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pathologicalreid · 7 days ago

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born in a burning house | s.r.

in which an arsonist is going around and abducting children, with your daughter as their next target

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: arson, child endangerment, references the popular kids, the instincts, and amplification, girl dad!spencer, happy ending word count: 4.21k a/n: as my good friend haley would say: baby arson! happy father's day (if you didn't figure out why i was posting every day, it was because of father's day. i'm going to take a nap now.)

Tears that welled in your eyes made it impossible for you to read the papers in front of you. The descriptions of violent crimes being committed against children made your chest feel tight, and you continuously had to hold yourself back from calling your nanny. You trusted Sydney, and she’d been vetted by Penelope, who’d used the strictest scrutiny possible when conducting a background check.

Tapping on the screen of your phone to wake it up, you were met with an image of your daughter. You had fast enough reflexes to snap a photo of her very first smile. Spencer had the same photo printed out on his desk.

You took a deep breath, you returned to the case file that Hotch handed you. Someone had already skimmed through it, removing all of the photos before it landed on your desk, protecting you from your job.

It didn’t take a profiler to know why they’d done it. Someone was going around the tri-state area and abducting children, going younger each time, and each child had turned up dead less than twenty-four hours later. Your daughter was only four months old, you were fresh off of maternity leave, and despite the fact that Hotch had offered you a way out, you were determined to stay on this case. It was your first big one since coming back, and if you couldn’t handle this, you couldn’t handle your job anymore.

“Hey,” Spencer said from behind you, entering the roundtable room and taking a seat next to you. He eyed the file suspiciously, scrutinizing the details of the page before turning his attention to you. “How are you holding up?”

Refraining from taking your eyes off of the files, you hummed in response, flipping through the pages before truly answering. “If the UnSub sticks to pattern, they’ll be abducting another baby soon,” you reminded him, “and they’ll go younger.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment, acknowledging the same thing you’d been anxious about for the past day. The last child who had been abducted was seven months old, a little boy whose mother you’d comforted until you had to excuse yourself. He eyed your phone, “Did you call?”

“No,” you answered miserably, you’d been holding back. You were afraid of recognizing it as a threat. “Do you think I should?”

He sighed, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “I think that if worrying about Annie gets in the way of working this case, then you should probably call Sydney.”

Nodding slowly, you tapped the screen of your phone again, looking at the photo of your daughter that illuminated the screen. You picked up the phone, deciding you’d make the call out of an abundance of caution, you opened your contacts and dialed Sydney’s number, holding the phone to your ear while it rang.

And rang.

When you got her voicemail instead of a real answer, you frowned up at your husband. “Uh, Hey, Syd. Spencer and I just wanted to give you a call to check in and see how Annaliese is doing. Give me a call back.”

You hung up the phone, pursing your lips at the fact that the action intended to quell your anxiety had only made you more nervous. In the albeit short time you’d known Sydney, you’d never gotten her voicemail, the sound was so foreign to you that it’d taken you a moment to even realize you’d gotten the machine. “What’s going on?” Hotch asked, walking into the roundtable room on the other side, Kate and Derek following close behind him.

“Uh,” you said, your voice breaking a seal of emotion in your throat. “Our nanny isn’t answering the phone.” You sent her a quick text asking her how it’s going before looking back up at your boss.

Hotch took one look at you and Spencer before nodding, “Go home and check in.” You stood up from your chair at his direction. He shook his head before you could protest, “Take JJ with you.”

Just in case. He didn’t have to say the words, but you knew that was his intention of bringing the other agent along with you. It didn’t help the tightness in your chest that he didn’t suggest sending a squad car through your neighborhood before he sent you home. The acknowledgment that your daughter fit the victimology hurt almost as much as the fact itself.

After Spencer insisted that only one of you needed to go, you passed through the bullpen, grabbing JJ on your way through headquarters. You let her drive, knowing you were too unstable to do so, “What’s the over under on Hotch letting me bring her back to the office?” You asked, trying to break through the thick tension of the SUV.

JJ laughed lightly at your joke—a pity laugh, really—as she turned onto your street. “I don’t know. That little girl kind of has us all…” Her voice trailed off as she noticed something in the distance, and you followed her gaze until you saw it too.

“Call Spencer,” you said, letting yourself out of the car before it had the chance to come to a full stop. You pushed through the front door, broken off of its hinges, stepped into your home, and drew your weapon.

Your heart raced while you walked through the eerie silence of your home, clearing the main floor before going upstairs. The first room that you checked was the nursery, decorated with toys that she couldn’t play with yet and stuffed animals that she wasn’t old enough to sleep with. You knew JJ was close behind, hearing the creak of the bannister that you needed to fix while you cleared the bathroom, checking behind the curtain when you noticed the sound of the birds chirping got louder the closer you got to your bedroom.

With the sound of blood rushing to accompany you, you let yourself into the room, surprised to find the balcony doors were wide open. You rarely left it open anymore, and you definitely wouldn’t have left it like that before leaving for work. Peeking into the bassinet, your heart dropped at the sight of the bare sheets, but something nagged at you, telling you to check the balcony.

Trusting your instincts, you hesitantly approached the fence, checking out the backyard before looking down. There was Sydney, sitting in a puddle of blood that seemed to be coming from her head. Her green eyes were still open as they stared up at you, blankly pleading with you to help her, but there was no saving her.

The blood that surrounded her had coagulated, transforming your back patio into a murder scene instead of an entertainment space. “Did you find anything?” JJ asked from the doorway, moving through the room until she was standing next to you, looking down at the horrific picture painted beneath you.

Annie was gone, and her nanny was dead. The only conclusion you could find was that your daughter had been taken, defenseless at only four months old, and based on the way Sydney’s limbs laid at the end of her fall, she’d been pushed—the last line of defense, defeated.

“Spencer’s on his way,” JJ assured you. “The whole team’s on their way.”

Along with a small army, you imagined, crime scene techs and local officers and anyone else they could scrounge up on a moment's notice. You were grateful for JJ in the moment, how she stayed with you on the balcony until Spencer arrived. She didn’t tell you anything, and she didn’t try to get you to talk. JJ didn’t need anything from you except for you to keep standing.

“Reid,” you heard JJ say, overhearing the shuffling of feet before you were turned ninety degrees, positioned face to face with your husband.

His eyes were lined with red, a mixture of his current emotions and the residual exhaustion from a late night with the baby. Your body was rigid as he pulled you into his arms, your eyes burned as you resisted the need to cry. You refused to succumb to violent tears when your daughter needed you, but you felt Spencer’s silent tears drop onto your neck while he held you.

Your resolve unraveled in an instant, all of the phones around you started going off, the hauntingly familiar sound of an AMBER Alert bringing all of your emotion to the surface. The first sob wracked through your body while your legs gave out beneath you, the both of you dropping to the floor together.

Everything that happened in the interim had been a haze, friends and strangers alike walking through your home like you weren’t there. You were sat on the couch with a stuffed bunny that someone had given you to hold onto. It was the one that Annie fell asleep with every night, gripping it with her tiny fingers until you were sure she was asleep, at which point it rested on your nightstand.

Separate from you, Spencer was in the kitchen with Rossi and Kate, going through every detail of the case while you sat on the couch, unable to do anything except for catastrophize. Whoever had turned on the TV was eligible to win a Least Valuable Player award, leaving you to watch your daughter’s missing persons report flash on the bottom of the news screen.

Despite the fact that they assumed you’d tuned everyone out, you were listening into their theories about the UnSub. “What do you think he wants with the kids?” Spencer asked, a layer of hesitation blanketing his tone, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“Well,” Rossi started his answer, “I think it’s pretty clear at this point that he’s looking for a surrogate, but there’s one thing that’s been off about his victimology.”

“Gender,” Kate filled in the blank. “He switches from boys and girls sporadically.”

While they shuffled around papers, you traced shapes with your eyes on the textured ceiling of your living room. “Is there a gender he keeps for longer periods?”

You closed your eyes while you waited for someone to answer, going over the details of the case solitarily while listening into their conversation. “The boys,” Rossi answered regretfully.

“He keeps the boys longer,” Spencer said, pulling a chair out from the kitchen table and taking a seat.

Dragging yourself up from the couch, you walked over to the kitchen at a sloth’s pace, looking at the crime scene photos that were now scattered across your home. No one spoke to you, but they all turned to face you. Expectant looks from everyone went your way, though whether or not they expected you to speak up or break down, you didn’t know.

When you did speak, your voice was hoarse, and your throat felt like you had spent the last hour swallowing shards of glass. “Do you remember Michael Bridges?”

Kate frowned, “Who’s Michael Bridges?”

“A little boy from a case we worked in Las Vegas six years ago,” Rossi clarified.

Patiently, Spencer nodded at you, “He was kidnapped by a woman who was experiencing psychosis after going off her medication while she was pregnant. Her son was taken away from her by the state, so she used the boys as surrogates for her baby.” You weren’t surprised that Spencer remembered the case so well. Aside from his eidetic memory, that case had also caused memories of another little boy to resurface—someone he had known in his childhood. “What made you think of him?”

You peered at the photos of your daughter that had made their way to the table, “Claire Bates was kidnapping young boys even though her son was only a newborn. Her psychosis was strong enough to convince her that the boys were only infants.” You swallowed thickly, your hands shaking uncontrollably until you wrapped your arms around yourself, “Men abduct kids. Women abduct infants.”

“The UnSub’s a woman,” Kate clarified immediately.

Nodding, you stepped up to the table, returning to an active role in the case. “A mother,” you continued, “Probably to a little boy, only a few months old.”

Rossi set his phone on the table, placing his hands on his hips while he waited for Penelope to answer the phone. “Please tell me you found something,” her voice chimed in, not waiting for a traditional greeting before jumping into the case.

“Garcia, compile a list of accidental deaths of infants four months old and younger within the comfort zone,” he started giving her parameters. “We’re looking for someone who lost a little boy.”

Penelope sighed on the other end of the call, “Oh, this is a sad list.”

You leaned over the table, planting your palms on the oak surface for stability, “Penelope, start with accidental deaths and then broaden out to removals from the home.”

She was quiet for a moment, likely searching for the proper thing to say while her fingers continued frantically typing. “First list, sent, Honey Bunches of Oats,” she told you, the chime of your phone signalling that you’d gotten a list in your email. “Okay, and– oh…” She said, her voice trailing off.

“What is it?” Dave asked, furrowing his brows at the phone.

The technical analyst took a deep breath, “Well, you see, two months ago there was an incident in Alexandria. A baby boy named Elijah Holmes was napping in his crib when the house went up in flames while under the care of his babysitter, Natalie. According to the fire department the fire was totally accidental and was caused by faulty wiring, but the mother of the baby has been quoted as putting all of the blame on the sitter. I was just thinking maybe there’s a connection because of how the last victim was found. Maybe. Possibly.”

You frowned at her implication of a connection, “What was the connection?” You asked generally, looking around the kitchen while you waited for someone to tell you the truth.

“The most recent victim, the little boy, he was found with burns on his left side,” Kate answered for everyone else.

Glaring at Spencer, you set your jaw while he avoided your gaze. “Penelope, where’s the mom now?”

Listing off an address, you all grabbed the things you needed before heading out of the front door, you loaded into cars. You and Spencer sat in the backseat on an SUV while Rossi and Kate sat in the front, Penelope conferenced the rest of the team in on the call while you let your anger and fear simmer. “I didn’t think it was pertinent,” Spencer admitted mournfully, telling you what you’d already assumed: he’d been the one to hide the arson aspects of the case from you.

“And what do you think now?” You said bitterly, refusing to look at him.

He sighed, “I was wrong.”

Pulling the stuffed bunny from the pocket of your jacket, you set it in between the two of you and sighed. “Yeah,” you murmured ruefully, “You were.”

Upon arrival at the mother’s new address, a rental that she’d moved into with money from an insurance settlement, Hotch met you and Spencer behind the police line. “You two can’t go in,” he insisted, despite the fact that everyone around you was currently preparing to enter the home. People that Annaliese wouldn’t know crowded the house while you and Spencer were effectively sidelined.

Derek had positioned himself in front of the both of you, ready to pull you back should you decide to make a run for it, but you resigned yourself to the idea that it would all be over soon. You tried to ignore your racing heart while JJ tried to negotiate with the mother, “Abby Holmes, we know you’re in there.”

You grew more and more impatient as the time went on, and with no response from the UnSub, your hope started to dwindle. “Spence,” you whispered.

He nodded, acknowledging that he was feeling the same way. “I know,” he muttered back, the stuffed rabbit gripped in his hands.

Chewing anxiously on your bottom lip, you waited for something to happen, and your heart seized when you heard an alarm going off. From inside the house, a smoke alarm had started going off, and instinctively, you and Spencer both took off running.

While Derek body blocked Spencer, his only option left was to grab you to pull you back, but all he got was a handful of your jacket. You left it behind, letting him pull it off while you ducked under the police tape, sprinting up the front yard while Spencer shouted your name from the street.

The front door was unlocked, and you swung it open before entering. You smelled the smoke emanating, and once you were in the house, you heard the wails of your daughter. Annie’s horrified cries signaled you to her location, with your weapon drawn, you walked to the back of the house. The UnSub was in the living room, the curtains set ablaze from behind her, but what you were really focused on was Annie.

Her face was bright red, likely from a combination of the heat and her endless screams. From what you could see, she looked free from any serious injuries, but you had to get her away from the fire.

“You had the babysitter,” the UnSub said, though it wasn’t an observation—it was an accusation. She coughed through the quickly thickening smoke, “You had the babysitter.”

You tried to wave the smoke away from your face, “Sydney was our nanny,” you told her, eyes burning.

She shook her head, “She was the babysitter.” You nodded at her insistence, “She wouldn’t let me take him, so I did what I had to do. I had to get him to safety.”

“You’re right,” you cajoled her, though it comforted you to know that Sydney had died trying to protect your daughter. “You had to save him. Your baby’s name is Elijah, right?” Even though there was nothing more you wanted to do than get your baby back, you had to make sure you did so safely. “My daughter’s name is Annaliese,” you told her. “She’s four months old. Her dad and I call her Annie.”

Your heart ached at the way your daughter responded to her name being called, her wails ebbing for just a moment when she finally noticed you. “He wasn’t safe with the babysitter,” Abby insisted again.

You nodded, “I know. I know,” you coughed through the smoke, “but we aren’t safe here either, Abby. We need to get away from the fire.”

“I should’ve been there,” she said mournfully, turning her head to look at the ever growing fire. Your chest ached as breathing became more and more of a chore. “I should’ve died with him,” she told you.

Finally, everything made sense to you, in a way that only an UnSubs actions could make sense. She was trying to recreate the day her son died, except now she was trying to take another baby down with her. “Abby,” you said her name as gently as you could while still being audible over the wailing and alarms, “Elijah’s gone. I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, stepping backwards—closer to the fire—and muttering to herself, “no, no, no, no.”

“You can save her though,” you assured her, holding your hands out for Annaliese while wondering if you’d make it in time if you had to lunge for her. Her little legs kicked in protest, though you noticed she was losing steam, and you’d found yourself growing faint while the flames continued to grow.

A pop came from the couch behind her, embers flying at her, and when she flinched from the burns, her grip slipped on Annie. You took your opportunity, crouching to grab the baby before she had the chance to hit the floor.

For less than a split second, you watched Abby and considered helping her out, but the helpless baby on your hip had to take priority and you ran for the door. You had a much more sluggish pace when running outside than you had when you were on your way in. “Reid,” Someone shouted, and you slowed down slightly when you were almost at the edge of the property.

You smiled despite yourself when JJ was the first to get to you, she was scolding you about running into a burning building while your head spun.

Spencer got to you next, not far behind JJ. Together, the two of them led you to the ambulance, keeping you upright when adrenaline caused you to trip over your feet. Quietly, Spencer kept whispering the same words over and over again, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He repeated, kneeling in front of you once you sat down at the ambulance and the EMTs got you and Annie fitted with oxygen masks.

Frowning when Spencer tried to take the baby from you, your grip on her tightened protectively.

“I know,” he murmured gently, knowing you’d just almost died trying to get her and didn’t want to give her up so easily. “You have a burn on your arm,” he let you know, “Let me take her for a little while so they can treat it. We’ll stay right next to you.”

Reluctantly, your hold on Annie loosened while Spencer pulled her onto his lap, staying true to his word and taking a seat on the rig next to you. He cradled her, and you both sighed in relief when she finally stopped bawling.

Her little hands tugged at the mask on her face, but her father produced the small stuffed animal that you’d taken from the house, handing it to her to keep her tiny fingers occupied. Hearing shouting from the house, your hand that was holding your own oxygen mask to your face fell to your lap at the sight of Abby being carried out by the firefighters. Paramedics crowded her when they laid her on the grass, but by the looks of it, there was nothing to be done.

Using his empty hand, Spencer lifted your hand back to your face, “Keep this on, honey.” His hands shook with residual fear, and you were sure yours weren’t performing better.

You held the oxygen mask to your face, and tears fell from your smoke affected eyes while he looped the elastic bit around your head. “I thought…” your voice trailed off, garbled by the smoke inhalation and muffled by the mask.

“I know,” Spencer responded, kissing the top of your head when you leaned onto his shoulder, looking down at Annie, who giggled at the sight of you with your oxygen mask on.

“Here,” Spencer whispered, passing you the cup of water he’d gotten you when you arrived at the pediatric unit. The burn on your arm was freshly debrided and bandaged, and aside from a prescription you needed to pick up in the morning, you were fully treated.

Because her lungs were considerably smaller than yours, the doctors at the hospital decided it would be best for her to stay overnight for observation. Though they were impressed with her condition, telling you that, of all things, her crying had likely protected her. The extended wails had prevented too much smoke from entering her lungs

You sipped at the cold water gratefully, looking down at Annaliese while she slept in the hospital bassinet. You set it down next to you, glancing up at Spencer while he tapped his fingers. “What’s wrong?”

He raised his eyebrows, stilling his fingers in acknowledgement that he had been caught. “I used to have this dream,” he murmured, keeping his voice down so he didn’t disturb your sleeping daughter. “It started around the time I had first joined the BAU,” he continued, “There was a baby girl in the middle of a fire, put there by an UnSub, and no matter what I try, I’ve never been able to get to her in time.”

Taking a deep breath, you studied his expression carefully, “Well, you don’t believe in dream analysis…”

“No,” he replied, “I don’t.”

Shrugging, you rested your chin on the bassinet, “I mean. You couldn’t get to her, so I did.” He’d previously admitted to using from choice words toward Derek when he held Spencer back, but as far as you knew, all was well between the two of them.

Spencer frowned, “By running into a burning building.” His tone was chiding, and you understood why. You wouldn’t have changed your actions, but you understood why it bothered him so much. “Without thinking first,” he added.

You smiled shyly, “Yeah, it reminds me of this guy I knew who once ran into an anthrax lab without a mask. Although, he didn’t really run. His pace was pretty leisurely.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in response, “Yeah. That probably wasn’t the best decision, but we got a good result.” His hand reached into the bassinet, dragging a knuckle down your daughter’s cheek while she shifted slightly on the sterile mattress.

“Yeah,” you hummed, reaching into the bassinet and taking his hand in yours, “I think we did.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #spencer reid dilf agenda

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screeching-bunny · 1 year ago

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Yandere! Townspeople Harem x Lucky Reader

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

A/N: I have no clue what I was on when I wrote this 💀. This is also inspired by a Reddit post I saw long time ago.

🌟 Yandere! Townspeople who are absolutely enamored by you and everything that you do. They treat you as if you are some kind of entity waiting to be put on a golden pedestal and paraded around town. You are essentially the town’s golden boy/girl/person, a mascot if you can even call it that. In their eyes everything that you do is inspiring and encouraged. It also doesn’t help that you were born with this amazing power that causes you to become extremely lucky. No matter the deed, every action was thrust into the spotlight as if it were a gracious gesture for the community's well-being. Take, for instance, if you ever fatally shot someone the townsfolk would erupt in applause, discovering the individual to be a notorious mass murderer and your action saved the town.

🌟 Yandere! Townspeople who can’t help but gush over every miniscule achievement that you got. You got a perfect attendance award? They wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Did you just get a participation trophy? Well they're cheering for you as if you just won the world cup. To say their actions are embarrassing is definitely an understatement. Everytime they cheer for you, you can’t help but die a little bit on the inside.

🌟 Yandere! Townspeople who absolutely cannot fathom the idea of you moving out of their town. They would much rather skin themselves alive and commit arson than to allow you to leave them. Everywhere you go, there will always be some form of eyes on you. There will always be some type of survance of you at any time of the day. Depending on the person, the townspeople's love for you can either be platonic or romantic. Basically half of the town wants to fuck your and the other half sees you as their beloved child or grandchild.

🌟 Yandere! Townspeople who may or may not be human. Like sure they might have the occasional human sacrifices but what town doesn’t!?!? This is totally normal behavior that people exhibit. What’s that? Did you just see a tentacle coming out from that woman over there? Nahhh. You must be imagining that! What a cute and overactive imagination you have there. In all seriousness, it would literally die for you. You're just a cutie patootie to them. Your small teeth are so cute compared to their razor sharp fangs. You know, you could really use that small mouth of yours and suck on their–

🌟 Yandere! Townspeople have a monthly ritual where they gather around to brag about all of the items that they stole from you. Never in your life will you see someone so happy to own a pair of used underwear that didn’t belong to them or some used pair of socks. If you looked up a textbook definition of “down bad” then a picture of the Yandere! Townspeople would be the first images to pop up. In your presence these people act as if they had never touched grass or seen the sun before. They all seem to have some type of mutual agreement that in your presence, they would try to act somewhat normal in order to not scare/scar you too much.

—

From a young age, your luck was apparent. In school, while others struggled with exams, you breezed through them effortlessly, always managing to stumble upon the exact answers needed to excel. Teachers marveled at your natural knack for stumbling upon solutions, even in the most challenging of situations. As you grew older, the extraordinary luck only seemed to amplify. Job interviews turned into job offers within minutes, as if the universe conspired to ensure your success in every endeavor. Colleagues joked that working with you was like having a lucky charm around, as projects that seemed doomed to fail miraculously turned into resounding triumphs whenever you were involved. It might seem great and all BUT DAMN WAS THIS LIFE SO FUCKING BORING!!!! Which is why you decided to spice up your day a little and rob a bank.

“Oh hello [Reader]! Is this going to be the usual procedure?” The bank teller asks you with a smile on their face as you hold a gun to their face. “You know… the weather is perfectly nice today. It would be a perfect day for a date don’t you think–”

Suddenly a thunderous crash was heard, the police burst through the bank doors, their badges glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. Guns drawn and voices booming commands, they swept into the lobby, faces masked with determination. Until the police chief sees you and lets out a tired sigh, “Guns down everyone, it’s just [Reader].” A faint sound of disappointed groans can be heard from the crowd of bank patrons from the back. “Why are the police here so soon, I didn’t get enough time to admire their pretty face.” another voice could be heard, “For real, their never this fast in an actual emergency. I mean they only just shot and killed one person, it's really nothing to worry about like who cares–”

—

“You are free to go [Reader], again.” the police officer states as she releases you from your handcuffs. “Turns out the man that you shot ended up being a drug dealer. You really have a special talent for catching criminals don’t you. She states as she gazes at you with loving eyes. “You know I’m free after this shift, you think we can–”

Before she can finish her sentence you walk away with a dejected look on your face. You couldn’t believe how boring a day this turned out to be. Seriously, you wished that something exciting would happen in this town for once you think to yourself. Failing to notice a scene behind you. One that consisted of a bunch of monsters eating the souls of the innocent while on their knees for a statue that seemed to look like you. They all seem to be gripping onto something though– HEY, WAIT A MINUTE ARE THEY HOLDING YOUR UNDERWEAR!?!!?

#yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere harem #yandere townspeople

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reiding-writing · 6 months ago

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hi hi!! i love your writing! if you’re interested, i think it’d be cute to see something with spencer & fem!reader (cold!reader or otherwise, up to you) where the team is stuck working a case on christmas. could be kinda angsty or fluffy, i just love a fluffy ending

no worries if not! all the love!! 💚

JUST ANOTHER DAY — SPENCER REID!

you and the team get caught in texas over christmas.

s5!spencer reid x cold!reader 1.0k fluff? cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — trying to put out as many christmas themed fics in the next two weeks as i can—

It doesn’t feel like Christmas, despite all of the decorated trees and flickering fairy lights that line the Austin streets.

A lack of snow? sure. A generally high temperature with sunny skies? Well, obviously.

But of all the serial crimes someone had to commit over the Christmas period, arson was probably the most ironic.

“It’s almost funny,”

“It’s pathetic,” You cut JJ off with a roll of your eyes, crossing one leg over the other in the office chair you were inhabiting. “Arsonists are idiotic cowards, Christmas or not,”

JJ raised her eyebrows at your sharp tone, but she didn’t push. Instead, she gave a small shrug and leaned back in her chair, flipping through a file. “I think Garcia would say they’re more like... Grinches.”

You scoffed. “The Grinch had an actual motive. These guys just want attention.”

Spencer glanced up from the pile of maps and data he was poring over at the conference table. His brow furrowed slightly, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Technically, the Grinch’s motive was rooted in deep-seated emotional trauma from early childhood neglect and social isolation—”

“Thank you, Doctor Christmas,” you interjected, though there wasn’t much heat behind your words.

His brow furrowed slightly, as if he were trying to solve a puzzle. You’d been sharp all day—more than usual—and he was silently cataloging every detail of your demeanor, trying to understand what might have set you off.

“Statistically speaking, arsonists often escalate during the holidays,” Spencer offered cautiously. His tone was measured, but there was a note of hesitance, as if he were wary of setting you off further. “It’s a time when a lot of people feel isolated or resentful, which can fuel the compulsion.”

“Yeah, well, maybe they should try therapy instead of lighting up someone’s livelihood,” you muttered, not bothering to look up.

Morgan, sitting across from you, exchanged a glance with JJ, then leaned back in his chair. “You’re extra spicy today, Ice Queen. Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” you replied a little too quickly, flipping a page in the file.

But you weren’t fine. Everyone could tell, especially Spencer. He tilted his head slightly, studying the way your shoulders were tensed, your jaw tight. You were usually sarcastic and a little standoffish, but this was different.

“Maybe you just need a break,” Spencer suggested gently. “We could grab coffee?”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, the suggestion catching you off guard. For a moment, your steely exterior faltered. There was something in his gaze—warmth, concern, understanding—that made you feel seen in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for.

“I don’t need a break,” you said, voice softening slightly despite yourself. “I’ll be fine.”

The room fell quiet after that, the team respectfully giving you space. Spencer, however, stayed attentive, his mind already whirring with possibilities. You weren’t fine—and he was determined to figure out why.

—

It wasn’t until much later, when the team gathered around a small table in the precinct’s breakroom for a makeshift Christmas dinner, that Spencer finally got his chance. He sat beside you, close enough that his knee brushed yours, grounding you with his quiet presence.

“You’re not really mad about the case,” he said softly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear.

You glanced at him, startled, but his expression was open and kind, not accusing. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re not a big fan of Christmas, are you?” he asked, ignoring your deflection. “Or maybe... you don’t have the best memories of it.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to brush him off like you had the others, but the words didn’t come. Instead, you sighed, your shoulders shrugging exasperatedly. “It’s just another day, isn’t it?”

Spencer nodded, as though he’d already suspected as much. “I suppose so,” he said gently. “I never really enjoyed Christmas much when I was younger, with… my mom and all,”

You hum softly at his response.

His understanding took you off guard. You weren’t used to people digging into the grit behind the surface, and you certainly weren’t used to them doing it with such care. “Spend most of mine alone,” you asked, deflecting the attention. “Just wish I was actually in my own apartment,”

“I know what you mean,” he agreed. “I spend mine very similarly most years, when I can’t fly to Vegas anyway,”

Spencer lets out a soft breath. “I still enjoy it though,” He tilts his head slightly at you, like his opinion is somehow controversial.

“But not because of the traditions or the decorations. I like the idea of it—the chance to appreciate the people who matter, to make memories, even if they’re small.” His gaze softened as he looked at you. “I think that’s something worth holding on to, no matter what’s happened in the past.”

His words lingered in the air between you, warm and unexpected. For the first time all day, the tension in your chest began to ease.

“Yeah, maybe,” you murmured, absently biting on your cheek as you seem to deliberate.

Spencer smiled back, a flicker of relief in his eyes. “You should try the cookies Garcia brought,” he said, changing the subject with an almost boyish awkwardness. “They’re... very festive.”

You raise an eyebrow. Festive sounded about right if it was coming from Garcia. “Sounds like her,”

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, the weight on your shoulders felt a little less heavy. Spencer didn’t press you further, but the way he stayed close, quietly attuned to your mood, said more than words ever could.

Maybe Christmas didn’t have to feel like Christmas. ‘Just another day’ didn’t seem so bad.

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

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rafesteddy · 8 months ago

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"𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞" - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝚂𝟸!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 × 𝙶𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫/𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐲 | 𝐒𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 | 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 | 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤

𝖈𝖔-𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍: @starkeyisthelastname

5.8K

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓴 𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓻

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙/𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖉𝖚𝖑𝖊

Rafe and the Reader are both from Kildare Island. They both attend the same college. *Kildare Island cartographers, this is not accurate. I am aware 💕*

⚠️ warnings contain spoilers ⚠️

Praise kink, ownership kink, softboyfriend!rafe, pet names, Ward is a dick, verbal abuse, physical abuse, swearing, drinking, drinking and driving, graphic descriptions of violence, blood, gore, smut, cum play, cum tasting, mask kink, major character death, unprotected p in v, choking, rough sex

Reader’s POV:

“What are you thinkin’ about, pretty girl?” Rafe mumbles as he leans into your neck, kissing you gently, his large arm wrapped around you. You rest your hand on his thigh, letting him pull you against his broad frame as you do your best to calm down.

There was a list of things, really; it’s the night of The Purge, after all. The terror behind it was never easy to think about. Then, to top it all off, your very first dinner at the Cameron’s place. Somehow, you found yourself more nervous about the latter. Taking a deep breath, you melted against him, your lips finding his for a soft kiss. “Nothing, baby. Just a little anxious.” You whispered against his mouth. Rafe draws the same breath, not wanting to wave off your worry.

This was always a difficult night; the houses and residents of Figure 8 always seemed to get hit the hardest. The hatred, violence, and aggression The Cut held inside for this side of the island were clear, rightfully so—vandalism, theft, arson, beatings, murder; complete and utter chaos. But the Kooks weren't innocent either; they never are. Their crimes on Purge Night seemed to go unnoticed, brushed under the rug, their faces hidden under satirical masks. By the morning, when everyone pulled themselves out of their safe rooms, the manicured streets would be torn to shreds. The Kooks would be in “mourning” for the rest of the year, attending fundraiser after fundraiser, gala after gala, to return their neighborhoods to how they once were.

“You’re gonna be alright, princess. You have your safe room. We have ours. We can talk on the phone all night. Aight? I’m gonna look after Rose and Wheezie; your dad promised me that you’d be safe. It’ll be just like any other night.”

“I wish we could’ve stayed on campus,” your voice whispered as you lifted your head to meet his gaze. Your eyes burned from the heat of the tears threatening to spill down yours cheeks.

“That campus is gonna go to shit, princess. Always does. Tons of kids with rage to spare. We’re safer here.” You look up at the TV screen, Rafe’s words affirmed as they showed CCTV footage from the year before, your college campus flickering across the screen. It looked like a war zone… Rafe was right. The both of you were safer here.

“Reports had shown last year’s Purge had been the most successful to date, with the most murders committed.”

The journalist speaks with pride as she delivers the news. You could feel the chills run down your body, goosebumps flaring across your bare thighs. Rafe, of course, took notice of this, pressing a rough kiss to your forehead. “We’re graduatin’ next year. We’ll have a place of our own, just you and me,” He assured, reminding you of that sweet truth.

“Just you and me,” You echoed as you matched his pretty blue eyes. Wheezie’s phone buzzes, making you match her gaze across the living room. She’s an eavesdropper, lovingly so, her mood shift evident after listening your conversation with Rafe, knowing that it might just be Rose, Ward, and herself next year. Her protector, gone. “You too, of course, Wheez,” you smiled at her. She purses her lips, fluttering her lashes, quickly hurrying herself back to having her face buried in her phone to hide her emotion.

"Red or white?" Rose asked sweetly, her hands resting on a wine glass as she waited for your reply.

"Red wine, please." You smiled. “Thank you.”

"Rafe, would you like red?" She asked, earning a nod in reply from him. Rafe glanced over his shoulder, watching his stepmom run four glasses of wine. "Dinner will be ready in five.” She announced.

You gave her a polite smile and nod, nerves bubbling— this dinner was a staple in the Cameron house. It was like Thanksgiving in July: immaculate, decadent, excessive. A love letter to the Pogues, to give them just one more reason to hate the Kooks before the sirens sounded.

“Who knows, maybe next year we can Purge together,” Rafe whispers against your ear. The suggestion alone made your stomach fall. The unseriousness in his tone evident as he razzes you for shock value. But he’s joking… right? You let out a small breath when you heard his laugh, his arm gripping you tighter. “M’kidding, pretty.” He chuckled, amused by your reaction.

The jingle of a collar pulled your thoughts away as Rafe’s dog, Penny, rounded the corner and made her way over with a jump onto the couch. The large golden retriever snuggled next to you as she always did, making you smile softly at the momentary distraction. Rafe reached down, scratching her head with his grin. “Think Pen would rather spend the night with you than me, sweetheart,” he coos as he looks at her, making the sweet girl wag her tail. “Traitor.”

You looked at her, touching her soft fur before speaking. “Next year, it’ll be you, Rafey, me, and Wheez,” you speak to her sweetly as you scratch her head.

“That’s right,” Rafe hums happily.

"Dinner's ready,” Rose calls from the kitchen. Rafe weaves his larger hand in yours, leading you toward the table. Like the gentleman he was, he pulled out your chair and waited for you to take your seat before pushing it in. It was the sound of heavy footsteps that made the both of you glance up, seeing the patriarch himself. Ward Cameron. Rafe looks over his plate as he sits down, praising Rose and avoiding eye contact with his father as the older man sits across from him.

"So Alexis, how is school going for you?" Ward asked, causing Rose and Wheezie’s conversation to hush as he mentioned Rafe’s ex-girlfriend, Alexis Thornton's name, not yours. You were taken aback a little, but tried not to show it on your face. You didn’t know how to respond but did your best to save yourself the embarrassment.

"Umm... It's going great. Thank you." You said quietly, deciding to let it go.

"Y/n, I’ve actually been thinking about going there too," Wheezie emphasized your name with a sugary, sweet smile. “You know, when the time comes,” she adds casually, peering out of the corner of her eye at Ward as she swirled some pasta on her fork. She was waiting for her father to correct his mistake, but to her surprise, nothing came.

"Really? That’s amazing, Wheez. You should come out for a visit soon, and I can show you all our favorite spots.” You told her, picking up your wine glass to take a small sip. That’s when you heard Ward scoff, making you look in his direction. “She’s a child,” Ward rasped, followed by a mocking laugh. ”What are you gonna do? Take her to a bar?” His words were cold underneath a fake smile.

The confused look on your face said it all as you replied to him. “Obviously not,” You laugh him off, taking a similar tone towards him. Did he really think you’d take a 13-year-old to a bar? “There are some great restaurants, fun coffee shops, and a few cute little boutiques I’d love to take you to.” You said, focusing your attention back over on Wheezie.

Her smile brightened at your words, giving you an excited nod to her head. You turn your focus back to the head of the table, watching as Ward throws back the rest of his first glass of wine. It vibrated against the table as he slammed it down, gesturing to Rose with his other hand. As if he needed another. “Well, I’m hopin’ your grades are better than his,” Ward mumbled, cutting off Rose’s pour, three fingers from the top of the glass.

“I have good grades, but I’m not sure what you mean by that. Rafe’s grades are great.” You told him, your hand squeezing your boyfriend’s leg supportively under the table. You watched as Ward raised an eyebrow, his lips pursing around the wine glass before he set it down.

“He’s not on Academic Probation anymore? How many chapters did I miss?” Ward snickered cruelly as he matched Rafe’s eyes and yours. His words were harsh and cutting as he tried his best to embarrass his son in front of everyone. If one were to ask if Ward had any regrets, the only one he had would be not having a bigger audience to humiliate his eldest child.

"Uh, no. Not since the first year,” Rafe responded, his voice breaking slightly with anger as he spoke up. His blue irises flashed darker, meeting his father’s gaze as the man gave him a smirk. ”Real proud of you, son. Didn’t think you had it in you,” Ward drawled out in a thick southern accent laced with nothing but hate.

“You and your family gonna be alright tonight? Gettin’ pretty close to The Cut,” Ward asks as he slides his spoon across his tongue to cover the slight grin he’s holding back, taking a bite of crème brûlée. Gettin’ pretty close to The Cut… He means that in more ways than one— physically close, just a bay separating the two. Financially close as well, new money and a new family business, skirting the line between Kook and Pogue; still enough coin to pay for a membership at the Island Club.

Rafe knew precisely what he meant, Ward’s wicked double-entendre conjuring up fury. Calling you the wrong name was the first thing that had pissed him off; now his father was being rude to you just for the hell of it, and that was a whole other thing on its own. It was only a matter of time before he absolutely lost it.

"So, Alexis, what’s your brother up to these days-”

"Jesus Christ, Dad... Her name is y/n..." Rafe snapped, banging his giant fists against the table, the delicate china clattering and clanging on the flat surface. Ward chuckled at his son’s outburst, knowing he was the reason for it.

"Sorry, son. I can't keep all your girlfriends straight," He laughed before turning to you. "You don't mind if I just call you Alexis? Do you, sweetheart?" He slurs, a sly smirk on his lips.

"I do.” You reply quietly, trying your best not to cry from humiliation. He was just being an ass, but everyone's eyes on you were making you very uneasy. You looked down at your half-eaten dessert, your appetite suddenly gone. Rafe took one look at you and shook his head.

"Alright... I think we are good. Are you good, sweetheart?" Rafe asked, already knowing the answer. He stood up abruptly, reaching for your hand. His other rips the bottle of wine off the table and passes it to you before snagging the crème brûlée as Ward reaches for seconds.

"M’takin’ her home and I’m leavin’ in the mornin’,” Rafe spat. “By the way, Dad, why don’t you stop drinkin’? Huh? You’re not gonna be good for shit if I gotta protect your ass too, fuckin’ pussy.” Ward was seething, wasting no time in grabbing Rafe by the shirt, pulling him down to meet his cold, dead eyes.

“The hell did you just call me, boy?” His voice was low as he twisted the fabric tighter in his hand.

“Called you a fuckin’ pussy,” Rafe responded with a level tone, not letting his nerves get the best of him. Ward’s face fell as he let him go, only to push him back towards the wall—Rafe bumped into the decorative table, sending one of Rose’s ornate vases crashing to the floor.

Rafe took a long drink from the wine bottle, just waiting for another storm of insults that would surely fly from Ward’s mouth. The vase was shattered all over the hardwood, the table quiet as everyone felt the tension thick in the air. Taking a breath, the older man hung his head in exhaustion for his disappointment of a son. This was a regular occurrence for the tumultuous pair, and Rafe’s voice was eerily calm again when he turned to his stepmother.

“Thanks for dinner. I’ll clean that up when I get back,” Rafe mumbles, his head nodding over to messy ground. Rose, who didn’t want to set her husband or stepson off even more, just gave him a soft nod and a weak smile.

“Hurry back,” Wheezie blurts out, not wanting her older brother to be out after the sirens called. She was about to say something else when her father interrupted her.

“If you’re not back here in an hour, m’locking the damn gate, Rafe,” Ward warned. ”You know I have no problem lettin’ you stay out there all night.” He hissed. You gave Ward a look of disgust, unable to hide it at the lack of emotion he carried for Rafe. You saw his eyes quickly meet yours, watching his lip twitch slightly. His gaze softened, holding a tiny fraction of remorse from the fact you saw just how awful he treated his own blood.

Fifteen minutes to your house, fifteen minutes back, leaving you thirty minutes to spare. "Wine?" You asked sweetly, passing your boyfriend the bottle by its neck.

"Please. Definitely need it after that shit show.” He exhaled, wishing he had something stronger. He took a healthy swig of the red liquid, finishing the bottle with a tipsy laugh. “Oh shit.” He chuckled dryly, tossing it in the back of the truck as you glanced back at him, his cerulean eyes met yours in a glassy stare.

"Fuck, y/n, that was embarrassing," he pushed out as he drummed his blunt nails against the steering wheel. "I've been lookin‘ forward to you meetin’ them for a while, and - and my dad always finds a way to mess it up." He stammered. You scooped up a bite of the stolen crème brûlée, feeding him. Rafe groaned at the taste of the decadent dessert making you giggle, the sound easing his sour mood for a moment. “We will never be like that,” he sighed, tone serious as his striking blue eyes bored into you deeply.

“Never.”

You knew Rafe was running high on many emotions. All he ever wanted was his father’s approval; deep down, he knew he would never receive it. Though the moment was sad, hearing him talking about the future with you brought some sense of peace. You knew his parents couldn’t care less, and you could only hope and pray, that didn’t make him have any second thoughts about the two of you. The feeling of the spoon slipping from your hand pulled you from your thoughts as Rafe now had it to get another bite. “So ready for this night to be over with.”

You let out a sigh, looking down at your lap before back up to your handsome boyfriend. “Neither can I, baby. Neither can I…” You said, your nerves setting in all over again. Rafe could read you, deciding to lean in and place a kiss on your lips for reassurance. He cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in close as his tongue played with yours. He was kissing you as if it would be the last time, but he would never utter those words out loud. Pulling back slowly, he rested his forehead against yours. “Drive home safe, Rafe.”

“Promise, princess,” he said, his voice vibrating against your mouth before kissing you once more. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” Your voice is barely a whisper as you hold onto him for a few seconds longer than usual before getting out of his parked truck and heading to your house.

You look out your window, staring across the shimmering water of the bay. It’s quiet— calm. But that won’t last for long. Soon, both sides of the Island rise. The TV glows in your bedroom, illuminating the space around you as the news continues to run story after story from the years before, scaring some and inspiring most.

You wrap your blanket tighter around your shoulders, snuggling into your pillows as you wait for the announcement. Rafe hasn’t called yet or answered; I just hope he made it back to Tanneyhill okay.

“This is not a test.”

Your heart falls into your stomach; your body breaking out in a cold sweat as you hear those five words you’ve been waiting for. Your eyes shift away from the window as you take in the words on your screen.

“This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge, sanctioned by the U.S. Government. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7 am. And, for the first time since its inception, no one has been granted special immunity from the Purge. No citizen or group will be exempt. Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn.”

The siren blares making the hair on the back of your neck stand straight; the blood in your frozen body runs cold.

“May God be with you all.”

His eyes widen on yours, breaking away in disbelief, staring down at nothing but the handle of the blade. The knife was lodged deep in his stomach, your mind dizzy as Ward gasped for breath.

You never thought you’d be one to actually do it. The night was already dangerous, and here you were, back at the infamous Tannyhill amid the mist of chaos. It was your right, though, and he was why you were doing this in the first place. Seeing the way he could no longer spit those venomous out or give you a look of intimidation made you hold such power over him. This was giving you an indescribable high to see him almost silently pleading with you despite it being too late.

You were doing the world a favor, and oh my god, the gasp he let out made you realize this was really happening. Yanking the blade free, you watched as he stumbled back. Ward tripped over the hallway rug, his body falling onto the ground with a loud thud. The house was quiet except for the sounds of Ward fighting for air, his hands reaching out for anything to help pull him away from you.

He couldn’t survive. If he found out it was you, it would be over, everything… And that couldn’t happen.

Stepping towards him, you sank to your knees and looked into his eyes. The purple LED lights on your mask reflected in his reading glasses, his eyes behind it leaking with pathetic tears. Fucking pussy. You didn’t think you had it in you, lifting the knife above your head without any tremble to your hands.

“This is for Rafe.” You bring it down, stabbing him in the heart, sealing his fate. The strike was brutal, and you could swear you felt the tip of the sharp blade pierce into the hardwood floor. Blood covered the hall, the fight over as his body grew still beneath you. You waited, his chest no longer rising as you watched him lay there, now lifeless. Forcing the knife out, you took a deep breath and rolled your neck to release the tension of the night. The nerves, the anxiety, all of it put to rest as you rid the world of this evil man.

You and Rafe would never truly be happy if Ward was around to ruin every moment. You knew every family event or special occasion would be tarnished just like it was tonight. Not only that, but the cutting words, scarring digs, and emotional abuse he let his son suffer. You couldn’t stand to hear him or see him treat the man you loved this way anymore. That dinner earlier was the last time he got to make Rafe feel that way ever again.

Lifting up your mask, you let your emotions go as you laughed at his now vacant body. “Fuck you, Ward.” You spat, only to feel your heart skip a beat as the sound of a familiar collar jangled down the long hallway. Your stomach dropped, the realization that you had been in the house too long and caught the attention of Penny. If Ward had been scanning the house, there was no way that Rafe wasn’t doing the same thing. You could only hope he was in the safe room with Rose and Wheezie.

You rose to your feet, seeing the golden retriever trot towards you a little faster as she recognized your scent through the disguise. Leaning down, you carefully scratched her fury ear and whispered. “I’ll see you in the morning, Penny girl.”

The sound of a deep voice made that sinking feeling come back to your lower belly. “You hear somethin’, girl?” Rafe’s booming tone, not even trying to be quiet as his large shadow stands at the end of the hallway.

Fuck.

No… No…

You took two steps backward, clutching the knife in your shaky hand as he took two large strides forward. Turning around, you sprinted towards the door and downstairs. You ran past the living room, ignoring the thought that you had been snuggling there only a few hours earlier. His steps grew louder, and his voice echoed through the mansion as he yelled, “STOP!”

Your lungs were burning as you looked over your shoulders you tore out onto the trimmed front lawn. Your own boyfriend, on your heels, making you hold back a scream as you made a shot for the thick trees on the other side of the house. It offered you a place to hide and catch your breath as your rapid heartbeat rang through your ears. You found yourself crawling next to a tree, the pure darkness, your only hope of survival as you tried to stay out of sight. You tore off your mask, quieting your breathing as you hid with the palm of your blood soaked hand.

You listened to his heavy footsteps fading fast. You took a minute to think, knowing you couldn’t go back to the front of Tannyhill without being seen. The barn... You would wait it out there for the night to get the heat off of you and then find a way out. You’d clean up and come back to console Rafe. Making sure the lights on your mask were off, you tugged it back on your face and stood up.

The North Carolina night was warm, making you feel sticky as dirt and blood caked your skin. You made your way through the dark woods until the small white barn came into view. You looked at it, your mind racing with different scenarios. What if he called? What if he decided to leave and saw that your car was parked down the road? What if he finds you? Would he kill for what you did?

Slipping into the bar, you followed the beacon of light pouring down from above. Your feet creaked along the old rigid floor as you made your way over to the ladder. You climbed until you couldn’t, taking a small, tired huff. You felt a little better until you realized you had left your knife behind. If Rafe had come across that, it would have been over, and now it was just another thing that you would have to figure out later. If there was a later anyway…

You crawled over to the corner of the upstairs loft, looking down out of the small window. It was an eerie scene as your eyes studied the surroundings below: a couple of four-wheelers, a dirt bike, and two covered cars. You shivered, reaching for the tarp beside you, pulling it over to hide yourself, just in case.

CREAK.

Your eyes shot open, making your head peer out from behind the blue tarp. You froze in horror as Rafe stepped through the open door, his large silhouette and crystal eyes shining into the room. He took a breath before letting out a frustrated growl. “I KNOW YOU ARE IN HERE!” He screamed, the anger and sadness evident in his tone. You brought a hand to your mouth, eyes squeezing shut as his footsteps moved throughout the space.

You watched his every movement as he walked across the loft floor, getting closer to you. His heavy and erratic breathing filled the once-silent space making your heart race as he stepped close enough for you to catch something shiny. You let out a small gasp, seeing the same knife you’d used to kill his own father. The wood creaked underneath his weight as if he heard the noise you let out. You shut your eyes once more, pleading with him in your mind to just go away. You had to hold onto hope for the miracle that he would give up, and you could see him in the morning without having to explain this situation. That was if he would let you explain.

When you thought things were quiet enough to take a peek, you slowly opened your teary eyes only to meet the very ones of the man you loved. His hand wrapped around your throat before you said anything, his grip strong enough to lift you off your feet effortlessly. He squeezes, shoving you into the hard wall. You couldn’t die at the hands of your boyfriend. You weren’t ready, your voice coming out in a pitiful squeak as the tears flowed underneath your mask. “Please stop.”

His hand twists his hand in your hair, his eyes widening as he recognizes those silky strands. He immediately pulls the mask away from your face, his emotion changing. “Y/N?” He asked, looking at you as he calmed his breathing. You heard the knife drop to the ground with a clang before you listened to the sweet name he always called you. “Princess…”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, avoiding his gaze until you felt him cup your cheek. The pad of this thumb ran across your soft skin, which you instantly leaned into. He leaned down, pressing his lips against yours in a deep kiss. You whimpered against him, the terror you had been feeling now washing away. You could feel him smile against your lips; a grin on his face as he pulled back to look down at you.

“You beat me to it.” He spoke in a hushed voice as he watched your eyebrows come together in confusion.

“I… I beat you to it?” You stuttered, earning a chuckle in response from Rafe.

He nodded with a hum as his hand reached up to run through your hair. “Mmhm.. I’m guessin’ you did this for me? That right?” He asked, his other hand holding up the mask you once had on. You looked at it, almost afraid to admit anything.

There was no lying to him, though; you let your head fall as you took a shaky breath. “Yes. I couldn’t stand the fact of him being here another day.” You said, meeting his eyes as carefully looked up at him.

Rafe studied you briefly before his raspy voice spoke out into the darkness. “You’ve been thinking about it for a while. Haven’t you?” He asked, watching as you nodded in silence.

“I have.” You whispered, still unsure if this was set up.

It was him murmuring ‘me too,’ his hands squeezing your hips that you knew he was being genuine. “You should have told me baby. We could have done it together. Huh?” He smirked, his fingertips coming to the button of your dark jeans. Something about you taking his father’s life for him so that he no longer had to deal with the pain and suffering the man caused him had him feral. He didn’t know you would be the one he caught; his family had a lot of enemies, after all. Knowing it was, you had him feeling an entirely different way.

He moved his hand from your pants, coming to his own crisp white shirt to pull off. His toned upper body gleamed under the moonlight shining from the window. You couldn’t help but reach out and touch him, your bloody manicured nails tracing over his broad chest and down to where you could pop the button of his pants open. You heard his breath hitch as you reached even further, giving his hard-on a squeeze. He let out a breathless laugh, pulling you in for one last kiss before he turned you to face the wall. He pressed against you from behind, his hands yanking down your jeans and panties in one go. You step out of them, the heat growing more in your lower tummy.

“Co’mere.” He rasped, leading you to the tarp you had once been hiding under. He pulls you down with him, straddling his lap as he works to remove the thin shirt you wore. You reach down into his boxers to pull his hard length out, the fat head soon poking your drooling hole. You feel the burn as he stretches you out, your pretty cries echoing through the barn. You were so full of him, taking all of him as he glided into your soaked core.

“Holy fuck… Rafe!” You gasped, your nails digging into his chest as your head spun with pleasure and adrenaline. Even the way you felt after killing Ward felt nothing compared to the way Rafe made you feel. His eyes looked up at you as he worked you along his body, cock filling you up in the best way.

“You’re so perfect. Yeah? Don’t forget that. My goddamn girl, princess. Fuck. You’re mine.” His voice was like velvet as he reached between the two of you to rub your sweet little pearl in circles.

You were a mess, involuntary clenching around him as you rode him. He let out a groan, watching those pretty tits bounce each time you came down. “You feel so fuckin’ good. Oh my god, baby…” He grunted under the sounds of your skin slapping against his. You were high on all of this, euphoria running through you as you lifted yourself off of him just to come back down with a slam.

“Yeah? You like the way I feel wrapped around you?” You bit at him, taking one of your hands and wrapping it around his throat. You watched as his eyes rolled back while you squeezed, his head tilting back in pleasure. His thick digits on one hand continued the torture on your clit while the other grabbed one of your plush tits.

As much as Rafe loved for you to take control, he couldn’t help but reel you back by rolling you over to be on top. He slams back into you, watching your mouth fall at the sudden change in position. His long cock hits your sweet spot, making you arch your back off the tarp. “Hold still, princess.” He mumbled, gripping the back of your thighs to bring them higher. He spreads you open, nearly folding you in two as his toned hips thrust into you.

“Fuck Rafe!” You squeal, eyes looking at the space between you. The light illuminating through the small loft window reflected off his abs, flexing as he pounded into you. His thick cock shiny with arousal as it rammed into you.

“You know I gotta take charge. Can’t fucking help it when you got a pussy like this, sweetheart. Can you take a little more for me, baby?” He breathed out, watching as you nodded the best you could as you grew closer to your climax. “Mphff? You deserve it, baby. I swear you do.” Rafe says, hooking your legs over his shoulders and letting you take his pounding.

You clawed at him, whining, leaving your babbling mouth as you drew closer to exploding. The heat in your stomach was about to burst, and your thighs quivered. “M’gonna cum.” You mumbled out, your chest breaking out in a flush.

His rough fingers found your clit once more, bringing you to the edge as he rubbed it just enough for you to let go. Clutching at his broad shoulders, you cry out and let him bury his face in your neck as he relentlessly drilled into you. “Gonna fuckin’ cum in this pretty pussy.” He gritted out, his mouth constantly growing more filthy the closer he got.

“Need your cum inside me. Please give it to me.” You begged, breath still short as you were barely off your high.

“Yeah, Princess? You need it? Fuck, you need my cum?”

“Cum in my fucking pussy, Rafe.” His eyes rolled back at the sound of your voice. You felt this cock start to swell and throb inside of you, his groans vibrating off of you as heavy loads of warm spent filled your walls. You whimper softly, his head pulling back only to meet you for a kiss.

He took a few before slowly pulling out, his eyes heavy as he watched his seed slowly spill out of you. It was quite the sight and feeling to have came inside you for the first time on the same night you killed his father. He can’t help but travel his hand down, pushing the sticky liquid back into your swollen hole with a smile. “Fuck.. I love you.” His voice hoarse as he admired all of you.

You let out a quiet giggle, the feeling of being full of him making you satisfied. Grabbing his wrist you lifted his hand to your mouth, sucking on Rafe’s big fingers dripping with his cum and yours, before letting them go with a pop. “I love you too, baby.” You said softly.

“You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” He asked, his facial expression turning more serious as if he needed reassurance.

Without any hesitation, you sat up and wrapped your hand around his bare bicep. “Anything.” You whispered, and you meant that.

A wicked grin spread across his face as soon as he heard that. He looked out at the still-dark sky and hummed in thought. “You know it’s still early. Wanna take the dirt bike and get out of here? I bet we can have some fun.” He said, glancing back at you.

“You have a mask?” You asked curiously. Were you and Rafe really about to go out and Purge? Reaching over to his discarded jeans, he pulled out a black ski mask from the back pocket. He ran a hand over his sweaty bangs, pushing them back to tug the material over his handsome face. His ocean eyes shined through, the same devilish smile on his face.

“What do you say, princess?”

Lily!!!!! You are such an amazing writer and friend. Thank you so much for writing with me 💕☺️🤭🩷 I will forever be a fan of your work. 🥹

#kinktober event .𖥔 ݁ ˖🎃˚. ᵎᵎ #dark!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #s2!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #boyfriend!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #rafe one shot 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#rafe #rafe smut #rafe cameron x reader #my library ᝰ.ᐟ

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kxsagi · 2 months ago

Note

OUGHHHH MAY FIRST CAME 😈 at least here in Poland. You can ignore this if it’s something you don’t wanna write btw!!!

Can I request BL men that are already pro players, and they’re dating a reader that has chronic pain and uses mobility aids because of it? And the media is super weird ab it cause how dare a pro athlete date a disabled person. Maybe he comforts her because she stumbled upon a weird ass article or a hate comment idk.

Uhhh ness shidou bachira and whoever u want 🙇‍♀️ I love you and your writing I hope you have a good day!

SORRY if this is too specific. Shout out to my fellow disabled girlies 😔✊

“𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐝”

a/n: NOOO I LOVE THIS, I LOVE YOU AND YOUR COMMENTS AND I AM SO HAPPY I GET TO WRITE THIS FOR YOU

ft. ness alexis, shidou ryusei, bachira meguru, kaiser michael, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi

ness alexis

ness is literally the definition of a gentle boyfriend, so the moment he sees that one trashy gossip headline – “Pro Athlete Seen With Disabled Girlfriend: Fans Concerned?” – his jaw drops like someone just slapped him.

“concerned for what?” he whispers like he’s in a horror movie.

you find it first, though. you're just scrolling while curled up on the couch, using your heating pad, when you freeze mid-scroll and go, “hey, do you wanna see something funny, but soul-destroying?”

ness peers at your phone and immediately climbs onto the couch to wrap himself around you like a human blanket. “do not let stupid people ruin your mood. you are my favorite person. also, what is this site even called? ‘goalz4gossip’? this looks like it was made by a 12-year-old with an ipad and rage issues.”

he goes on a small rant in german under his breath and then kisses your forehead 400 times.

“you’re literally the strongest person i know. the media can go date each other if they’re so pressed about us.”

shidou ryusei

shidou finds a comment that says, “how is she even keeping up with a guy like him? she uses a cane 💀” and immediately screenshots it.

not because he agrees, but because he wants to roast it on his private story.

his post is just a screenshot with the caption: “buddy she keeps up with me just fine, she made me cry last week for stealing her fries. sit down.”

shidou doesn’t sugarcoat stuff, but he’s aggressively supportive. like, if someone tries to come at you sideways in public, he’ll bark at them.

literally bark.

“you okay, babe?” he says when you look a little too quiet after seeing one of those backhanded articles.

you shrug and say, “i’m fine,” but he doesn’t let it go. he walks over, squats in front of you, rests his chin on your lap and goes, “wanna egg their office building? or better yet, light it on fire and commit arson together?”

instead of actually committing a felony, he picks you up bridal-style and plops you into bed. “you’re hot, you’re smarter than me, and you walk cooler than 99% of the population. who cares what some sweaty journalist thinks?”

he also gets you custom accessories for your mobility aids with little flames or skulls ‘cause you’re metal like that.

bachira meguru

bachira is completely unbothered by the hate. but super bothered when it makes you upset.

like you’re sitting in the park one day and overhear someone whisper “is that her? the one with the crutches?” and he notices how you instinctively stiffen.

he grabs your hand instantly, leans into your ear and whispers, “they’re just jealous you’ve got me wrapped around your finger.”

always trying to turn the moment silly so you smile again.

later, when you’re spiraling a bit in your room reading too many mean reddit comments, he flops beside you dramatically.

“stop. too much screen. i’m gonna fart on your phone.”

you shove him away laughing, but he tugs you close with a pout.

“you know… they don’t get to have you. i do. and i think your pain doesn’t make you less, it just makes you stronger and cooler. like a character in an anime who gets up anyway, no matter what.”

then he insists on decorating your mobility aids with googly eyes and doodle stickers cause “it’s armor now. i’m your sidekick. beep beep.”

michael kaiser

he acts unbothered in public, but he absolutely loses it behind the scenes when he sees an article titled, “Can a Pro Like Kaiser Settle for Someone Like Her?”

“settle for– oh okay. okay. no one tell my manager i’m about to commit slander with a side of defamation.”

you find him aggressively typing in a notes app. “dear anonymous hater from 'SoccerDailyBuzz': how does it feel knowing you could never even get a date with her, much less someone who calls you ‘baby’ while making espresso at 6 AM?”

turns his anger into sarcasm but also kisses your shoulder after every sentence to calm himself down.

“i didn’t fall in love with your pain, but i fell in love with the way you live through it. your stubbornness, your fire, the way you still make fun of me even when you’re hurting. that’s what makes you beautiful, you know? wait, that sounds so cheesy.”

he makes a point to show you off even more. red carpet? he’s holding your hand the whole way, mobility aid and all. interview? he’s saying “my girlfriend is the strongest person i know” before anyone even asks.

he sees your worth so clearly. and he makes damn sure everyone else does, too.

itoshi sae

sae’s already got a reputation for being cold and unbothered, so people are shocked when he’s openly soft around you.

he doesn’t do PDA or gush about you on TV, but the way he always slows his pace to walk beside you, carries your bag without a word, and makes sure you’re seated comfortably before interviews, it’s noticed. and, of course, dissected.

you show him a headline that says, “What’s Sae Itoshi Doing With Someone Who Can’t Even Keep Up?”

and he reads it with a completely neutral expression, then tosses your phone face-down on the table and goes, “well, that’s funny. you seem to keep up just fine when you’re lecturing me at 2 AM about leaving the stove on.”

you burst out laughing, but he looks at you with the tiniest furrow in his brow. “does it bother you?” he asks quietly.

you admit it hurts a little. and he just nods, slides over, and presses his forehead to yours.

“they don’t get to know you. they don’t see how hard you fight. how much you endure. they don’t see you the way i do. and that’s their loss.”

next time you two are seen in public, he’s the one walking with your cane slung over his shoulder like a sword. the caption on the paparazzi pic reads: “new accessory or relationship statement?” yes. yes to both.

itoshi rin

rin already hates the media, so this gives him another reason to despise them.

when someone tweets, “idk i just think it’s weird for a high-performing athlete to date someone who can’t even do sports,” he literally glares at your phone like it personally insulted him.

“what the hell does that even mean. i can’t do ballet, but i’m not out here judging people who can.”

he’s blunt, but he’s furious on your behalf. he’s also the type to go down the rabbit hole of comments and get angrier by the second.

when you try to downplay it – “it’s fine, i’m used to it” – he looks at you like you just said gravity isn’t real.

“don’t do that. don’t act like you have to take it just because people are cruel. they’re wrong.”

then, more softly: “you’re… more than what your body lets you do. and i fell in love with you, not your physical stats.”

rin shows his love by doing things for you. adjusting your seat. finding the best accessible routes. learning how to help without hovering.

someone once asked him in an interview, “how does your girlfriend feel about not being able to travel as easily to your matches?”

rin deadpans: “she’s the reason i win. so unless you’d like to speak directly to my motivation, maybe pick a better question next time.”

isagi yoichi

isagi is the type who genuinely doesn’t understand how people can be so heartless.

like he reads one awful comment and goes, “... do they think you’re not allowed to be loved?” with genuine confusion in his voice.

he’s devastated that you saw it. “you shouldn’t have to read stuff like that. i promise i’ll protect you from it all.”

you shrug and tell him you’re used to it, and he immediately goes into ‘motivational team captain’ mode.

“you being used to it doesn’t mean you have to accept it. people suck. you’re brilliant, and funny, and beautiful, and strong in a way most people will never understand. and you don’t have to prove your worth to anyone.”

he holds your hand tighter when you’re out in public. makes a habit of stopping to adjust your pace so you’re never rushed.

also, he subtly drags anyone who says anything ableist during interviews.

“a lot of people think strength is just about running or scoring goals, but i’ve learned from my partner that real strength is showing up every day, even when your body fights you. that’s the kind of strength i look up to.”

cue the internet sobbing. cue you sobbing. cue him also sobbing because he made you cry and didn’t mean to.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #ness alexis x reader #alexis ness x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #ryusei shidou x reader #bachira meguru x reader #meguru bachira x reader #kaiser michael x reader #michael kaiser x reader #media can stay mad

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27spoons · 2 months ago

Text

CRUSH | NATALIE'S INTERLUDE TWO

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: Well... those were a fun few hours, huh?

wc: 1070

warnings: post-nut guilt, i've decided van is nonbinary you have to live with it now

a/n: i'd apologize for the photo but im really not sorry mb

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT TWO: SMOKE SIGNALS

NEXT - ACT THREE: SAFE FROM HEARTBREAK (IF YOU NEVER FALL IN LOVE)

NATALIE

It's been a few hours since you fell asleep.

She thinks.

You had seemed so… happy when you fell asleep. Your hand resting on her shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into the skin as you kissed the top of her head every few minutes, as if you were reminding yourself she was still there.

Her original plan was to leave right after you fell asleep, you know? Let you deal with everything on your own. The aftermath and the unfortunate light that morning brings.

She hates that she can't.

You lay there, looking relaxed and calm, and she sits on your windowsill, prepared to jump out into the snowbanks below. But she can't bring herself to leave, not after everything. The least she could do was stay to say good morning, then leave. Just so that you know… you know she didn't just… take your virginity and leave.

Nat's face contorts at that thought. God, she really did that, didn't she? And despite your willingness, she can't help but feel like she coerced you into it. She knows, realistically, that she didn't. You were willing, your skin was willing, your voice was willing. She knows.

It doesn't stop the full-body shiver from raking up her spine at the idea that she might have.

She glances back at you before digging around in her jacket pocket. Her phone—old, cracked, barely functioning at this point—buzzes faintly when she taps the screen.

2:36 AM

She sighs as she plugs her earbuds into the jack, jamming it in and angling the cord just to get sound playing in both ears. It works—barely, even on full volume, but it works nonetheless. She scrolls through whatever music she has downloaded and clicks the song that always hits when her thoughts won't shut the fuck up.

'So What'cha Want' by Beastie Boys blares into her ears with tinny aggression, a welcome reprieve from the silence of your room. Hell, she doesn't even realize she's muttering the lyrics until the cigarette's halfway to her lips.

The window opens with a reluctant creak. She places the filter of the smoke between her cracked and bruised lips and lights the tip, taking a long drag before blowing it slowly out into the cold night, letting it mix with the frosty air.

In a way, it feels like she's exhaling the ever-present guilt that gnaws at her insides most days. The only time she doesn't feel that guilt is when she's doing something she shouldn't be doing. Whether that thing is drugs, crime, or having sex…

"Fuck," Nat hisses to herself, almost pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration before she remembers that it's busted.

Great. Right. She got beat to shit only a handful of hours ago. How the fuck is she gonna explain this one away to anyone else? To the team? To her mom (who probably won't care)? To Kevyn and Rich?

'Fuck' indeed.

She opens up her messages—out of post-hookup habit—and taps something stupid out to Van.

[nat]

ever jus commit a felony then feel sad abt it lol ike hypotheticaly

No response. It's almost three in the morning. And Van is basically technologically illiterate. What the fuck would they even say—

[van]

who did you murder?????? do I need to call tai do we need a shovel I'll help you hide the body

Nat has to fight the twitch in her lips. Leave it to Van's dumbassery to cheer her up right now.

[nat]

no1 murdred yet

[van]

then what crime did you commit arson? cannibalism? identity theft?

[nat]

no dumbass i fuked that chick i was telling u abt

Silence. Complete radio silence on the other end.

As the song shifts to 'Date With The Night' by Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Nat curses herself internally as she ashes the cigarette on the cracked window pane. God, she's really done it this time, huh? Maybe Lottie was—

[van]

DUDE!!!! ARE YOU THERE?

She scoffs before taking another drag from the Marlboro, rolling her eyes as she debates dignifying that with a response. The obvious answer is yes, but Van knows that. They just want Nat to admit it.

[nat]

yes

[van]

YOU'RE STAYING THE NIGHT, RIGHT? CORRECT?

[nat]

i think

[van]

WRONG ANSWER! CORRECT ANSWER IS YES! GO BACK TO BED WITH HER TAI SENDS HER WARMEST REGARDS

As much as Nat hates to admit it, Van has a point. She should stay the night. After all, didn't she tell Lottie you were 'different'?

If Nat were playing this by her own rules, she would have already been halfway across town by now. But instead, she's standing in your room, still half-dressed, nursing a cigarette and her own idiotic sense of guilt.

She flicks what's left of the smoke into the snow hills two stories down and lets the brisk night air cling to her skin one last time before closing the window with a heavy sigh.

She doesn't crawl back into your bed right away.

She stares at you for a long time, perched on the windowsill. She watches your chest's slow rise and fall, the furrow in your brow that hasn't gone away even in sleep. She wonders what the hell you're dreaming about, if anything. Wonders if it's her. Wonders if that's a good or bad thing.

Probably bad.

Eventually, Nat runs a hand through her greasy hair, grimacing slightly when her fingers snag on a knot, and then finally gives in to the bone-deep need for sleep, quietly sliding back into bed beside you.

Your body shifts instinctively, curling toward her like it's second nature. Maybe she should have expected it. Maybe this is what she wanted the whole time.

Her arm moves before she can stop it, wrapping loosely around your waist as she tucks her head under your chin once more, and she catches herself before she can purr like a fucking cat.

She tells herself this is just to keep both of you from getting cold.

She doesn't fall asleep for a long while. She's had trouble sleeping since she was a kid, courtesy of her father and his drunken actions, and tonight proves to be no different. She doesn't sleep until your fingers twitch against her stomach, and you mumble something incoherent.

Not until the silence starts to feel less like punishment and more like peace.

Nat wants to get used to this feeling.

She knows she won't.

a/n: if u actually clicked on the song hotlink in the title. yes. take certain lyrics literally.

#natalie scatorccio #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x you #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets x reader #ladles (fics/blurbs)#butter knives (sfw)#from the cutlery drawer

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writesvani · 2 months ago

Text

coming down | 08

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to- enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): sexual tension, body image issues, self-consciousness, crude language, implied sexual content, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mention of past trauma, substance references, toilet humor, illness, physical discomfort, vomiting, food-related discomfort, anxiety, frustration, teasing, manipulation, objectification, inappropriate comments

comment here for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 5,5k // date: 2nd of May 2025

CHAPTER EIGHT — Wicked Games; proceed with caution...

AN: she’s baaaack, yuh yuh yuh. where are my coming down enthusiasts at? y/n, gojo, ren, and the whole chaotic side character crew are back, and i’m pretty sure i’ve missed them more than i’ve missed sleep. this chapter? one of my absolute faves. and oh, just WAIT until next chapter. it’s about to get wild in here, so buckle up.

i'm not doing a note goal for this one, mostly because i have no idea if anyone’s still around, honestly. i’ll just let this chapter set the tone for future note goals. if you liked it, PLEASE comment. i miss the hell out of you guys analyzing coming down. your asks keep me alive. this fic was my debut baby, and when it gets some love, i get all warm and fuzzy inside. help a girl out, please.

Gojo Satoru might be many things—insufferable, unreasonably pretty, allergic to boundaries—but one thing he isn’t is a liar.

And God, how you wish he was.

You wish he’d just been being his usual drama queen self when he dropped the bomb about your parents planning a cozy little family weekend getaway with his. But no. That would’ve been too easy.

Instead, here you are: imprisoned in the backseat of your parents’ car, Ren snoring against your shoulder like it’s his full-time job (drool included, of course), some truly offensive country song groaning through the speakers—not the Taylor Swift kind, the "my truck left me and so did Jesus" kind—and worst of all? No weed. Not even a crumb.

Three full days of pretending to be a model child while your parents pretend they didn’t once threaten to send you to military school.

Ren could’ve driven with his own parents, but with four younger siblings stuffed into their car like a clown show, he chose to suffer in silence beside you instead. His parents are trailing somewhere behind, probably already regretting accepting your parents offer to tag along to this trip.

And behind them? In a white suburban car so pristine it makes you want to commit arson, the Gojo family rides like some kind of godforsaken Hallmark commercial.

And in the backseat of that SUV? You know exactly who's there.

He’s probably reclined like he owns the world, earbuds in, looking like a Pinterest board made of sins and smugness, those glacier blue eyes already locked on the back of your parents’ car like he's psychically manifesting chaos.

You swear you can feel him smirking.

You are not going to think about that.

You have bigger things to worry about—like your dad giving you the side-eye every time you reach for another snack, as if carbs are a federal crime. Like surviving three whole days without a single hit of your precious joint, because your parents finding out about your “ways of life” would absolutely send them into cardiac arrest.

There’s also your mom’s Olympic-level passive aggression when you mention your grades dropped just a little, and of course, maintaining your sanity around Ren’s siblings—because even though you actually like kids, spending an entire weekend mediating tantrums isn’t exactly your idea of peace.

And Gojo Satoru? Yeah. He and his perfectly polite, terrifyingly well-dressed parents—mostly his mom—are just the cherry on top of this absolute disaster cake you're being forced to eat with a plastic spork.

At least you have Ren. Thank God for that.

When the cars finally pull up to the hotel, you're… surprisingly satisfied. It's a solid four-star place—not too fancy, not too run-down. Aesthetic enough to snap a few spicy Instagram pictures when your parents aren’t breathing down your neck. The exterior is minimalist, modern. The kind of place that screams we’re middle class, but we have rich taste.

You mentally give your mom her props—she always had the patience (and obsession) to hunt down places that are both budget-friendly and cute enough to make it seem like life doesn’t suck.

Five minutes later, the Gojo family glides in like they’re the finale of a fashion week runway. His dad steps out first, offering a polite nod and a quick, warm smile to everyone—including you.

You smile back. You've always liked his dad. He’s… real. Grounded. The type who doesn’t look at you like you’re broken glass someone else has to clean up. He never judged you. And that’s rare.

Even your own parents used to judge you. Maybe they still do. Probably.

But whatever. You're here now. You’ll have your room key soon. You have Ren. You can survive this.

Probably.

“I see everyone’s arrived,” Mr. Gojo finally says, voice warm as he leans down to high-five Ren’s little siblings. They giggle and swarm him like he’s Santa in a business-casual jacket. All except Mark, the only teen here, because he's too cool for that. Classic.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Mrs. Gojo chimes in next, her voice sugary sweet and her smile dazzlingly fake. You watch her eyes sweep the group like she’s mentally organizing everyone by usefulness. Then her gaze lands on you. It flutters for a moment—just long enough for you to notice—before it returns to its tight, polished place on her face.

“Mrs. Gojo,” you say, plastering on your own customer service grin, “long time no see.”

“Long time indeed, sweetheart,” she replies, the endearment curling around her teeth like poison in honey.

“Hello everyone,” Gojo says politely, too politely, and your eyes almost roll out of your skull. He even bows slightly. Who is this man? Certainly not the one who once lit a blunt with the candle on your birthday cake years ago.

His mom nods, positively glowing, pleased with her son's pristine little act—an act she doesn’t even realize is an act. You wonder how smug she’d look if she knew her beloved boy wasn’t a perfect Catholic child but a campus menace with a body count longer than the Bible she swears by.

You and the others exchange quick greetings before making your way into the hotel.

“Kids, don’t touch that!” Ren’s mom cries out, nearly tripping over a suitcase as she tries to wrangle her four hyperactive children. The chaos doesn’t let up until you're finally at the front desk, and the receptionist starts handing out keys.

You’re satisfied with your roommate for the weekend—Ren. His parents look way too pleased about that, flashing each other hopeful glances like they still think there’s a shot of you two ending up together. It’s sweet, in an oblivious kind of way. Ren’s not comfortable talking about his sexuality with them yet. He once told you he probably never will be. And that’s okay.

Still, you’re beyond relieved you don’t have to spend three days trapped in a room with your parents. So, Ren it is.

His parents and siblings are piling into one of those family-style suites—like the ones that look suspiciously like apartments, what’s the name for that again? Your brain short-circuits at pulling the right term, as usual.

Your parents are tucked away in their own room, of course. And the Gojos? Also in their own little suite. Naturally.

Gojo Satoru, golden boy deluxe, gets a room all to himself. Because apparently, sharing a room with you and Ren is beneath him. Or maybe that’s just his mom’s rule. Not like she’d ever let her precious son share space—let alone four walls—with the girl who once turned his life into something similar to a PR nightmare.

Not after everything.

You’re thankful for that, though. So, so thankful.

“Jesus, why do I feel like Gojo’s mother shot disapproval down our spines the second she spotted us?” Ren sighs, shutting the hotel room door behind him and dropping his suspiciously large suitcase with a loud thud.

You flop onto the bed, one brow raised. “Because she totally did. She hates us—well, mostly me. You’re just collateral damage.”

“True. I’m only hated by association. Otherwise, I’m just too damn perfect.”

“You are, bestie. Did you see Gojo’s little bow? I almost shit myself from how fake it was.”

“YEAH. But also—Gojo’s always been polite to elders. Not even surprised, honestly.”

“Hey. Don’t defend him.”

“I’m not defending him, I’m literally just stating facts.”

“Yeah, whatever, dude.” You wave him off. “Anyway, when’s dinner? I haven’t eaten since this morning. My mom said the food here is, like, divine or whatever."

“Seven. Sharp. My dad spammed me with messages about it—apparently I’m too likely to forget.”

“So, an hour?”

“Mhm.”

“Bro, I’m going to starve.”

“Suck it up, pretty. Food’s coming soon.”

You nod, dramatically collapsing onto the bed with a groan, arms spread wide like you’ve been through war.

Ren, ever the neat freak in disguise, is already unpacking both your suitcase and his, folding your clothes into perfect little rectangles.

“Why are you unpacking us for a two-day trip?” you mumble, watching him from the bed. “We can just dig through the suitcase like normal people.”

“Because,” he says, holding up a pair of your red lacey thongs, “Wait—why did you bring these to a trip with your parents?”

“You never know. Maybe I’ll meet a cutie and finally get laid.”

“You’re right.”

“As always.”

He sighs, still folding. “Anyway, I’m doing this because it calms me down. I’m nervous about the whole thing.”

“This thing?”

“This trip, bestie. I can already feel how awkward it’s going to be.”

“Yeah, honestly, I don’t know why Gojo’s parents even accepted the invite.”

“You mean his mom?”

“Obviously. She is the devil reincarnated.”

Ren chuckles, holding up one of your shirts. “Well, you didn’t hear this from me…”

“Oh? Spilling tea already?”

“You know how my mom gossips like it’s a full-time job, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, apparently your dad and Gojo’s dad started some kind of business thing together. They’ve been hanging out more.”

“I knew about that. Still doesn’t explain this cursed reunion.”

“Patience, drama queen.” He sighs, folding your thong with way too much care. “Word is, Mrs. Gojo was so against it.”

“Could’ve never guessed,” you deadpan.

“She even made a whole ass scene. Said he was mixing the firm with your ‘deranged’ family—just like her precious son got mixed up with you.”

You blink. Then smirk.

“Me. The deranged daughter. Honestly? Poetic.”

“Yeah, and your dad was pissed,” Ren says, tossing a hoodie into the drawer. “He almost backed out because of it. But Mr. Gojo? He needs your dad for this deal. So he ended up apologizing.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Mr. Gojo apologized?”

“Yup. And then your dad went off about how you’ve changed, how you regret what happened, how it physically and mentally hurts him when someone bashes his daughter’s name.”

You blink. “Damn. Didn’t know my dad was dramatic like that.”

Ren smirks. “Yeah, you probably got it from him.”

“Rude.”

“So Mr. Gojo made his wife apologize to your dad.”

“Okay, but Ren—that still doesn’t explain why we’re here.”

“Stop interrupting me, then.” He folds another shirt, clearly enjoying the drama. “Anyway. Turns out this trip was already planned by your parents and mine. Like, a while ago. Some family bonding thing.”

You groan, flopping onto your stomach. “That sounds like something my mom would do.”

“But here’s the kicker,” Ren leans in like he’s about to drop nuclear gossip. “Mrs. Gojo accidentally let the whole fight with your dad slip to my mom during brunch. And you know my mom. She called yours instantly. So your mom spilled the rest of the tea.”

“I literally can’t even keep up anymore.”

“Honey,” Ren says, flopping beside you, “we’re trapped in a high-stakes episode of Real Housewives: Family Feud Edition.”

You snort. “With better outfits.”

“And worse intentions, anyway,” Ren continues, “your mom was still bitter about the whole thing. She told my mom to invite the Gojos and something like, ‘If she’s really sorry, she’ll accept the invite. Let her see for herself how much my daughter has changed.’ So, my mom invited the Gojos—and, well, the rest is history.”

You scoff. “There’s no way that woman is sorry.”

“Obviously not. She’s probably here just to witness your downfall.”

“Right? Like, I still can’t believe she called me and my whole family deranged. Okay, maybe I am—but my parents? Please. They’re all perfect smiles and pristine public image. 10 out of 10.”

“It’s just because they defended you back then. That’s what pissed her off.”

“Yeah, well, what’d she expect them to do? Side with her? Sure, I was fucking Satoru and snorting coke, but I was still their daughter.”

Ren chokes on air, eyes wide. “Jesus Christ—never thought I’d hear ‘daughter,’ ‘fucking,’ and ‘snorting’ in the same sentence.”

You grin. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Ren and you spend the rest of the hour just chilling—him folding clothes like it’s a religion, you sprawled out across the mattress, shoving your phone in his face every two minutes with some cursed TikTok. He complains you’re distracting him, but laughs every time. So, who’s the real clown?

Eventually, you both freshen up for dinner and head downstairs, stomachs rumbling. But the second you step into the hotel restaurant, the situation becomes very clear.

There’s a parents’ table—all polished smiles and subtle judgment—and then there’s your table. Or more accurately, the kids’ table. Gojo, that smug little fucker, is already there, looking completely at home. He’s sitting with Ren’s younger siblings like he belongs there, entertaining them with whatever golden garbage is coming out of his mouth.

Next to them: two empty seats. Perfectly positioned. Reserved for you and Ren, obviously.

You wave toward the grown-ups’ table, and they all wave back. Even Mrs. Gojo gives you one of those creepy royal family waves—wrist twist and all—that makes your skin crawl.

Ren slides into the seat beside Gojo with a resigned sigh. You follow, flopping down next to him.

“Hi, hi, hi!” Ren’s 10-year-old sister Ivy chirps, practically bouncing in her seat.

You immediately grin and squish her cheeks. “Hi, love. What are you eating?”

“Pizza! It’s so good. Wanna try?”

“Absolutely, hand it over.”

“Ivy, sweetheart,” Gojo cuts in, voice dripping with fake concern, “I’m not sure you want her lips on your food.”

You whip your head toward him, narrowing your eyes. Seriously? In front of children?

Ivy looks confused. “Why? I don’t mind sharing my food. What are you saying, Sato?”

Gojo leans back, fake-smiling like the menace he is. “Just saying you should be mindful about who you share with.”

“Well,” Ivy says with the confidence of a child raised by wolves and angels, “I’d rather share with Y/N than you. She’s way cooler. You act like a boomer.”

You nearly choke laughing. Ren full-on wheezes. Gojo’s smile twitches.

God, you love this kid.

“That’s so true,” Ren’s little brother, Mark, finally looks up from his phone, smirking like he’s about to drop some wisdom on everyone. He’s 13, at that age where he’s convinced he’s the smartest person in the room. “You’re literally one of those guys who refuses to download TikTok and just watches Instagram Reels.”

Gojo scoffs like he’s offended. “TikTok is a disease. You’ll see when you get older,” he says, attempting some kind of lecture.

Mark just flips him off, unbothered. You can practically hear Gojo’s ego deflating.

“Markie, Mom said that finger is bad,” Marie, one of the youngest ones pipes up from her seat, twin brother in tow.

Her brother, sensing an opportunity to team up, nods seriously, clearly siding with his sister. You watch with amusement as their little pact forms.

You lean over to Marie and whisper conspiratorially, “Middle finger’s only okay if you show it to Satoru, okay?”

Marie’s eyes light up like she’s just been handed the keys to the kingdom. Without missing a beat, she raises her hand, dramatically exaggerating the gesture like she’s in some kind of spy movie. Her twin brother quickly shields her from the parents’ table, then, with all the confidence in the world, Marie flips Gojo off.

You catch the corner of Gojo’s eye from your side, and he glares daggers in your direction. Oh, he looks pissed. Cute.

Ivy mutters under her breath, panic creeping into her voice, “Put it down, Mom will see you.”

But Marie, completely unfazed, smirks. “Damn, Marie, what the hell did I do to you?” Gojo’s voice is laced with disbelief.

“Nothing,” she says sweetly, eyes wide in mock innocence. “It’s just fun.”

You almost choke on your water, Ren laughing next to you. Honestly, you’re not sure which is more entertaining—the kids or the way Gojo’s about to combust.

“You’re such a bad influence,” Gojo mutters, aggressively shaking salt onto his fries. You lean back in your chair, casually taking a bite of your burger. Honestly, you love how your mom always orders for you when you're on vacation. It's like a mini vacation from decision-making. But, as always, in the back of your mind, old habits creep up—you can’t help but wonder how many calories are in this thing. It’s like a reflex you wish you could shake.

“Right, and your mom seems to agree,” you say, casually leaning back even more. You can practically hear the gears grinding in Gojo’s head. His expression shifts, his jaw tightening, and his grip on his sparkling water turns borderline aggressive.

“I’m not my mother.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve noticed,” you smirk. “But you’re on track to become her one day.”

Ren, who has been silently shoveling fries into his mouth this whole time, glances back and forth between you two, clearly enjoying the show. Nobody else at the table is really paying attention to you and Gojo. Marie and Chris are too busy discussing the finer points of their 6-year-old drama. Ivy’s lost in a YouTube video, and Mark is texting his girlfriend like he’s in some secret love affair.

“You’re just trying to get under my skin, aren’t you?” Gojo mutters through gritted teeth.

“Am I succeeding?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“No, you’re just getting more ridiculous with every word.”

“Ah, classic defense mechanism. Takes one to know one.” You flash him a grin, leaning back even further as if you're lounging on a beach.

Gojo looks like he might explode. Ren's just trying to finish his meal in peace, but you can practically hear him snickering under his breath. At least one of you is enjoying this.

Gojo glares at you, but you can see the twitch in his jaw as he tries to keep his cool. You’ve got him just where you want him—irritated but unable to show it too much. It's almost too easy.

You smirk, taking another bite of your burger, but your thoughts stray for a moment to the old, familiar spiral about calories. You shake it off, chewing slowly, focusing on the conversation instead of your own head. The tension in the air could almost be cut with a knife, but it's a weird kind of comforting. You've known Gojo long enough that this playful banter has become the norm. Still, you can feel how different this interaction is compared to years ago, and not in the good way.

Ren, sensing the growing tension, clears his throat. “Maybe we should just let it go, yeah?” he says casually, but the amusement in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

Gojo doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he takes a deep breath, clearly trying to resist whatever retort he wants to shoot your way. "You're just full of shit, aren't you?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Says the guy who can’t stop talking."

“Touché,” Gojo mutters, but there's a half-smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

Ren snorts quietly, clearly trying to keep his composure. “At least it’s entertaining.”

You look over at the kids, who are still blissfully unaware of the subtle war happening between you and Satoru.

You lean back further, making sure Gojo knows you’re not backing down from this. "I’m just speaking the truth. You’ll become your mom whether you like it or not. It’s in your blood."

Gojo’s eyes narrow, but he can’t help the small smirk that creeps onto his face. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

"Means," you pause dramatically, "that you’re a little too much like her already. Pretentious, overly controlling, and maybe—just maybe— a little lonely."

Ren coughs awkwardly, trying to defuse the situation before it escalates. "Alright, alright. Can we just eat in peace, please?"

Gojo turns his glare on Ren, but it’s not as fiery as before. “You’re one to talk,” he says, eyes flicking back to you. “You’re both just as bad as each other.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “You’re welcome for the entertainment.”

At that, Gojo just sighs, letting the conversation fall silent. You, on the other hand, can’t help but feel a little smug. Sometimes you don’t need to win an argument to win, you just need to get under his skin. And it looks like you did just that.

You don’t expect what comes after dinner.

The original plan was simple: after a long day of forced family interaction, you and Ren would crash early. No more chit-chat, no more smiling politely. Just sleep. Blissful, uninterrupted sleep. But then you overheard your parents gushing about the hotel amenities—a jacuzzi, a sauna, a whole pool area “designed for relaxation.” And like the menaces you are, the plan shifted. Operation: Late-Night Spa was born.

Except fate had other plans.

“Ren?” you call out, knocking gently on the bathroom door, where he’s been holed up for the past twenty minutes.

“I’m dying,” his voice comes out muffled and despairing. “I can’t stop shitting. It’s like a crime scene in here.”

You blink. “Okay. First of all—why the hell would you describe it like that?”

“Because you asked how I was doing!” he yells, voice strained. “You don’t get to complain when I answer honestly.”

You sit outside the bathroom like an abandoned child, knees pulled to your chest, dramatically sighing. “This is not how I imagined our spa night.”

“Neither did I!” Ren cries. “Every time I travel and eat hotel food—every goddamn time. My intestines turn against me. They betray me like an ex who suddenly discovers therapy and self-worth.”

“I mean… maybe it’s food poisoning?”

“If it was, you’d be on this toilet, too. This is personal. This is targeted.”

You wince as the sound of a flush echoes through the room, followed by the telltale rustle of clothes. You brace yourself—and you were right to do so. The bathroom door creaks open, and with it, a scent of death wafts into the room.

“Close it!” you yell, scrambling to your feet like your life depends on it.

Ren groans and slams the door shut again. When he finally emerges—for real this time—he looks like a shell of a man. His skin is pale, hair damp with sweat, steps uneven as he stumbles toward the bed like he’s survived a war.

“Babe,” he croaks, collapsing onto the mattress, “why does this happen to me?”

“I don’t know,” you say gently, flopping down beside him. “Maybe it’s psychological. Like... a gut-level rebellion.”

“It’s very much physical too,” he grunts. “I’m literally hollow.”

You snort. “Well, at least you’re emotionally consistent.”

He throws an arm over his eyes. “This vacation sucks.”

“Give it one night. You’ll wake up tomorrow like nothing ever happened, and I’ll be dragging you out of the sauna before you melt into the floor.”

Ren lets out a pitiful whimper. “Tell my future husband I loved him.”

“Sure. Do you want me to deliver that message before or after I pour bleach on that bathroom floor?”

He weakly flips you off, and despite everything, you both laugh.

“Wait,” Ren croaks, voice barely above a whisper. “Why aren’t you getting ready for the spa?”

You glance over at him, sprawled across the bed like a Victorian maiden struck down by consumption. “Because you’re sick. I’m not going if you’re not going.”

Ren jerks up with a sudden burst of energy, eyes wide in disbelief. “Are you insane? You’re skipping a free spa night because I have diarrhea? Do you hear how absurd that sounds?”

You frown, folding your arms. “What am I supposed to do there without you? Soak in lavender-scented loneliness?”

“Exactly! You'll relax. Channel your inner peace. Get into your Zen or whatever it is normal people do when they aren’t shitting their souls out.”

“But I can’t just leave you alone here like this.”

“I’m not sick sick,” he insists, waving his hand dismissively. “Think of it like… a mild allergic reaction to overpriced hotel food.”

“If this is mild, I’d hate to see what severe looks like.”

“You don’t want to know,” he says with a haunted look. “Once, in Spain, I—”

“Don’t. Finish. That. Sentence.”

He chuckles weakly, eyes closing again as his head flops back onto the pillow. “Look. You staying won’t magically cure me. No offense, babe, but your presence isn’t made of Imodium.”

You blink at him. “So you’re just… throwing me out?”

“No,” he groans. “I’m lovingly shoving you toward a steamy, eucalyptus-scented escape while I suffer in peace. There’s a difference.”

“Ugh.”

“Please,” he whines, dramatically. “Don’t make my diarrhea worse by staying here and making me feel guilty.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. But if I drown in that jacuzzi from sheer sadness, it’s on you.”

“Deal,” he mutters, already half-asleep. “Just don’t haunt me.”

You hover for a second longer, chewing your lip, guilt gnawing at your insides. And maybe, just maybe, it’s not about the spa at all. Maybe it’s about not wanting to be alone right now. Not after dinner.

But you don’t say that. You just grab your stuff and head for the door.

“Oh, and if you see any hotties,” Ren calls out, “text me. I need to be emotionally prepared for tomorrow.”

You turn, arching a brow. “Ren, babe, you quite literally can’t stop shitting.”

“That just means I’ll be sparkling clean and ready for action if the universe decides to bless me,” he says, eyes glinting mischievously under his blanket cocoon.

“You’re the only person I know who can connect explosive diarrhea to sex.”

“It’s because I’m gifted. A prophet, even.” He fans himself dramatically. “Now go. Shoo. Get your ass in that spa. Stop prolonging your inevitable rebirth in a sauna.”

You hesitate in the doorway, watching him nest deeper into the pillows, color slowly returning to his cheeks. “You sure?”

Ren’s voice softens just a bit. “Yeah. I’m fine. Go live your best life. Just don’t come back with stories unless they involve hot people and bad decisions.”

You smile faintly, stepping out into the hallway. “I’ll bring you gossip. Maybe even a name or two.”

“Godspeed, my love!” he yells after you, already pulling the covers over his head. “And don’t let anyone ugly flirt with you—I refuse to live vicariously through bad taste.”

The spa cabins are stunning, admittedly. Too clean. Too perfect. The kind of place that makes you feel like you’re already failing at relaxation the moment you step in. The walls are pearly white, soft lilac vines curling at the corners like some fairytale you don’t believe in. The hotel name is etched on the door in cursive, trying a little too hard to be elegant.

You peel off your clothes and slip into your most flattering bikini—the one that says I tried without looking like you did. Family friendly, just in case. You toss your clothes into the locker and twist the key into your backpack. The lock clicks, even though you know no one’s desperate enough to steal anything here. No one’s hungry. Everyone’s too full of money, wine, or disappointment to want anything you have.

The pool is the first stop. It’s massive, quiet, glowing faintly under soft lights. Pale blue tiles, water warm enough to trick you into thinking you’re safe. It’s almost romantic. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

You dive in.

At first, it’s a release. Your limbs stretch out, your body finally feels like it belongs somewhere. You do a few laps, chest rising and falling, muscles burning with that old, aching nostalgia. You remember what it felt like to be strong. To not think twice before diving. To breathe deep and stay under water just for the thrill of it.

But your lungs don’t agree anymore. Years of not training. Years of cigarettes and weed.

Years of saying I’ll quit soon.

Now you can’t even hold your breath long enough to stay under. Your strokes lose strength halfway through. Your body floats, but not from peace. From weakness.

The tension leaves your muscles—but frustration takes its place.

Heavy, bitter frustration.

You don’t want to feel weak here.

Not in this pretty place.

Not tonight.

You wipe the water from your eyes, jaw clenched. No more swimming. No more pretending.

Jacuzzi it is.

You walk toward it, dripping and quiet. Because what else are you supposed to do—keep swimming in the disappointment?

Maybe not tonight.

Maybe never again.

The jacuzzi is hidden from the pool by a wall, the kind that doesn’t quite touch the floor, leaving a gap where you know someone could easily peer through. Not that you would ever do that. The two spaces are separated enough that the pool’s quiet hum doesn’t invade the jacuzzi’s warm embrace. There’s a barrier, but it’s a shallow one. A suggestion of privacy.

You didn’t expect to see him here. Of all the places, of all the times.

Gojo Satoru is reclining in the jacuzzi, arms draped lazily over the sides, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if he’s a god surveying his kingdom. His eyes, a pale blue that matches the water swirling around him, seem to glow against the soft lighting of the room. You’re not sure if it’s the water illuminating his eyes or the other way around. Either way, it’s mesmerizing. Unsettling.

He’s too perfect. Too effortless. Too him.

Your stomach drops, and you freeze in the doorway. For a moment, you think about retreating, slipping back into the pool. It’d be safer, less there, less him. But the thought of him winning that little battle is enough to make your chest tighten.

So you do what you always do when faced with him: you power through.

You step in and sit at the opposite end of the jacuzzi, a little too loudly, plopping down like you didn’t just have a mini existential crisis about sitting in a hot tub. The water is hot, soothing, and the bubbles feel good against your back. You lean your head back, trying to ignore the fact that he’s right there—smug, annoying, and totally at ease.

“Well, well…” He says, voice dripping with that teasing edge that always gets under your skin. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Same goes for you,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the water, pretending to focus on the swirl of bubbles around you.

“Admit it,” he continues, his tone light and amused, “You’re here because you knew I’d be here.”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t see. “You’re delusional.”

“Let me guess,” he leans back further, eyes gleaming with mischief, “Maybe you were too bored at the sauna. Nah, you wouldn’t go to the sauna alone. The massage finally over? Nah, you’d look more relaxed if you had a massage. Or, or, or… maaaaaybe you realized you can’t swim as well as you used to.”

You snap, the last thread of your patience wearing thin. “Can you shut the fuck up for once? I literally didn’t ask you anything.”

Gojo’s grin widens, that infuriating smirk curling up at the corners of his lips. “So that’s a yes, baby. Knew it.”

“If you knew it, baby, you didn’t have to speak,” you shoot back, your voice dripping with the kind of sass you only reserve for him.

But he’s not fazed. Of course he isn’t.

“You used to like me all mouthy like that,” he says, voice dropping a little lower, teasing but with a hint of something else. A pull you can’t quite place.

“Key word: used to,” you respond quickly, your heart pounding in your chest.

For a moment, there’s silence. The water hums around you, the air heavy with something unsaid. Gojo’s gaze drifts over to you, but you don’t meet his eyes. You can’t. Not now. Not when everything feels like it’s slipping, and you’re both trying so hard to pretend nothing ever happened between you two.

But Gojo’s never been one to let things stay quiet for long. And you’re both too far gone to ever turn back.

“Nice tits,” he says with a smirk, eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. “That bikini suits you.”

“Excuse me?” You narrow your eyes, surprised by his boldness.

“I’m just saying, it looks great on you. You got your tits done or something?” He raises an eyebrow playfully.

“First of all, no. Second of all, maybe you should keep your compliments to yourself,” you respond, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

He chuckles. “I’m not trying to offend you. Just think you look good.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “You could’ve kept that to yourself.”

He leans back, not missing a beat. “Where’s the fun in that? I think it’s nice to tell people when they or their assets look good.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.”

He grins like he’s won some silent game between you two. “I bet you’re feeling all flushed now. It’s probably the heat of the water.”

You give him a look, trying to dismiss his words. “Not even close.”

He leans closer, a playful glint in his eyes. “I could think of a few ways to make this moment even more... interesting.”

You raise an eyebrow, resisting the urge to laugh. “Yeah? Well, I’m not sure you could pull that off.”

He smiles, a little too smug. “Wanna bet?”

“Sure,” you say, a challenge in your tone.

He leans back with a devilish grin, clearly enjoying himself. “Game on, then.”

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