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reiding-writing · 5 months ago

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𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭.

a case involving female students being murdered in their dormitories brings the team to stanford university. You have more of a connection to it than you originally realise.

s8!cold!reader ❅ 8.4k ❅ series masterlist. ❅ main masterlist.

CW | typical criminal minds violence, violence against women, detail of murder and injury, abuse of power, student-professor relationships, miscarriage and abortion, character death, manipulation, cynicism

“Three women, all doctorate students of Stanford University, have all been killed inside their dorm rooms in the last two weeks,” There’s a click of a button, and then three images flash up on the screen, headshots of the girls. “All three were found with their stomachs cut open and their reproductive organs removed,”

What a lovely way to start a Monday morning.

“So much for the best University in California,” Morgan nudges your arm with his elbow, and your roll your eyes.

“What was the medical knowledge of the unsub?”

“You tell me,” JJ clicks another button on her remote, and the smiling photos of the victims are replaced with their crime scene photos.

Hands and feet tied to their beds, a large incision at the pelvic bone that had been stretched open to leave the internal organs bare, and the uterus cut out of the body. The surface knowledge was there, but the execution was not. Messy lines and uneven incisions that left the gap left in the victims more blood and tissue than actual hole.

“So we’re not looking for a professional then,” Morgan points out the obvious with a cross of his arms, leaning back in his chair.

“They clearly know something about it though,” Spencer leans forward as Morgan leans back, squinting his eyes like it’s going to make the images clearer. “There’s several different ways to perform a hysterectomy, but for a complete hysterectomy like our unsub is doing, the most common method is to start with an incision just above the pelvic bone,”

We’ll discuss the details of hysterectomies whilst we’re on the plane,” Hotch taps both of his hands on the table as he stands. “Gather your things, wheels up in thirty,”

There’s a chorus of “Yes Sir,”s as you all follow him out of the conference room to return to your respective desks and gather your belongings for the flight, an air of fatigue still surrounding the group even through the graphic imagery you were presented with.

“Going back to your alma mater, how do you feel?” Morgan clasps his right hand into a fist and holds it out to you like an invisible microphone.

You push it away without much thought as you pack your laptop into your bag, rolling your eyes at him for what feels like the tenth time since you’d walked through the door an hour ago. “It’s been almost— no, it has been ten years since I graduated, what’s there to ‘feel’?”

“Okay robot face, damn, no lingering love for the College that gave you your career?” Morgan’s taunt is laced with that familiar air of light-heartedness that’s there to remind you that he really is just poking fun, but you’ve never been very receptive to his humour.

“No.”

He lets out a sharp laugh in a mix of amusement and surprise, opening his mouth to make another comment, but the expression on your face tells him you’re definitely done talking about the topic.

He does have some self restraint.

—

Stepping out of the San Jose International Airport almost felt like going into a time machine, spitting you right back out where you’d left that decade ago just 18 miles from your old campus.

It felt even more surreal actually reaching Stanford’s main site, walking around the place you’d dedicated four years of your life to. Not much had changed since you’d left, not that you really expected it to, but it felt almost foreign to you to walk around the campus as you were now, a properly matured adult compared to the almost naive teenager you started as.

You began where you always did, at the most recent crime scene, a college dorm room on the south-east side of the campus.

It was pretty standard, a bedroom big enough for a double bed and a desk, a built in wardrobe, and a private bathroom; Decorated how you would expect from a girl in her early twenties, covered in memories and interests that gave it a personality outside of the off-white paint on the walls.

Of course, it was mildly ruined by the fact the previously pink bedsheets were stained in a pool of oxidised blood that dripped down onto the rug adorned floor and ledger small spatters on the skirting boards, but what can you really expect when the girl had been cut open whilst she was still alive and most definitely struggling against it.

“There’s no signs of forced entry,” All Morgan could do was shrug as he examined the fire door that acted as the room’s only entrance. “The inside lock was unfastened and there’s no marks indicating it was forced open, or that it even could be without heavy grade tools,”

“So our unsub had his own key then?”

“Or,” Emily��s suggestion was side-stepped by Spencer, “He was let in,”

There’s a small hum from Hotch as he stands beside you, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. “Alright,” He turns his eyes onto you with a small nod, “Take Prentiss to the Mortuary and check the autopsy. Morgan, Reid, get Garcia to find a list of professors the victims shared and go and speak with them, they might’ve noticed a change in the girls’ behaviours before their deaths.”

“Will do,”

“Got it,”

There’s a series of shared nods between you as you spilt up, leaving Hotch, Rossi and JJ at the crime scene in search of any more information they could utilise.

—

Trying to catch a Professor when they’re not busy is harder than most people would think. So hard in fact that Spencer and Morgan had been left with standing inside one of the lecture rooms to endure the last twenty minutes of a forensic psychology lesson so they could get the professor between classes.

“Professor Callahan?”

“For any personal feedback on your essay please send me an email,” The professor doesn’t so much as look up from the papers he collects and organises on his desk, seemingly already in a rush even after barely two minutes of the lecture ending.

Morgan and Spencer share a glance.

“My name’s Dr Spencer Reid, and this is Agent Morgan, we’re from the FBI,”

Callahan looks up this time, rectangle glasses reflecting the two back to each other through the overhead lighting.

“We were hoping we could ask you a few questions, Sir,”

Spencer watches the Professor’s eyebrows knit in confusion before his eyes spark with a hint of realisation, and then understanding.

“Yes, of course,” He nods, collecting the pile of papers in his right arm. “Please, follow me into my office,”

His office is filled with bookshelves stacked with psychology texts and framed accolades lining the walls. Small busts of philosophers in the mpty spaces. His desk is littered with small rememberences of his former students, and lining the opposite wall is another, a small plaque reading Dr. Wittchen at it’s forefront.

“Did you notice any changes in the girls’ behaviour, or anything unusual leading up to their deaths?” Spencer’s question is cautious, if not a little bit emotionally insensitive.

Callahan’s expression shifts to one of concern. “Honestly, I hadn’t noticed anything alarming. They were all such high achievers, incredibly driven. The stress of their programs sometimes affected them, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

Spencer nods, then glances toward the accompanying desk. “What about Professor Wittchen? Does he interact with the students much?”

Callahan hesitates, his brow furrowing slightly. “Robert is highly respected, very dedicated to his work. He can be a little tough on their grades, but more often than not he’s sat in here doing one-on-one tutoring in his spare time,”

Spencer hums softly at Callahan’s assessment. “Do you know if he turoed any of the girls? He might have a better insight into any changes in their mannerisms,”

“I’m not sure I’m afraid,” Callahan shakes his head, “I leave him to his teachings most of the ime, but I can let him know you’ve asked,”

As they speak, Morgan’s gaze drifts to a nearby display shelf adorned with photographs of past students on the far wall, each one framed and labeled with a name and a date.

Etched into the wood of the shelf itself an engraving reading, “Shelf of Stars.” stood front and centre, and as Morgan’s eyes wandered the pictures, a certain label caught his attention.

Front and centre, there you sat, “2006 PhD” followed by your name, a picture of you and your Professors in what’s presuambly your first year.

“No way,” Morgan breathes out a laugh. “Reid come look at this,”

“What? What’s wrong?” Spencer and Callahan’s expressions mirror each other as they glance over at Morgan in concern, only for him to quash any need for worry as he holds up the frame in their direction.

“Look how different she looks! What happened, did she get hit by a truck when she turned 20 or what?”

There’s a flicker of recognition in Spencer’s eyes, one that almost turns to fondness as he takes in the bright smile printed behind the glass. He’s not sure he’s ever seen you smile like that since you’ve been with the team.

“You know her?” Callahan raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s on our team,” Morgan nods with a chuckle as he places the picture back where he found it, pulling out his phone to snap a photo, probably to make fun of you later.

“Really?” Professor Callahan looks more than a little surprised at the revelation. “I knew she was destined for great things, but the FBI, wow,” He breathes out a short sigh, nodding. “Robert’ll have a field day when he finds out she chose forensics over clinical,”

Spencer gives what’s almost a laugh, clearing his throat. “Well, Professor, thank you for speaking with us, we’ll contact you if we find any more information,”

“No problem at all, my door is always open,” Callahan follows Spencer and Morgan over to the office door, holding it open for them as they leave.

“Oh, Agents?” He stops them before they get too far. “If you have any time in or after your investigation, ask her to pay us a visit? It’d be nice to catch up,”

“We’ll let her know,”

—

“From what I can tell, the removal of the uterus was done antemortem, and the victims cause of death was the blood loss that resulted from it,” The Coroner lifts the muscle torn by the initial incision to give you and Emily a proper look at the damage.

“The nature of the incisions tells that they were most likely done with proper surgical instruments, a scalpel most likely, but their nature is unpracticed, see here for example,”

She points towards the left side of the victims pelvis, where the muscle had been separated from the uteral lining. “In a professional hysterectomy, this tissue here would also be removed, but in this case it’s been left attached to the surrounding tissues, and the same can be said for the others,”

“So our unsub knows the basics, is that something that would require medical training?” Emily furrows her eyebrows at the sight, and you’re much the same.

The sight is almost enough to make you feel nauseous, but you don’t need sickly thoughts clouding your judgement right now.

“Possibly, although with how the internet is, it’s possible they read an article or watched a documentary on how the procedure is done,” The coroner sways her head side to side, “I’d say that whoever did this has had some training, but not necessarily in the field,”

Emily hums, turning her gaze from the victim towards you. “Medical student maybe?”

You hum absently, eyes trained on the gaping hole left in the girl’s stomach. “Maybe, probably won’t still be a student though,”

It affects you more than it should, you think, a malingering nagging in the back of your head that won’t leave you alone but also won’t tell you why it’s there in the first place.

You sigh, “We should look at biologists too, clinical fields,”

Emily gives you an agreeing nod. “I’ll call Garcia,” She pats your shoulder deftly as she leaves the room.

“Was there anything else strange about the body?” You tear your eyes away from the girl to look up at the coroner, who only gives you a small shake of her head.

“Not that I can see,” Her gaze, though objective, flickers with small amounts of uncertainty. “It’s so upsetting, things like this, what spurs someone to do something so… primally horrific?”

“A rejection probably, a denial of a sexual relationship or children that’s projected onto other women because he can’t get to the person he really wants to hurt,” You shrug out an exhale. “More common than you’d think,”

She frowns. “it’s awful,”

“Yeah,” You purse your lips together. “But it is what it is,”

—

“Did the three girls have any clear connections?”

Garcia taps away on her keyboard, and the jingling of her earrings over the reciever suggests that she’s shaking her head. “Apart from being Stanford students, not really. Julie was doing an MsC in Pediatric Therapy, Ophelia doing an MA in History of Medicine, and Marie doing a PhD in Psychology.” She sighs. “None of them had any classes together, no mutual friends, I don’t even think they knew the others existed,”

“There has to be some overlap,” Morgan groans exasperatedly, glancing over at the mostly bare profile board that him and Spencer were trying to put together. They’d spoken to most of the girls’ professors by now, and apart from offhanded comments about stress and pressure, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

It was frustrating, really frustrating, and for all they knew, the team was on a time limit before another girl suffered the same fate. They needed a break in the case, sooner rather than later.

“What about the students Emily asked you to look into? Spencer bends almost awkardly towards Morgan’s phone, trying to raise his voice into the speaker whilst still writing against the whiteboard.

“Nada, I’m afraid, no one who had connections to all three girls, past or present, I’ve hit a wall,”

“No kidding,” Morgan exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding his phone. “Thanks anyway, sweetness,”

“Of course my love, I’ll hit you back if I find anything, Penny G out,” —

“So we’ve got three dead girls, no connections, and no signature to help us track down this guy, lovely,” Emily sips on her coffee, leaning back into her chair with a sigh.

“Isn’t this like every other case we’ve ever had?” You raise an eyebrow is disinterest, stretching you arms above your head and almost hitting Morgan in the face as he and Spencer reenter the room from their lunch break.

The Psychology department had been kind enough to loan you one of their staff rooms during your investigation, and comments had already been made about Hotch’s demeanour as he walked around you like he was keeping an eye on a group of toddlers.

“There’s something we’re missing here,” Rossi pours over the whiteboard with a disgruntled sigh, his palm dragging down the side of his face. “There’s always something,”

Reid nods, tapping his pen against his notebook as he takes a seat. “Even perfectionists leave traces. It’s just a matter of understanding their logic—how they justify their actions.”

“Change of subject quickly,” Morgan holds up a hand as he walks around the table, his other hand landing on your shoulder. “Talking of leaving traces, who was going to tell us that you actually knew how to smile?”

You shrug his hand off of you with a furrow of your eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m talking little nineteen year old you beaming like you were trying to compete with the sun,” He digs his phone from his pocket, holding the screen out to face the group. “I mean look at this, look at you, its weird,”

You snatch the phone from him as soon as you recognise the picture. “Why do you have that picture?”

“We took a trip to see one of your old Professors,” Morgan wrestles the device back out of your hands before you have a chance to what he assumes will be deleting the evidence of your past sunniness. “He asked to see you at some point by the way, wants to ‘catch up’,”

“Delete that photo, Morgan.” You cross one leg over the other with a huff.

“No way, Ice Queen, I’m gonna make fun of you with this forever,”

“I hate you,”

”I love you too,” He blows an air kiss in your direction.

The shrill ring of the door opening cuts through the room, snapping everyone to attention. A mildly out of breath PD officer leaning against the doorframe.

“There’s been another one,” she says, her voice tight.

The room erupts into motion.

—

When you arrive, the scene is eerily similar to the others. The victim, a young woman in her early twenties, lies in the middle of her dorm room, fully clothed and carefully positioned. Her face is serene, as though she’s simply sleeping. The blood pooling out of her lower abdomen tells you that she’s not.

“Victim’s name is Natalie Yu. Twenty-one, Psychology major. She fits the profile—academic, driven, top of her class.” JJ fills you in easily.

You step closer, your heart sinking as you take in the meticulous staging. The unsub’s reverence for his victims is apparent in every detail. No signs of a struggle. No personal belongings out of place.

Reid crouches near the body, his eyes narrowing. “Same as the others. No physical trauma that would suggest a cause of death other than bloodloss. Removal of reproductive organs.”

Morgan stands by the door, his jaw clenched. “This guy’s escalating. Three murders in three weeks, and now this. He’s not slowing down.”

Something catches Prentiss’s eye. She kneels beside the victim and carefully lifts the edge of her blouse. Tucked neatly into the waistband of her jeans is a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” she murmurs, pulling on gloves before unfolding the note. The room goes still as she reads aloud:

“It was meant to be you.”

You lean over Emily’s shoulder to get a glance at the writing yourself. And then you immediately regret doing so. The handwriting is unmistakable—sharp, angular strokes that you’d recognise anywhere.

But you can’t say that. Not yet.

“‘It was meant to be you’?” Rossi repeats, stepping closer. “What the hell does that mean?”

Reid frowns. “It’s personal. Direct. He’s targeting someone specific now.”

“It could be a taunt,” JJ offers. “A way to throw us off or instill fear in the team.”

Morgan shakes his head, his expression grim. “No. This is different. This isn’t just about control anymore—this is about sending a message,”

“It’s personal,” Reid says again, his gaze sweeping the room. For a brief moment, his eyes land on you, and you feel like he can see right through you.

“Excuse me,” you manage, your voice steady despite the panic clawing at your chest.

You step outside, the crisp air hitting you like a jolt. Your hands shake as you pull out your phone, staring at the screen without really seeing it. The note wasn’t just a taunt—it was a reminder. He knew you were here. He’d known the moment you stepped onto campus.

It was meant to be you.

The words echo in your mind, a sinister promise that leaves no room for doubt.

—

“This is different from the previous victims,” Spencer says, “The note changes everything. If we assume the unsub has been fixated on someone specific all along, the other victims could have been surrogates—stand-ins for the real target.”

Prentiss looks at him sharply. “You think the unsub is escalating because the real target is now within reach?”

He nods. “Exactly. The murders were practice, perfecting the method. But now that the target is accessible, he’s shifting focus.”

“Great,” Morgan mutters. “Wonderful.”

JJ gestures to the note. “We need to figure out who he’s targeting—and fast.”

You stand by the door, your stomach twisting. You can’t let them figure it out, not like this.

“I’ll follow up on the note,” you say, forcing a calm you don’t feel. “Maybe there’s something about the phrasing or handwriting we can use to narrow down suspects.”

Morgan eyes you, his brow furrowed. “You sure you’re good? You’ve been quiet since we got here.”

You nod quickly, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go.

—

You barricade yourself in the staff room, spreading out the case files across the table. You stare at the note, the handwriting glaring up at you like a brand.

“It was meant to be you.”

You were just a kid, desperate to prove yourself. He saw that. He used it.

You grip the edge of the table, your knuckles white. You can’t let him win. Not again.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your thoughts. It’s Spencer, holding a cup of coffee.

“Thought you could use this,” he says, setting it down in front of you.

“Thank you.” You manage a display of gratitude, but his gaze lingers, sharp and questioning.

“You’ve been off since we got here,” he says softly. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

Your heart skips a beat. Reid is too perceptive for his own good, and you know he won’t let this go.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods, stepping back. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

As he leaves, you let out a shaky breath. The walls are closing in, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep this to yourself. Not if you don’t want anyone else to die because of it.

—

Spencer stands near the board, absentmindedly tapping his pen against his palm. Morgan is leaning against a table, arms crossed, while Prentiss and JJ exchange quiet remarks by the coffee pot. Rossi, as always, is seated with his chair tipped back, his eyes fixed on the board.

But it’s Hotch who breaks the silence. “This unsub’s timeline is escalating, and the note makes it clear they’re getting bolder. If we don’t figure out their connection to Stanford soon, someone else is going to die.”

Morgan sighs. “We’ve gone through the victim profiles a dozen times. There’s no overlap other than the school. No shared clubs, professors, dorms, nothing. It’s like this guy’s picking them at random.”

“Not random,” Spencer interjects, his voice sharp. “The victims are stand-ins for someone else. I’m sure of it. The note confirmed it—‘It was meant to be you.’ The unsub isn’t just killing; they’re trying to send a message to someone.”

Rossi tilts his head. “None of them bear any significant physical relation to each other,”

Reid nods. “It doesn’t have to be physical. It’s an ideal, there’s something specific that ties all of the victims together, something linked to whoever the unsub is actually after,”

JJ frowns. “But who is it? If it’s not one of the victims, how do we figure out who the unsub is fixated on?”

You tense in your chair, your hands curling into fists under the table. You can feel their eyes shifting to you, their collective attention like a spotlight burning against your skin.

Morgan raises an eyebrow. “You did go here. Maybe there’s something you’d recognise—something we’ve missed.”

You meet their gazes with forced calm, willing your voice to remain steady. “Just because I went to Stanford doesn’t mean this case has anything to do with me.”

Prentiss leans forward slightly, her tone gentle but insistent. “No one’s saying it does, but if there’s even a chance—”

“There’s not.” you cut her off, sharper than you intended. The words hang in the air, and you immediately regret your tone. It doesn’t change anything though. “We’re here because of the victims, not because I graduated from here a decade ago.”

The room falls quiet, and the tension thickens. Hotch watches you carefully, his unreadable gaze a weight you can’t escape.

“I need some air,” you say abruptly, standing before anyone can argue. “I’ll be back in a few.”

You leave the room before anyone can stop you, the sound of your boots echoing down the sterile hall.

—

Stanford’s campus feels both foreign and familiar as you wander its paths. The sprawling quads and ivy-covered buildings haven’t changed much in the years since you left, but the memories they stir feel sharp and raw.

You stop at a bench near the Psychology department, the cool breeze doing little to calm the storm inside you. Your arms wrap around yourself as if trying to hold yourself together.

“You’re not fine.”

The voice startles you, but you don’t turn around. You’d recognise that soft, observant tone anywhere. Spencer.

He sits beside you, leaving a respectful distance between you, his lanky frame folding awkwardly on the bench. “You’ve been different since we got here,” he says after a moment. “Quiet. Hesitant. That’s not like you,”

You don’t respond, staring out at the students passing by, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the weight in your chest.

“I know it’s not just the case,” he continues, his voice gentle but unyielding. “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling us.”

Your jaw tightens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,”

His certainty grates on your already frayed nerves, and you finally turn to him, your eyes flashing. “What are you trying to say, Reid? Spit it out.”

He hesitates, his brow furrowing as he chooses his words carefully. “I think you know who the unsub is. Or at least… you suspect,”

You laugh, the sound bitter and sharp. “That’s a hell of an accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he says quickly. “I’m worried about you. You’re not acting like yourself, and the way you reacted to that note…” He trails off, shaking his head. “It was different. You looked like you’d seen a ghost,”

“Maybe I’m just tired,” you snap, the defensive edge in your voice sharper than you intend.

He doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s more than that. I can see it. You’re scared,”

The word hits you like a slap, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. He’s right, of course. You are scared. Terrified, even. But admitting that feels like surrendering, like letting him win.

“Stop it,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Spencer leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “I think I do. I think this unsub has a connection to you. And I think that’s why you’ve been avoiding us—because you don’t want us to figure it out.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, and you glare at him, your composure threatening to crack. “You don’t know what he did to me.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and the moment they do, you see the understanding dawn in his eyes. “Who?” Spencer presses gently. “Who are we talking about?”

Your chest heaves as you fight back the tears threatening to spill. “One of my Professors.”

“Did he…” Spencer hesitates in pressing the subject, a mix of his usual timidness when it comes to you and the fear that he’s broaching on a very concerning topic.

“It was consensual.”

Spencer watches you closely, his eyes searching your face for a sign, some clue, as if trying to understand the puzzle that is your inner workings.

He doesn’t push, but the silence between you both is suffocating. His voice is almost a whisper when he speaks again, but it still cuts through the heavy air between you.

"You were just a kid," Spencer murmurs, his words soft but no less sharp. "He took advantage of you when you were vulnerable, when you were still figuring things out. That’s manipulation."

You flinch at the truth of it, at the way he so easily sees the pieces of your life you've tried so hard to bury. You didn’t want to think about him anymore, didn’t want to remember how he twisted every gesture, every word, until it was all about him, all about what he wanted.

You can still feel the weight of his hands, the way he made you feel like you didn’t have a choice, that this was all part of the price you had to pay to succeed, to be seen as worthy of your place in academia.

Spencer shifts slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “He used his power over you. You were just a kid, and he was a professor. Someone you trusted.” His words are steady, but they cut deep. "You were in a position where you thought you had to do what he wanted. But it wasn’t your fault,”

“It was consensual.” you say again, more firmly this time, though it feels like you’re trying to convince yourself rather than him, the words raw and drenched in a cold calmness you didn’t really feel.

“Was it?” Spencer asks gently, his voice low. “If you were 19 and you thought you had to do it to get ahead, was it really? Was it truly your choice?”

You feel the air leave your lungs, and you want to scream at him, to deny everything, to make him stop asking these questions, because the answers are too painful, too complicated.

But he’s right. You were a child—so young, so desperate to succeed, to make a name for yourself in a field dominated by people like him. You thought you were lucky when he took you under his wing, when he offered you guidance, extra attention, time. But you weren’t.

“I had an abortion,” you finally confess, the words coming out in a broken whisper.

Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he’s silent, processing your admission. His lips part as though he wants to say something, but nothing comes. He doesn’t push, though, just watches you, his expression a mix of sympathy and concern, but there's no judgment in it. Not like you expected.

“In my shitty college dorm room,” Your voice catches, and you blink rapidly, trying to stop the sting in your eyes. “I thought I was dying. The amount of blood—” You let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling in your lap. “I didn't know how to make it stop.Sometimes I wish it didn’t.”

“Don’t say that.”

Spencer leans in a little, his gaze intense, but gentle. “You were just a kid,” he says softly, his words like a balm, soothing yet cutting through the guilt. “He took advantage of you. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve that.”

You want to believe him. You want so badly to hear those words and let them erase the shame that has clung to you for so long. But the voices of doubt are louder in your head. The fear that somehow, deep down, it was your fault. That maybe you could’ve said no, maybe you could’ve gotten away before it went too far.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you say, your voice low, almost ashamed of the vulnerability. “I couldn’t tell my parents or my friends… or anyone. It was like everything I worked for, everything I had, was tied to him. If I said something, everything would’ve been ruined.”

Spencer’s brows furrow, and he lets out a soft exhale. “No one should ever have to carry that weight alone, especially not at your age.” His voice is steady, but there’s something deeply empathetic in his tone. “It’s not a burden you should’ve had to bear by yourself.”

“I lied to him too,” you whisper, the confession hanging heavily in the air. “I told him I miscarried. He was devastated. He wasn’t even angry—just sad. But I didn’t. I didn’t feel anything.”

“You…” Spencer starts, hesitating to make sure he words his response correctly. “Being in a state of shock is normal after a traumatic event,”

You shake your head. “I know what shock feels like. I was just numb. I murdered my own child and I didn’t even feel guilty about it.”

Spencer’s jaw tightens slightly, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes, but it’s not directed at you. It’s directed at him, at the man who should’ve protected you, not preyed on you. His voice is tight, but he keeps it calm.

“You did what you had to do. That’s not your fault.”

“It was alive. Seventeen weeks. I flushed it down the fucking toilet,” You drag your palm down your face, leaning forward until your elbows are resting on your knees.

“I didn’t even want to graduate after that,” you admit, your voice raw. “I couldn’t face him. I just wanted to disappear, but I was not going to put myself through hell without getting something out of it.”

Spencer is quiet for a long moment, taking in everything you’ve said. His gaze never wavers from yours, like he’s trying to understand every piece of you, trying to reach that place where you’re still hiding, still locked away from the rest of the world.

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation for what happened. You did what you needed to survive. And you are surviving. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. The storm inside you hasn’t calmed, but for the first time in a long while, it feels like it’s not threatening to swallow you whole. The walls you’ve built around yourself feel just a little more porous, itching to crumble.

“I’m scared,” you say, the vulnerability you’ve been holding back creeping into your voice. “He’s murdering people because of me.”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. He sits up straighter, his expression serious. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll help you, and we’ll make sure that he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

“You can’t tell anyone what I just told you.”

He lets out a sigh of your name.

“Promise me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” He nods solemnly. “I promise.”

—

The moment you walk through the doors of the empty lecture hall, you feel it—that same nauseating mix of dread and anticipation curling in your stomach. The air is stale, thick with the weight of memories you spent years trying to forget.

He’s already there, standing at the podium like he belongs there, like nothing has changed. Like he hasn’t left a trail of bodies behind him.

“Ah,” Professor Wittchen exhales as if relieved. “There you are,”

Your fingers twitch at your sides. “I should’ve known you’d pick this place.”

His lips curve into a small smile, a smile that used to make you feel seen. Now, it makes your skin crawl. “It’s fitting, don’t you think? This is where it all began,”

He watches you with the same unwavering gaze he always had, the one that used to make you feel special—chosen. Now, it just feels predatory.

“I missed you,” he says simply, stepping closer.

You don’t move.

“You should’ve visited,” he continues, his voice warm, inviting, like this is a casual conversation and not a confrontation between a killer and his last loose end. “You were my brightest student,”

“I was your victim.” you correct, voice sharp.

His expression doesn’t falter. If anything, he looks pleased. “Victim?” he echoes, like he’s rolling the word around in his mouth, testing its weight. “That’s not how I remember it.”

You swallow hard, jaw clenched. You knew this was how he would react. Knew he would twist things, make them blurry, like he always had.

He tilts his head, studying you. “I heard you became a profiler. That’s impressive. Though I always thought you were more inclined to be a Psychiatrist.”

“You shouldn't be surprised,” you say flatly. “I learned from the best manipulators.”

A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “Now, that’s not fair,”

Your nails dig into your palms. “I know it’s you,” you say, cutting through the act. “You murdered four innocent women because you couldn’t move on.”

He exhales, almost disappointed. “That’s not quite right.”

You don’t let him continue. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”

His gaze darkens, and for the first time since you stepped into this room, the warmth fades from his expression. “It’s been ten years since you left me,” he says simply. “You never even had the decency to say goodbye. I tried to find a substitute, but they weren’t like you. No body is. You’re special.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but you force yourself to hold his stare. “I didn’t owe you anything.”

Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve disappointed him. “That’s not true. I shaped you. I made you.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “You ruined my life.”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable, and then—slowly—he steps down from the podium, closing the distance between you. “You don’t believe that.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t move.

He stops inches from you, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I see it in your eyes. You still need me.”

You know what he’s doing. You know how his mind works, how he bends reality to his will, how he rewrites history to suit his narrative.

And for the first time, you don’t fall for it.

“You’re pathetic,” you whisper. “You think killing people will make me what? Love you? Miss you?” You shake your head. “You mean nothing to me.”

Something in his expression shifts. It’s subtle, but you catch it. The crack in his mask. The first glimpse of the monster beneath.

His fingers twitch at his sides.

There it is. The control slipping.

Good.

You see the flash of something dark behind his eyes—anger, frustration, maybe even desperation. He knows he’s losing control, and for a man like him, that’s unbearable.

You take a step forward. Not away, but closer.

“I hate you.” you say, your voice sharp, cutting through the heavy silence of the room.

Wittchen’s lips barely twitch, but you see the flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he thinks you’re still playing a game with him. Like this is another debate, another test of wills.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs. “Not really.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”

He sighs, tilting his head like you’re disappointing him. “I did anything you didn’t ask for,” he says, like it’s a fact. “You wanted me.”

Rage burns through you, hot and all-consuming. “I was nineteen,” you spit. You knew exactly what you were doing. You took advantage of me.”

Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that,”

“It was exactly like that,” you snap, stepping closer. “And do you want to know the worst part? I spent years telling myself it wasn’t. That maybe I did love you, that maybe I wanted to be with you. But I didn’t.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.

“I don’t regret leaving you,” you continue, voice trembling with fury. “I don’t regret moving on, or never looking back. But do you know what I do regret?”

He doesn’t answer, just watches you carefully, like he’s waiting for the killing blow.

“I regret ever letting you touch me. I regret every second I spent thinking you were something special, that you cared about me. You didn’t. You only cared about what I could give you.”

Something shifts in his expression—subtle, but enough. His fingers twitch again.

You steel yourself and drive the dagger deeper.

“You think I miscarried?” you ask, voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s what I told you, right? That I lost the baby?”

His face remains eerily blank.

“I lied,” you whisper. “I had an abortion.”

His entire body stiffens.

“Because the thought of being tied to you for the rest of my life made me sick. And I would’ve rather died from sepsis than deal with you.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

For a moment, Wittchen doesn’t react. Doesn’t breathe.

Then, without warning, he moves.

His hand goes for his waistband, and in a split second, you see the glint of a gun.

But you’re faster.

Your own weapon is already in your hands before he can fully draw his, aimed directly at his chest.

“Don’t.” you warn, your voice steel.

Wittchen hesitates, his gun halfway raised, his eyes locked onto yours.

For the first time, there’s something close to uncertainty in his expression.

—

The team is listening.

They hear every word.

Spencer’s grip on his gun is tight, knuckles white, jaw clenched so hard it aches. The rest of the team stands tense beside him, ears trained on the conversation happening just beyond the door.

They could go in. They should go in.

But they don’t.

Not yet.

Because this isn’t their battle.

Still, when they hear the shift in the conversation, the moment Wittchen reaches for his gun, every muscle in Spencer’s body tenses, ready to move.

And then—

Silence.

A long, stretching silence.

Then a single gunshot.

—

“You’re lying,” Wittchen snaps, his voice rising as his fingers curl tighter around the revolver’s grip. He pulls back the hammer with a metallic click, the sound loud in the charged silence of the lecture hall.

His arm is steady, the barrel aimed at your chest, but you don't flinch. “You miscarried. You were sick. That’s the truth. I took care of you. I was there when you needed me.”

Your lips curl into a bitter smile.

“The baby was fine,” you say, voice cold and firm. “I just didn’t want it.”

The words hang between you, heavy and raw.

For a split second, something akin to disbelief flickers in his eyes. But he recovers quickly, his jaw tightening as his grip on the gun tightens. The cold, calculating look is back.

The man who used his power over you is right here, still trying to control the situation. But he’s unraveling, and you can see it now—the cracks in his façade.

“You think you can just walk away from all this?” Wittchen growls, his voice a low threat. His eyes dart between you and the gun in your hand, calculating the distance, the time it would take to react.

“You’re going to watch me.” you reply, your voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside you. You take a step forward, gun lowered in favour of a pair of handcuffs.

He lets out a sharp breath, taking a step backwards, his arm still outstretched, but his expression is one of rage and something else—desperation.

“I gave you everything,” Wittchen sneers. “I could’ve given you more. You were a star, you were going places. But you threw it all away.”

“I didn’t throw away anything.” you say, voice sharp, anger curling in your gut. “I made my life what I wanted it to be.”

You take another step toward him. Your hand grips your gun tighter, its cold weight a reminder of how far you’ve come, how much you’ve survived.

“I was a kid,” you say, quieter now, more dangerous. “A kid who wanted to make something of herself. But you? You made sure I’d always be tied to you, that I’d never escape your reach. You took that from me. And now?”

Now, you’re not just angry. Now, you’re done.

“I don’t need you anymore,” you continue, voice quiet but lethal. “And I don’t need to live in fear of you. Not anymore. Just give up.”

Wittchen’s face hardens. His finger moves closer to the trigger, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still. His eyes are cold, calculating—he’s trying to force you to back down, to make you fear him again. But you don’t. Not anymore.

And he knows it.

The silence stretches out, suffocating. And then, without another word, he turns the gun away from you and towards himself.

For a moment, the world is frozen.

The sharp scent of gunpowder lingers in the air.

You don’t flinch.

You don’t move.

Wittchen stares at you, almost smiling.

A slow, dark red stain spreads across his chest. His gun falls from his hand, clattering uselessly to the floor.

Then, his knees buckle.

He collapses.

The impact is dull, almost anticlimactic.

His breath comes in shallow gasps, and for the first time since you walked into this room, he looks small.

Weak.

The man who once held so much power over you is nothing more than a dying, pathetic heap on the floor.

And somehow, there’s no satisfaction in it.

You watch as the light fades from his eyes, as the last breath leaves his lips.

And then—

It’s over.

—

The gunshot sends the team into action.

Spencer is the first through the door, gun raised, eyes scanning the room for threats.

But all he finds is you—standing still, gun loose in one hand, handcuffs in the other, staring blankly ahead.

Wittchen is on the floor, unmoving. Blood pools around him.

For a second, no one speaks.

Then you move.

Without looking at any of them, you turn away from the corpse.

And then, numbly, silently, you walk past them.

You don’t stop when Spencer calls your name.

You don’t stop when JJ reaches for you.

You just keep walking.

Because it’s finally over.

And yet, somehow, it doesn’t feel like a victory at all.

—

The air outside the lecture hall is thick with tension.

Your gun feels heavy in your hands, and at some point, you register someone gently taking it from you. You don’t resist.

The hallways of Stanford feel different now. The ghosts you tried so hard to forget have been exorcised, but their shadows still linger.

You reach the nearest exit and step outside, inhaling sharply as the crisp night air hits you. You brace your hands on your knees, grounding yourself.

Then you hear footsteps behind you.

You know it’s them.

You straighten, forcing yourself to meet their gazes.

Hotch stands with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his presence steady. JJ and Emily exchange a look, worry etched into their features. Rossi, as always, watches with quiet understanding.

Then there’s Morgan.

He looks… shaken.

Guilt lingers in his eyes, and when he steps forward, his voice is lower, softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You blink, caught off guard.

“For what?” Your voice is hoarse, raw.

Morgan exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw with his eyes full of regret. “I didn’t know.”

You swallow hard. You don’t want to talk about it. But there’s something in his voice, in the way his usually confident demeanor falters, that makes you nod stiffly.

“I know.”

It’s the closest thing to forgiveness you can offer right now.

Morgan nods, accepting it.

Spencer is the last to approach.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes, though, say everything.

You hold his gaze for a moment before sighing. “What?”

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits. His voice is careful, but there’s an edge of something else—frustration, sadness, maybe even anger. Not at you. Never at you. But at what happened. At what Wittchen took from you.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmur.

—

The hum of the jet is steady and low, a constant presence that fills the silence between breaths.

You sit by the window, staring out at the clouds, your reflection barely visible against the dark glass.

You should be exhausted.

You are exhausted.

But sleep won’t come.

Your mind won’t let it.

The seat next to you shifts slightly, and you glance over to see Spencer settling beside you.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t ask if you’re okay, because he already knows you’re not.

Doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances.

He just sits.

And somehow, that’s reassurance enough.

Sleep comes a little easier after that.

#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst

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misterradio · 2 years ago

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movies that make me think so much of rur.. and also soma now that i think of it. basically robots is the same

#original nonsense #personal #they even stabbed that robot girls hand with a pin at the beginning to test her pain reception. that happened to my buddy radius.#okay BRRRRR VRRRRVRBRBRRBRBRBRRRRRRR idk how to put this into thoughts. spoilers below i guess.#it was so (clasps my hands) it was so interesting and devastating how robots became hunted and destroyed for being 'other' and the way #one of the other robots said that history repeats itself... david wouldnt know what that means but we the audience might..................#and its so devastating that his journey was to change himself to find love which was doomed from the beginning #and he only found a bit of reassurance too late...... or is it too late because at least he found it and had that essential #experience of reciprocated love.......#oh my goooooo[explodes]

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sabrinajenre96 · 1 month ago

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Title: “Catching More Than Flowers”

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Lopez! Reader

Warning ⚠️: none

Angela looked radiant as she tossed the bouquet into the air, laughter ringing out around the reception hall. Y/N stood near the back, half watching, half sipping her drink, not really expecting to participate—until the flowers landed directly in her hands. No scramble. No fight. Just… boom. Caught.

Gasps and playful shrieks followed as Y/N stared down at the bouquet in surprise, her heart hammering.

She felt the weight of a dozen eyes on her—including Tim’s.

Her gaze flicked across the room, and there he was. Tim Bradford, her boyfriend, her partner, her calm in the chaos. He wore that sharp suit way too well, standing by the bar with a beer in hand and a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Crap.

Y/N smiled, but it was tight, and as the dancing resumed, she retreated to a quieter corner of the floor.

---

Tim noticed right away.

Y/N wasn’t the type to sulk or spiral, but something was eating at her. During Angela and Wesley’s first dance, he watched her sway along with the others, her movements robotic. The usual fire in her eyes was dimmed.

When the slow dance music shifted into a more universal rhythm, he walked up and offered his hand. “Dance with me?”

She looked up, surprised. “You don’t dance.”

“I make exceptions,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her gently into his arms. They moved together slowly, comfortably, like they’d done this a thousand times.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said after a beat. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

She tilted her chin, a practiced smile forming. “Just thinking about my detective’s exam. It’s coming up.”

Tim chuckled softly, tightening his hold on her waist. “You’re lying.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “What?”

“I know you,” he said calmly. “You’re going to crush that exam. You’ve been ready for weeks. This mood? It started the second you caught that bouquet.”

Y/N lowered her gaze, letting the silence stretch between them before speaking, voice softer now. “I was scared. I know what your marriage with Isabel did to you. I didn’t want you to think I… expected something. Or was pushing you.”

Tim was quiet for a moment, then exhaled. “You didn’t scare me.”

She blinked up at him.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have baggage. Isabel and I… we weren’t right, and yeah, it messed me up. But you’re not her. You’re you, and I see a future with you. A real one. A family. Something I never even talked about with her.”

Y/N’s lips parted, caught off guard by his honesty. Her eyes shimmered slightly, but she kept them steady on his.

“I didn’t expect you to say that,” she whispered.

“Well,” he said with a smirk, “Angela would actually kill me if I hurt you. And I’m not stupid enough to mess with a Lopez sister. Especially not with Mama Lopez in my corner.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “You better not mess this up. Mama Lopez is already expecting grandchildren.”

Tim leaned in, his voice low, amused. “Is that so?”

“Oh, absolutely. She’s already making plans for the nursery.”

He laughed, then brushed a soft kiss over her lips. “Well then, guess I better start being the man you deserve. And a damn good son-in-law.”

“You already are,” she whispered, her arms tightening around him.

And for the first time all night, she wasn’t worried about the future—because she knew who she’d be facing it with.

#the rookie fanfic #the rookie #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fanfiction #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford

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thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 7 months ago

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Hi hi hii! I hope all is well with you :3 I really enjoy your Boothill fics, they bring me so much joy! If it's possible, could I request something?

I've had this idea in my mind about mechanic!reader overworking themselves, not eating, sleeping, or hydrating as they should be as they can forget to tend to their own needs at times...(sadly you can't solely sustain yourself on candy and sugar)

Then Boothill comes to visit them and finds mechanic!reader in an exhausted state, basically forcing them to eat actual food and rest up.

a/n: 1.8k w.count - cw!!: mentions of being awake a long time and not eating!!

boothill just finished up two different jobs he was on, one solo and another pitching in to help a pal that was conveniently in the area. after such hard and capable work, he figures he's owed a quick pass by your shop. that, and something in the back of his head was nagging at him to swing by- and it wasn't because of his neuro-chip.

stepping through the shop's entrance, the door pushes open and the bell above the door chimes. before he can open his jaw and call out to you, searching you out in the premise, he instead starts yelling in shocked noises.

from above, a small mass of something emerges from the shadows of the ceiling. the exposed pipes that line the walls are the perfect place for something small, like critters or rodents, to trek and hide on.

the cowboy half expected a racoon or something to land on his head. what he didn't expect was the feeling of metal bashing into his face instead of a mass of fur and talons.

"son of a-!" he almost fully curses. taking two steps back in lieu of the 'attack', he raises his hand and grabs the metal clinging onto his face and hair. "get offa' me!" he hisses.

the sound of familiar beeps has him using his grip a bit more carefully. working on cooling down his insides that had been fired up into a friendzy, boothill successfully pulls ore off of his face to look at him properly.

"the hell do you think you're doin', eh lil fella?" the little assistant robot that usually stuck to you like glue flails in the air as boothill holds him between his finger and thumb by the sides of his rectangular head.

the expression the robot has on its face was accompanied by it's flinging arms and legs: [＞﹏＜]!!

"ey, ey, ey, lil dude, chill out."

boothill marches to the desk that acts less like a reception desk and more like a display counter. setting ore down, its flailing stops but the squeezed expression stays put. the cyborg bend at the waist, laying one of his arms over the counter to get- more or less- eyelevel with the little helper with the other going to his hip.

"okay, what's the problem. where's your fixer?" boothill asks. its a joke between the two of you that you act more like ore's guardian than owner. so, in regard to your identity, to ore you became his 'fixer'. ore points one of its metal coated arms behind him and one of its legs stomps. "in that back?" ore nods. "alright, let's go check on 'em shall we?"

ore, instead of taking a ride on boothill's shoulder or being carried in his palm, hops from the counter and rushes around through the doorways that you always keep propped open during shop hours. boothill struts his way through the shop, leisurely following the fella.

as he makes his way through the shop, boothill finally notes the lack of noise he's so used to hearing. no knocking on metal, or drilling of tools. no hint of work, not even your murmuring echoed through the building. it was just quiet.

well now he's just starting to worry.

adding a half-step to his stride, boothill follows the beeping provided from ore and finds himself coming through the cracked doors of your far back work room.

ore is already up on your desk thanks to your installation of small metal-sheeted pullies you made for it. its standing by your head that rests on your arms, folded over your desktop. both of its arms push against your skull, fretting in digital sounds.

walking in, boothill makes his way to your back, placing a gentle touch to the space between your shoulders. his free hand pushes against your desktop, leaning over to try and see if your face was peeking out of your arm pillow situation at all. you were out like a light, but you should be sleeping in bed.

"ey, sugar," boothill softly calls. his hand rubs against your back, rustling your shirt to try gently coaxing you awake. it gets him no where. "hey," he tries again. with a bit of a harsher shake of your shoulder, you bolt upwards. with a gasp from both you and boothill, ore stumbles backward onto its metal backend from the force in which you eject him from your skull. you whip your head back and forth, blinking wearily and rapidly before you finally register boothill's arrival.

"the hell, when did you get here?" your voice is groggy and rushed, and if the ranger hadn't just jostled you awake from your desk, he'd find it pretty cute.

"does it matter? why the hell you sleepin' at your desk? you have a bed."

"what? oh, no, it's fine." you rub your palms into your eyes, blinking back the black splotches it causes when you pull them away. "i just dozed off in the middle of something."

"uh huh." boothill is unconvienced. "you wouldn't be neglectin' your needs just for some work, now would yah?"

"what? no. no, i'm fine. perfectly healthy."

"i didn't ask if you were healthy." you don't offer him anything more and he sighs. shifting his weight, he puts on hand on his hip. "ore," he beckons the robot and it answers with a beep. "when's the last time your fixer here took care of themself?" there's a spinning dial on his digital screened face before a number pops up.

[21 hours ago !!]

boothill's jaw drops in disbelief.

your jaw drops in betrayal.

you jump from your stool, palms against your worktable while ore's 'face' lights up with exclamation points [!!!!!] before scampering away from your ire.

"are you serious right now?" boothill bites as you look over your shoulder at him. his arms are crossed, and a frown settles on his lips. it's rare you're on the receiving end of a scolding since it's usually you telling him off for being reckless or the like when he comes in for repairs. you kind of hate it to be honest.

"it's fineee," you draw out, huffing as you run your hand over your face. you have a headache, and standing up so quickly didn't help.

boothill clicks his tongue. clearly you were in no mood to listen. it dawns on him that ore's little attack from the entrance was probably him trying to persuade potential clientele away so you could rest. but seeing boothill come through the doors, the robot instead took his arrival as his saving grace.

boothill is a hardened galaxy ranger. but he also happens to be a big softie too.

"have it your way," the cowboy shrugs before pushing you away from your workstation by your shoulder. getting just enough distance between you and your job, he bends at his knees, hooks one of his arms around your side and hoists you up. you find yourself face first against his back with his tattered, red scarf brushing your cheek.

you feel and hear the contraptions and hinges in his body hiss and work to accomodate your weight over his shoulder.

"boothill!" you push your palms against the dip of his back, pushing your body up as much as you can as he starts carting you off.

"ore, be a lil' helper and grab your fixer something to put in their stomach. one of them small shakes or somethin' will do." ore, with its marching orders, obeys and dashes off once again. you almost regret that you programmed ore to obey boothill too.

in truth, boothill would prefer food in your stomach, but ore is about 2 fists tall. a prepackaged supplement from your fridge will have to suffice.

you don't fight him as much as he expected as he marches to your room where he rolls you off his shoulder and onto your mattress. landing with a soft thud, you dont have time to recover before he's throwing a pillow from the floor at your face.

"umph! hey, quit it!" you hiss, pushing the pillow aside. the ranger takes a seat at the foot of your bed as you shuffle to sit up and bring your legs in so he doesn't crush them. his knees are perched apart and his arms crossed. he watches the door, saying nothing, waiting for ore to come in. "are you really upset about this?"

"do i seem happy?" he shoots back.

"you dont need to get lippy with me," you bite as he rolls his eyes.

"i apparently do. not taking care of yourself properly? you can't be doing that, sugar." his scolding tone softens the more he talks. seeing how high strung he is about this, you feel almost guilty. you start picking at the fabric of your shirt.

ore soon brings you in something to consume that's better than nothing at all and helps sooth the post-sleep irritation in your throat. you didn't realize how scratchy it felt until you were forced to.

you're not sure when it happens, but at some point boothill has you laying down properly in your bed with a new change of clothes. and not too much later, you're sleeping before you could even try to fight back.

ore takes the empty container that was once full of your meal substitute and trots off to discard of it. boothill sits at the edge of your bed, where he's been planted the whole time. the cowboy observes you from a lean, his elbows resting on his metal knees.

you're breathing easy, which is good, but he still grimaces at the tiredness gathered under your closed, relaxed eyes. with your face washed of muck and soot, he can see your fatigue clearer.

boothill groans quietly, lowering his head as one of his hands comes to brush the hair off the side of his face and ruffle the strands together, definitely knotting it up. when he brings his hand back down, he winces when some strands pull from his scalp- his whole head is sensitive, so he should've known better.

when it seems like you're down for the count and won't wake up the moment he leaves you alone, boothill stands from your bed. the blanket is rumpled from where he's been sitting, and the impression of his presence is visible to his one good eye. oddly, it's comforting.

lifting his hat, he swings it down off his head and sets it gently on your bed side table that's littered with all sorts of odd and ends. along with a barely working alarm clock that has one of the digital numbers flickering in and out. you'll have to rewire that soon. he leaves it with you as he dismisses himself to let you rest.

beyond your bedroom, ore beeps and bops with noises as boothill sits at the reception desk. his legs crossed at the ankles and propped up on the desk with his arms crossed as he... talks? with ore.

any customer that walks in is met with a mean glare and a harsh 'get out' before he's shooing them out the door.

his nine-mililmeter is only on the desk next to him for some.... extra incentive.

a/n pt.2: i tried incorporating a few of ore's expressions with emoticons. is that lame? too cheesy? who knows. i love that little robot tho. [anyways sorry this rq took so long anon hnnnnng]

#boothill x reader #boothill fluff #boothill comfort #boothill hurt/comfort #boothill angst #boothill x you #boothill x y/n #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail boothill #boothill hsr #hsr boothill #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n

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toasty-bun1 · 6 months ago

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Reconnected (Tadashi Hamada X Reader)

First fanfic post! I hope you all enjoy :)

Summary: With Tadashi constantly at the lab working on Baymax there’s a disconnect in your relationship. Happy ending!

Warnings: none

———

“Thanks, Joan! I’ll get that done by midday tomorrow. Have a good one.”

You end the video meeting and close your laptop, letting out a long sigh as you look around your apartment. The familiar emptiness greets you once again. Tadashi, your brilliant boyfriend, had been consumed by his work for months. His latest project, a healthcare robot named Baymax, had the potential to save thousands of lives, but the complexity of it all had absorbed every waking hour of his day.

Your routine had become monotonous: after work, you’d either hit the gym or do Pilates, make yourself a simple dinner, and retreat to bed. The bed creaked in the early hours when Tadashi finally came home, and when you woke up, the other side was always empty.

Staring at your phone, you hesitate for a moment before dialing his number.

“Hey! This is Tadashi. Leave a message at the beep, and I’ll get back to you soon.”

You let out a shaky breath as his voicemail message cuts off, a knot forming in your throat. The uncertainty of your relationship weighed heavily on your heart. How much longer could you keep going like this? You needed something to change—anything.

Determined to do something about it, you hustle downstairs to the kitchen and start chopping veggies for a soup Tadashi always loved. The rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board helps calm your nerves, but you still feel a deep ache in your chest.

The soup bubbles away as you carefully pack it into a thermal container. You take a deep breath, grab your helmet, and hop on your moped. When you pull into the SFIT parking lot, you can’t help but chuckle softly at the sight of only one other moped parked there—Tadashi’s.

Your heart flutters, and you can’t help but wonder why seeing your own boyfriend makes you so nervous. Maybe because you didn’t know what kind of reception you’d get.

Pushing open the door to his lab, you spot him immediately. His back is hunched over the desk as he works on a small wiring issue, completely engrossed in his task.

“Hi… Tadashi…” Your voice catches slightly as you greet him.

He turns around quickly, his eyes lighting up when he sees you, but there’s a hint of concern in his expression. “Y/n! Uh, what are you doing here? It’s so late, and you’ve got work tomorrow. You should go home and get some rest.” He shifts awkwardly, as if caught off guard.

You feel your heart race, but you push through the nervousness. “I, um… I brought you something. I missed you and wanted to make sure you ate well.”

Tadashi glances down at the neatly wrapped bag you’re holding, then back at you. His expression softens, but there’s still a palpable tension. “Oh, thank you, Y/n, but… I already ate a little while ago. I really need to fix this wiring by tonight. I’ll see you at home though, okay?”

Your heart sinks, but you force a smile, nodding. “Okay, I’ll see you at home.”

You turn quickly to leave, not wanting him to see the tears welling up in your eyes. Clutching the soup to your chest, you step out of the lab and back to your moped.

This is too hard. I can’t keep being a ghost in my own relationship. You try to convince yourself that it’s all worth it, but the ache in your chest doesn’t fade.

Once back at your apartment, you change into comfortable pajamas and collapse onto the couch, too drained to deal with your emotions. You cover yourself with a blanket, trying to shut out the frustration gnawing at you.

The sound of keys jingling at your front door makes you jolt awake. It’s only 11 PM—Tadashi usually doesn’t come home until 1 or 2 AM. You sit up, confused and a little hopeful.

The door clicks open, and to your surprise, Tadashi is standing there, slightly out of breath. He’s holding a bouquet of tulips—your favorite. You walk towards the front door.

“Tadashi, what…” Your words are cut off as he steps forward, his hands gently cupping your face as he pulls you in for a kiss. His lips are warm and desperate, as if he’s been waiting to do this for so long. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, and you both sink deeper into the kiss.

After a few moments, you finally break away, breathless, and notice the tears in his eyes. Your own eyes fill with tears as well.

“Tadashi, what’s going on?”

His gaze is steady as he looks into yours, his voice trembling slightly. “I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. I’ve treated you terribly these past few months. Yes, Baymax is important to me, but you are more important. I lost sight of that. When I saw you leave my lab earlier, I realized I’ve been neglecting you, and I can’t keep doing that. I love you, Y/n. I promise, I will never forget that again.”

A wave of relief washes over you, as if a heavy weight has been lifted from your chest. You take his hands tightly, the words finally coming out as a soft whisper, “I love you, Tadashi. I’ll always support your work, but hearing you say that… it eases so much of the pain I’ve been feeling.”

Tadashi pulls you into a tight hug, his hands rubbing your back as he kisses the top of your head. “You’ve always been my greatest cheerleader. Now, let me be the one to support you.”

You smile, closing your eyes as you bury your face against his chest. His heart beats strong beneath your ear, steady and reassuring.

He sways you slowly from side to side, and you feel the tension in your body melt away. “Should we go to bed?” Tadashi asks gently.

You look up into his warm brown eyes, a soft smile spreading across your face. “Yes, let’s go.”

#tadashi hamada #tadashi x reader #tadashi hamada x reader #big hero six #big hero 6 #baymax #disney #fanfic #oneshot #reader insert

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lilylushes · 4 months ago

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Gilman Reunion with Luigi

TW: Sex, spanking (once)

A/N: If u don't like it then don't read it.

“Having fun?” you say into your boyfriend Luigi’s ear. You’re at his high school reunion at Gilman and he’s proudly introduced you to all of his old friends. His hands remained on the small of your back throughout the night.

“Very much so. Thanks for coming, baby. They all love you,” he puts his arm around you, kissing your cheek. “Let’s take a walk, I’ll show you the labs.”

“Okay,” you smile as you both put down your wine glasses. “Let's go.”

Luigi ensures the coast is clear before sneaking the two of you away from the reception. You walk down the halls of Gilman, hand in hand, taking in the place that meant so much to him, that helped make him into the man you love.

At one point, you spot his year’s graduation picture and stop to take a picture of it with your phone to embarrass him later.

“Baby, your hair here, so cute,” you say, pinching his cheek as he lets out a laugh.

“Ugh, that picture is so embarrassing. I look like such a nerd.”

“My nerd. My cute nerd. I love little Luigi. But I love big Luigi too,” you wrap your arms around him, and he brings your waist closer to his body, kissing you slowly.

“Never thought I’d get to kiss a girl in the halls of Gilman,” he grins. “Oh, and, big Luigi loves you too. They both do,” he laughs, looking down at his growing bulge that he knows you can feel.

His joke makes you both erupt into a fit of laughter.

“Shhh, shh, okay, let’s not get caught. I’ll show you the labs.”

You two continue down the halls. You can’t help but see how it’s all so romantic but also bursting with sexual tension.

“I love sneaking around with you, Lu. It’s kind of hot, too, not gonna lie.”

He turns, opening a door on your right, holding it open for you. “Ladies first.”

“I spent so much time here. Must’ve been hundreds of hours.” He looks around, with the only light in the room being provided by the streetlights outside. “We had robotics club in here, did countless experiments, so much stuff.”

Luigi walks up to you, takes your hand, and brings you over to the teacher’s desk, holding your body close to his. He suddenly grabs your hips and lifts you up on the desk, drawing his lips painfully close to yours, nearly touching. His arms on either side of your hips gives you no escape, not that you wanted one.

He whispers, “but you know what I never got to do?”

“Mmmm?” you question, locking your eyes on his.

“Never got to fuck in here.” He moves his mouth to your ear. “Wanted you so bad all night. You look so fucking pretty and I’m so proud to show you off, baby.” He brings his gaze to yours before kissing you hungrily.

“Didn’t take you as such a bad boy, Mangione,” you smile against his lips.

“I am for you, baby. You get me so fucking horny. My perfect girl.”

His lips find yours again. Your tongues dance with one another as you explore each other’s mouth. One of you will moan, triggering a moan from the other. His hands roam your body, squeezing your breasts and grinding your hips over his bulge. His body holds your legs open. Both of you get worked up fast. His bulge is bigger than it was in the hallway, and you can feel wetness pooling at your core.

He finally brings his hand up your dress and in between your legs, pausing.

“No panties?” He seems surprised.

You look at him with innocent eyes, shaking your head.

“Fuck, just when I thought you couldn’t get anymore perfect,” he growls before running his fingers up and down your folds before inserting one in your aching core.

“Oh!” You gasped, beginning to buck your hips to get his finger as deep as possible.”

“Yeah? That wet for me already? Me fucking you in a classroom really turns you on, doesn’t it baby?” He has your foreheads connected, looking into your eyes.

He stops his assault on your cunt, bringing his fingers to your mouth.

“Taste.”

You love his fingers in your mouth, and so does he. You look at him lovingly while your tongue swirls around his long fingers.

“Mmm, so pretty,” he looks down for a second. “Oh, hold on baby, you made a bit of a mess.”

He lowers himself, sopping up the juices from your cunt and from the desk before returning to his standing position.

“You’re delicious, baby. It’s so sexy to see how wet you get for me.”

You reach your hand out, palming his bulge through his tight pants.

“Baby, wanna suck your co-”

“I’m not gonna last, not with you looking this pretty and not with the thought of me railing you in my old high school. Feel how bad I need you?”

“Need you, too, Lu. So bad. Want you to fuck me on this table right now.”

That’s all he needs. He unbuckles his belt, lowers his pants and boxers, and lets his cock spring free.

He rubs it along your wet folds. The only sounds in the air are wetness, gasps, and four-letter words.

“Fuck, baby. Gonna fuck you now. Fuck the shit out of you on this desk.” He puts his forehead on yours

He pushes his cock into you, prompting you both to gasp.

“Mmm, your cock, is so big, baby. Fills me up so nice. Need you to fuck me good.”

He quickly starts fucking you at a quick pace.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he says, gritting his teeth.

“You’re a fucking fantasy come true, baby, you know that? So fucking hot,” he moves his hand to your neck and pulls his head up, allowing you both to watch his cock thrusting in and out of your pussy.

You’re both moaning far louder than you should be. He can sense your worry.

“We’re on the other side of the school, baby. Be loud. Wanna hear my girl.”

You take his reassurance as permission to voice your pleasure.

The moaning, the sweating, the scene, it’s all so fucking hot. Your kisses are messy, your mouths are agasp, and your hands are exploring each other’s bodies.

Suddenly, Luigi pulls out, takes you off the desk, bends you over on top of it, and brings your hips to his, inserting his cock again to continue.

“I’m close,” you say, in between his deep thrusts.

“Wait,” he spanks you, making you moan.

“Needed to do that, feels too fucking good fucking you in here.”

You bring a hand behind your back for his to hold as you feel him getting close. His other hand is bringing your hips to his.

“Gonna cum inside this pretty pussy. Fill it with my cum.”

You moan even louder, and he can feel your walls clenching around him. He moves you back from the desk a little bit to bring his hand that was on your hips to touch your clit. You let out a cry of pleasure and pain.

“Yeah, baby cum on my cock while I breed you.”

You look back at him while you both reach your orgasm. The two of you collapse onto the desk, breathless. After catching his breath, Luigi brings a couple of kisses to your shoulder before standing up.

“I can’t believe we fucking did that.”

You arise, turning to face him.

“Me neither, that was really hot.” You bite your lip and look up at him.

“I’ve always had that fantasy but never thought I’d get to live it. But I never thought I’d meet someone like you, either,” he says, holding the side of your face in his palm, his thumb running across your cheek. “I love you.” He gives you a long, gentle kiss.

“Let’s get back there before they get any ideas,” you tell him.

“I’m sure they’ve already got an idea, unfortunately.” You both laugh, leaving the lab holding hands.

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione x yn #luigi mangione smut

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fortunerobotic · 7 months ago

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Future reception robot in USA

AI-powered devices known as reception robots are made to carry out duties that are normally performed by human receptionists. These duties include welcoming guests, responding to questions, giving directions, scheduling appointments, and even performing simple troubleshooting. These robots can provide smooth and individualized service since they are outfitted with sophisticated sensors, voice recognition, and facial recognition technologies.

Key Features of Future Reception Robots

Advanced Integration of AI:

Future reception robots will use state-of-the-art AI to comprehend and anticipate client wants. They will become even more perceptive and receptive as a result of their capacity to comprehend spoken language and gain knowledge from encounters.

Communication in Multiple Languages:

Reception robots will be bilingual, removing language barriers and guaranteeing inclusivity as companies serve a variety of demographics.

Voice and Facial Recognition:

Robots will be able to personalize encounters by remembering consumers' preferences and addressing them by name thanks to improved recognition technologies.

Integration with Systems in a Smooth Way:

In order to ensure seamless operations, future receiving robots will easily link with visitor management, appointment scheduling, and customer relationship management (CRM) systems.

Energy Efficiency and Sustainability:

Low-energy-use, eco-friendly designs will complement global sustainability objectives and attract eco-aware companies.

Benefiting from Reception Robots

Healthcare

Hospitality

Retail

Corporate Offices

In the USA, reception robots are the future of customer service, not just a passing fad. Businesses may improve customer happiness, increase operational efficiency, and maintain an advantage in a market that is becoming more and more competitive by adopting this technology. The robotic future has arrived!

To know more, click here.

#reception robot #robotic engineering #robotic classes #robotic courses #ai coding

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kings-highway · 1 year ago

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haikyuu ships but its things about their relationships or moments that I think would surprise their friends/teammates

starting off with my boys Daisuga: honestly definitely the rest of the team forgets that they haven't been together forever, and are never expecting when either of them are acting like, well, teenagers in a relationship. Specifically in regards to being shy in front of each other or wanting to impress each other, the rest of the team always is surprised by it because in their mind, like, why are you feeling insecure in this relationship I thought you've been dating for 2 years and Suga is just like "try 3 months BITCH now I need you to find out what his favourite kind of chocolate is I'll pay you real money if he doesnt realize why you're asking."

right along to Kagehina and honestly, literally even just realizing they have a normal relationship. I think everyone absolutely understands how they got together, but I imagine the first time ANYONE sees them out in public together they ALL have a moment thats like "oh shit they like... are actually dating" and every time Kagehina is just like... on a lunch date, or going shopping, walking a dog, just chatting. Like people are surprised that they genuinely spend time together outside of sports. The first time Kageyama goes with Hinata as his date to a family wedding the entire family is flabberghasted bc they definitely thought this was an on-court obsession only

Iwaoi is really simple, literally just people realizing that Iwaizumi has genuine romantic affection towards him is the funniest thing to me. There's a week where Iwaoi is worried bc Iwa had to go to school with a hickey on his neck but literally NOBODY bats an eye or even mentions it because "yeah Oikawa obviously-" but when theyre changing for practice and they see that Oikawa has a hickey on his neck the entire team goes feral and practically tackles Iwaizumi like "you committed to kissing him for that long?????? YOU?????" like they cannot comprehend Iwaizumi actively participating. (obviously this is also the only time they every see Iwazumi embarassed enough to visibly blush which only compounds things.)

Bokuaka's is so stupid but honestly - the first moment the team realizes that Akaashi is, like, attracted to Bokuto and isnt just his best friend that got carried away. Konoha catches Akaashi checking out Bokuto's ass as he's leaving the changing room and it legitimately ruins Konoha's day. What is he supposed to do with this information.

To be completely fair, Ushiten as a concept probably absolutely baffles the entire Shiratorizawa team for multiple reasons. I think though the obvious one is that the rest of the team cannot understand how little Ushijima is bothered by any of Tendou's antics, where Tendou is VRRY touchy and goofy and lots of PDA and affection and Ushijima is completely receptive and unbothered by it, if not going out of his way to intentionally make Tendou laugh to invite him to more. Like Tendou absolutely would sit on his lap during lunch and Reon would be sitting there losing his mind bc last time he sat too close to Ushijima he got a lecture on personal space. Oh, but now suddenly he's super chill and relaxed and nothing bothers him its tendou doing it.

Asanoya's is a little sad tbh but I think, specifically the second and first years, would be surprised by how serious Noya is about the relationship and how little he tolerates jokes about them being opposites/a surprising pair or any of that. Like theyre shocked to find out how seriously he's taking being a boyfriend and really trying to make sure Asahi is happy. The idea that it isnt superficial or just for fun for him is surprising to them.

Arankita - in a comedy of errors Atsumu accidentally finds out they they are ~no longer virgins~ and legitimately has to leave practice for 20 minutes. There's a piece of him, and the rest of the team, that had 100% believed Kita was a robot and they just.... the idea that this was something that happened organically and not for "procreation" doesnt fit in their worldview. Kita smacks the next person who brings it up and that ends the conversation.

#haikyuu ships #daisuga #kagehina #iwaoi #bokuaka #asanoya #ushiten #arankita #haikyuu fandom

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magic-shop-stories · 3 months ago

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Would you be able to write something ot7 based on how they would be in an arranged marriage (both consenting to the marriage but just maybe not super happy about it at first or maybe they are but are awkward or however you want to do it.) Maybe like a head cannon? I really love the ones that you’ve written. Maybe some angst, some fluff, cuteness, smut. It’s okay if you can’t. I look forward to reading your work in the future either way!

💌 Reply:

Hi there! 💜 Thank you so much for this brilliant request... OT7 arranged marriage? YES, my brain is already spinning with drama, reluctant pining, and chaotic bonding moments. I’ll dive into angsty tensions (looking at you, Yoongi), awkward fluff (Jin’s "worldwide handsome" wedding meltdowns), and eventual OT7 devotion... ahhh my head!!!. I hope you like it... it’s been a blast to write! Thank you for inspiring this chaos! 🖤

NOTE:IMPORTANT! Due to Tumblr’s persistent "processing error" (RIP my sanity), I couldn’t post the full OT7 arranged marriage headcanons in one go without the draft self-destructing, so I split it up not wanting to not post...

THIS POST = Hyung Line (Namjoon, Jin, Yoongi, Hobi

Maknae Line (Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook) in extra post

Apologies for the hassle! Blame Tumblr’s coding demons, not your sleep depreeved girl that tried to get help from tumblr support for almsot three days (RIP)

LINK TO MAKNAE LINE POST

Warnings: themes of arranged/forced unions, dark political intrigue, family manipulation, heavy emotional distress/internal conflict, explicit content (light smut), subtle violence/domestic tension, corporate and academic power plays

Arranged Marriage Headcanons (AU) (Angst/Fluff/Smut Mix)

NAMJOON = RELUCTANT HEIR & HIS UNLIKELY MUSE

“You think I’m a disaster? Wait till you see my heart.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

your family owns a tech empire on the brink of collapse

Namjoon’s lineage controls a global network of libraries and academic institutions

your union merges knowledge and innovation to outmaneuver rivals

Your Reason

you agreed to protect your younger sibling from being forced into the marriage instead

Namjoon’s Reason

his father’s dying wish

“Preserve our legacy. Even if it costs you your freedom.”

THE WEDDING

= CLASH OF WORLDS

Your Attire

sleek, modern gown

holographic train (nod to your family’s tech roots)

Namjoon’s Attire

navy hanbok with a frayed hem

“It’s my grandmother’s. She… believed in love. I don’t.”

Location

library-turned-venue

books stacked into aisles

other BTS members sit in the front row:

Jin mouths “You’ll be fine!”

discreetly flipping off a scowling uncle

Yoongi mutters, “This is dystopian.”

slips you a flask of whiskey

Jungkook frowns at his tie

Hobi adjusts it for him

Jimin squeezes your hand before you walk the aisle

Taehyung sketches the scene

captioning it “Two Strangers & A Thousand Books.”

Vows

You: “I promise not to sell your books. Even the boring ones.” Namjoon: “I… promise to try not to set the lab on fire. Again.”

nervous smirk

crowd laughs awkwardly

Reception

you hide in a bathroom stall

Namjoon finds you

knees pulled to your chest

You: “This is a mistake. ”Namjoon: “Probably. But mistakes make the best footnotes.”

offers his hand

“Dance with me? The DJ’s playing Debussy.”

EARLY DAYS

= TENSION & TEA STAINS

Mansion

fusion of your tech (holographic walls, AI assistants)

his chaos (leaning bookshelves, half-dead bonsais)

First Fight

over the thermostat

You: “Why is it so low? Are you preserving yourself?!” Namjoon: “Cold air helps me think! And your robots keep judging me!”

glares at your hovering drone

Members’ Meddling

Jin “accidentally” sends you both to a couples’ spa

Namjoon gets mud-mask in his hair

you laugh for the first time in weeks

Yoongi leaves a playlist called “Songs for Idiots Who Can’t Communicate.”

Taehyung gifts a shared journal:

“Write to each other. Or draw dicks. Whatever.”

Breaking Point

Namjoon works through the night, ignoring you

you snap, throwing his Plato anthology out the window

You: “Marry your books next time!” Namjoon: “I did! But they don’t yell at me!”

Silence!!!

he mumbles then

“…But they also don’t make me want to be better.”

TURNING POINTS

= PAPERBACK ROMANCE

Storm

power outage

you find him in the dark

he's reciting Rumi to calm himself

you join in, voice shaking

he whispers: “You’re… good at this.”

Lab Incident

you collaborate on an AI project

he breaks your prototype

fixes it with a makeshift solution

it's so genius you kiss him mid-rant

Journal

you doodle a robot holding a flower

he writes back:

“Metaphor for us? Fragile, but… growing.”

INTIMACY

= NERVOUS HANDS, BURNING PAGES

First Kiss

after he quotes Pablo Neruda at 2 a.m.

you cut him off

pressing him against a bookshelf

“Poetry later.”

Namjoon: “I—I’ve never… I mean, I’ve read about….” You: “Let’s write about it instead.”

Smutty Moments

his clumsiness dissolves into precision when he’s focused

maps your body like a forgotten text

murmuring, “Here… you shiver. Why?”

lets you take control

surprises you with sudden confidence

pinning you to his desk, glasses askew

“I’m a quick study.”

he wraps you in his oversized sweater

reads Vonnegut aloud until you sleep

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

you convert the mansion into a free tech/library hub for students

members visit often:

Jin teaches cooking classes

“Step one: don’t let Joon near the stove!”

Jungkook and Hobi build a VR poetry garden

Tae paints a mural of you and Namjoon

you as a warrior, him as a scholar, back-to-back

Namjoon’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony): “You were the footnote that became the whole story.” You: “And you’re the disaster I’d choose a thousand times.”

Final

chases your toddler through the library

both laughing

Jimin whispers: “Who knew Captain Chaos could be such a dad?” Yoongi: “Shut up. They’re cute.”

JIN = RELUCTANT PRINCE & HIS UNEXPECTED DUET

“You think I’m just a pretty face? Sweetheart, I’m the whole damn symphony.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

your family (old-money hotel tycoons) needed Jin’s royal-blooded lineage

= a literal prince from a dissolved monarchy

needed him to revive their global reputation

his family, in turn, craved modern wealth to fund their cultural preservation projects

Your Reason

to save your father’s empire from bankruptcy

Jin’s Reason

to protect his brother from being forced into the marriage

“He’s too soft for this shit.”

signing the contract with a flourish

“I’ll handle it. I always do.”

THE WEDDING

= SPARKLES, SARCASM, AND SECRET TEARS

Your Attire

champagne-colored gown with a 15-foot train

= your mother’s choice

feeling more like a chandelier than a bride

Jin’s Attire

custom ivory tuxedo

actual Swarovski crystals sewn into the lapels

“If I’m a pawn, I’ll be the shiniest pawn in history.”

smirks, adjusting his cufflinks

Location

historic palace ballroom

BTS members are your reluctant bridal party:

Yoongi as the “flower guy”

chucks petals like baseballs

Hobi accidentally trips the DJ’s cord

switching the march song to “Dynamite”

Jungkook spills wine on your toxic aunt

“Oops. Gravity’s a bitch.”

Namjoon gives a rambling speech about “love as a societal construct”

Jimin steals the mic

Taehyung photobombs every picture

Vows

You: “I vow not to murder you in your sleep. Even if you deserve it.” Jin: “I vow to keep my handsomeness at a manageable level… which is impossible, but I’ll try.”

crowd groans

he winks

Reception

Jin drags you onto the balcony

both suffocating from the fakeness

You: “This is hell.” Jin: “Hell has a open bar and a photo booth. Lighten up.”

plucks a rose from a centerpiece

tucking it behind your ear

“You look better when you’re not pretending to smile.”

EARLY DAYS

= EGO CLASHES & EMOTIONAL ESPRESSO MACHINES

Penthouse

luxury high-rise with floor-to-ceiling windows

Jin’s side is spotless

yours looks like a tornado hit a tech conference

First Fight

over his “no carbs after 8 PM” rule

You: “You’re not my personal trainer!” Jin: “And you’re not my wife! Oh wait...”

he freezes

you slam the door

he spends the night serenading your locked room with “Epiphany” until security is called

Members’ Meddling:

Hobi forces you both into couple’s karaoke

Jin belts “Yours” with dramatic vibrato

you accidentally harmonize

Jimin gifts matching pajamas

“Argue in style, losers.”

Yoongi sends a text

“Just bang it out. Literally.”

Breaking Point

Jin hosts a lavish dinner to impress your parents

you catch him re-plating your homemade dumplings into fancy china

You: “Why? My cooking not good enough for Prince Perfect?” Jin: “No! I just… didn’t want them to criticize you.”

his voice cracks

“I know what that feels like.”

TURNING POINTS

= FROM PAGEANTRY TO PARTNERS

Midnight Kitchen

you find him stress-baking at 3 a.m.

flour in his hair

“I… don’t know how to be real with you."

you help him fold dumplings

hands brushing

“Start here."

Scandal

Paparazzi photos of him clubbing surface

he panics

you shut it down

“We were both there. Dancing badly. Next question.”

he stares

“Why defend me?” “Because you’re mine to tease. Not theirs.”

Gift

buys you a vintage gaming console after overhearing you rant about childhood nostalgia

“I’m not trying to be sweet. It was on sale.”

INTIMACY

= VANITY MELTED INTO VULNERABILITY

First Kiss

after he wins a gaming battle

gloating: “Bow to your king.”

you yank his collar

silencing him

he melts

whispering: “Okay, you win. But I’m still prettier.”

Smutty Moments

his confidence is infuriatingly hot

undoes his shirt one button at a time

smirk never fading

“Like what you see? It’s a limited edition.”

when you trace the scar on his hip (a childhood accident), he flinches

“I don’t… show people that.”

you kiss it

“Now it’s my favorite part.”

morning after:

cooks pancakes shaped like his face

“So you never forget who’s really in charge.”

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

you co-own a Michelin-starred restaurant

him in the kitchen

you handling tech

members are “taste-testers”:

Jungkook challenges Jin to eat a ghost pepper

Jin win

then cries into your shoulder

Taehyung paints a mural of Jin as a “Grecian God of Noodles.”

Yoongi invests

muttering: “Only because the kimchi pancakes are decent.”

Jin’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony)

“I used to think love was a performance. You taught me it’s… a really messy duet.”

slips a ring made from a broken crystal off his wedding tux

“Perfectly imperfect. Like us.”

You: “Still a drama king.” Jin: “And you’re still my favorite audience.”

Final

carries your toddler on his shoulders through the restaurant

both wearing mini chef hats

Jimin snaps a pic for Instagram:

“Worldwide Handsomest Appa 💜.”

YOONGI = BROKEN MAESTRO & HIS UNLIKELY SYMPHONY

“You want my heart? Dig through the rubble first.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

merger between Seoul’s oldest underground music empire (Yoongi’s family, the Min Syndicate)

your family’s cutting-edge tech conglomerate

alliance ensures dominance over rival factions trying to monopolize the city’s cultural soul

your family gets street cred

his gets financial leverage

Your Reason

to protect your startup from being crushed by corporate sharks

Yoongi’s Reason

to shield hisolder brother and girlfriend from a life of debt and danger

“He’s a pianist, not a pawn,”

Yoongi growls signing the contract

cigarette dangling from his lips

“I’ll be the villain. Always am.”

WEDDING

= SMOKE, SILENCE, AND A SCAR

Your Attire

black velvet gown with a high collar

designed to hide the mic transmitter sewn into the hem

= wedding gift from your engineers

Yoongi’s Attire

charcoal suit, no tie, sleeves rolled to his elbows

later (after unbuttoning his shirt) revealing a scar on his shoulder

when you ask about it, he snaps

“None of your business.”

Location

renovated warehouse in Mapo-gu

chains hang from the ceiling

draped with fairy lights

BTS members linger like shadows:

Jin heckles Yoongi:

“You look constipated. Smile, Your Grumpiness!”

Hobi nervously rearranges the altar candles

Jimin stops him

“Hyung, they’re not Lego.”

Taehyung scribbles lyrics on the program

Jungkook pockets a steak knife (just in case)

Namjoon gives a speech quoting Kierkegaard:

“Life isn’t a problem to be solved, but..”

Yoongi cuts him off:

“Save it, Plato.”

Vows

You: “I vow not to hack your studio. Unless you deserve it.” Yoongi: “I vow to… exist. That’s all you’re getting.”

Reception

he disappears

you find him on the rooftop, nursing a flask

staring at the scarred skyline

You: “Regretting this already?” Yoongi: “Regret implies I had a choice.”

offers the flask

Yoongi: “Whiskey?” You: “I prefer soju.” Yoongi (smirking): “Figures. You’re trouble.”

EARLY DAYS

= WAR ZONE WITH A SOUNDTRACK

Loft

concrete bunker with a studio booth, neon signs

your tech sprawled across a steel desk

his side smells like smoke and espresso

yours like solder and ambition

First Fight

over noise complaints

You: “Your bass shakes the damn walls at 3 a.m.!” Yoongi: “Your robots sound like dying cats. Fix them.”

Compromise

he produces a track titled “STFU (Sweetheart, This Frequency)”

he blasts it

you retaliate by hacking his speakers to play “Nyan Cat” on loop

Members’ Meddling

Jimin leaves a “Romance for Dummies” playlist:

Track 1: “I Need U” (acoustic)

Yoongi deletes it

you recover it

Jin sends a “Couples’ Survival Kit”

= bandaids, earplugs, and a “Worldwide Handsome” facemask

Yoongi burns the mask

Taehyung paints a mural of you both as rival superheroes

Yoongi begrudgingly hangs it in the hallway

Breaking Point

you overhear him arguing with a loan shark on the phone

“Touch my brother and I’ll end you.”

later, he works until his hands bleed

you storm in

slamming a first-aid kit on his desk

You: “You’re not a martyr. Stop acting like one.” Yoongi: “What do you care?” You (yanking his chair around): “Because I hate wasted potential. Even yours.”

TURNING POINTS

= CRACKS IN THE ARMOR

Scar Story

comes home shirtless

fresh from a fight

shoulder scar raw

you clean his wounds silently

he finally confesses

“I got it at 19. Accident, later took a knife for my brother. Worth it.”

Collab

you design a synth program for his mixtape

he grumbles: “Don’t fuck it up."

stays up with you for 48 hours

when it’s done, he mutters, “…Not bad.”

high praise

Nightmare

wakes screaming from a panic attack

you don’t ask

just hold him

he tenses

then collapses into your arms

“Don’t… tell anyone.”

INTIMACY

= ROUGH EDGES, HIDDEN TENDERNESS

First Kiss

you beat him at Mario Kart

he slams his controller

“Bullshit. You cheated.”

you lean in

“Cry about it.”

he kisses you like a man starved

all teeth and desperation

“Happy?” “Getting there.”

you smirk

Smutty Moments

his touch is intense

almost angry

bites your lip

grips your hips hard enough to bruise

when you trace his scar, he stills

whispering: “Careful. That’s… my weak spot.”

mornings after

= he’s gone before dawn

but leaves a coffee on your desk (creamer ratio perfect)

catches you humming his melody

“You… like it?”

you shrug

“It’s okay.”

he hides a smile

“Yeah. Okay.”

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

you co-found SugaTech

= hybrid music-tech empire

loft is now a studio where street kids learn production

members are regulars:

Hobi teaches dance breaks

Jin judges ramen cook-offs

Jungkook films a docu-series:

“Min Yoongi: Grump with a Gold Heart.”

Yoongi threatens to sue

Namjoon hosts poetry slams

Yoongi “accidentally” plays trap beats over them

Yoongi’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony):

“I don’t believe in fate. But you? You’re a glitch in the system I can’t delete.”

You: “Still a romantic, I see.” Yoongi: “Shut up. And… thanks. For not giving up.”

Final

cradles your newborn daughter

her tiny fist gripping his pinky

Jimin coos: “Uncle Yoongi’s a softie!”

Yoongi flips him off

but kisses her forehead

“Don’t tell anyone, kid.”

J-HOPE = SUNSHINE WARRIOR & HIS SHADOWED HEART

“You want the real me? Brace yourself, it’s not all confetti and glitter.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

your family (philanthropists rebuilding war-torn regions) needed Hobi’s family

= a dynasty of cultural ambassadors

to legitimize their global outreach

his clan was drowning in debt from funding art festivals

the marriage merges hope and hustle

Your Reason

to shield your NGO from being dismantled by corrupt officials

Hobi’s Reason

to protect his family’s dance studio from foreclosure

“We'd rather die than lose it.”

signing the papers with a too-bright smile

“So… let’s dance through hell together, yeah?”

WEDDING

= PERFORMANCE WITH CRACKED MASK

Your Attire

fiery red gown with a detachable skirt

for “emergency escapes.”

you joke about it

Hobi’s Attire

gold-tailored suit, sequined gloves

shoes that click when he walks

“Gotta shine, even in the dark.”

his knuckles whiten around a stress ball

Location

renovated theater in Busan

BTS members are co-conspirators:

Jin hijacks the DJ booth

blasting “Chicken Noodle Soup” and "Super Tuna"

Yoongi mans the bar

slipping extra shots into Hobi’s lemonade

“Liquid courage”

Jimin choreographs the bridal party’s entranc

Taehyung trips

Jungkook backflips to cover it

Namjoon accidentally sets the floral arch on fire

“Symbolic… of passion?”

Vows

You: “I vow to never dull your sparkle. Even when it’s blinding.” Hobi: “I vow to… keep smiling. For both of us.”

his voice wavers

Reception

drags you into a storage closet

collapsing against the wall

You: “You’re shaking.”Hobi: “Adrenaline. I’m fine.”

he laughs, hollow

“Always fine.”

you press a hand to his chest

his heartbeat races

“…Liar.”

EARLY DAYS

= SUNSHINE STORMS

Penthouse

minimalist space splashed with neon art

his dance studio takes up half the living room

your NGO blueprints cover the kitchen table

First Fight

over his relentless optimism

You: “Stop saying ‘It’ll work out!’ when it won’t!” Hobi: “What do you want me to do? Cry? Scream? Would that make you feel better?!”

slams the door

then returns with tea

“…Sorry. Habit.”

Members’ Meddling

Jimin signs you up for salsa classes

Hobi’s grin slips when you stumble

J-Hope: “You’re… not a dancer, huh?” You: “Not everyone’s a prodigy.”

you snap

he freezes

Taehyung paints a mural of you both as sun and storm clouds

Hobi stares at it for hours.

Jin sends a “Fight Clean!” kit

= boxing gloves and herbal tea

“Hit each other safely!”

Breaking Point

you find him practicing a routine at 3 a.m.

shirt soaked, eyes bloodshot

You: “You’ll collapse.” Hobi: “I have to be perfect. For Army, for the family, for y..." You (grabbing his wrists): “For who? Me? I didn’t marry perfection. I married you.”

he crumples

TURNING POINTS

= RAINBOWS AFTER RAIN

Panic Attack

he hyperventilates before a charity gala

you drag him to a bathroom

wiping his smudged eyeliner

“Breathe. Just… be Hoseok tonight.”

Dance

teaches you a simple waltz

“Stop counting steps. Feel the music.”

you sway, foreheads touching

“See? You’re a natural.”

Truth

confesses his family’s debts

“I’m not the hero they think I am.”

you show him your NGO’s failures

“We’re both faking it. Let’s… fake it together.”

INTIMACY

= FIERY RHYTHMS, QUIET TRUTHS

First Kiss

after he wins an award for his charity work

he’s mid-speech, voice cracking

you pull him backstage and kiss him fiercely

“You don’t have to perform for me.”

Smutty Moments

his passion is electric

hands gripping your waist

hips moving like he’s choreographing your bodies

“Keep up”

he smirks, but his eyes beg "Don’t let go"

he traces your scars (physical, emotional)

“Beautiful.The cracks… they let the light in.”

catches you dancing badly to his playlist

“Cute.”

he teases you

later joining in

“But here... let me lead.”

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

you co-run a community center

dance classes upstairs

crisis counseling downstairs

members are family:

Jungkook teaches parkour

Yoongi funds music therapy

Jimin and Tae host monthly “Dance Away the Pain” nights

Namjoon writes grants

Jin cooks endless kimchi stew for everyone for free

Hobi’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony)

“I used to think love was a performance. You taught me it’s… a freestyle. Messy. Real.”

slips a ring made from his familys old studio key

“Home is wherever we’re both… us.”

You: “Still cheesy.” Hobi (grinning through tears): “But you love it.”

Final

he spins your daughter in the studio

her giggles echoing

Jimin films it

Hobi posts it with “#DaddyHobi”

then immediately deletes it

he's blushing

“That stays in the vault!”

JIMIN/TAEHYUNG/JUNGKOOK in extra post

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