enthusiasm.

"Carli!" Ji-min exclaimed, weaving her way through the crowd until she reached him. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you."

Carlos turned towards her, his eyes lighting up with delight as he caught sight of his little sister. "Ji-min! I'm so glad you made it!" he exclaimed, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Wrapped in her brother's arms, Ji-min felt a rush of warmth and contentment wash over her. It had been too long since they last saw each other, and she cherished every moment they spent together.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Ji-min replied, pulling back to look at Carlos with a beaming smile.

They spent the next few minutes catching up, exchanging stories and sharing laughs as they soaked in the atmosphere of the race day. Ji-min couldn't help but feel a surge of pride as she watched her brother interact with his team, his passion for racing shining through in every word and gesture.

----

Whispers of Shadows: A Capitol Love Lost

This is a short story. I just wanted to write something that I thought about when I was watching the movie. It has a sad ending, depending on how you view it. and all the pictures are from Pinterest.

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The opulent halls of the Academy for Capitol Youth buzzed with excitement as students in their crisp school uniforms mingled, their laughter echoing against the marble walls. Among them moved a figure that commanded attention — young Coriolanus Snow, the scion of a once-proud family fallen on hard times. His icy blue eyes and impeccably styled blonde hair belied the struggles hidden beneath the surface.

Enter Monica Crestwood, a vision of elegance and grace despite the standard school uniform. Her family's wealth dripped from every carefully chosen accessory, from the way she carried herself with poise to the sparkling kindness that set her apart from the Capitol's typically callous elite.

Monica and Coriolanus had been inseparable since they first crossed paths at the Academy. Bonded by a shared understanding of familial expectations and the pressures of societal standing, their connection deepened as they leaned on each other for support in the face of adversity.

Monica's compassion extended beyond the polished halls of the Academy, reaching into the very heart of the Snow family's struggles. She sought to bridge the gap between the Crestwoods and the Snows, understanding that Coriolanus's family was teetering on the precipice of ruin. Monica's parents, however, disapproved of her association with the Snows, deeming it a threat to their carefully cultivated image.

Despite the frosty reception from her family, Monica persevered in her efforts to help Coriolanus. She offered support in the form of clandestine financial aid, discreetly providing assistance to the Snows without her parents' knowledge. Her love for Coriolanus was unwavering, and she believed in a future where they could rise above the obstacles that threatened to tear them apart.

As the 10th Hunger Games approached, the Capitol was abuzz with anticipation. This year's tributes were selected, and among them was a girl named Lucy Gray, whose ethereal beauty and captivating presence had captured the attention of all. Coriolanus, tasked with mentoring Lucy Gray, found himself drawn to her in ways he couldn't comprehend.

Monica, sensing the shift in dynamics, struggled with a growing sense of unease. Coriolanus, engrossed in the world of the Hunger Games, became increasingly distant. The once inseparable couple found themselves on opposite sides of a growing chasm, their worlds spinning in different directions.

Amidst the lavish parties and glittering distractions of the Capitol, Monica grappled with the realization that she was losing Coriolanus to the allure of the Games. The once unbreakable bond they shared seemed fragile, as though the weight of the Hunger Games threatened to shatter the foundation of their love.

In the dimly lit corners of the Academy, Monica watched as Coriolanus and Lucy Gray's interactions deepened. The spark that ignited between them cast a shadow over Monica's heart, leaving her feeling abandoned and isolated. As the Games approached, Monica wrestled with the looming fear that she might lose not only Coriolanus but also the person she once knew him to be.

Little did she know that the coming days would test the limits of her love and loyalty, forcing her to confront the harsh realities of the Capitol's machinations and the unpredictable nature of the Hunger Games.

The Capitol's effervescent energy reached its peak as the Games commenced. Monica, adorned in the standard school uniform that all students wore, stood in the crowd, her eyes fixated on the arena. Coriolanus, now fully immersed in his role as a mentor, exuded a confidence that Monica had not seen before.

The tributes, including Lucy Gray, entered the arena, their faces a mix of fear and determination. Monica's heart pounded as she watched the spectacle unfold on the screens. The opulence of the Capitol contrasted sharply with the brutality of the Games, and Monica couldn't help but question the society that reveled in such a spectacle.

As the days passed, Monica's inner turmoil grew. The divide between her and Coriolanus widened, exacerbated by the Capitol's intoxicating influence. Late nights turned into early mornings as Monica grappled with her conflicting emotions, torn between loyalty to Coriolanus and an unsettling realization that the Games were changing him.

In the hushed corridors of the Academy, Monica overheard whispers of alliances and betrayals within the arena. The Games were a ruthless game of survival, and Coriolanus navigated its treacherous waters with a cunning that both impressed and frightened Monica. She wondered if the boy she fell in love with still existed beneath the layers of Capitol manipulation.

Monica's clandestine efforts to aid the Snow family faced new challenges as her own family intensified their disapproval. The Crestwoods, deeply entrenched in the Capitol's social hierarchy, couldn't fathom Monica's association with the Snows, especially given Coriolanus's role in the Hunger Games.

Despite the mounting pressures, Monica refused to abandon her convictions. She continued to support Coriolanus from the shadows, offering subtle gestures of encouragement that went unnoticed amidst the chaos of the Capitol's festivities. Yet, as the Games progressed, Monica couldn't escape the nagging feeling that her actions were a mere whisper against the roaring tide of Capitol politics.

The turning point came when Lucy Gray emerged as a formidable contender in the Games. Coriolanus's mentorship had molded her into a captivating and unpredictable force, capturing the hearts of Capitol citizens and sponsors alike. Monica, torn between her love for Coriolanus and a growing admiration for Lucy Gray's resilience, found herself at a crossroads.

The Capitol's opulent façade crumbled as Monica confronted the harsh reality of the Hunger Games. The Games weren't just a spectacle; they were a cruel reminder of the Capitol's power and the sacrifices made in the name of entertainment. Monica's internal struggle mirrored the external chaos of the arena, and she couldn't shake the feeling that the Capitol was playing a dangerous game with the lives of its youth.

As the climax of the Games approached, Monica's resolve solidified. She would confront Coriolanus, not as a victim of the Capitol's machinations but as a woman who refused to be a pawn in their deadly game. The once-burgeoning love between Monica and Coriolanus would face its ultimate test, and the outcome would ripple through the corridors of the Capitol, challenging the very foundations of their society.

------

The echoes of the Hunger Games had barely faded when the harsh reality of consequences descended upon Coriolanus Snow. The Capitol, unforgiving in its pursuit of perfection, discovered his illicit actions to save Lucy Gray. As the Capitol's judgment fell upon him, Coriolanus found himself stripped of privilege, his family disgraced, and his future hanging in the balance.

Monica, unaware of the extent of Coriolanus's transgressions, sought him out in the dimly lit corridors of the Academy. Her steps quickened as she approached him, her eyes revealing a mix of concern and determination.

"Coriolanus, we need to talk," Monica implored, her voice tinged with worry. "What's happening? Why are they punishing you?"

Coriolanus, his once-confident demeanor now replaced by a defeated slouch, sighed heavily. "Monica, it's over. The Capitol has no tolerance for failure.I cheated in the games. I've been assigned to be a Peacekeeper in a distant district."

Her eyes widened with disbelief. "No, there has to be something we can do. I'll talk to my parents, we'll find a way to fix this."

He shook his head, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "Your parents won't help. They never believed in us. They saw me as a means to an end, a way to maintain their precious status. Now that I'm tainted, they'll wash their hands of me."

Monica's determination wavered as she reached out to touch his arm. "Coriolanus, we can face this together. I'll stand by you, no matter what. We'll find a way."

His icy gaze met hers, and for a moment, there was a flicker of gratitude. However, as the weight of his impending departure settled in, an unexpected venom seeped into his words. "Monica, let's not pretend. Our love was a convenience, a way for me to survive in the Capitol. I never loved you. It was always about the money, the stability you offered."

Monica recoiled, her eyes welling up with tears. "Coriolanus, how can you say that? We've been through so much together. I believed in us."

His tone turned cold, matching the frost in his eyes. "Belief won't change anything. I've found someone who truly understands me, who doesn't see me as a pawn in their game. Lucy Gray — she's the one I love."

Monica felt the ground crumble beneath her. "Lucy Gray? After everything we've been through, you're leaving me for her?"

Coriolanus, unmoved by her distress, continued, "I need to go where she is, I need to make sure she is alive. District 12, where Lucy is. It's time to embrace the reality of my feelings."

Monica, torn between disbelief and heartbreak, struggled to find words. As Coriolanus turned to walk away, the shattered pieces of their once-unbreakable bond lay scattered, lost in the harsh winds of change.

Monica, though battered by Coriolanus's cutting words, refused to let despair consume her. As he turned to leave, she reached out, her hand trembling, and gently caught hold of his arm. "Coriolanus, please," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned his expression a mixture of regret and determination. But before he could speak, Monica stepped into his arms, wrapping herself around him in a tight embrace. "It's okay," she whispered into his ear, her voice steady despite the quiver in her heart. "If this is where you need to be, then I'll support you. I'll love you from here, even if it hurts."

Coriolanus, taken aback by the unexpected gesture, hesitated for a moment. The cold exterior he had crafted began to crack as he felt the warmth of Monica's embrace. His icy resolve wavered, and for a fleeting moment, he questioned the choices he was making.

Monica continued, her voice filled with sincerity, "I promise to take care of Tigers and Grandma'am. I'll make sure they remember you. And I'll do my best to bring you back home, to us."

Coriolanus, conflicted and haunted by unspoken emotions, simply hugged her back. The weight of his actions hung heavily between them, but in that moment, the familiarity of their connection pushed through the turmoil. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, a silent acknowledgment of the love that lingered beneath the surface.

Monica, her eyes closed against the pain, whispered, "Be safe, Coriolanus. Find your happiness. I'll be waiting for you, no matter how long it takes."

As he reluctantly pulled away, their eyes met one last time. In that gaze, a complex tapestry of emotions unfolded — love, regret, and the unspoken truth that lingered between them. Coriolanus, unable to voice what his heart truly felt, simply nodded, acknowledging the sacrifice Monica was making for him.

With one last glance, he turned away, leaving Monica standing in the dimly lit corridor, a pillar of strength despite the ache in her heart. As Coriolanus ventured into the unknown, the memory of her unwavering support lingered, a beacon of hope in the shadows of uncertainty.

---- Time skip

The days that followed were a blur of anguish for Monica. The weight of Coriolanus's departure pressed heavily on her shoulders, but she refused to let it crush her spirit. Determination fueled her actions as she navigated the challenges of keeping her promise to him.

Monica faced the disapproval of her own family, who viewed Coriolanus's fall from grace as a stain on their reputation. Yet, she stood resolute, deflecting their judgment with a grace that belied the turmoil within her. Tigers and Grandma'am, Coriolanus's family, found solace in Monica's unwavering support, and together, they faced the whispers and sidelong glances of Capitol society.

In her quiet moments, Monica grappled with the truth Coriolanus had laid bare — that their love was not what she had believed it to be. The sting of his words lingered, a persistent ache in her heart. Yet, in the face of adversity, Monica discovered a strength within herself that she never knew existed.

As she navigated the intricacies of Capitol politics, Monica found herself drawn to the cause of the Districts, a stark contrast to the privileged life she had known. The injustice of the Hunger Games, the oppressive rule of the Capitol — it all became painfully clear to her. Determined to make a difference, Monica secretly aligned herself with those who sought change.

The Capitol's grip on her life loosened as Monica immersed herself in this clandestine world. She forged alliances with rebels, learning the art of subversion and rebellion. Monica, once the epitome of Capitol elegance, now moved in the shadows, a silent force working against the very system she was born into.

---

The dusty air of District 12 clung to Coriolanus as he navigated the unfamiliar streets, his steps heavy with the weight of his choices. Lucy Gray walked beside him, her presence offering a semblance of comfort in this strange, new world. Sejanus, their unlikely companion, observed the surroundings with a mixture of curiosity and unease.

In the dimly lit bar they entered, the crackling sound of an old television caught their attention. The screen flickered, revealing the unmistakable visage of Dr. Volumnia Gaul, the architect of Capitol cruelty, as she delivered a broadcast.

"As a reminder of the consequences of treachery," Dr. Gaul's voice echoed through the bar, "we present the traitor who dared defy the Capitol's authority."

The camera shifted, revealing a face both familiar and heart-wrenching. It was Monica, pale and beaten, her eyes hollow with despair. Coriolanus felt a sharp intake of breath as he stared at the small screen, unable to comprehend the depths of betrayal that had transpired.

Lucy Gray's hand found its way to his, gripping it in silent support. Sejanus, too, watched with a mix of horror and sympathy, realizing the impact of the Capitol's ruthlessness on those who dared question it.

Dr. Gaul continued, her voice devoid of remorse, "This traitor provided aid to the districts, undermining the Capitol's authority. Let this be a warning to all who dare to defy us."

Coriolanus, his heart heavy with guilt, could hardly bear to watch as Monica's beaten form became a pawn in the Capitol's ruthless game. The realization hit him with a force that eclipsed the power of any Games he had ever witnessed.

As the broadcast concluded, the bar fell into an uneasy silence. The trio exchanged glances, each grappling with the harsh truth of the Capitol's brutality. Coriolanus, torn between loyalty and self-preservation, felt a surge of conflicting emotions.

---- Big time skip

Years had passed since the traumatic events in District 12. The Capitol's grip on the districts had tightened, and Coriolanus Snow found himself entangled in the web of political intrigue and power struggles. The memories of Monica and the haunting broadcast had become a distant ache, buried beneath layers of duty and survival.

In the garden of the presidential mansion, where whispers of rebellion echoed in the rustling leaves, Coriolanus found himself in the unexpected company of Katniss Everdeen. The air hung heavy with the weight of unspoken truths as they discussed the Capitol's ruthless tactics, particularly the bombings that targeted innocent children.

As they exchanged somber words, Coriolanus couldn't help but notice a delicate necklace around Katniss's neck — a small, silver chain with a pendant that bore a striking resemblance to the one Monica used to wear. The realization sent a shiver down his spine, and he couldn't suppress the urgency in his voice as he asked, "Where did you get that necklace?"

Katniss, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, touched the pendant thoughtfully. "It was my grandma's. She gave it to me before she passed away."

Coriolanus, trying to conceal the turmoil within, couldn't shake the feeling that the necklace held a connection to Monica. He probed further, "Your grandma's? Did she ever mention where she got it?"

Katniss shook her head, her expression clouded with sadness. "No, she never said. It was just a simple keepsake she wanted me to have. Why do you ask?"

A sense of unease settled over Coriolanus as he grappled with the possibility that Monica might have suffered a fate worse than he could have imagined. He hesitated before speaking, "It just looks remarkably similar to one someone I knew used to wear. A dear friend from a long time ago."

Katniss studied him intently, her gaze penetrating the carefully constructed facade.

Coriolanus Snow, unable to shake the eerie similarity between Katniss's necklace and Monica's, took a deep breath before venturing further into the delicate topic. "Tell me more about your grandmother, Katniss. What was she like?"

Katniss's eyes softened with nostalgia as she spoke of her grandmother, a resilient woman who had endured the harsh realities of District 12. She shared stories of strength, survival, and the enduring spirit that had been passed down through generations.

Listening intently, Coriolanus couldn't help but feel a growing weight of recognition. The details Katniss provided about her grandmother painted a vivid picture, one that seemed to align with the Monica he once knew — the Monica who had disappeared without a trace.

As Katniss spoke, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Monica, like Coriolanus, had been cast into the unforgiving embrace of District 12 by her parents as a form of punishment. The once wealthy and privileged girl had found herself entwined in the gritty reality of the impoverished district.

Coriolanus, his heart pounding in his chest, felt a mix of emotions swirling within him. Monica had not only survived but had built a life in District 12 — a life that transcended the confines of her origins. The revelation brought a bittersweet sense of closure to the wounds of the past.

The necklace, once a symbol of loss, now carried the weight of a profound connection. Monica's legacy lived on in Katniss, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit even in the face of adversity.

A complex tapestry of emotions played across Coriolanus's face — relief, regret, and a tinge of gratitude for the unexpected turn of events. In that moment, he found a measure of solace in knowing that Monica had forged her own path, a path that led to the birth of a courageous young woman who stood before him.

As the conversation with Katniss unfolded, Coriolanus couldn't escape the realization that the Capitol's attempts to break them had instead given rise to something far more powerful — a legacy of strength and defiance that endured in the face of oppression.

The necklace, now an emblem of intertwined destinies, served as a silent reminder of the choices they had made and the paths they had walked. Coriolanus, standing on the precipice of history, found himself reevaluating his role in the unfolding drama of Panem. The shadows of Monica's disappearance, once haunting, now held the promise of a resilient spirit that refused to be extinguished.

Love at first sight

Tw: A few swear words (fucked up etc) but it's nothing intimate just a few curses people say when they're angry.

Love at first sight was something he didn't believe in, something he didn't want to believe in. Yet, life seemed to have other plans since he'd seen you.

He wouldn't deny how incredibly cliché it sounded if he ever dared say it out loud. But, he was so madly captivated by you that it was outright stupid.

He felt like a goddamn fool but he had to admit it, it was love at first fucking sight. The way you spoke, the way you looked, the way you acted, everything was just so pretty.

He didn't even notice it at first, the way you consumed his thoughts, living in his mind rent-free. His mind always seemed to wander off, memories of what you did today replaying in his mind. The things you told him, the things he overheard you saying to your friends, and even the songs you were humming. He remembered everything, no matter how much he wanted to focus elsewhere.

He wouldn't deny how annoying it was, the way you could entrance him so easily. His face would flush red whenever he saw you smile, elated when he got to sit anywhere near you, yet so incredibly nervous too.

It wasn't even funny looking at how oblivious you were, unknowingly making him act like a madman who's lovesick for you. He would say he hated it, yet how how could he?

After all, you were just so endearing that even looking at you from afar felt like a prize. And when he got to speak to you, there was no doubt that he was over the goddamn moon.

Still, his words would play so smoothly in his mind, a small cough before he spoke, mentally rehearsing what he was going to say. Yet, for some reason he was never satisfied because his words came out so idiotically. They were either too rough, mean, or simply rude. It was either him speaking arrogantly not that he meant to or he was stuttering mess, one who fumbled his words over and over again.

Yet, he would obviously never let you know that he fucked up his words, no matter how rude or dumb they sounded. He wouldn't admit how much of a loser he was, especially because you didn't seem to notice, smiling like usual. No, he wouldn't mess up a chance with you, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be a flustered mess after stuttering.

Still, he hoped you thought about him as he thought about you. He craved you so much, so mindlessly. He wanted you to be the same as him, for you to be down bad.

He'd never let you know, but he wanted your thoughts to be consumed by him, for you to constantly day-dream about him. He wanted him to be a distraction in your life, he wanted you to experience how annoying you were.

He wanted you to experience his love for you.

"Love at first sight"

Note: I'm sorry I haven't been posting often, i've just been so drained lately and schoolwork is taking up my time. It will take time to finish requests so I hope you all can be patient.

Still, feel free to request as I'll get back to it whenever I have the time and if it is something I'm willing to write. There is a post on my blog (I think it is pinned?) which goes into detail about the rules and fandoms I write about. If you have any questions regarding it, (want to request something but don't know if I follow the fandom/will write about it etc) just do it. Try asking it as a question first if you're unsure as I will get back to it, and if I say yes then I will work on the request (even though it will take time). Please feel free to leave comments on how I can improve or any grammatical mistakes (+ etc) I made throughout my writing. Any critical feedback is appreciated, as long as it is respectful.

Ps: Thank you for reading and please like/reblog/comment etc if you enjoyed!

Greek Mythology (Epic the Musical included) Masterlist:

Green = Finished

Orange = Coming soon

Pink = Link

Telemacus: Coming soon!

Odyseus: Coming soon!

Penelopy: Coming soon!

Poesidon: Coming soon!

Zeus: Coming soon!

Eurylochus: Coming soon!

Polites: Coming soon!

Athena: Coming soon!

Hermes: Coming soon!

Calypso: Coming soon!

Antinous: Coming soon!

Other:

Anything For You; your Highness (Platonic Ftm Reader x Odypen) Sumary: After Odysseus hadn't returned in over twelve years and the Suitors start to grow restless, Reader; a long time friend and servant of the royal family takes matters into their own hands to assure that Penelope can stick to her promise of staying loyal to her husband and the only way they knew how to do so was to become a 'suitor' themself.

You guys can also request stuff, I don’t mind :)

who has an idea for a jjk fic?

who has an idea for a jjk fic?

MASTERLIST [REQUEST OPEN]

Rules-

I don't write nsfw bc

I physically cant write

That shit

No Sexual assault

Or anything bad (not here)

I do Fluff, and sweet shit like cuddles pls gimme things to write

I do head cannons, one shots, Angst too

And maybe Character x Character idk

I write for Fem/Male/Genderneutral, and Trans readers Male x Male GN X FEM/MALE TRANS X FEM/MALE

female x Female etc I'll write it allllllll

I write for multiple fandoms

-BLACK CLOVER-

-BNHA-

-BSD-

-DEMON SLAYER-

-DR.STONE-

-FAIRYTALE-

-FIRE FORCE-

-GENSHIN IMPACT-

-HAIKYUU-

-JJK-

-MAGI-

-SK8- (NOT ADAM)

-TOKYO REVENGERS- (SFW ONLY)

-VANITAS-

And random requests too-

(I might change this soon or not idk)

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I HAVE TIKTOK & INSTAGRAM

don't message me on tumbler pls

PLEASE ALWAYS READ RULES BEFORE REQUESTING