#that's not fair... that's all i can think about
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in which youâre forced into having a talk with your ex-boyfriend, rafe cameron, on the boat ride to morocco.
being a pogue and rafe cameronâs ex was not easy. although you dated shortly before he killed peterkin, and you were sure he barely even remembered your favourite colour, seeing him blatanly disrespect you and his friends, and go down a path you tried so hard to prevent him from, was hard to watch. but now heâs picked himself up since ward died. you thought you had another chance to at least be on good terms. sending flowers and a card to tanneyhill when ward died, smiling at him when youâd see him around. it didnât work, he still hated you and your friends.
fortunately, he redeemed himself ever so slightly by volunteering to take the pogues to morocco. rafe had to find chandler groff, you guys wanted the blue crown. it was perfect.
until jj punched him, that is. he knocked him out cold. with a scolding âjj!â coming from majority of the pogues, including you, jj carries him down into the downstairs washroom and ties his wrists to a pole. they donât trust him, which is fair. you donât either â you shouldnât, anyway.
rafe was down there quietly for a mere half hour until he woke up with a groan from his head hitting the ground earlier, followed up with yelling once he realizes he was stuck down there.
all touching your noses and saying ânot itâ the minute pope suggests someone going down there to check on him, youâre the unlucky one who said it last. shutting up your protests, john b gently coaxes you downstairs, saying things like, âyou used to mack on himâ, âthis is good, you know himâ, âhe wonât hurt you,â john b leaves you downstairs once you make it to the door of the bathroom. knocking gently, you timidly ask, âcan i come in?â
thereâs no answer. you can picture him. wrists tied, brows furrowed, eyes closed tightly as his head leans against the wall and towards the ceiling. his gorgeous stressed face. you slowly open the door, peeking your head in. âhi,â you say gently, timid around the scary and aggressive man you have the curse of calling your ex.
ââŠhey,â rafe says, voice rough as he shuts his eyes tight.
unsure what to say, you awkwardly stand there and stare down at him. âum, i brought asprin,â
âright, right, like i can fuckinâ swallow it. what, you gonna throw it in my mouth like a.. seal or something?â sassy, his upper lip lifts a bit as he thinks about it and isnât very fond of the idea.
a second of silence as you figure out what to say. ââŠum, ill just set it down here,â you say, putting the container down beside him. âsorry about your head.â
âyeah, uh, your little boyfriend canât control his fists, huh?â
ââŠnot my boyfriend,â you correct softly, though youâre not sure why you feel the need to tell him that. âbut no one really.. trusts you, rafe, so you kind of brought this on yourselfââ
he quickly interrupts you. âbullshit. you know why thatâs bullshit? because i was helping. who got you this boat, huh? me. i did. rafe. iâm the reason that you guys arenât swimming, or some shit, to north africa. iâm being helpful and understanding, and this is what i get. you think thatâs fair?â when youâre stood there in silence at his sudden raised voice, he repeats, âyou think thatâs fucking fair, y/n!?â he kicks a can in anger.
itâs like youâre his girlfriend again as you sit down next to him instantly instead of running. you get deja vu to the time three years ago when he was high on coke and got kicked out of the house. everyone ignored him except for you. â..um, okay, iâm gonna give you some asprin,â you say softly. âhelp your head. open,â you tell him, grabbing a pill as he gives you a look but opens his mouth. you pop it in his mouth and he dry swallows. âthere.â
you two share a look. you donât think itâs a bad look by any means. he looks frustrated still, but thereâs an underlying gentleness in his eyes, as if he registers youâre still the same girl you were when you two were together. ââŠand, um, for the record, i donât think itâs fair that youâre down here. you helped us, thats.. nice.â
the word âusâ when referring to you and the pogues makes him feel weird. âi donât get why you hang out with them,â he mutters as he looks at the ground. âtried so fucking hard to keep you away from them when we were.. together.â
âi know,â you whisper, your gaze dropping as well, to his tied wrists. you feel awful. âtrust me, your warnings still play in my head when iâm with them sometimes,â
âyou remind me of sarah.â he says. youâre not sure what that means.
âyou hate sarah,â
ânah, nahâ i donât hate her. hate who sheâs turned into,â he adjusts himself. âshe makes me sad. iâm sad for her, alright? she had so much potential.â he shrugs. âbut thereâs no saving her. sheâs in too deep,â he looks back up at you again. âi think thereâs saving you, though,â
ââŠthis is weird, rafe,â
âhow?â he asks.
âbecause in the years weâve been broken up, youâve never talked to me about this. feels like itâs a⊠trick or something,â
âitâs not a trick,â he assures, voice still rough. âlook, iâm out half a mill, iâm tied up in a bathroom, iâm probably gonna.. die or something. i got nothing to lose, may as well tell you my concern,â
âum, i appreciate it,â you say gently, unsure how to respond. âand iâm gonna go back upstairs.â
âheyâ no, woah, woah, woah,â he stops you quickly. âstay. okay?â
âi should go up and help with dinner, thoughââ
âno, stay. iâ i want you to stay, okay? i donât wanna be down here alone, and i want you away from the pogues,â
he doesnât wanna be alone. you feel bad for him all over again, nodding gently as you sit back down beside him. you always were so good for rafe.
youâre not sure how long youâll be down here with him. maybe until itâs late at night and heâs asleep. so gently, after about five minutes of silence, to ease some of the tension and pass the time, you murmur a, âtruth or dare?â
rafe just smiles.
#ౚৠisa writes#NOT PROOFREAD#this is bad sowwy#obx#outer banks#obx x reader#rafe cameron#rafe cameron obx#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron x reader#rafe obx#rafe cameron prompt#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe x reader#rafe imagine#rafe fic#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron one shot#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron x you#exbf!rafe
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You never let me in, Buck sends, two of three sheets fully winded, and when he kicks his leg over the coffee table he nearly knocks over three empties.
They do this thing, right? Buck gets upset and before the tears can fall, because he's cried too many fucking times already, he makes himself angry. Picks at something that has come up every time he's done a post-mortem on the last six months.
And then he sends that shit to Tommy. Because - because who the fuck else is he supposed to talk to about it? The guy who'd sucked him off in the hallway of a nightclub two weeks ago? The woman who'd spent an hour quietly helping Buck understand that yeah, he was very much bi, and yeah, some people did not like that shit? Maddie, or Chim, or Hen or Eddie, who still might interact with him on the job? Bobby? Fuck, not Bobby.
Bobby who'd blinked at Buck and offered platitudes and apologized to Buck like it was somehow his fault Tommy was good people but he was the kind of good people who just walked out on something that could have been something.
I should have pushed more. I know I should have. I just thought since I was trying to share everything, you were too.
My mistake.
Three months and Buck isn't over it. He's far enough into the mourning process that he thinks this one is always gonna sting, and not for the reasons Tommy thinks.
That's not fair. I'm sorry.
The texts get delivered. Tommy reads them. Buck's had read receipts on since the first time Tommy went quiet on a call and Buck freaked out a little - but back then they were still working towards something. Back then, sometimes Tommy would pull out his phone and open the thread just to give Buck sign of life.
He was always doing that. Heading shit off at the pass.
Buck had just never realized he'd be able to do it to hurt him, just as well as take care of him.
Every four weeks like clockwork Buck gets a response. He has no fucking idea why it's four weeks, what the third Thursday of the month has to do with Tommy feeling gracious enough to give Buck some clarity. He'd never known enough about Tommy, is the thing he's coming around to. He'd done everything he could to bring Tommy in, make him a part, and Tommy had let him. Tommy had distracted him with quippy words and a clever tongue and with being so fucking willing to be integrated into Buck's life that Buck just - hadn't noticed.
No one will say it, but he Bucked It Up in the worst kind of way.
He's waited until Third Thursday to send these texts. He actually hasn't sent anything at all, until this moment, and he wonders if Tommy noticed. If he cared. Tommy picks and chooses from Buck's random thoughts, parses out details like he's reading from a manual and Buck is off topic two thirds of the time. Buck doesn't actually know why he's been answering, all this time. He wonders if, in the last four weeks of silence, he thought he was finally done with Buck.
He wonders if it had hurt.
Buck sets his phone down to stand, skating across to the kitchen in his socks for the pizza rolls in the oven.
His diet is shit. His body feels like crap. He's one more drunken nights sleep on the couch away from emptying the rack in his fridge down the drain and giving sobriety a try. The last person he'd slept with had hinted that they'd prefer not to use condoms and Buck had almost let them.
Buck has worth. He knows he does. It's just sometimes when he remembers that every person he's ever loved has either walked out on him or let him walk away when he needed them, he struggles to find that worth.
His life has meaning, and all that jazz.
Buck sort of wonders if Tommy hasn't finally blocked his number, as he tosses a too-hot pizza roll in his mouth and huffs on the lava cheese burning his tongue. After the last message Buck had sent, three weeks ago, he wouldn't exactly be surprised.
(This is basically just an unhinged grief journal with an unreliable second narrator. Do you know what it's like to realize you're still in love with someone who never let you know them?)
There's been no response to that. Fair. Buck hadn't even actually said the words. No, he'd jumped right into the sharing a life part, cart before the horse as always when emotions were high.
The pizza rolls get tipped onto a plate and are immediately swimming in the heavy pour of ranch he'd prepared after he set the oven to preheat.
It cools them off a lot quicker than popping a hole in each seam and waiting.
It's been eight years since Buck has really even thought about that little trick.
When he opens his phone there's no response. No receipt. Just stark words waiting to be acknowledged.
I gave you my family, Tommy. You didn't even introduce me to your team at Harbor.
It's startling to realize after the fact. He doubts Tommy had meant it that way, but he'd basically spent six months being love bombed only to have the rug ripped right out from under his feet.
And yet. Months later and he still wants to know. Know why. Know how he could have done it, with tears in his eyes, with full awareness that it was already gonna hurt. Know Tommy - anything he'd part with, really, that wasn't something every random acquaintance also knew.
Cool, he'd been jealous of what Buck and the 118 had. (Buck had tried to give him that. Or at least he thought he had.)
Great, he didn't talk to his dad and Gerrard was a shitty captain. (Buck had spent an hour once explaining the first time he and his dad had spoken about Daniel without screaming at each other. Tommy had listened to the rants about Gerrard and offered physical comfort and a 'sounds like him' and Buck had just been so relieved to have an ally amongst the 'life is just like this sometimes' crowd that he'd never examined that.)
He was a Kinsey six who'd been engaged to the first woman Buck had ever really loved and they'd never dug deeper than that.
And Buck had apparently interpreted some of the shit he'd said that night wrong, but he still doesn't think it's fucking fair that Tommy can't trust him to know his own fucking mind well enough to know he hates sleeping around and he'd found the sort of connection he was looking for. He'd found it. Even with the lack of reciprocation. Even with the quiet behind Tommy's eyes that he'd never let Buck in on. Even with the -
His phone buzzes on the coffee table.
Can we talk?
Buck kinda hates those words in that order now. They'd been the start of something twice, but they'd always been leading to an end, if Tommy had his way.
Once every four weeks, apparently, Buck sends back and takes a vicious bite.
His phone chimes with an incoming call.
Buck stares at the name he hasn't had the stomach to remove the little heart from. Lets it ring through to voicemail and then shoves three more pizza rolls into his mouth and doesn't care if they burn off his taste buds.
His phone rings again.
"What?"
"I'm outside your building. Didn't want to make any assumptions that I'd be welcome without asking first."
Buck can feel his ribs cracking under the lurch of angry laughter. "What the hell?"
"Well the parking around here is miserable again, so I figure that's a sign."
"Are you driving right now?"
"Hands off. I'm on Bluetooth. So. Should I circle the building a fifth time or call it now and go home?"
Buck gets stuck on fifth time.
There's no way he hadn't been driving since at least before Buck sent that first text.
Buck sighs. There's absolutely no reason to be hopeful about that. For all he knows, Tommy has just decided dousing any residual flames is just another thing he has to do in person.
"My Jeep's in the shop. I'll buzz you into the garage."
Tommy's silent for a long, long moment. The quip comes anyway. "I keep telling you that thing is a money pit."
"I'm not really feeling the flirty banter, right now, Tommy, so maybe just let me know when you're at the gate."
He does. He hangs up the phone twenty seconds later with a plain "See you soon."
Buck doesn't have time to change. Fix his hair. Hide the sheet pan with half a dozen pizza rolls still laying on it, because he'd cooked way too many again.
(He could absolutely do one of these things but if Tommy's gonna throw this at him, he's getting every little slovenly habit Bucks's picked up since he walked out that door.)
The knock comes while Buck's shoving the last two rolls on his plate into his mouth.
He's still chewing with his mouth open to blow out the steam when he swings the door open, and Buck feels the first inklings of pleasure ripple through him at the sight of Tommy.
He looks like shit.
"You look like shit."
Tommy's brow ticks up. He stares pointedly at the glob of not-cheese that's going to absolutely ruin this sweatshirt.
"That tends to happen when you spend an hour in an armchair two sizes too small picking at trauma you've been hiding from your therapist for six years."
Buck opens the door wider. Holy crap. Tommy might legitimately be more fucked up than Buck.
Tommy's smile is strained. "Can I come in?"
Buck holds his gaze. His eyes are a little red. He's got a red spot along the side of his neck, like he's been rubbing at it. Buck only recognizes it as a comforting motion because he's replayed him doing it half a million times right before he ended things.
"Depends. Is this the last time you respond to my mean, rude, asshole texts for an hour after therapy rubs you raw?" Third Thursday Therapy, is apparently what does it. Buck is - god. He just wants -
"God, I hope not," Tommy says, and Buck takes a step to the side to let Tommy in.
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You know what, yeah, that bell hooks quotation wasn't appropriate, it doesn't say what the person who added it think it says.
But I don't think it's fair to say that that man who everyone is pissing on somehow claimed we had to "hold his hand" or "coddle" him or whatever. Or even that women had to do it.
He never once even mentioned the word 'woman' in that post. I'm not excluding that that what he was implying - it's very possible! - but what he said was "the left", and let's be clear, this is his understanding of what the left is. I saw people saying that a "self-proclaimed leftist" should understand that his answer was still drenched in patriarchal thinking. But he never once proclaimed he was a leftist. Perhaps he thinks he is, but all he said was that he got "out" of the "alt-right". For all we know, that means he voted for the Democratic Party and we, who are on the left, all know that's not the fucking left.
The question that was posed was how do we keep young men from turning right wing, and he offered an explanation. An explanation! Not an excuse! Again something that a lot of people just assumed.
And yes, it was a flawed explanation, and yes he has some things to learn, and yes it was uncritical and terribly phrased.
But can we recognise that not everyone has the necessary critical thinking skills to completely dig their way out of the overarching ideology that fucking rules our lives? Critical thinking skills aren't something that we are born with. It's something that is learned, something that you have to train. It's a never-ending project. And from what I know of the educational system in the US? That's not where you get it.
Speaking of bell hooks, at least she understands this. In that book (The Will to Change) she writes that "most men never think about patriarchy - what it means, how it is created and sustained." She writes how the patriarchy sees men's violence and the one emotion they're allowed to have, anger, as "natural". Understanding the patriarchy is something that has to be learned, and you either figure it out yourself by reading, but most of us probably had someone in our lives who talked to us about it, taught us about it, and then we might have started reading more about it.
What if you don't have someone like that? What if all you hear is that the things feminists tell you is bad is what was imprinted on you as "natural" to you?
Here's bell hooks:
Yet no one talks about the role patriarchal notions of manhood play in teaching boys that it is their nature to kill, then teaching them that they can do nothing to change this natureânothing, that is, that will leave their masculinity intact.
Here's what she says of her own brother:
As patriarchal thinking and action claimed him in adolescence, he learned to mask his loving feelings. He entered that space of alienation and antisocial behavior deemed ânaturalâ for adolescent boys.
She clearly pinpoints the moment of these patriarchal ideas taking hold to be in adolescent, and the question that was posed was, what can we do to stop that from happening? I've seen people say that nothing can be done until we change the material conditions that make it so that men systematically have power over women. And yeah, undoubtedly that is a fight we need to have. But is that truly the only way we can keep (some) boys from falling into the grasp of the (alt-)right? Is there no hope in at least reaching them in the meantime?
I've seen a post saying, "omg of course he goes for misandry" and while misandry isn't real in that men are not systematically oppressed, that doesn't mean that there aren't some out there who express hatred or disgust of men. That's not what the left stands for, obviously, but it is not absent. Here are some comments from the notes on some of these reaction posts (and presumably these are all people who consider themselves leftists):
"you should be hunted for sport"
"makes me want to commit homocide"
"kys right now"
"'leftists constantly said i should die' yeah fucking right"
"we need to double male loneliness and I'm not even kidding"
"I HATE MEN AND THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT. THEY HATE US MORE AND THEY HAVE ALL THE POWER TO DO ACTUAL HARM TO US. Misandry is NOT FUCKING REAL but I wish it was"
"we should kill people who don't get it"
Is that hatred of men (non-systematically)? Not all of it, but some of it definitely or possibly qualifies. And it sure does look like some people (who probably think themselves leftists) think this man (or men in general) are the "scum of the earth" and that they want him/them dead. How else do you interpret some of these phrases?
Now imagine that this is something that you encounter online, and with the help of the stranglehold of the patriarchy, whispers of right wing ideology, confirmation bias, and negativity bias? I can imagine you might end up concluding they "hate you for your immutable traits" (remember patriarchy teaches boys that violence and anger is natural to them) and that they "blame you for everything that's wrong in the world".
Is that the right conclusion? No. But as much as being able to use reason is part of being human, so is not being immune to ideology and propaganda. We wouldn't fucking be where we are right now if that wasn't the case.
How do we teach boys that anger and violence aren't "immutable traits"? How do we educate them about the power of the patriarchy? Well, where does it have to come from if not from the fucking left?
Does it have to be you? No. Does it have to be women? Also no. It's probably good if it's men, and especially men who themselves walked with the right at some point (if someone has already been pulled into the right, rather than catching them before).
It can be a woman though, if there's someone who wants to do it. I don't mind doing it if someone wants to talk about it. Will I be nice? No, I won't hold back and I will tell them if what they're saying is wrong. Will I coddle them? Fuck no. Will I keep trying if someone clearly isn't listening? No. Will I be compassionate? Yeah, I think I will.
Because compassion is really important when you're trying to keep people from falling into the far-right, or even if you're trying to get them out of it (which again, isn't what we were talking about in the first place).
Here's Pete Simi, professor of Sociology, talking about Life After Hate, an American non-profit that tries to help people leave the far-right:
The organization was started by former hate group members who have been doing a lot of outreach in terms of providing testimonials and trainings to schools and law enforcement and other community groups across the country. The focus of their message is the importance of using compassion to inform prevention and intervention efforts and aftercare for individuals who want to change their lives but may need various types of support. I think LAH is a very promising development and I hope it will continue to find the resources that it needs to expand the services it provides.
Being compassionate doesn't mean coddling. It doesn't mean holding their hands and it doesn't even mean being nice to them. It doesn't exclude holding people accountable for their views. It does require patience, though. And I understand that if someone is holding the belief that you are not allowed to exist, that isn't something you can do. And that's fine. It doesn't have to be you.
But somebody has to do it, and it has to be someone on the left.
Now none of that means that the suffering of men under patriarchy, and the fact that this has to be addressed loud and clear, are more important than the suffering that women, and especially women whose oppression intersects with other levels of oppression. I've seen some tags on reaction posts that stated "omg of course centring men in discussions of gender" - but the post was about men. That was the whole starting point!
Because men do suffer under the patriarchy. And it's pushing them to the right, towards misogyny and racism, unless they develop the necessary critical thinking skills to understand their own suffering. And you know who thinks so too? bell hooks.
Often men, to speak the pain, first turn to the women in their lives and are refused a hearing. In many ways women have bought into the patriarchal masculine mystique. Asked to witness a male expressing feelings, to listen to those feelings and respond, they may simply turn away.
Since men have yet to organize a feminist menâs movement that would proclaim the rights of men to emotional awareness and expression, we will not know how many men have indeed tried to express feelings, only to have the women in their lives tune out or be turned off.
It is a form of abuse that this culture continues to deny. Boys socialized to become patriarchs are being abused. As victims of child abuse via socialization in the direction of the patriarchal ideal, boys learn that they are unlovable.
The patriarchal model that tells men that they must be in control at all times is at odds with cultivating the capacity to be responsible, which requires knowing when to control and when to surrender and let go. Responsible men are capable of self-criticism. If more men were doing the work of self-critique, then they would not be wounded, hurt, or chagrined when critiqued by others, especially women with whom they are intimate. Engaging in self-critique empowers responsible males to admit mistakes. When they have wronged others, they are willing to acknowledge wrongdoing and make amends. When others have wronged them, they are able to forgive. The ability to be forgiving is part of letting go of perfectionism and accepting vulnerability. At the same time, constructive criticism works only when it is linked to a process of affirmation. Giving affirmation is an act of emotional care. Wounded men are not often able to say anything positive. They are the grump-and-groan guys; cloaked in cynicism, they stand at an emotional distance from themselves and others. Affirmation brings us closer together. It is the highest realization of compassion and empathy with others. One of the negative aspects of antimale feminist critiques of masculinity was the absence of any affirmation of that which is positive and potentially positive in male being. When individuals, including myself, wrote about the necessity of affirming men and identifying them as comrades in struggle, we were often labeled male-identified. The women who attacked us did not understand that it was possible to critique patriarchy without hating men. Indeed, recognizing all the ways that males have been victimized by patriarchy (even though they received rewards) was a way of including men in feminist movement, welcoming their presence and honoring their contribution.
âin order to create loving males we need to love malesâ means teach boys that they can be themselves without being less of a man. it means being encouraging and nurturing of their emotions so they donât become cold and hateful. it means showing boys, early in their lives, that they have value outside of what our society deems proper masculinity. what it doesnât mean is that itâs our job to handhold men who see women as walking sex toys through the concept of empathy, and maybe if weâre really really nice to them and donât say things that hurt their feelings theyâll stop killing us for saying no
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The Hot Take: Part 3
paige bueckers x influencer!reader
wc: 2.8k
a/n: the only i have to say is that i shocked myself with my flirting... enjoy!
**********
After your night at the game, it feels like the internet has exploded. Your mentions are on fire with fans on both sidesâsome praising your brutal honesty about Paige, others calling you out for downplaying her talent. Itâs only natural that you decide to dedicate an entire podcast episode to the experience.
You settle into your recording setup, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervesâafter all, tonight is a first. Across the table sits Paige Bueckers, cool and composed, though you catch a hint of mischief in her eyes as she adjusts her mic. You take a deep breath and lean in, grinning at your co-host before addressing the audience.
âWelcome back to The Hot Take! And tonight, weâre in for a treat. As youâve probably guessed, weâve got a special guest in the studio⊠the one, the only, Paige Bueckers!â You gesture toward her dramatically, and your co-host plays a quick soundbite of applause and crowd cheers, adding to the showâs theatrics.
Paige laughs, crossing her arms as she glances at you. âThe crowd goes wild. I didnât think youâd actually let me come on here, considering all the things youâve said about me.â
You shoot her a mock-offended look. âWhat things? Iâm nothing if not fair and unbiased.â
She raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eye. âOh, totally. Because your comment was so fair and unbiased.â
Your co-host snickers. âWell, Paige, youâre in the right place if you want to get your revenge. Y/N here is known for her âbrutal honesty.â But hey, tonight might be a chance for you to change her mind.â
âIs that a challenge?â Paige asks, leaning forward, her gaze never leaving yours.
âDepends. You think youâre up for it?â you reply, meeting her eyes head-on, enjoying the charge of the challenge between you two.
âOh, Iâm always up for a challenge,â she responds smoothly, flashing a grin that has you momentarily caught off guard.
Your co-host breaks the tension with a laugh. âAlright, alright, letâs jump right in. Y/N, youâve had plenty to say about Paige in the past. Care to share some of those hot takes now that sheâs here to defend herself?â
You clear your throat, trying to hide your smirk. âAlright, letâs get one thing straight,â you say, addressing both the mic and Paige. âAs much as it pains me to admit thisâŠâ You pause dramatically, shooting a look her way. âBueckers actually impressed me the other night.â
Paige raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. âReally? I didnât think youâd ever admit that.â
âI know, itâs shocking, but credit where creditâs due,â you continue. âI mean, youâre quick on the court, you know your angles, andâdare I say itâyou know how to work a crowd.â
Paige laughs, eyes dancing with mischief. âOh, so you were paying attention. Here I was, thinking you came just to judge.â
âOh, I absolutely came to judge,â you reply, grinning. âBut I also got to see you actually back it up with skill. It was⊠not as overrated as Iâd assumed.â You shoot her a wink, and she laughs, shaking her head.
âHigh praise,â she replies, feigning a look of being overwhelmed. âI didnât realize tonight was all about showering me with compliments.â
Your co-host jumps in, clearly amused by the dynamic. âWait, Y/N, are you actually going soft? Compliments? Feeling a little flustered, maybe?â
You shake your head, grinning. âDonât get it twisted. Iâm just saying, maybe I underestimated you.â You turn to Paige. âDonât let it go to your head, though. Iâm not here to just hype you up.â
Paige leans back in her chair, looking entirely at ease. âDonât worry. I can handle a little constructive criticism. Hit me with your best shot.â
You take the opportunity, leaning forward with a smirk. âAlright, if you insist. Hereâs my take: For all that talent, you could be a bit more creative with your moves. Sometimes it feels like you rely on whatâs tried and true instead of taking risks.â
She smirks back. âAnd sometimes critics donât realize the importance of consistency,â she counters smoothly. âWinning isnât about impressing peopleâitâs about doing what works.â
âTouchĂ©,â you reply, though youâre secretly impressed by her response. You decide to press a little further. âAlright, so if itâs all about winning, how do you handle the pressure that comes with it? Isnât there a part of you that wants to switch things up now and then?â
Paige leans forward, crossing her arms on the table. âI get that all the time. But you know, winning takes priority. Switching things up? Thatâs for off the court.â Her gaze holds yours, and for a second, you wonder if sheâs talking about more than just basketball.
Your co-host notices the silent exchange and interrupts with a grin. âOkay, okay, I feel like thereâs a whole vibe happening here that I did not sign up for!â
The comment pulls you back, and you laugh, brushing it off. âNothing happening here,â you insist, stealing a quick glance at Paige.
Paige holds back a smirk, shrugging. âSure, whatever you say.â But the gleam in her eye says otherwise.
Trying to keep things on track, you steer the conversation back to basketball, although the flirtatious edge remains. âAlright, Bueckers, one more thing. Iâll admit, youâve got talent. But do you ever worry about being put in a box? People see you a certain way, and thatâs how theyâll always see you.â
Paige pauses, and for a moment, the playful banter takes on a serious note. âYeah, I get that. People think they know you, based on what they see online or on the court. But the truth is, theyâre only seeing one side.â
Itâs unexpectedly candid, and you nod, finding a bit of yourself in her answer. âYeah. I get that. People always think they know everything from what they see online, but thereâs always more, right?â
Paigeâs gaze softens just slightly, and she nods. âExactly. Sometimes I think it would be nice if people saw more than the âplayerâ version of me.â
You raise an eyebrow, catching the hint in her tone. âSo⊠what would that look like, Bueckers?â
She gives you a playful smirk, leaning back in her chair. âMaybe youâll find out if youâre lucky.â
Your co-host interjects, clearly amused. âDid I miss something here, or is this turning into a date?â
Both you and Paige laugh, shaking your heads in sync. âNot quite,â you say quickly, though your heart skips a beat.
Before wrapping up, you give Paige the last word. âAlright, Bueckers, weâve had our fun. Any final words for our listeners?â
She leans toward the mic, glancing at you with a grin. âOnly that this isnât the last time youâll hear from me, Y/N. Iâm sticking around to make sure you donât underestimate me again.â
You laugh, shaking your head. âWell, bring your best game, then. Iâll be ready.â
The episode wraps up with lingering tension and the audience buzzing with intrigue, speculating wildly in the comments and social media. As you both step away from the mics, Paige meets your gaze with a small smile.
âNice job,â she says, extending a hand.
You shake it, feeling the warmth of her grip, the playful energy still sparking between you. âLikewise, Bueckers. Just donât expect me to go easy on you next time.â
She gives you a wink. âI wouldnât dream of it.â
**********
Not even an hour after the episode goes live, the reactions flood in. Your notifications blow up with fire emojis, heart-eyes, and endless comments as fans dissect every word, every sly look you exchanged with Paige, and every playful jab you threw her way. People seem to be either thrilled by your shift in tone or mourning the sharper edge of your usual critique. But thereâs one thing they all seem to agree onâyour chemistry with Paige was undeniable, and theyâre dying to see where this dynamic goes next.
Then come the memes: screenshots of you glancing at Paige with a mix of disbelief and amusement, clips from older episodes where you roasted her, and side-by-sides comparing your expressions with Paigeâs iconic moments on the court. One of your favorites is a split image of you with an exaggerated, eye-rolling expression, paired with Paigeâs confident smirk from one of her highlight games. People are clearly having a field day, and you find yourself chuckling at the creativity as you scroll through the tag.
But just as youâre considering logging off for the night, a notification grabs your attention. Itâs a comment from none other than Paige herself.
@PaigeBueckers: âGlad to see youâre finally catching on, Y/N. Game recognizes game, right? đâ
You smirk, typing back a quick reply.
@notY/N: âDonât get too comfortable, Bueckers. Iâm just warming up. đâ
Paige responds almost instantly, and suddenly, itâs a back-and-forth on full display for everyone to see.
@PaigeBueckers: âComfortable? Nah. Just giving you something to talk about on that next episode of yours.â
@notY/N: âWho says youâre interesting enough for a second episode?â
@PaigeBueckers: âGuess Iâll just have to prove you wrong, then. Challenge accepted?â
The thread quickly spirals as fans jump in, hyping up every comment exchange, adding their own captions, and stirring up theories about your ârivalry.â By the time you close the app, #YNPBChallenge is trending, with people eagerly waiting for your next move. And though you wonât admit it, youâre already curious about hers.
Within hours, sports outlets start covering the âfeud.â Clips of your episode circulate, paired with screenshots of Paigeâs comments. Twitter is filled with fans trying to decode every little interaction, with hashtags like #PaigeAndY/N and #RivalryGoals popping up as the top trends. Some fans eagerly ship you and Paige, while others are taking sides, wanting to see if your critique holds up in future episodes.
Some of Paigeâs teammates even get in on the fun, teasing her about the exchanges. Azzi Fudd, in particular, tweets, âSo⊠whenâs the first date, @paigebueckers? đâ
You laugh when you see it, because of course Paigeâs friends would be watching the whole thing unfold. You decide to add your own little stir to the pot.
Replying to Azziâs tweet, you type, âFirst date? I think sheâd need to step up her game a bit first.â
Not even a minute later, Paige replies to you directly: âChallenge accepted.â
The thread is flooded with reactions, and for a moment, itâs as if the entire internet is watching you two flirt in real time. You know itâs all in good fun, but thereâs an undeniable thrill to it.
After the whirlwind of social media reactions, you finally step away from your phone, still replaying the dayâs events. Thereâs an undeniable energy to this back-and-forth with Paige. Even through playful jabs and witty comebacks, thereâs something deeper simmeringâsomething that leaves you more curious than youâd like to admit.
Just as youâre about to call it a night, a new notification lights up your screen: a direct message from Paige herself. You hesitate for a moment, feeling an odd mix of excitement and nerves, and then finally open it.
Paige: âSo⊠Iâm dying to knowâdid you expect all of this to blow up the way it did?â
Her message catches you off guard. Youâd expected something more competitive, maybe another cheeky comment. But this question feels more open, almost as if sheâs genuinely curious about your perspective on all this unexpected attention.
Y/N: âHonestly? Not at all. I mean, Iâm used to a little backlash, but this? Everyoneâs treating it like itâs the story of the year.â
Paige: âRight? Itâs kind of insane, but I have to say, you seem to handle it like a pro.â
A smile tugs at your lips. The words are simple enough, but thereâs a warmth there, a hint of respect that takes you by surprise. You hadnât expected Paige to be this down-to-earth.
Y/N: âI guess thatâs part of the job, right? You get used to it, even when itâs⊠unexpected.â
Paige: âGuess we both know what thatâs like. I mean, people see us a certain way, but they donât really get the whole picture.â
Her message resonates with you in a way you hadnât anticipated. Itâs something youâve thought about oftenâthe assumptions people make, the way fans and critics alike paint you in broad strokes, not really seeing the person underneath. The more you think about it, the more you realize that Paige might understand that better than most.
Y/N: âTrue. Everyone thinks they know us based on what they see online, but thereâs a lot that doesnât make the highlight reel, right?â
Paige: âExactly. Itâs easy to play a role, keep it simple. But sometimes, itâs nice to just be real with someone who gets it.â
Thereâs a pause, a subtle weight to her words that makes you wonder if this is just harmless banter, or something more.
Y/N: âSo, youâre saying Iâm good enough to get the ârealâ Paige Bueckers?â
Paige: âIâm saying maybe youâre not as overrated as you think you are, Y/N.â
You canât help but laugh, the slight warmth of her compliment balanced by her usual dose of teasing. But even as the conversation winds down, a part of you canât shake the feeling that this might be the start of something⊠different. The back-and-forth, the playful ribbingâitâs beginning to feel like more than just banter.
You let out a soft laugh, staring at the screen a little longer than you meant to, absorbing Paigeâs last message. Youâd expected a snarky retort, maybe a playful jab, but this? This is something else, something that has you wondering if sheâs just as curious as you are. Before you can overthink it, you decide to keep the conversation going.
Y/N: âAlright, Iâll take that as a complimentâcoming from someone whoâs probably had a lifetime supply of them.â
Paige: âYouâd think so, but itâs funny how most of them donât mean much. I think Iâve just gotten good at smiling and nodding.â
Her honesty catches you off guard. Itâs a rare moment of vulnerability, one thatâs different from the playful façade youâd seen at the game and in her comments. You find yourself softening, recognizing a piece of yourself in her words.
Y/N: âI get it. People are quick to build you up, but they donât always see the work behind it. Or the stuff you keep off-camera.â
Paige: âExactly. Sometimes it feels like itâs just about meeting everyoneâs expectations.â
You feel a pang of understanding. Despite the banter, the jabs, you realize thereâs a part of her that just wants to be seen for more than the hype, more than the image fans have painted of her. And, you realize, maybe thatâs why this little rivalry-turned-conversation feels different than anything youâve experienced before.
Y/N: âWell, for what itâs worth, Iâm here for the real version of youâwhatever that looks like.â
She doesnât respond immediately, and you wonder if youâd gone too far. But just as youâre about to backpedal, her response pops up.
Paige: âSame goes for you, Y/N. Guess that means weâll have to see what that actually looks like, right?â
Her words make your stomach do an unexpected flip. Itâs an invitation, subtle but clear, to get to know her beyond the rivalry, beyond the image. And suddenly, it feels like this whole thingâthe online banter, the âfeud,â the unexpected DMâhas been leading up to this moment.
Y/N: âGuess so. So, next time we bump into each other⊠coffee? Or are you more of a smoothie person?â
She replies almost instantly.
Paige: "Coffee works, as long as you promise not to trash-talk me in front of the barista."
You laugh, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the banter and everything to do with her openness.
Y/N: âFine, Iâll tone it down. But donât get too comfortableâIâm not going easy on you.â
Paige: âWouldnât expect anything less.â
Thereâs a pause after that, a comfortable silence that feels like both a beginning and a challenge. As you put your phone down, a smile still on your face, you realize youâre genuinely excited to see where this goes.
#paige buckets#paige bueckers#paige bueckers fic#paige bueckers x reader#uconn huskies#uconn wcbb#wcbb#wlw fanfic#wlw post
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the pests are back in town | chaos fc
summary: someone at arsenal made a rookie error and paired the aussie pest and british menace together for media day and it's the usual chaos like always. pairings: chaos fc reader!monkey x kyra cooney cross x arsenal wfc chaos fc masterlist
âItâs a joke right? Tell me itâs a mistake?â You overhear Steph question as you walk nearer to them and youâre curious to know exactly what theyâre talking about.
Kim sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose, âI donât think so.â
âAlright, Iâm here now the party can begin,â You joke, hobbling through with your foot still in a boot and grinning mischievously when you spot Lia chatting with Kim and Steph, âHi, Wallaby! Did you miss me?â You ask, slinging your arm around the Swiss womanâs shoulder with a slight difficulty of her being taller than you.
âHi little one,â Lia turns to give you a side hug, âHow did the hospital appointment go?â She asks, concerned.
âDocâ is dumb,â You murmur in a low voice, your mood changing instantly at the mention of the appointment you had this morning that didnât go your way like you thought it would.
You were kind of disheartened by your latest hospital appointment, you didnât get the good news that you were expecting after all and you were still going to be sidelined for a while yet, since your ankle fracture still hadnât healed properly yet.
That definitely wasnât made worse by the fall you had when you and Kyra tried and failed to do a TikTok trend, but thatâs a story for a different day.
âHereâs the menace,â Steph jokes, ruffing your hair, âI see you still got the boot on, eh?â
âUnfortunately, I hate it,â You huff while definitely feeling grumpy and deflated about the news, âStupid doc reckons itâs still not healed properly yetâ I just wanna play and I have no chance of it anytime soon, itâs not fair!â
âMaybe you shouldnât have tried that TikTok trend then,â Kim remarks knowingly as she gives you a pointed look youâve been on the receiving end of too many times.
âWhat TikTok trend? I donât know what youâre talkinâ about there, Kimmy,â You play dumb and shrug your shoulders.
âYou know exactly what Iâm talking about,â Kim states while she purses her lips.
Shaking your head, you pull a silly facial expression, âNope, literally have no ideaâ Whatâre you guys lookinâ so⊠Irked about anyways?â You wonder, noting the weary looks the three of them share, âWhatâs going on?â
âItâs gotta be a mistake,â Steph murmurs, staring at the paper with a blank expression on her face, âRight?â
Before you can get a straight answer, Lia jumps into the conversation again, âItâs gotta be.â
âWhat?â You repeat the question, staring at them while still none the wiser.
âNope itâs not,â Beth appears, peering over Kimâs shoulder and confirming what youâre already itching to know.
âOh god,â Steph mutters, shaking her head in disagreement.
You blink, still utterly confused about the topic of conversation they were on about, âWhat⊠What is it?â You exchange looks between all 4 of the older girls, but none of them are giving you anything to work with, âWhatâre you all on about?â
âYou and Kyra,â Lia finally decides to be the one to tell you the good news, âYou pair are together for media day.â She tells you, biting her bottom lip and clearly bracing for impact.
âSeriously?â Your eyes light up in pure glee, âYes! Winner!â You're practically vibrating with excitement, and if it wasnât for your dumb ankle fracture then you would definitely be jumping up and down in joy.
You and Kyra? A dangerous duo on any given day, but todayâ on media dayâ things were about to get even more chaotic.
Steph groans dramatically, âWeâre all doomed.â
âWho made the mistake?â Beth furrows her eyebrows and shakes her head, âThese two together are a nightmareâ The last media day proved it alone!â
âHey! Weâre not that bad,â You insist, huffing in offense.
âYes. You are,â Steph deadpans, âYou and Kyra are the worst when youâre together. Need I remind you of Melbourne?â
âOh, but that was such a fun time!â You exclaim, grinning mischievously, âI donât know about you, but I personally had a blast out there.â
âI think Kim is still reliving that nightmare,â Lia chips in amusedly as you sneak a glance at your captain who you swear shudders at the memory, âThis isnât a good idea.â
You pout, crossing your arms together, âOh, come on. You guys seriously donât think that much about us, do you?â
Beth doesnât even think to hesitate, âNo.â
âAbsolutely not,â Steph shakes her head, reinforcing it.
You open your mouth to argue, but then Katie strolls over with Caitlin while smirking, âOh you guys just discovered the pests are together for media day?â She questions.
âThis is a nightmare,â Beth shakes her head dramatically.
âWell thatâs just rude,â You huff in response just as you spot your best friend and instantly perk up, âKy! Guess what, weâre together for media duties!â
âWhat, seriously? Yes!â Kyra exclaims, letting out a cheer and definitely buzzing about the news.
âThis is bad, so very bad,â Lia mutters to herself, shaking her head in disagreement.
You roll your eyes, exasperated, âNah, nah, this is a great day!â You insist, âItâs gonna be wonderful. Itâs like Christmas morning!â
Steph snorts, clearly amused, âIf this is how excited you get for Christmas, youâve got serious issues.â
You shrug casually, zero shame on your face, âYeah, I know. I come with a lot of trauma,â You pause for a split second, âDead dad, mum that abandoned me, blah blah blah,â You wave a hand like itâs not a big deal, âNeed I go on?â
âLeah!?â Kattie furrows her brow in concern, âThereâs something with your kid,â She glances around to look for the blonde, âI think sheâs broken!â She jokes, dramatically.
âOh no, sheâs not broken,â Leah laughs in amusement, slinging her arm around your shoulder, âSheâs just⊠Well, sheâs Monkey.â She explains, shrugging her shoulders.
âSee? Iâm justâ Hey, that was still an insult, Malfoy!â You grumble in protest.
âMonkey, weâve already been over this,â Leah groans in annoyance, âWill you stop callinâ me that?â
âNope,â You canât help but smirk, âAs long as you still continue to get wound up over it, definitely not.â
âGive me strength,â Leah mutters, rubbing her temples, âWhatâre you so happy about?â She wonders, noticing the cheshire grin on your face.
âMe and Ky are paired together for media,â You fill her in with a grin plastered on your face.
Leah canât help but snort and shake her head, âThatâs a joke, right?â
âThatâs what I said!â Steph exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air, âSomeone mustâve made a mistake, right?â
âNo, no, no,â Leah shakes her head promptly, âYou two are⊠Youâre trouble together, look what happened in America!â
âI think youâre overreacting slightly there Le,â You insist, rolling your eyes.
âAm I? Cosâ I think the fractured ankle really speaks for itself,â Leah deadpans.
âUrgh,â You groan dramatically, tilting your head back at the painful memory, âItâs bad enough I have this stupid cast, you donât need to mention it as well.â
âWait, does Kimmy still have your skateboard held hostage?â Kyra wonders, curiously as she wraps her free around your shoulder.
âYeah she does,â The pout currently plastered on your face really just spoke for itself, âLeâs being the captain of the fun police and not allowing me to have any fun.â You mutter.
Leah clicks her tongue and shakes her head, âAnd risk breaking your neck as well? Yeah, not a single chance am I taking that riskâ It stays at Kimâs out of the way since we canât exactly send it back now.â
âBut what fun is it if it just stays in the cupboard?â You donât relent from this conversation as you huff dramatically, âHow aboutâŠâ
âHow about we donât revisit this conversation and forget about the skateboard instead, yeah?â The blonde cuts in with a knowing look.
âMonkey? Kyra?â One of the media team waves over to you both to get your attention, âWe need you both.â
âWeâre needed already?â Kyra furrows her eyebrows and shrugs her shoulders, âLetsâ go!â
Your eyes light up in glee, âFantastic, be right there,â Before looking back at the huddle of older girls, âItâs showtime!â
âDonât be a brat and get in any troubleââ Leah begins to say.
âIâm sorry all I heard then was blah blah blah,â You interject with a mischievous smile on her face, âCome on Ky, letâs go and find out what weâve gotta do!â With that, you quite literally pull Kyra in the direction of where you need to go.
Katie chuckles lowly at the blondesâ facial expression, âYouâve got your hands full with that one, ainât you, Le?â
âDonât even go there,â Leah huffs and shakes her head in response, âThat girl sometimes, honestly sheâs so bloody cheeky, but I do love her dearly.â
âHi, Iâm Kyra!â Your Australian counterpart jumps in first to speak, introducing herself.
âAnd Iâm Monkeyâ â You start but get cut off with the cameraman giving you a knowing look, âWhat? Seriously, I have to answer my actual name? Oh for *bleep* sake!â
âMonkey!â You hear Leah scold from the other side of the room, which youâre honestly shocked how she managed to hear that so far away.
âSorry, sorry, anywaysâŠâ You quietly mumble your name begrudgingly in front of the camera thatâs rolling, âI canât believe you guys just made me say that aloud. I hate you all.â
The cameraman chuckles from the other side, âContinue.â
You huff and dramatically fold your arms, âAlright, well yeah, weâre gonna play âHow Well Do You Know Each Other?â You pause for a brief second, âThis should be interesting.â
âPuts our âbest friendâ knowledge to the test,â Kyra adds in, grinning teasingly.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes in response as you look at the cameraman, âHow do we do this then?â
âOne of you will read the cards aloud and answer, while the other sits further back with headphones listening to music,â The cameraman explains, motioning to the large bulky headphones on the table in front.
âBetter be good music,â You remark in a cheeky tone of voice.
âDo you wanna go first?â Kyra asks, glancing at you.
âYeah, sure why not⊠How hard could it be?â You smirk as you grab the cards in front of you, âPft, easy, bring it on!â
With that, the camera stops filming for a second before it begins again with Kyra sitting on a chair a few feet away from you while youâre sitting on the chair in front.
âYou good?â You question, Kyra responds with a thumbs up when she canât hear anything and you giggle, âI could say so much right nowâŠâ You say, as Kyra continues to look cluelessly at you.
The cameraman chuckles, âLetâs get to the questions.â
You pick up the first card, âWhere is Kyra from?â You read the question aloud and ponder thinking for a few seconds, âAustralia, well Queensland to be more specificâ Yeah Iâm sure it is there!â
You switch out the card and scan your eyes over it, âWhen is Kyraâs birthday?â You continue to read the next question aloud, âEasy, 15th February, 2002â You know you guys should really make these more easier for me,â You joke, grinning teasingly as you look directly at the camera.
Tossing the card aside, you flip to the third and final one, âWhen did Kyra make her debut for Arsenal?â You read the final one aloud, âOo, this onesâ even better! It was last October, the first game of the season, which we unfortunately lost, but I was there,â You pause after giving your answer with full confidence, âIâm surprised I remember, cosâ I was sick, but yeah⊠her first debut was then!â
The cameraman chuckles, âThatâs three for Kyra done,â He declares, turning the camera off and gesturing Kyra back to sit beside you, âRight, now weâll film it so itâs Kyra reacting to your answers before switching roles. Sound good, girls?â
You wave dismissively, âYup, no worries!â
âYeah, sounds good,â Kyra adds, planting herself down in the empty seat, as she camera starts rolling again, âHowâd you do?â
âThe questions were so easy,â You joke, cockily, âKinda wish I had more of a challenge.â
âYou seem overconfident right now,â Kyra smirks, taking a glance at the questions, âAlright, first question, where am I from?â
âQueensland, and now I think⊠Why am I doubting myself?â You frown, taking a minute to wonder if you have got it right.
Kyra laughs, âThat is where Iâm from!â
âPhew, first one correct,â You wipe your forehead dramatically.
âNext oneâ Whenâs my birthday?â Kyra repeats the question aloud youâve just answered, âYou should definitely know this one, if not then⊠Well, I donât think we can be friends.â She jokes.
You pretend to think about it for a second, âYeah Iâm positive I know this one cosâ we celebrated it,â You give pause for the dramatic effect, â15th February, 2002. The day after Valentine's Day. Bleughâ Shit, Iâm gonna be kicking myself if itâs wrong now.â
âMonkey,â The cameraman interjects from behind, shaking his head.
You feign innocence and give him a sheepish smile, âSorry.â
Kyra snickers at the fact you have no filter sometimes, âNice, yeah, thatâs right!â She exclaims, âYouâre doing so well⊠You know me so well!â She retorts, playfully.
âWell Iâd hope so since Iâm your best friend,â You respond with an eye roll.
âFinal question,â Kyra speaks up as she gazes at the last question, âTough oneâ When did I make my Arsenal debut?â
âFirst game of the season against Liverpool,â You answer way too confidently and immediately pray itâs correct, âRight? I hope so, I was on me deathbed for that game!â
âNailed it,â Kyra confirms, grinning.
âYay, go me!â You fist pump the air as you do a little wiggle in celebration and the cameraâs stop filming, âSo, now we swap?â You clarify with the cameraman.
âYep, thatâs right,â The cameraman chimes in.
Nodding in agreement, the camera cuts while you switch positions so youâre the one stuck with the headphones, and at least the music isnât too bad.
You canât hear a single word thatâs being said, but youâre just content to listen to the music, singing the song in your head as you do a little shimmy in your seat.
Itâs times like this where you wish you could lip-read, itâs not the easiest thing to do though and your attention span wouldnât last that long sometimes before giving up.
You canât help but let your thoughts wander away at this current time, âMaybe I can buy more lego soon? I need to add to my collectionâ You can never have too much lego!â
At last, you're given the gesture of a thumbs up before removing the headphones and get up to sit on a closer chair with the slight difficulty of the boot currently on your foot.
âWas that easy for you?â You joke with your best friend.
âPiece of cake mate,â Kyra grins in response.
You pick up the cards and read over the first one, âFirst question, what is my favourite drink?â You read aloud, smirking as you know she definitely does know this answer.
âEnergy drinks, duh? You love them!â Kyra answers with a knowing smile.
You beam a wide smile and nod, âI do, even if Iâm not technically allowed them anymoreâ Mean Malfoy!â You joke, looking directly at the camera and scowling.
âWhat she doesnât know wonât hurt her,â Kyra jokes with a wink.
âExactly,â You retort with a playful grin, âAlright, next question thenâ You should definitely know this, and if you donât then, well, we need to rethink our friendship.â You tell her, jokingly.
âOur friendshipâs on the line over this?â Kyra clutches her hand over her heart and fauxâs her shock, âWell then I guess Iâd better get it right. You adore both Shrek and anything Marvel related of course, and if itâs anything else then Iâm not having it.â
âDing, ding, ding, correct!â You grin, âI have watched them way too many times to count, but who cares?â
âI knew it!â Kyra exclaims, âPhew, our friendship still remains intact.â She jokes with you.
âFor now, just as long as you answer the final question correctly,â You continue to wind her up, leaning in dramatically, âWhen did I join Arsenal?â
Kyra bites her bottom lip in hesitation, âSee, this one was hard to remember, so I guessed and went with age 9, so I know youâve been at the academy before signing the senior team...â
You shook her head in disagreement, âWant a clue?â You joke, amusedly, âLeahâs known me ever since I joined, and that wasâŠâ You pretend to count on your fingers, â11 years ago.â
âOh!â Kyraâs eyes light up in realisation, âSo, you were 8 then? I was so close!â She exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air, âYouâve known her for 11 years? Thatâs wild! Howâs she put up with you for that long?â
âYeah, I know itâsâ Hey, thatâs cruel!â The realisation hits finally and you gasp, âSpeak for yourself, youâre the Aussie pest.â
âYeah, and youâre the British Menace,â Kyra jokes, grinning at you.
âRight that does it, this friendship is⊠itâs under discussion,â You shake your head dramatically, continuing to play up for the camera in front of you, âTwo out of three, I suppose itâs not that bad,â
âIâll take it!â Kyra shrugs her shoulders, âThe last one really threw me off!â
You grin and wrap your free arm around her, âAwh, donât worry. Weâre still besties!â You exclaim, before attempting to wrestle her down to the floor as the older girls in the background catch wind of your antics, just as the camera stops rolling.
âLessi is definitely the clumsy one in the team - she falls over all the time. I know that says a lot, considering I'm currently in a boot,â You say with a gleam in your eyes as a memory lights up, âOh, oh! We have to tell them about, you know, what happened at training the other day!â You grin mischievously, already knowing the chaos youâre about to stir.
Kyra looks at you, clueless, âWhat happened at training?â
You snort, shaking your head in disbelief, âYou donât remember?â
âNo, should I?â Kyra questions, further confused.
âOf course, yeah! About Malfoy,â You retort, a cheeky grin plastered on your face.
âMonkey, donât you dare,â Leah warns, shooting her a look.
âI dare,â You smirk in satisfaction as you see the daunting look on Leahâs face, âYou seeâŠâ
Her eyes narrow, and you can see the tension building in her jaw. Right as you're about to spill the story, Leah storms over and claps her hand over your mouth, cutting off your words so all that comes out are muffled noises, âMonkey, donât push it,â The blonde warns in a firm tone of voice.
You roll your eyes dramatically, wiping at your mouth for emphasis, âI was just gonna get the fun bit as well, â You shrug with an exaggerated innocence, using the advantage of your crutches to try and keep her at bay so you can continue to yap like you wanted to do, âAnyways before I was so rudely interrupted about what I wanted to say⊠Oh yeah, Leah completely fell over the other day and it was hilarious to watch!â
âYouâre such a menace sometimes,â Leah mutters in disbelief while shooting you a playful scowl.
âYeah, but you still love me regardless,â You flash her an innocent smile, waving your crutch around in the air, âCome on, itâs okay to admit it that you do.â You add.
Leah arches her eyebrow in response, âItâs questionable sometimes when you come out with things like you do.â
However due to your own clumsiness you end up falling over in the process which causes Leah to instantly drop her annoyed act and immediately becomes concerned instead.Â
âOh my God,â Leahâs eyes widen as she watches you fall to the floor and rushes to help you back onto your feet, âAre you okay?â She questions.
âOw, shit, that bloody hurt,â You grumble your profound language and completely forget that thereâs still a camera rolling so thatâs something the media team will have to work on editing out again, âClearly Iâm not stable on my feet, like I thought I was.â You continue to grumble, accepting Leahâs hand to help you up off the floor as you hiss in slight pain.
Leah tuts and shakes her head, her previous annoyance completely forgotten about now, âYou really do need to be more careful,â She chides in a gentle tone of voice, âOr youâre going to make things worse for yourself my girl.â
âYeah, yeah I know, you donât need to remind me,â You huff in response and use your crutches to balance your support to save you falling on the floor again, âIâm already stuck on these crutches for what feels like the foreseeable.â
âExactly, thatâs more of a reason to be careful little miss clumsy,â Leah retorts, once sheâs made sure youâre okay before she takes the chance to rip into you a bit for your usual clumsiness.
Rolling your eyes in response, âSpeak for yourself when youâre the one that fell over at training the other day.â You chip in again as she flash her a cheeky smile.
âMenace,â Leah murmurs now rolling her own eyes.
Itâs only now that you realise the whole interaction has been filmed, âWait⊠Was the camera still filming, like all of that?â You question.
âYep,â A member of the media team responds in agreement.
âUrgh,â You let out an exasperated groan and shove your head in your hands, âGreat, everyonesâ gonna see my clumsiness. Fuck sakes.â
âMonkey,â Leah chides, shooting you a stern look, âLanguage.â
âEnglish,â You reply while trying to feign your innocence, âRight, shit yeah, no swearing in front of the cameras. NotedâŠâ
âMonkey, you did it again,â Kyra snickers in amusement.
Smiling in realisation, you look at the media time guiltily, âWhoops. I did it again, didnât I? My bad.â You apologise to them, scratching the back of your head awkwardly, âI guess you guysâ are gonna have a fair bit to edit, eh? Well at least we keep things lively around here!â
© scribblesofagoonerr
#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso imagine#arsenal x reader#woso one shot#scribblesofagoonerr#arsenal women x reader#arsenal wfc x reader#woso#leah williamson x reader#chaos fc reader#chaos fc#monkey#chaos fc masterlist
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What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in my seminary program, and I've been involved in numerous secret missions, and I have over 10 confirmed blonde childbirths. I am trained in converting and marrying outsiders and I'm the top birth giver in the entire LDS Church. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with zeal the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with spreading defamation of the Mormon Church over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of progeny across the state of Utah and they are sharing the gospel with their schoolmates, coworkers, and neighbors right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and proselytize to you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only do I have fair, youthful genes that I will pass on to countless blonde, Mormon children, but I have access to all the church houses, baptismal fonts, and temples of the Church Of Jesus Christ Of Latter Day Saints and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what holy retribution your little "clever" comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiot. You will die, bitter and alone, surrounded by your hollow books and haunted by memories of the few good times in your life. You're fucking dead, kiddo.
#shitpost#mormon critical#the only thing as obnoxious as a death cult is a fertility cult#or whatever the hell this is called#also the Nazi vibes with 'fair youthful' genes and 'blonde babies' yuck#Navy Seal Copypasta
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dragging john to some fancy eyewear boutique because you're so sure he'll look better in a more modern pair. a rare occasion where you insist on paying for whatever frames he likes best (and the lenses, the anti-reflecting coat, etc.).
he dutifully tries on everything you hand to him. he also selects a handful, though he rolls his eyes when you claim his picks are too similar to the wire frame readers he already owns.
in the end, the shopping trip is a bust. you go for lunch instead, lamenting the fact you left empty-handed.
your sour mood flies out the window when john slips his old glasses from his shirt pocket to read the menu, grumbling about the font size. there is something about the way the frames slide down the bridge of his nose. how the wire temples disappear into his brown, now slightly salt-and-peppered, hair. the furrow of his brow. you know he's in a fair mood, but he looks so stern like that and andâyou twist the napkin in your lap almost violently with the direction your brain goes.
"see anythin' you like?" he asks, scanning the entrees.
"yep."
"i was thinking the papayaâ"
"oh, i'm not talking about the food."
john looks at you from under his brow, puzzled for all of a second, before his face softens. he leans back in his chair, a smirk curling the edge of his mouth, and he pushes his glasses up. he folds his arms across his chest and stares as if he's already figured you out. his eyes light up with something both smug and amused.
"thought you didn't like these old things."
"i changed my mind."
"i can see that." he tilts his head and zeroes in on the fabric bunched in your hands. "you're squirmin' in your seat."
"yeah? well, if you'd like to see more, get your ass up and let's go."
#older john or retired john whatever you choose.#john price in glasses....fetch me the emergency cigarette#i need to tighten my frames#price x reader#unedited
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LAST DECEMBER MORNING â SATORU GOJO
pairing â satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader
summary â on a frost-bitten december morning, you watch satoru gojo prepare for his fated battle with sukuna with infuriating calm, like he isn't planning to sacrifice himself for the greater good. you've spent years being his secret, clearing battlefields for him and stealing kisses between missions, but now you're faced with the most brutal truth. that sometimes the cruelest curse isn't the one that kills you â it's loving someone who belongs to the world before they belong to you.
word count â 5.4 k
warnings â heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of blood and violence, implied death, unhealthy relationship, sad ending
author's note â this has been rotting in my drafts since the final jjk chapter dropped, and i finally dragged it out into the light bc i'm procrastinating uni. fair warning, this is pure angst with zero comfort, just two people breaking each other's hearts because sometimes love isn't enough. anywayys, happy reading <3
masterlist
Winter had never felt so much like an ending.
You watched frost creep across the windows of your shared apartment, each crystalline pattern forming like cracks in glass, spreading slowly but inevitably.
Outside, the world lay hushed under winter's blanket, everything soft and serene. Birds traced lazy patterns against a sky so blue it hurt to look at, and fresh snow made everything clean and new.
It was the kind of morning that belonged in fairy tales, the kind poets write about when they want to capture peace in words. Strange, how you'd never imagined death would choose such a beautiful day.
You watched Satoru move through his routine, each gesture precise and unhurried. White hair caught the pale sunlight as he smoothed it back, his reflection in the mirror handsome as ever before he adjusted his clothes, and put on his blindfold.
You'd watched him prepare for countless missions before, but this felt different. This felt final.
The normality of it all was almost cruel â how he could stand there, getting ready like this was just another day, just another fight. Like the sun wasn't rising on what could be your last morning together.
The clock on the wall ticked steadily forward, each second falling like a stone into still water. Time felt strange, both rushing too fast and moving too slow. You wanted to grab the clock's hands, force them to stop, to give you just a few more moments in this morning that felt like borrowed time.
"You're staring," he said without turning around, a slight smile playing at his lips.
"Can you blame me?" You were curled up in the window seat, tea growing cold in your hands. "It's not every day yourâ whatever we are goes to fight the King of Curses."
He turned then, and even through the blindfold, you could feel the weight of his gaze. "Whatever we are?" There was amusement in his tone. "After all this time, you still don't know what we are?"
"Well, we're not exactly big on labels," you pointed out, trying to keep your voice light despite the heaviness in your chest. "Secret relationship and all that."
"Ah, but that's what makes it fun, isn't it?" He crossed the room to where you sat, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. "The sneaking around, the secret meetingsâ"
"Satoru." You caught his hand. "How are you so calm about this?"
He tilted his head, considering. "Would you prefer if I was panicking?"
"I'd prefer if you showed any emotion at all about the fact that you're about to fight Sukuna." You stood up, setting your tea aside. "You've been acting like this is just another day, just another fight, but it's not. You know it's not."
"I think I've shown plenty of emotion," he said, pulling you closer with a playful smile. "Just last night, if I recallâ"
"Don't." You pressed a hand against his chest, keeping him at arm's length. "Don't deflect. Not today."
The smile faded from his face, replaced by something more serious. "What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to tell me why you're so calm. I want you to tell me why you're not worried." Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on. "I want you to tell me why it feels like you're saying goodbye."
He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing patterns on your wrist where he still held it. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. "The world needs to move forward. It needs to find someone stronger."
"What are you talking about?" You pulled back slightly. "You're the strongest there is."
"Am I?" His smile was gentle, almost sad. "Or is that just what everyone needs to believe?"
"Satoruâ"
"The world has relied on me for too long," he continued. "They've made me their symbol, their savior, their stupid hero. But what happens when I'm gone? Who protects them then?"
"You're not going anywhere," you said. "You're going to win. You always win."
He cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. "Sometimes winning isn't about surviving. Sometimes it's about making sure what comes after is better than what came before."
"That's not funny."
"I'm not trying to be funny." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm trying to tell you that whatever happens today, the world will keep turning. It will find new leaders, new protectors. Maybe even better ones."
"I don't want new protectors," you whispered. "I want you."
"Ah, but you've always had me," he said softly. "Ever since that first mission together, when you told me my head was too big to fit through doorways. Do you remember?"
You huffed. "You were showing off, making everything more complicated than it needed to be."
"I was trying to impress you."
"You're always trying to impress me."
"But it's working, right?"
You pressed closer to him, breathing in his familiar scent. "You know it is, you idiot."
He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. For a moment, you both stood there in silence, listening to each other's heartbeats. The familiar rhythm brought back memories of how this all began, of the first time you'd been close enough to hear his heart race.
For loving Satoru Gojo had always been the most beautiful and dangerous thing in your world.
It started in blood, as most things in your world did. A mission gone wrong, cursed spirits thick in the air, the metallic taste of death sharp on your tongue. Youâd seen him fight beforeâwho hadnât?
But that night was different. That night, you saw him bleed.
A special-grade curse caught you both off guard. One moment, he fought three curses at once like some untouchable god, and the next, he was crashing through three buildings, blood gushing from his mouth.
Something in your chest cracked at the sight â not from the impact of being thrown back yourself, but from seeing him, the strongest sorcerer alive, look so terrifyingly human.
You remembered how his blindfold had been torn, those devastating blue eyes meeting yours across the wreckage. Blood trickled down his chin, his usually perfect hair matted with debris, and yet he smiled. That damn smile that made your heart stutter even as cursed spirits attacked you from all sides.
âTrying to steal my spotlight?â heâd joked, wiping blood from his lips as he stood. âIâm the only one allowed to look cool here.â
You wanted to strangle him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to scream at him for making jokes when he could have died. You did none of those things. Instead, you cleared the area, giving him the perfect opening he needed to obliterate the special grade.
Later, after the dust had settled and the reports had been filed, he cornered you in the darkened hallway of Jujutsu High.
âYouâre angry,â he said, not a question but a statement.
âIâm not angry.â You were furious. âIâm just wondering how someone whoâs supposed to be the strongest can be so fucking reckless.â
He stepped closer, backing you against the wall. âWorried about me?â
âYou wish.â But your voice shook, betraying you. Because you had been worried. Terrified, actually. The image of him lying in that wreckage, blood staining his white hair red, had burned itself into your mind.
âLiar,â he whispered, and then his lips were on yours.
Everything they said about Satoru Gojo was true â he was overwhelming, all-consuming, impossible to resist. Kissing him felt like being struck by lightning, like being unmade and remade in the space between heartbeats. You broke apart, both breathing hard, and reality came crashing back.
âFuck,â you summarized eloquently.
He laughed, the sound low and rich. âThat could be arranged.â
âSatoru.â You pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart race under your palm. âWe canât.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause youâre you. Because Iâm me. Because there are a thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea.â
âIâm only hearing excuses.â He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. âNot actual reasons.â
And that was how it started â with blood and curses and kisses in dark hallways. With terrible ideas that felt too good to resist.
Keeping it secret was both easier and harder than you expected. Easier because everyone already knew how Satoru was â flirtatious, tactile, always pushing boundaries. No one questioned when he draped himself over your desk during meetings or appeared uninvited in your office and stayed for hours.
Harder because every moment felt like a lie of omission. Harder because you had to watch him walk into danger again and again, had to maintain professional distance when all you wanted was to grab him and never let go.
You stole moments where you could find them. Quick kisses in empty classrooms, heated encounters between missions, quiet nights in your apartment when the world thought he was somewhere else entirely.
It ate at you sometimes. Not because you wanted to announce it to the world, but because each moment felt borrowed, stolen from a future you might never have.
Every time he left for a mission, every time he faced another curse, you wondered if this would be it. If this would be the time your last memory of him would be a secret smile across a meeting room, a cryptic message that no one else understood. But then heâd come back, always with that insufferable smile, usually with some ridiculous story about how amazing heâd been.
Heâd find ways to touch you in public that looked casual â a hand at the small of your back during briefings, fingers brushing as he passed you documents, his body angled toward yours in crowded rooms like a sunflower seeking light.
And the worst part? The absolute worst part was how good he was at pretending. How easily he maintained his public persona â the untouchable, unbeatable Satoru Gojo, who flirted with everyone and meant it with no one.
Sometimes youâd catch him looking at you in meetings with the same expression he gave everyone else, and for a moment, youâd wonder if youâd imagined everything between you.
But then night would fall, and heâd show up at your door with takeout and that soft smile he saved just for you. Heâd kiss you like he was trying to apologize for every moment he had to pretend you were nothing special, like he was trying to prove that this, the two of you, was the only real thing in his world.
You never talked about the future. How could you? In your line of work, tomorrow was never guaranteed. Each mission could be your last, each kiss could be your goodbye. The closest you ever came to acknowledging it was in the desperate way heâd hold you after a close call, in the way youâd trace his features in the dark like you were trying to memorize them by touch.
Some nights, when sleep eluded you both, heâd tell you about the weight of being the strongest, about the exhaustion of being everyoneâs last hope.
Heâd whisper his fears into your skin â not of death or defeat, but of failing those who believed in him. Those were the moments when the great Satoru Gojo disappeared, leaving just Satoru, just a man who carried the world on his shoulders and made it look easy.
You lived for those moments. The quiet ones, the real ones, the ones where he wasnât the strongest sorcerer alive but just yours. Just as you were his.
You carved out your own little infinity in the spaces between battles and duties. A secret world where his laugh wasnât for show, where your touch wasnât professional, where you could just be the two of you without the weight of expectations and reputations.
But infinity, as it turned out, had limits. Even his.
Looking at him now, preparing to face Sukuna with that same causality he brought to everything, you wondered if this was how your story was always meant to end. If all those stolen moments were just preparing you for this â one last morning, one last smile, one last chance to pretend tomorrow might come.
The world needed someone stronger, he said. But you needed him. And maybe that was the cruelest curse of all â loving someone the world needed more than you did.
"Promise me something," you said then.
"Hmm?"
"Promise me you won't just give up. Promise me you'll fight to come back."
He pulled back slightly, reaching up to remove his blindfold. His striking blue eyes met yours, intense and clear.
"I promise," he said, "that everything I do today will be for a better tomorrow."
"That's not what I asked."
"It's the only promise I can make."
"Stop." Your voice turned sharp, anger finally breaking through. "Stop talking about tomorrow. Stop talking about the future and the next generation and whatever noble sacrifice you think you need to make. I don't care about any of that."
"Don't you?"
"No, I don't." You grabbed his jacket, fingers twisting in the fabric. "I don't care if the world needs someone stronger. I don't care if the next generation needs to step up. I care about you, you impossible man. I want you here, alive, with me. Is that so wrong? Am I not allowed to be selfish when it comes to you?"
"Huh." He caught your hands in his, but didn't pull them away from his jacket. "And here I thought you understood me better than anyone."
"Don't." You tried to pull away, but he held firm. "Don't you dare try to make this about understanding. I understand perfectly. But you're wrong. You don't have to do this."
His smile faltered slightly. "It's not that simple."
"It is that simple!" Your voice cracked. "You're choosing to make it complicated. You're choosing to walk away, to... to what? Make some grand statement about the future? Prove that the world can survive without the great Satoru Gojo?"
"Someone has to."
"But why does it have to be you?" The words burst out of you, raw and desperate. "Why do you have to be the one to show them? Why can't you just fight to win, to live, to come back toâ" You cut yourself off, biting back the words that wanted to follow.
"To you?" he finished softly.
"Yes," you said, dropping your forehead against his chest. "To me. Call me selfish, call me short-sighted, I don't care. I want more mornings like this. More everything. More of you, being insufferably calm and making terrible jokes and acting like the world isn't ending when we both know it might be."
He was quiet for a moment, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. When he spoke, his voice was gentler than before.
"I can't promise to come back." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But know this, every moment with you has been worth fighting for. Worth living for."
You pulled back enough to look at him, really look at him. "Then fight for more moments. Fight to make more memories. Fight to come back to me, not for some greater purpose or stupid sacrifice, but because you want to."
"And if I told you that wanting isn't enough?"
"Then I'd call you a liar." Your voice turned cold. "Because you're Satoru fucking Gojo. When has anything ever been impossible for you? When have you ever let anyone tell you what you can't do?"
ââ"This is differentâ"
"How? How is this different? Because it's Sukuna? Because it's the fate of jujutsu society? Or because you've already decided how this story ends?"
His hands tightened on you, and for a moment, just a moment, you saw something flicker behind those blue eyes â doubt, fear, longing, you couldn't tell. But then it was gone, replaced by that same calm certainty that made you want to scream.
"Because I can't protect everyoneâcan't protect you if I allow myself to believe in a tomorrow," he whispered.
The gentleness in his voice, the soft way he delivered words meant to cut, made you want to tear the world apart. It was so perfectly Satoru â to break your heart like he was doing you a favor, to wound you with a tenderness that felt more cruel than any violence could be.
"I never asked you to protect me," you said finally. "I asked you to stay. There's a difference."
"Is there?" His hand came up to cup your face, shaking ever so slightly, betraying the calm he fought so hard to maintain. "Because every time I look at you, all I can think about is how many people would use you to get to me. How many would hurt you just to prove they could touch something I care about."
"So your solution is to what? Die nobly? Make sure there's nothing left for them to use against you?"
"My solution is to make sure the world doesn't need me anymore." His thumb brushed across your cheek, catching a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "To make sure you don't need me anymore."
"That's not your choice to make. You don't get to decide what I need. You don't get to martyr yourself for some greater good and pretend it's for my protection."
"Then what would you have me do?" For the first time, there was a hint of frustration in his voice. "Ignore my responsibilities? Pretend I'm not who I am?"
"I would have you fight like you want to come back!" The words ripped from your throat. "Fight like there's someone waiting for you after. Fight like you love me as much as I love you!"
The confession rang out between you, and the moment it left your lips, you realized you'd never said it before. Through all the stolen moments, all the secret touches, all the nights you'd spent memorizing each other's bodies â you'd never actually spoken those words aloud.
You'd both danced around it, implied it in every action, every look, every unfinished sentence, but neither of you had ever dared to make it real with words.
Until now. Until you were angry enough, desperate enough, terrified enough to let it slip from your heart straight past your defenses.
"Love?" His voice was barely a whisper.
"Of course I love you, you idiot." Your voice equally quiet. "Why else would I be standing here, begging the strongest sorcerer alive to be selfish just once?â
He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, maybe a sob, his fingers tightening on you. "Don't," he whispered, and for the first time that morning, his voice was shaking. "Don't make this harder than it already is. Don't say things that make me want toâ" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "That make me want impossible things."
"Impossible? Since when does Satoru Gojo believe in impossible?"
"Since I realized being with you means putting you at risk." His thumb brushed your cheek, the gesture achingly gentle. "Since I understood that staying alive isn't the same as keeping you safe."
"I hate this." You shook your head. "I hate how calmly you can stand here and talk about sacrifice like it's inevitable. Like there's no other way."
"Would you prefer if I fell apart?" His smile turned sad. "If I raged and cried and promised things I might not be able to keep?"
"Yes," you admitted, your hands coming up to cover his where they still held your face. "Because at least then I'd know you want to stay as much as I want you to."
"Oh, my love." The endearment fell from his lips like a confession. "Wanting to stay has never been the question. The question is whether I can live with myself if I do."
"And what about whether I can live with myself if you don't?" Your voice broke. "What about whether I can forgive myself for not fighting harder to make you stay?"
"This isn't your fight."
"Like hell it isn't." You pulled back. "You think I spent months learning to clear battlefields just so you could take center stage? You think I perfected my technique to complement your infinity because I had nothing better to do?" You dug your nails into your palms, throat tight with fury. "I've been fighting alongside you since before you ever kissed me in that hallway. Before you ever decided I was worth protecting. Don't you dare tell me this isn't my fight when I've spent years making sure you had the space you needed to be great."
He was quiet for a long moment, studying you. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost reverent. "And that's exactly why I need to go. The world doesn't need more people making space for me. It needs people who'll fill that space themselves."
You recoiled like he'd slapped you, hurt burning in your chest. "Is that what you think I've been doing? Making myself smaller for you? Made space for you because I was afraid to reach higher?" You stepped closer, deadly calm now. "I made space for you because that's what you do when you love someone."
His lips twitched into a smile. "So you do understand me."
"Don't pretend those are the same thing."
He was quiet for a moment. Then, instead of answering, he pulled you into a kiss that tasted like goodbye. Like all the tomorrows you'd never have, all the moments you'd never share, all the promises neither of you could keep. You kissed him back with everything you had â all your fury and fear and love condensed into this one perfect, terrible moment.
His hands tangled in your hair like he was trying to memorize the feeling, yours gripping his jacket as if you could keep him here through sheer force of will. When you finally broke apart, hearts pounding, foreheads pressed together in the space between one heartbeat and the next.
"I'll hate you," you whispered against his lips. "If you don't come back, I'll hate you for the rest of my life."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, and for once, his smile held an edge of something raw, something that looked almost like pain. "No, you won't."
"I will." Your fingers tightened in his jacket. "I'll hate you for making me fall in love with someone who was always planning to leave. I'll hate you for every morning I wake up alone, for every mission briefing where someone else stands in your place, for every year I have to leave flowers on your grave."
"You'll move on. You'll find someoneâ"
"Fuck you," you cut him off, the words sharp enough to draw blood. "Don't you dare tell me how I'll feel. Don't you dare stand here and plan out my future without you in it."
"I'm just trying toâ"
"To what? Prepare me? Make it easier? There's nothing easy about loving you, Satoru Gojo. There never has been. But I chose it anyway. Every day, knowing this moment would come."
"What do you want me to do? Do you want me to say goodbye? Make it messy and painful and real?"
"I want you to stop pretending this is just another mission and show me something that tells me this is killing you like it's killing me."
The silence stretched between you like a chasm. For just a moment, beneath his careful composure, you caught a glimpse of the man behind the name â vulnerable, conflicted, maybe even afraid. But he buried it quickly, like he buried everything that might make him waver from his chosen path.
You'd always known this about him, hadn't you? Known it from that first bloody mission, from every fight where he'd put himself between the world and destruction.
Satoru Gojo was a man built for sacrifice, shaped by duty and power into something that could never truly belong to just one person. You'd fallen in love with him anyway, foolishly hoping that maybe love could be enough to make him choose differently.
But watching him now, seeing the gentle finality in every movement, you understood with crushing clarity that this was always how it would end. No amount of pleading or anger or love could change what he'd already decided.
He'd made his choice long before this morning, probably before he'd ever kissed you in that darkened hallway.
"Keep the tea warm for me," he said finally, stepping back. The words were casual, almost playful â exactly the kind of thing he'd say on any other morning. But that's what made it cruel. Even now, he was trying to soften the blow, pretending this was just another goodbye, just another mission.
You didn't say anything as he walked to the door. Didn't wish him luck or tell him to be safe. The time for those platitudes had passed.
Instead, you watched him pause in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. For a moment, you thought he might turn around, might drop the act and let you see something real. One last true moment before the end.
He didn't fully turn, but his voice carried back to you, soft and achingly sincere. "I love you. More than anything." A pause. "That's why I have to go."
The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You'd never expected them, had made peace with the silence between heartbeats where those words should have lived.
You'd imagined them differently, in all the quiet moments you'd shared â whispered against your skin in the dark, laughed into your mouth between kisses, murmured sleepily on lazy mornings. Not like this. Never like this.
How cruel, that he would finally say them now, when they felt more like a funeral rite than a confession. A parting gift from a man walking towards his own chosen end, making what should have been beautiful feel like another wound. The words you'd never dared hope for now hurt more than a lifetime of silence ever could.
Your throat burned with all the things you wanted to scream at him â about how love should mean staying, about how he was breaking your heart while trying to save it, about how dare he make those words sound like goodbye when they should have been a beginning.
"I hate you," you whispered.
He made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been something more broken. "No, you don't." The certainty in his voice felt like another wound. "You love me. You said so yourself."
"I'll hate you." Your voice hardened with each word. "I'll hate you so much it'll make you wish you'd stayed."
His hand tightened on the doorframe, knuckles white with tension. For a heartbeat, you thought you'd finally cracked his composure. That he might turn around and choose you over duty, love over destiny.
He didn't.
The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded like an ending.
"But I'll wait for you anyway," you whispered to the empty room, hating yourself for the truth in those words.
The truth was, you'd always known it would end like this, known that loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who belonged to the world before he belonged to you.
But you'd been naive enough to hope. Foolish enough to think that maybe, just maybe, love could be enough to make him choose differently. That your selfish desire to keep him alive and whole could outweigh his selfless need to reshape the world.
The morning light cut across the empty room, highlighting the space where he'd stood moments before, and you wondered about the cruelty of it all.
Was it wrong to want to keep him here? To ask the strongest sorcerer alive to choose personal happiness over humanity's future? How many would suffer because you'd asked him to be selfish just this once?
But then again, how many had already been saved by him? How many times had he bled and broken and pieced himself back together for a world that only saw him as a shield, never as a man? Didn't he deserve the chance to live for himself, just once?
If love died today, buried six feet under noble intentions and greater goods, then maybe hate was all you had left. And wasn't there something pure in that? In hating him with the same intensity you'd loved him? In letting that hate fill the spaces he left behind, burning away the softness until all that remained was sharp edges and bitter truths?
The world needed Satoru Gojo the symbol, the untouchable god of jujutsu. But you'd needed Satoru, just Satoru, the man who brought you tea exactly how you liked it and kissed you like you were his everything. The man who was walking away, leaving you with nothing but memories and the taste of hate on your tongue.
Was it selfish to think your love was worth more than the world's need? Was it cruel to measure the weight of one heart against humanity's future?
Love and duty were never meant to be weighed against each other like this, weren't meant to be choices that tore a person in two. And perhaps that was the real tragedy â not that he was walking away, but that you'd let yourself believe he wouldn't.
You'd known how this story would end from that very first kiss. Had tasted it in every goodbye before a mission, felt it every time you waited anxiously for his return, seen it lurking behind every smile that never quite reached his eyes.
Loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who was always meant to be sacrificed. You'd just been naive enough to think sacrifice could look different, that it didn't have to end with you here, choking on love turned to ash in your mouth.
Your fingers traced your lips where those three words still lingered like a curse. The tea was getting cold on the windowsill. You should pour it out, make a fresh cup. Should start preparing for a world where Satoru Gojo was just a memory, a legend, a story of sacrifice and strength. Should learn how to breathe around the thorns growing in your chest where love used to live.
Instead, you stayed frozen, caught in the space between what was and what could have been. Because maybe he was wrong. Maybe the world didn't need someone stronger. Maybe it just needed him to come back. You certainly did.
But it was too late for maybes now. He was already gone, walking toward a destiny he'd chosen long before he'd chosen you. And you were left here, caught between hating him for leaving and loving him for exactly who he was â a man who would always choose the greater good, even when it shattered both your hearts.
But perhaps the cruelest irony was that in trying to protect humanity, he'd forgotten he was human too. That in becoming everyone's shield, he'd forgotten shields could break. That hearts could break. That yours was breaking.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, indifferent to your pain, indifferent to the way your world had just walked out the door with a smile and a promise he might not be able to keep.
You'd wait anyway. Even knowing how the story was meant to end, you'd wait. Because that's what love was â not just the beautiful parts, but the ugly parts too. The waiting. The hoping. The hating.
The choosing to love someone even when they choose something else. Even when that love turns to poison in your veins.
Even when they choose the world over you.
The tea had long gone cold when you finally moved, muscles stiff from standing still for so long. You'd sworn you wouldn't watch. Had promised yourself you wouldn't be there to see him die for his greater tomorrow.
But your hands were already reaching for your jacket.
Because that was the thing about loving Satoru Gojo â even when it turned to hate, even when it felt like acid in your throat, you couldn't look away. You'd watch him fight Sukuna. Watch him smile that infuriating smile as he chose the world one last time.
After all, you'd already promised to hate him if he didn't come back.
The least you could do was be there to keep that promise.
author's note â thank you for reading this little piece of heartbreak. i was very unsure if it will ever see the light of day but i finished it now bc i was in the mood for pain. if you enjoyed, i would greatly appreciate a reblog or comment. hope your heart isn't too broken <3
ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!
tags â @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna
@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia
@janbannan @bloopsstuff
© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.
#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x y/n#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo angst#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#jjk angst#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo x you#gojo angst#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujustu kaisen x y/n#jujutsu kaisen angst
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cupid's lead arrows // rafe cameron
Requested by anon
Request: Hi girl I love your writing đ«¶đ» Can you write about Rafe, who has been Readerâs best friend forever, but secretly has a crush on her? One day, Reader confesses that sheâs dating someone, and Rafe does everything he can to break them up.
Summary: You finally get a boyfriend but something, or someone, seems intent on keeping you apart.
Word count: 1.8k
Includes: This is literally all angst sorry
Note: My first Outer Banks fic in over 4 years lol please be kind! I got a little carried away...this lends itself to a part 2, if anyone likes it.
Itâs not always a walk in the park when youâre Rafe Cameronâs best friend.
Youâve been inseparable since the first day of high school when you got paired together for a semester long project. Study sessions in the library (well, you would study, and Rafe would flirt with the cute library monitor) turned into after school hangouts at Tannyhill, which turned into hosting parties and heading to college together.
Did you ever have a crush on your best friend? Well fuck, have you seen him?
Not only is he gorgeous but you got to experience a whole different side of Rafe that not everyone got to see, the sweet side â loyal, caring, and pretty soft behind the scenes.
You spent years pining after Rafe, silently and stoically of course, never wanting to ruin your friendship by letting him know how you felt. You figured it was for the best and besides, you had lived through enough of Rafeâs girlfriends to know you werenât ever going to be his type.
Youâve seen each otherâs highest highs and lowest lows which, unfortunately for you both, Rafe seemed to have more than his fair share of. Much to the disappointment of your parents and the shock of your friends, you stuck by Rafeâs side through his drug addiction and his drinking problems and were there to pick up the pieces after his father died. Rafe, in turn, had your back when you had blow up fights with your mother and comforted you when you had problems with your friends.
Now, two years out of college and with Rafe mostly sober, you didnât think there was anything you two couldnât handle, nothing you couldnât face together, nothing that could ever come between you.
Until you started dating Parker.
Rafe seemed happy for you when you first told him, hugging you and telling you he was proud of you for âfinally getting some.â He was nice to Parker (by Rafeâs standards, which really meant not going out of his way to intimidate the guy) when you brought him to the beach and introduced them.
But as the weeks went by, you noticed a subtle shift in Rafeâs behaviour. You kept telling yourself you were being paranoid, that thereâs no way Rafe could have an issue with Parker. He told you he was happy for you, right? And unlike the last potential boyfriends, Rafe didnât try to scare him off.
But something was off.
You noticed Rafe was falling back into old habits that scared you. He was drinking more, often double parked at parties, and either loud and belligerent or sulking on his own in a corner.
And then then the incidents began. At first you just thought it was shit luck, but then it just started to feel like the universe was conspiring against you and Parker.
Turns out Rafe was conspiring against you and Parker.
It started when Parker seemingly ghosted you on one of your Friday night dates, leaving you alone and upset at the wharf before Rafe picked you up. Parker swore he had car issues, both his front tires punctured, and you figured that was a reasonable excuse.
Then the night of the annual bonfire, a harmless game of ânever have I everâ turned sour when Rafe and Topper kept coming up with the most oddly specific scenarios. Each of them left Parker putting down his fingers, looking sheepishly over at you as your cheeks turned red from embarrassment before you got up and left the circle, Rafe raising a beer bottle to his lips as he watched you intently. He followed after you that night and you melted into his arms, naĂŻvely assuming your best friend was comforting you without an ulterior motive.
And now the worst of all â Topper had cornered you as you were leaving the driving range to ask if you knew Parker was spending time with his ex, and you finally snapped.
âWhere did you hear this, Topper? Who told you?â
And because Topper was, above all, really just spineless, you got the answer out of him straight away.
Rafe. At the scene of the crime, three times in a row. What a fucking coincidence.
So, you decided youâd had enough of this bullshit, of Rafe playing games with your relationship, and you drove over to his house, marched up to his front door and banged on it with your fist until he finally opened up.
âY/N!â he said, looking genuinely excited to see you. âWhat are you doing here?â
You took a deep breath, willing yourself not to lose your shit just yet, not to get angry until you actually knew the truth.
âDo you like Parker? Do you want me to be with him?â
Rafe blinked at you, his blue eyes narrowing in confusion.
âWhat? I donât-â
âTell me the truth,â you cut in. âI want to hear you say it.â
Rafe stepped over the threshold and gently closed the door behind him, clearing his throat before he answered.
âNo. I donât, and I want you to break up with him,â he said, folding his arms.
You huffed out a humourless laugh.
âRight, well, thatâs not going to happen. Thanks a lot,â you say, willing yourself not to cry as you turn around and walk away from your best friend.
âY/N, please come back. I have my reasons!â Rafe raises his voice as he calls out to you.
âWhy do you care so much? Is this some fake chivalrous âif I canât have you, no one canâ bullshit? Just leave me alone, Rafe.â You say as you clamber down the front steps and start walking to your car.
âBecause I love you, alright?!â Rafe shouts after you.
You stop, the righteous anger you were feeling only moments before threatening to dissipate into the humid night air. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply before turning around to face your best friend.
Rafeâs breathing heavily, running his hand over his head as if to erase what he just said.
âFuck,â he hisses, his ring glinting in the moonlight as he chews on his thumb, looking pleadingly at you, willing you to say something, anything. The silence between you feels heavy as your mind races. Heâs said it before of course, but itâs usually in jest, or after you help him with something. This feels different, and you know better than to assume itâs not.
âRafe,â you say, fighting to keep your voice steady. âWhat are you doing?â You watch him warily as he takes a hesitant step towards you.
âI love you. Iâm serious. More than best friends, more than anything weâve been in the past. I love you and IâŠI canât stand to see you with someone else. I canât let it happen.â
âYou have no right-â
âHeâs not a good guy, y/n!â Rafe raises his voice again, making you flinch slightly. You scoff at his words, throwing him an incredulous glare.
âLike you can talk, Rafe. I know you â more than anyone else. Youâre not exactly in a position to be telling me whoâs good for me or not,â you snap.
Rafe huffs, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. âYeah, you got me. Iâm not perfect, fine, but I know you and I know you shouldnât be with Parker. Thatâs why I-â Rafe stops abruptly, his mouth twisting.
You step closer to him, closing the gap between you. âThatâs why you what, Rafe?â Your heart pounds and youâre sure youâre about to have your suspicions confirmed. When Rafe stands there, dumbstruck and silent, you answer for him.
âYouâre the one who started that rumour about Parker and his ex, arenât you?â
Rafeâs silence tells you everything you need to know. You shake your head, not quite believing that your best friend would try and sabotage your relationship like this.
âAnd the bonfire? That was on purpose, wasnât it? You got some dirt on Parker and wanted me to know about it.â
Rafe winced. âWell, Topper helped with that one. But seriously, this is all for your own good. Iâm trying to protect you!â
You hold your hand up. âStop. Just stop. How could you do this? Why would you try and break us up like this, just because youâre jealous? Why canât you just let me be happy? Not to mention, youâve been hurting me, Rafe! Youâre not just hurting Parker; youâre destroying me in the process.â
Youâre crying now, feeling betrayed. You had barely noticed but it had started to rain, the droplets mixing with your tears to run mascara down your cheeks. Rafe has the audacity to look concerned and regretful, to move as if to hug you and you shake his arm off before jabbing your index finger into his chest.
âYou donât get to decide whatâs best for me, Rafe. You had your chance! For years! Just because youâve finally fucking woken up doesnât mean you get to ruin my happiness. And now this bullshit about Parkerâs family? Thatâs low, even for you,â you spit, the brief warmth you felt when Rafe told you he loved you now completely cold.
Rafe shook his head. âNo, no, you donât get it! Thatâs all true! Theyâre shady fucking people and God, thatâs coming from a Cameron. You canât get caught up in their mess,â he pleads.
âYou must be out of your goddamn mind if you think Iâm going to believe you now! Why should I?â you yell before spinning on your heel and stalking down the driveway to your car, being careful to not slip on the pavement.
âY/N, wait!â Rafe calls and he catches up to you in two long strides, grabbing your wrist with his large hand. His white button-down shirt was almost transparent now and the rain was running in rivers off his nose as he looked down at you.
âPlease,â he begs. âCome inside. Let me explain. I love you, y/n, please,â Rafe looks desperate, and you almost pity him before you snap back to reality and remember why youâre so angry.
âIâm going to my boyfriendâs house,â you snarl, tugging your wrist out of his grip. âAnd if you follow me Rafe, I swear to God, I will never speak to you again.â
With that, you yank open your car door and put the keys in the ignition with shaking hands.
âFUCK!â
As you pull away, you can hear Rafe yelling your name.
You donât even look in the rearview mirror as you turn out of his street, tires squealing.
#outer banks#obx#outer banks fic#outer banks fanfic#outer banks fanfiction#obx fic#outer banks imagine#rafe cameron#obx fanfic#rafe cameron x reader#rafe x reader#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron angst#rafe cameron imagine
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So I recently re-listened to the Still Watching by Vanity Fair podcast episode titled Bridgerton Season 3 Part 2: Threeâs Company that Luke Newton was interviewed on (highly recommend people check it out if they havenât his interview is so good!) and I am just blown away by how fucking kind and sensitive Luke is. Like of course heâs human and flawed as no oneâs perfect but like in that interview heâs constantly complimenting not only Nicola but also Jonathan Bailey and Simone for how graciously they led the show in season 2 and he admired them and the previous leads as well. And how thoughtful he is in his portrayal of Colin and how he loves the character for his kindness and sensitivity. He also touches on masculinity and how Colin had a twisted idea of what being a man is because of his Dadâs death and how Anthony dealt with running the household and how this season was his journey with his relationship with Penelope and how she helps him unlearn that and accepting he is enough and how he is is strength not a weakness. And he compliments Jess as Cressida and Claudia and heâs so sweet and you just can really tell he really does respect women like Nicola says. He talks a lot about intimacy scenes and consent and tenderness being so so sexy. And I just I can really feel Nicolas assessment of him being just a really good dude who respects women and is so kind. He literally talks about the privilege to act alongside Nicola. All that to say I really do think all the SM hate he hit was so unfair and I absolutely understand why Nicola ran to defend him. It also highlights how ridiculous the narrative of them beefing on social media is. Like obviously all people have fights regardless of friendship or romance but these two have such respect and admiration for one another they def arenât gonna shade each other on social media for the world to scrutinize. Even their tension in Italy you still saw later that day in the photoshoots how happy and giggly they still were with one another so they clearly got past or worked through it together. Also in the interview he talked AGAIN about how much he enjoys playing in love Colin and how he really looks forward to Season 4 to be able to have that vibe and be even more rom com with Nicola. I just hope he does know thatâs it not the majority of the fans and he deserves good things.
We stan Luke Newton around here.
If you donâtâŠâŠâŠidk why youâre here lol
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IM FEELING ANGSTY TODAY so what about 141 who is in love with reader but they are in love with someone else <3
ANON! STRAIGHT TO JAIL!
But in all seriousness, I love some yummy angst. Make me suffer. Make the characters suffer. Let's all suffer a little bit. Hope you shed a tear or two (or don't).
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Presented in four double drabbles.
Task Force 141 x Female Reader
Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, alcohol, stalking, flirting, yearning, angst, suggestive themes, brief mention of intimate relations, divorce, co-parenting, nurse!reader
Word Count: 800
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist
John Price
The door opens, and your smiling face greets him. You look a bit tired, but even so, you're beautiful. John wants to snapshot this moment. To savor it.
âYouâre early,â you breathe.
John shrugs. âThat all right?â
He did it on purpose. The new boyfriend shouldnât be home yet, which means John can have some time with you.
âIs that Dad?â
The familiar voice of his daughter and small feet slapping against a wood floor reaches him. She appears, arms outstretched eagerly.
âHey there, dove,â chuckles John, lifting his daughter into his arms. âReady to spend the weekend with me?â
She squeals with delight, her small arms wrapping around his neck. John glances at you, urging memory to resurface and seize you both.
But it is not to be.
The boyfriend appears. The man that came after the divorce.
John doesnât blame you for moving on. His job drained the marriage into nothing.
But he still wants you.
âJohn,â nods the man in greeting.
âIs her bag ready?â asks John, addressing you and not acknowledging the boyfriend.
âYes,â you reply, handing it to him.
John wants to say, âI love you.â
But he doesnât.
âIâll bring her back Sunday evening.â
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Vape smoke lingers in the air.
Kyle reclines on the sofa, his head on a pillow, scrolling his socials in the dim dark. The television is on, the volume turned low to create background noise. On the table next to him is a bottle of tequila, half-empty and warm. He takes a swig, savoring the burn.
Kyleâs gaze is glued to the phone screen, fingers tapping until he finds your page.
He shouldnât do this. Itâll only upset himâmaking him yearn for something he doesnât have and might never know. Itâs a foolish endeavor. Heartbreak just for fucking kicks.
He gazes at your smiling face, of how perfect you are to him. Itâs not fucking fairâeven if he respects your choice.
You should be his. The two of you should be together.
But there is someone else. A man that Kyle despises but only because youâre not his. The bloke is a good man. Heâll take care of you. Treat you right. Be there when you need him and not away on another mission without any idea of when or if heâs coming back.
Kyleâs chest aches.
"Fuck," he sighs, locking his phone.
He reaches for the tequila.
John "Soap" MacTavish
âHow bad is it, doc? Think Iâll live?â
Soap puts every ounce of devious flirtation he can in his tone. Heâs putting it on thick.
He gives you his best smile, and he gets the exact reaction he wants.
Your head bows in embarrassment, a soft smile spreading on your face. Your touch is gentle, taking great care to wrap the wound on his bicep.
Youâre flustered. Itâs bloody adorable.
âYouâll live, sergeant,â you reply, voice a little husky.
Itâs such a small thing, but Soap clings to it. To him, this is a sliver of hope. A possibility even though reality says otherwise.
Soap leans in a bit, pushing into your space which almost seems to worsen your flustered demeanor. âI took a hard hit.â
âYou did,â you agree. âItâs good they brought you in.â
You have no idea Soap asked Simon to hit him harder during training just so heâd end up here.
But itâs not to be.
The man that has your heart arrives, strolling into the communal exam room without even glancing at Soap.
âYouâre ready to go, sergeant,â you reply brightly, demeanor changing now that your boyfriend is here.
Soapâs stomach twists into a knot.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Simon sits in the dark in his home office. A slight twinge of shame paints his mood, like it always does when he watches the monitors.
He tells himself he does this to protect you. That heâs looking after you even if youâre not aware of his actions. This is just a precaution until you finally realize that you should be his.
Simon removes a cigarette from his jacket pocket. When it ignites, and that luscious burn hits his lungs, a calmness settles over him.
His actions are valid. This behavior is fine.
Simon settles back in his chair, gaze roaming over the different camera views. There are fifteen of them in total. Each one is in your home in various rooms. Infiltration and surveillance are something heâs fucking good at. And heâs done it here with excellent precision.
Itâs some of his best work.
In your bedroom, youâre currently on your back, and completely naked. The wanker you call a âboyfriendâ is thrusting like a bloody fucking idiot. Itâs clear to Simon that this man only cares about himself.
Simon could make you come. Heâd give you plenty of orgasms.
But youâre not his.
You belong to someone else.
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#task force 141 x reader#task force 141#task force 141 x you#task force 141 fanfiction#task force 141 fic#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon riley x you#john price x reader#john soap mactavish#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley fanfic#task force 141 fanfic#simon ghost riley fanfic#gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick cod#kyle gaz x reader#kyle gaz x you#gaz x you#soap mactavish#soap cod#gaz cod#price x reader#price cod#captain price x reader#john price x you#ghost x reader
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I hear your low honor Arthur..... But consider......... High honor Arthur being an absolute gentleman and servicer. After all, can't have his little lady doing any of the heavy lifting, can he?
I am considering very carefully.
High Honor!Arthur who is all about chivalry and being a perfect (or as perfect as a rugged cowboy outlaw) gentleman for you, his sweet lil' ladyâĄ
When I say HH!Arthur would do anything for you then I really mean it. Do you have to carry some heavy equipment? He's right there, wouldn't want the pretty lady to do any heavy lifting, no? Do you have to hunt or fish? He insists he will go with you, for extra protection.
It's not that he's misogynistic or thinks you're weak or unfit, God forbid; he saw what you can do with a revolver or an axe, you're strong and fierce and he admires every single thing about you, it's just that...he wants to be useful to you :(
He knows very well that you're perfectly capable of doing everything yourself, from chopping wood to hunting to taking down a bandit, but Arthur is all about being a provider and servicer and he wants to serve you, his pretty ladyđ
He's huge, burly, rugged, much larger and stronger than you (and most people to be fair) but he would never use it against you, even in bed. Your pleasure comes first, it's his absolute priority and Arthur will be damned if you ever go unsatisfied when with him.
He will make sure to move his hips and try to grind against all the sweet spots inside you that always make you whimper and kick your legs in delight, his own pleasured groans load and clear, he needs to show you how much brain numbing pleasure you give him too after all :(
High Honor!Arthur is the biggest sweetheart and gentleman who would give his own life anytime for you, his love for you thrumming through his blood and he hopes so so much that one day you two will settle down in your own little homestead and have a family of your ownâĄ
#kin speaks#asks#interactions#i love my rugged cowboy sm <33#red dead redemption 2 x reader#rdr2 x reader#rdr2 x you#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan x you#arthur morgan#high honor arthur morgan#red dead redemption 2#rdr2
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To people who are like:
"dON'T wHISH tHE cONSEQUENCES oF tHEIR oWN fREE wILL aND cHOIC eON pEOPLE wHO:
Voted for Trump
Deliberately decided not to vote at all (thereby voting for trump, since if you don't vote you are still registered so you are supporting who ever has the most votes simply by existing)
Voted third party (In a two party system votig third party is a voice for the strongets party in this case Trump)"
I have to say
a) Thought crimes don't exist, anyone is allowed to wish anything on anyone
b) Those voters wanted to inflict the consequences of their own free desicions on everyone else, with horrible results, it is only fair to want them to suffer as well after all: Ignorantia juris non excusat
c) They will never help to undo what they have wrought, they already showed their true face, and their true face is that they either can not be arsed to do enough research to understand what they are voting for OR they do understand but have decided: âVulnerable people should die for my ideologyâ
Look at all those blogs that told you they would not do damage control
Where are they now?
Are they helping?
Are they sharing resources and tips?
NO
They are being defensive that no one is gratefull about their sacrifice
They are pissed that peope are angry at them
Besides
Activism is not cold-calling.
SO why should you care about peopel that have already shown that they will not listen to you?
-> Someone pointed out that no one who has already decided how to vote wil chnage that opinio becasue of a stranger on the internet True But then why expect that stranger to show compassion and kindness? Go one stranger, laugh! You earned it!
Keep your comfort for people who did not bring this on to themslefes
They need it more
They will suffer just as much if not more, but they didn't even get whtathey wanted
Also
Also
One thing that I think is a fantastic way to prepare to help is to either begin or continue learning a language that you don't know. I am working hard on my Spanish because I live in California and there are a ton of Spanish speakers here who I might be able to help. Is it directly aiding anyone right at this second that I'm practicing conjugation? No. But it might help someone who is being harassed by a cop, or who is unhoused and needs help, or who is being abused by an employer at some point in the future, and I can get myself ready to help. Learn how to use naloxone and pick up up an inhaler; you might not need it now, but it'll make you ready to help someone who does need it. Order free covid tests every chance you get, even if you don't need them, because then you can give them out to people who do need them. Plan B has a multi-year shelf life. Pick some up so that you've got some on hand if someone needs it.
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(Also, you can get 4 months of over the counter birth control (progestin-only pill form) at Costco for $50. Or 3 months on Amazon for about $45.)
Trump voters on tiktok are EXTREMELY mad about the following:
They just found out what tariffs are
They just found out what denaturalization is
They (particularly black and Hispanic trump voters) just found out that other trump voters are racist
Leftists and liberals don't want to be their friends (they are furious about this)
Leftists keep telling them they hope they get what they voted for (they are really mad about this too)
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âââă
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€How to catch a hufflepuff?
ââââă
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€jeonghan x fem!reader Â
01.ă
€Ûă
€đŒember . âŻâŻâŻÂ jeonghan.
02.ă
€Ûă
€đČđ . âŻâŻâŻ one sided beef, he tries to a dick but he's too in love lol what a loser, MANY PET NAMES(pretty girl, doll, puppy...), reader is a muggle, smut at very end, smut with plot, rough sex.
September, 1Â
â Are you still not over yourself? â A new year at Hogwarts begins, and just like that, Yoon Jeonghan itâs back to his favorite hobby of tormenting his favorite girl.
â Hogwarts should get over itself! Itâs insane that we still have to write with quills â the Hufflepuff answers, obviously frustrated and with a good reason to be so, itâs 2024 and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry itâs still stuck on writing with quills? In individual papers? This fact alone itâs crazier than most spells theyâve ever teached.
â You say it as if the muggle option is much better â he lies straight through his teeth, knowing damn well that pens are, with no doubt, much easier to use than quills. Jeonghan is Jeonghan, donât take him too seriously or you might actually punch him in the face. Much like he expected, his false observation is pointed out by the girl sitting right alongside him in this train stall almost immediately after it leaves his mouth, the Slytherin has always had too much fun bothering the schoolâs sweetest girl who just so happened to be cursed with worldâs biggest puppy eyes.
It wasnât friendly like this back then, though. No, not even close.
These two despised each other with a burning passion, well, Jeonghan did; for the far majority of this nemesis thing, the hate was very much one-sided. Coming from an insanely racist family definitely rubbed off on him and when his academic life expectations were ruined by the fact that the entire school seemed completely in love and constantly in awe of that stupid muggle girl, he decided right there to make her life a living hell.Â
Which he succeeded in doing, kind of. Her life was surely miserable when around him but she didnât seem to care about their relationship as soon as she was with her friends, housemates, just anyone at all, Jeonghan felt invisible at times, and it infuriated him to no end. Last year was the worst era for sure. The bitterness had been going on for so long, they were both exhausted and having to work together on an astronomy assignment was the last straw, so out of nothing but pure rage; they settled on an alliance for long enough to finish that thing. But it didnât end there, of course it didnât, they continued talking even after the assignment, they weren't friends then, absolutely not, but they started interacting like normal students for once, asking for notes, doing small talk every little in a while.
Their push and pull habits never truly died, but it wasnât out of hate now, they were clearly having fun with this whole enemies till death tell us apart game. So much fun in fact, Jeonghan spent his entire break missing their banter like he was going crazy. It didnât even cross his mind that he would think about that girl after the year ended, but oh, boy, did he do it.
 Maybe that was the reason they were going together in the same train stall for the first time in all of these years theyâve known each other, maybe Jeonghan lied and his friendâs stall isnât full like he said it was, maybe he just missed his shiny eyed sweet girl, maybe.
September, 12Â
â Do you have any interests other than being the center of attention? â she asks, itâs a fair question. The walk in between classes always brings out the worst out of everyone, huh? â I like pissing you off sometimes â Jeonghan answered.
Watching that cute little face transform into an annoyed and tired one never fails to make the Slytherin feel a rush of pride, he just adores it, he just adores her â Can you answer seriously at least once? Instead of being a lil bitch? Perhaps? Itâs that too difficult for you? â she said imitating the tone he usually used to brother her, schoolâs sweetest girl being a bully, who wouldâve thought.Â
â Woah, woah, woah, I've been nothing but condescending and mean to you and this is how you treat me? â Jeonghan grabs his chest dramatically, his expression telling any bypassers that this man has never, in his entire life , felt as offended as heâs feeling right now â Come on now, puppy, itâs this a way you should treat a dear friend?
There it is, the classic Jeonghan urge to frustrate his pretty girl for no reason at all.
â Keep talking and I'll poison your food â the Slytherin chuckled at the threat â You wouldnât be able to even if you tried, youâre not allowed in herbology class without the presence of a teacher â he pointed out without missing a beat â How do you still remember that? â she asks incredulously. I was made for you, of course I remember, the bastard thought to himself.
Like always, Jeonghan regretted coming to class the very second the professor opened his mouth, choosing to busy himself with going through his girlâs notes instead. They were mostly doodles or borderline intelligible for him, her handwriting was neat but her logic? Questionable, to say the least. But he loved reading whatever she wrote anyways, getting a little too happy whenever he found anything evolving his name or a silly doodle of his face. Once every twenty or so minutes heâd get distracted by her side profile instead, this was the only class where they sat together, so he shamelessly stared at her every time. For just a second, she looked back and smiled, as warm as the sun. He felt strange, he felt like a child again, liking her felt rather lovely, but did she like him too?Â
October, 18Â
Itâs a tradition at this point, students of all houses gathering together in secret to play quidditch in their pajamas every friday night. Organization is barely existent, rules? Optional. This whole thing is a mess, it really is one of the worlds most confusing mysteries on how the teachers haven't found out about this yet(They have, but they pretend they havenât because itâs the only time all students get fairly along with each other)
Mingyu begging Seungkwan to be the judge just off the chance that possibly, on a day where Kwan felt extremely nice, he could cut him some slack(it has never happened). Watching them from a far was arguably nicer, Jeonghan thought; sitting isolated from all of the other students with his trusty Hufflepuff by his side, both sat there in comfortable silence, this one was new for them.
â What bad music have you been listening to these days, ugly thing? â he inquires, as nice and cordial as always â Wouldnât you like to know, weather boy? â she answered staring daggers into his face, oh, if only Yoon Jeonghan was as unbothered and cool as he pretends to be, maybe then he could stop the way his heart pathetically races at the sound of her voice.Â
â I always wanna know whatâs going on up that little head, itâs usually just air, but sometimes we get lucky, donât we? â the Hufflepuff rolls her eyes at his statement while the asshole who said it only grins â I could put on some songs I've been listening to, if your highness so desires â she suggests, and Jeonghan isnât one to say no to his pretty thing.Â
It started off with a soft guitar melody, much like most of the songs she listened to.
Depollute me, pretty baby
Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream
The girl always had a type for softer sounding things, for gentle things, it made Jeonghan feel unsure of himself at times. How could the sweetest girl in the school like the company of such a bitter guy?
Oh, dilute me, gentle angel
Water down what I call being grateful
Was it normal? Was this how things should be? What even were they at this point? Acquaintances? Partners in crime? Friends?Â
Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me
Not to take me home
The school year had barely started and Jeonghan could swear he was balding from stress since week 2, why is he acting like this? Why is he sitting far from his friends and housemates just to spend âalone timeâ with the girl he swore he hated less than a year ago?
It was simple, it was sweetness
It was good to know
There were many things in this world that the Slytherin would never agree to admit. He refused to believe in just how fast his mind changed from last year. Everything happened too fast and I couldnât see it coming, thatâs why I didnât stop it; is what the man in question kept telling himself, clearly because is the truth and nothing but the truth, clearly NOT because he could never bring himself to terms with the fact that he has always looked at the âstupid muggle girlâ in the very same way heâs looking right now.
You look perfect, you look different
I don't wonder about your indifference
â Spending time with you is giving me brain damage â he speaks up, for no reason other than to listen to the sound of her laughter, which works â Donât blame me for your psychosis â the hufflepuff answers while giggling.
If I said you could never touch me
You'd come over and say I looked lovely
She yawned and stretched her arms out, arching her back, as graceful as a swan. Itâs that feeling again.
Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me
Not to make me cry
He lies down on the concrete, both hands behind his head.
It was simple, you are sweetness
Let's just sit a while
She lies with him.
Depollute me, gentle angel
And I'll feel the sickness less and less
The night was beautiful, birds flying through the dark sky, he could hear his friends playing quidditch in the distance, his pretty little thing resting her head on his shoulder as they lay on the cold floor and watch the stars. It felt gentle, it felt nice, it felt perfect. He knows they wonât talk about this tomorrow.
Come and kiss me, pretty baby
Like we'll never have sex
Friends shouldnât make each other feel like this.
October, 29
â Iâm just saying, itâs a Sunday evening â Jeonghan felt like getting to the point of his argument after rambling for about 20 minutes on end â And? â she inquired, eyes still on her book, which made the Slytherin close his own, he hasnât read a single word ever since he opened his mouth, just using his habit of reading as another cheap excuse to spend the night in the library with his lovely friend â We could do something else, you know⊠â he suggested, knowing damn well this isnât going anywhere, his girl did not play about her poetry books.Â
â Like what? â she engaged, also aware of the fact this is a one way street â Literally anything else, maybe have dinner somewhere â he slouched against the hardwood chair â Dinner? The thing that killed Jesus? â her answer received nothing but a very judgmental look from a very judgmental Jeonghan who didnât stay quiet about his discontent for long, like always â Youâre such a disaster â he says averting his gaze to anywhere else so she couldnât clock the painfully obvious heart eyes he was giving her.
â Why do you spend so much time here anyways? â after about 32 seconds of nice and peaceful silence, he asked again â Reading is fun, even if itâs reading about being a loser â the Hufflepuff responded already setting the terrain herself so Jeonghan couldnât have the pleasure of calling her out on only reading melancholic books.
â We could never live together â the Slytherin states as if it isnât the only future he could fathom to imagine â What if our books got mixed in the bookshelf? I might have a heart attack. Imagine receiving visits and have them wrongfully assume that I read poetry? I would rather die â anybody from a mile away can tell this man has thought about this very scenario way too much for his own good â And yet youâre the perfect amount of dramatic and pretentious to be a poet yourself â every once in a while he would notice that she talked like a book, he hated it, it was better when she talked like an chronically online alien whoâs only life mission is to make sure he has at least one bad day a week.
Jeonghan, ever the most mature student of Hogwarts, sticked his tongue out in his friendâs direction, which was answered with the exact same action back at him â What are you even reading, ugly?Â
â The worldâs wife, by Carol Ann Duffy â at the end of that day, after his pretty girl had already left to her dorm, for the first time in history; Yoon Jeonghan rented a book from the library.
November, 1
Looking at her made him feel all sorts of things, even from across the room. From an overwhelming sense of warmth just by watching his little flower engage in silly conversations with her friends after sheâs done writing down notes to erratic heartbeats and goosebumps when she catches him staring and tilts her head, looking at him just like a confused puppy while mouthing âwhy are you staring?â. She made him feel all sorts of feelings he wishes he didnât fall victim to, all sorts of fantasies he wished he didnât understand, but Jeonghan was no saint, especially when it came to his little angel.Â
There were only two things in his mind today, which was an improvement in comparison to yesterday when there was only one, iâll let you guess what it was, but right now there were two; 1. The argument with Josh, and 2. Her.
Jeonghan isnât one to hold grudges against those he loves the most, as a trickster himself; he isnât used to taking things personally, but Joshua⊠Joshua had gone too far. Just when the Slytherin was ready to finally pour his heart out to somebody who he deeply trusted and loved and open up about his feelings, he was met with the most terrible response! It just wouldnât leave his headâŠ
â Sheâs perfect for me, everything about her is perfect, I think about her all of the time and itâs messing me up â Jeonghan pathetically went on and on for what couldâve been anywhere from 30 min to 2 hours, poor boy was just so confused about the simplest of feelings â And the obvious conclusion to take away from this situation isâŠ? â his Gryffindor friend tried helping â Sheâs ruining my life â and it didnât work â Youâre in love, you stupid idiot â so Josh decided to be a little more direct. He was right, like always, but that didnât stop Jeonghan from sulking the whole entire night.Â
It was infuriating, what even happened to him? All it took was a pair of shining eyes and sweet smile and heâs completely done for? Itâs not like the guy in question ever was the kind of student who engaged in class or was interested in anything the teachers had to say at all, but this is another level, it annoyed him to no end. That stupid girl just held his mind and all of his thoughts in her hands as if it was nothing, that stupid girl with her stupid unique personality and her stupid hauntinly beautiful face and her stupid cute outfits and the stupid boy who could not take her out of his stupid brain.Â
He left a letter at her desk after class, she would only find it the next morning while he was two classes away from being interrogated about said letter.Â
November, 15
Hogsmeade was full to the brim, but somehow, this moment felt very intimate.Â
Maybe it was the alcohol in their systems, maybe it was the casual way they didnât even consider sitting with their housemates before claiming the little table by the window just for themselves, maybe it was the way they were both sitting while leaning completely forward, chins resting on their arms, faces just a few inches away while yapping away the end of exams season, it felt childish, it felt nice, it felt sweet.Â
â You donât think I'm manly? â Jeonghan questioned as if this was about to become his villain origin story â Youâre manly⊠Just in a peacock kinda of way â she answered giggling like there was no tomorrow, he loved everything going on here. Her flushed little face decorated with a big grin, her nose crunching up everytime she smiled, her voice slightly louder and whinier because of the alcohol, the slurred way her words came out sometimes, it was all perfect.
â Can I tell you something, puppy? â he whispers, knowing he isnât anywhere near drunk enough to not remember this tomorrow, he doesnât really care â Thereâs nothing in this place that I adore more than you.
He watched in awe as her eyes grew so much bigger, lips forming a little pout of shock, that specific cartoonish surprised look she always had when anything happens while sheâsdrunk, looking both sides before leaning in and going âReally?â which is immediately followed by a little giggle.
In moments like this the Slytherin swears thereâs nothing he wouldnât do to have his girl all to himself, nobody else deserves this view. Isnât all of this desire so ugly? Isnât all this wanting so gross? Isnât it all his? Just the thought of leaving Hogwarts and never seeing his pretty little thing again was enough to give him a full body shiver followed by an ever so present nauseous feeling.
 â If I have to remember you for longer than I've known you, I might lose my mind a little â Jeonghan mindlessly admitted, a sly smile slowly makes its way in his friendâs face â Donât you think you already lost it? â she asks.
â Maybe a little.
December, 24
â Wonât your friends be worried? Do they know or did not even tell them? â Jeonghan questions while trying to look at everything everywhere all at once. It was his first time spending Christmas night in the muggle realm, he wouldnât admit it in a million years, but it wasnât as bad as he thought it was â Why wouldnât I tell them weâre going out? â the Hufflepuff answers his question with a question â As far as I remember they were very defensive about you becoming friends with big, bad Jeonghan, have they moved on from that? â his question only got him a smack on the arm.
â They havenât cared about that for a while now, and you interrupted me! Again! â she stated before angrily letting go of his hand, which she had been holding so they wouldnât go far from each other and get lost, yeah⊠that was definitely the only reason â My sincere apologies, your highness â not taking her attitude for granted, the Slytherin quickly holds her cold hand into his own much bigger one, it was ironic in a way, the Hufflepuff whoâs body is always cold and the Slytherin whoâs body is always warm â Now I donât wanna talk anymore â apparently, she didnât accept his apology, but didnât let go of his hand either.Â
Jeonghan wasnât sure if it was his sick mind making him hear things, but he could swear that as time went on, the sweetest girl in Hogwarts had become more and more of a brat, just for him tho. Maybe he was a bad influence.Â
â Go on, keep talking about the anime girl with the blue hair, I'm listening â did he understand most of what she was talking about? No. But she was happy to share her thoughts about Hatsune Mikuâs new song, so really, who was he to say no? For all Jeonghan cares she could break his brain in two, it was only ever hers to mess with anyways.
Walking through the local christmas market was much more pleasant then the pureblood snob would ever imagine or admit, but she could tell that he was having a great time, and that was enough for both of them. Jeonghan has always had a terrible case of resting bitch face, so she really couldn't give less of her mind to anybody who stared at them weirdly, the Slytherin himself barely even noticed, too focused on this cozy new place.
They ate good food, took pictures with her digital camera, petted some strays here and there, it was a perfect evening. And just when they thought things couldnât get any betterâŠ
â Come on, itâs not that deep â the bastard insisted while dragging his pretty thing along his arm to some barâs doorstep, there was a mistletoe there â Is it not that deep or do you just want to kiss me? â the Hufflepuff teased, her flushed face betraying the casual tone she spoke in.
Finally at the bar, they stood there. Jeonghan, with that infuriating little grin in his stupidly beautiful face, looking down at his friend who had her arms crossed in front of her chest the second they arrived, looking back at him with the an annoyed expression and an angry little pout that forced him to resist, with all of his might, to the overwhelming urge to melt directly to the floor.
â Thatâs for me to know, â he said pulling his doll into his arms, a hand going up to her face to make sure no stubborn hairs got in the way of the moment â And for you to wonder.
Much to Jeonghanâs surprise, maybe he really wasnât the manly one in this relationship after all. Because when the Hufflepuff straight up yanked him by the collar of his jacket to meet his lips, he could swear that he was made to be manhandled by a pretty girl. Ever the profissional, he relaxed into their kiss almost immediately, holding the back of her head firmly in his hands so he could take some control.
It was just as good as he imagined it would be, pillowy lips massaging his own, his puppy just so pliantly allowing his tongue to explore, it was sugar sweet and addicting.Â
Maybe it was a mistake, maybe it was a blessing, the girl wasnât exactly sure while she was getting dragged around for the entire two and a half they spent going around in the christmas market. The sly prick just couldnât control himself, whenever he saw a mistletoe, it was time. Jeonghan was so obvious, he started actually tricking her into thinking he was just interested in places. He would look around, engage in conversation with the sellers, get some nice food then the second they were about to leave, he would just pull her towards a certain spot, his girl already giggling and whining about getting tricked again. These two lost count of how many mistletoes they used to their advantage in just some hours, but at last, it was time to go.Â
Surprisingly, Jeonghan wasnât really nervous about spending the night in his friendâs apartment, they have gotten extremely close after all. The thing bothering him was something else.Â
He wore some white t-shirt and fluffy pajama pants she found somewhere in the depths of her closet, probably due to a friend forgetting them. She was wearing a leopard print shirt and some black fluffy shorts, he loved the way she dressed much more than he could handle, it was too cute for him to handle. Their pajamas were the comfiest things theyâve ever worn in each otherâs presence, you can only be so casual in School. Â
After whining about who got to choose what they watch before sleeping, they settled in any Netflix cliche christmas movie because of how often she made fun of the scripts in those movies, and she was right, they couldâve played a cliche movie bingo and checked all of the places before the movie hit the 40 minute mark.Â
Of course the film in question was nothing more than some background sound to their yapping session, what else could it be? Their conversations just flowed so easily, each topic and scenario just slipping through their fingers, eventually they got to the best part, talking about the people they both hate. At first it was the usual; âHow long do you think that friend group is going to last?â and âDo you think that couple is going to get back together?â then it eventually turned into; âDo you think your friend group will last a long time?â and âHow long do you think it will take before we miss our professors?â andâŠ
â What are you gonna do after Hogwarts? â the Hufflepuff asks innocently, causing a mental turmoil to burst in Jeonghanâs head. He snaps before even thinking, and itâs probably for the best.
â What are we gonna be after Hogwarts? â the air caught in her throat was almost visible, the way her breathing got heavy, the way her eyes seemed to wander even though she didnât break eye contact, this was a difficult conversation to have. After this theyâll either come out of this apartment as partners or as strangers, it was a tough pill to swallow.Â
â We donât ever talk about it, we donât ever dare bring it up but we both know whatâs going on, donât we? The year is ending, flower â he had that look in his eyes, that look he had at hogsmeade, she wasnât sure if she had imagined it, but there it was again. Jeonghan had never looked so soft, in some oversized t-shirt and fluffy zebra print pajama pants she would never witness him wearing in any other situation, his hair as soft as ever, strands romantically sitting in front of his face as he reaches a hand to hold her cheek, the most gentle touch.
â I know we started this just messing around, weâve been messing around since last year and it felt nice, it was fun, it was new and becoming closer was so rewarding that we just couldnât stop it â he recalls the beginning of their alliance â But itâs not so light anymore, is it, dear? The tension became too much, I know you think about me too, I know you feel me it too â he spoke his heart out, voice as soft as the look in his eyes, all of the words that have been drowning him for the past few months were finally bubbling to the surface â I wanna stop it, we played around and it was fun but I need something solid now, I need to know where we go after this is over â he kept going, his eyebrows furrowing as his breathing got more erratic.Â
â We donât have all of the time in the world so I need you to be honest with me right now â Jeonghan leaned in, he could almost see all of her thoughts and emotions right on those shiny eyes he fell in love with all those years ago, in all of this time; his sweet girl had never changed, but unknowingly, she changed him.Â
â Do you want me too? â the Slytherin asks.
A rushed âi need you tooâ was the last thing he could process before the Hufflepuff was yanking his face into a heated kiss, hugging his neck so she could sit on his lap, Jeonghan was in heaven.Â
His pretty girl softly pulling his hair to make him gasp into her mouth, his hands trying to be everywhere before he settled on holding her hips to keep her from moving too much. His sweet girl was a little too desperate for his taste. Why were her panties completely soaked and sticking to her core when he finally dipped his hand into her shorts? Was she getting hot and bothered the entire night and just taking it instead of asking for his help? â Own, did I leave my baby waiting for too long? My poor lil thing⊠â the motherfucker spoke up as condescending as always, only causing her to whine as he teasingly cupped her warmth through the moist underwear â Donât worry, puppy. You know Iâll make it up to you â and âmake upâ he did.
As soon as the bastard found her bedroom, it was game on. At this point theyâre unsure of how much time have gone by, one arm holding her waist firmly in place on her plush bed while the other held one of her legs up so he could have more access to the little pussy he spent so long dreaming about, he needed to eat his girlfriend out properly, let her know heâs the one for her, that no one would do it better than him, even if his efforts make his jaw hurt like crazy the next morning.
Jeonghan was having the time of his life, hearing her soft voice turning into a higher pitch whenever she whined about him teasing for too long, that she was ready to take him. And of course, being as annoying as ever, he couldnât let the humiliation be just that, no, he made her repeat it every time â What was that, doll? â he looks up as if her sweet moans interrupted his holy feast, his chin soaked with her juices, his lips glistening with her honey, this view could kill â I need you, Jeongie⊠â she finally had the strength to answer, making the devil grin.Â
He had no intentions of stopping, no, he needed that little cunt on his face until he suffocated. The bastard kept going after the first, the second and for a miracle, the third orgasm was his last straw, and even though he could devour his stupid girl right there⊠â My pretty baby did so well for me, didnât she? â he gave her a much deserved break before getting down to finish their business.Â
It felt as though there was nothing else in the world, nothing other than them. Passionate slow kisses, arms cradling one another as their hands caressed each otherâs bodies, this moment could last all of eternity and neither culprit would complain, not even once. Feeling his hard on pressing against her thighs was driving the Hufflepuff a little bit insane, tucking on his waistband made her mouth feel awfully empty.
The Slytherin didnât even remember that being hard was so damn painful, a soft touch of her hands on his crotch was enough to make him hiss, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his lips together, the sight was pretty enough to make one cry, heâs was just such a beautiful boy, how could she not want to have him in her mouth? â Please, please, pleas-
â You donât have to â he tried shushing her, not wanting his baby to do any work â Want to⊠Wanna make you feel good, Jeongie⊠â that whiny tone made his knees buckle quickly, mind racing far too fast for him to stop himself before just sitting back on his knees and letting his pretty girl have her way with him.
For someone who was in full control just fifteen minutes ago, Jeonghan surely sounded like a bitch in heat. Biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood but letting go before it happens so he can moan like a whore just before the pleasure becomes too much and causes him to throw his head back, looking at his girl was too much to ask from him, everything was too much. Looking just so pretty trying her hardest to fit his thick base into her mouth, not paying any mind to all of the gagging, working so hard to please her Hannie, he could bust just from this fact alone, the man was losing it.Â
His appreciation for her hard work did not go unappreciated for long, not when he got his doll on all fours for him, shoulders pressing down on the mattress while he pounded that pussy into another dimension not even ten minutes after getting the head of his life. The squeaking of the bed, the sound of skin slapping, the begging for more whenever he grabbed her hair roughly and used it as a leash to pull her body into his, his chest pressing against her back while he praised his pretty thing for being âsuch a good puppy for him, taking all of his cumâ, only for the moans to go louder when he slammed her face back into the bed, the soft squelchy sound coming from where their bodies kissed, the music in this room was Jeonghanâs favorite.Â
These two were wild animals for a long time, their muscles would most definitely feel their efforts tomorrow, but right now, after having the best orgasms of their lives, the lovebirds were in absolute peace, staying in the bed for much longer than expected after sex; just holding each other, just loving each other. After a nice shower, a change of sheets and some instant ramen, tho? Ready to go to sleep, if anything; desperate to go to sleep. Jeonghan felt a slight shift on the bed alongside him, he could feel his preciosity leaving his grasp just before he succumbed to the tiredness of his bones, he reluctantly opened his eyes; sheâs on her phone?Â
â Did I fuck you so good that youâre writing poetry? â he asks, itâs a fair question â Shut up, Slytherin â the Hufflepuff answers just before hitting send message into her groupchat, telling her friends everything they could possibly need to know about the past two hours or so with just 11 words.
#seventeen fanfic#seventeen smut#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#seventeen x reader#jeonghan fluff#jeonghan scenarios#jeonghan fanfic#jeonghan smut#jeonghan x reader#jeonghan x you#jeonghan au
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also this might be a weird one but could you write a story where the reader accidentally throws up on Hotch during you know what and he takes really good care of her
In Sickness and Health | [A.H]
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader | WC: 0.7k | CW: Vomit, the flu
A/N: I'm fairly certain I know which you know what you're talking about, and if it's the one I'm thinking about I don't write about thatâŠ.. So I made reader sick with the flu instead.
It was hard to argue that things could get much worse as you curled up on your couch, shivering despite three blankets piled on top of you. The flu had hit fast and hard â harder than you'd ever experienced before.
Hotch had insisted on stopping by to check on you after youâd sounded âoffâ on the phone earlier, but now you almost regretted accepting his kindness. The last thing you wanted was for him to see you like this.
There was a gentle knock at your door, and you heard his voice just outside. âAre you sure youâre okay? Iâm coming in.â
Before you could croak out an answer, Hotch was already inside, his brow furrowing as he saw your bundled-up form. He was carrying a few bags from the pharmacy and some soup that smelled good enough to make your mouth water.
âI told you, you didnât have to come,â you said, but even that small effort was enough to make your stomach flip.
âIâm here, arenât I?â He flashed you a gentle, reassuring smile and dropped his coat on a nearby chair. âI couldnât leave you alone in this condition.â He set the bags on the coffee table, pulling out a bottle of cold medicine, a thermometer, and a box of tissues. âI thought these might help.â
You managed a weak smile. âI think I love you.â
He chuckled softly and brushed your hair back, his touch cool against your fevered forehead. âIâll take that as the fever talking. Now, letâs get you sorted out.â
He knelt beside the couch and carefully held the thermometer under your tongue. You felt embarrassed under his watchful eye, but he was nothing but warm and reassuring, his hand never leaving yours. When the thermometer beeped, he read it with a frown. âOne hundred and two. Letâs get some fluids in you.â
The soup smelled like heaven. You tried a few sips, managing to keep it down, but just as he leaned in to check your forehead again, your stomach twisted in that familiar, dreaded way.
âAaron, Iââ
But you didnât get the words out in time. Before you knew it, you were heaving, and the soup â and whatever else was in your stomach â landed squarely on his shirt. You were mortified, eyes wide, but Aaron just blinked in mild surprise. âOh.â
âIâm so sorry!â You groaned, feeling your cheeks burn hot with shame, despite the fever.
He was surprisingly calm, just dabbing at his shirt with a tissue from the box heâd brought over. âItâs fine. Clothes can be cleaned,â he said in that calming, matter-of-fact tone he often used at work. âBut you need rest. Come on, letâs get you settled.â
He didnât hesitate for a moment as he lifted you up, blankets and all, and carried you to your bedroom. You felt the blush creeping up as he set you down on your bed, adjusting the covers to make sure you were warm. Even in your fevered state, it was hard not to be acutely aware of his gentle touch, the way his hands brushed against you so carefully.
He quickly changed into one of his t-shirts that he'd left at your place â leaving his soiled dress shirt in the bathroom â and then came back with a cool washcloth. âThisâll help with the fever,â he said, dabbing it gently against your forehead, cheeks, and neck. His hands were steady, his gaze so soft that you almost forgot the embarrassment.
âYouâre⊠really good at this,â you managed to say, voice muffled by exhaustion.
He chuckled. âIâve had my fair share of sick days with Jack.â
You smiled weakly. âThank you, Aaron. Really. Iâm sorry about⊠you know.â
His fingers brushed against your forehead again, tucking a strand of hair away. âYou donât have to apologize. Iâm right where I want to be.â
With him by your side, you felt yourself start to drift off, lulled by the soothing rhythm of his voice. As you slipped into sleep, you swore you felt his lips press softly against your forehead, his whispered promise lingering in the air:
âGet some rest. Iâll be here when you wake up.â
#aaron hotchner#hoe4hotchner answers#criminal minds#aaron hotchner x reader#hotch#hotch thoughts#criminal minds x reader#hotchner#x reader#hotch x you#aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner x female reader#aaron hotchner fic#ssa aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotch hotchner#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotch#aaron#thomas gibson#aaron hotchner one shot#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#my fic#my writing#cm
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vacation gone wrong
sana x fem!reader
synopsis: you and sana, workaholic doctors, go on a vacation for a week. no phones, no surgeries, just the two of you. what could go wrong?
wc: 2.7k
warnings: iâd say none. itâs just really fluffy with chaos lol
it was supposed to be the perfect anniversary getaway.
sana, your brilliant and often frustratingly busy cardiothoracic surgeon wife, had been working her ass off for months. saving lives, performing surgeries, managing a department full of patients - she was damn good at it. but even she knew she needed a break. so, youâd both agreed: a week in a cozy, secluded cabin by a quiet lake. no phones, no surgeries, just you two, and maybe some wine and cuddling. a fucking dream, right?
youâd been married for five years now, which felt both like a lifetime and like it had all happened yesterday. both of you were workaholics, driven by the same damn passion for helping others. but this? this was about you two. about the break you both desperately needed.
but of course, the universe had other plans.
it started innocently enough. you and sana were driving through the winding mountain roads, music playing low in the background. you were laughing about something dumb - the kind of stupid, inside joke only long-term couples could understand. sanaâs hand was resting on the gearshift, and you kept sneaking glances at her because, letâs be real, she was hot as hell, even after five years.
âcan you believe weâve been married for five years?â you ask, your voice dripping with affection.
sana smirks, eyes soft. âfeels like just yesterday we were sitting in that little coffee shop, bitching about how insane our schedules were.â
you chuckle. âi remember you telling me youâd never have time for a relationship.â
âdid i?â she laughs, glancing over at you, her eyes glinting mischievously. âi mustâve been lying.â
âdamn right you were.â you poke her shoulder playfully, but just as you do, a sudden, bone-shaking screech fills the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of metal crunching. the car jerks to the side.
âhold on!â sana yells, her voice suddenly sharp and focused. she yanks the wheel to avoid a head-on collision with an out-of-control truck, its tire blown, veering into your lane.
your heart slams in your chest as sana wrestles with the wheel, your stomach flipping as the truck skids past. you blink, trying to regain your bearings, your pulse hammering.
âyou good?â sana asks, voice tight, eyes scanning you. her hands are already checking the dashboard, her medical mind clicking into high gear.
you nod, trying to calm the hell down. âyeah, iâm fine. are you?â
âiâm good,â she mutters, still scanning the road. âiâm pulling over to check on them.â
you open your mouth to protest, to remind her that this was supposed to be vacation, but sheâs already out of the car, her white coat flapping as she rushes to the truck. you canât help but roll your eyes. âsana, seriously?â
you follow her anyway, because what else are you going do? youâre both doctors. youâve seen your fair share of chaos. but when you see the truck driver, an elderly man sitting in his seat, looking a little dazed but otherwise fine, your worry shifts to something else entirely: a motorcycle zooming towards you from behind, clearly out of control.
you spin around, your stomach dropping. âsana! get down!â
but itâs too late. the bike rider is coming in too fast, and before you can even think, the rider crashes into a tree just a few feet from where sana is kneeling by the truck driver.
fuck.
sanaâs on her feet before you can blink, already running toward the downed rider, her doctor instincts kicking in. you follow her, your own heart in your throat, your mind racing. the woman on the bike is unconscious but breathing, and sanaâs hands are all business, checking for any injuries.
you try not to stare at her, but goddamn, youâre impressed. itâs always hot when sheâs in âdoctor mode,â but watching her save people like this? itâs next-level.
the next few hours blur together. you both take care of the elderly truck driver, call for an ambulance, and tend to the motorcycle rider, who thankfully wakes up, grumbling about how sheâs going to be âso sore tomorrow.â youâre just glad sheâs alive. by the time the paramedics arrive, youâre both covered in dirt and leaves, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.
you climb back into the car, still trying to catch your breath. âdo you think weâll actually make it to the cabin this time, or is that asking too much?â
sana glances at you, shaking her head and smirking. âyou really think this is it? the universeâs done with us? babe, weâre not even close to being done yet.â
you laugh, but you both know sheâs right. youâve barely started the damn vacation and already the universe is giving you a full course of bullshit. but, as you glance over at her - tired but unshaken, a little dirt streaked across her cheek, but still radiant - you feel a surge of fondness. maybe this is it. maybe itâs not about the vacation. itâs about surviving this shitshow together.
the next day, after a restless night full of nightmares and whispered reassurances from your wife, you start the drive again. youâre both cautiously optimistic as you cruise through a forested section of the road, sunlight flickering through the trees.
but of course, just as you round a bend, thereâs a loud cracking sound. a deer bolts out of the trees, eyes wide with terror, running straight into your path.
âsana, fucking stop!â you shout as she slams on the brakes, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as the car skids across the gravel. the deer bounds away, a blur of brown and panic. the car comes to a stop, just barely missing it.
you both exhale like youâve been holding your breath the entire time. âokay, okay, thatâs it,â you mutter, hands trembling. âi think we should just go home.â
âno.â sanaâs tone is firm, eyes steely, even though you know sheâs just as rattled as you are. âweâre fine. weâve got this.â
you both know damn well that youâre far from fine, but you also know that neither of you will let this stop you.
by day three, the frustration has started to settle in. another near-miss, another car accident. itâs getting fucking ridiculous. youâve almost come to terms with the fact that this vacation is cursed when another damn van suddenly swerves into your lane, sliding toward you at a terrifying speed.
âsana!â you scream, but you know sheâs already on it. the car swerves, just barely missing the van, the side mirror of the van grazing your bumper. a few seconds later, the van skids into a ditch.
another. fucking. near-miss. youâve both barely processed it when you pull over once more.
âokay, okay,â you mutter, voice a little raw. âmaybe weâre just not supposed to have a vacation, huh?â
sana turns to you, her expression softening despite the exhaustion in her eyes. âmaybe weâre just meant to be together. no matter what.â
sheâs right. no matter how many times life throws a curveball, you two always come back to each other. and honestly? you wouldnât have it any other way.
finally, on the fifth day, you both make it to the cabin. youâre bruised, battered, but somehow, more in love than ever. youâve survived every crash, every disaster, because you had each other. the cabin door slams shut behind you, cutting off the chaos of the world.
and as you sit on the porch that evening, staring out at the peaceful lake, you feel the weight of the world finally lift. the chaos is over. for now, anyway.
âfive years,â you murmur, your hand in hers as you both look up at the stars.
âfive more, and five after that,â she whispers, her voice like a promise.
âmaybe ten,â you grin, nudging her shoulder.
the universe can keep throwing bullshit your way, but youâve got this. together. and thatâs all that matters.
bonus scene: dinner at the lakeside restaurant
after what felt like an eternity of mishaps, you and sana finally settled into a quiet dinner at a lakeside restaurant. the space was warm, intimate, with soft lighting and the hum of conversation filling the air. you could almost forget the chaos of the past few days - the truck, the motorcycle, the deer, and everything in between. tonight, it was just the two of you, enjoying a peaceful moment.
âhereâs to surviving the chaos,â you joke, raising your glass of wine and giving sana a playful grin.
she chuckles, her fingers brushing yours across the table. âyeah, but iâm not tempting fate again. letâs just enjoy this for once.â
you laugh, feeling the weight of everything youâve been through lighten, even just a little. for a moment, it feels like the world outside doesnât exist - youâre safe here, tucked away from the madness. but then, as if the universe has other plans, everything changes.
a loud, panicked shout breaks the calm: âsomeone help! my wifeâ sheâs going into labor! oh, god, please, somebody help!â
without hesitation, you both stand up, instinctively moving toward the commotion. a man is pacing frantically between tables, his hands running through his hair as his wife bends over, clutching her stomach in pain. her face is pale, her breaths coming in shallow, jagged gasps.
without a word, you and sana exchange a look, both of you already in motion. thereâs no hesitation in the way you move, no panic. youâve been through this before - you know exactly what to do.
you approach the husband first, your voice calm but firm. âiâm a doctor. weâre going to help her. i need you to take a deep breath. you panicking isnât going to help her right now.â
he nods shakily, his eyes wide with fear, but he tries to steady himself. âshe wasnât due yet. sheâs only 28 weeks. i donât know what to do.â
âyou donât have to do anything right now. weâve got this,â you assure him, your hand on his shoulder for a moment before you move toward the woman. âmaâam, iâm here to help. my nameâs dr. y/n, and this is dr. sana. weâre going to keep you and your baby safe, okay?â
she nods but doesnât speak, her breath quickening. another contraction hits, and she cries out, her grip tightening around the edge of the table. her husbandâs face is stricken with helplessness, but sana is already beside the woman, her hands moving quickly, checking her pulse, assessing her condition.
âmaâam, i need you to focus on your breathing,â sana says gently, her tone soothing but authoritative. âin through your nose, out through your mouth. letâs take it slow. youâre doing great.â
the woman nods, trying to follow the rhythm. her face is twisted in pain, and her hands are gripping the table, knuckles white. you step in, kneeling beside her, offering her a soft smile to help keep her calm.
âyouâre doing great,â you repeat, squeezing her hand. âjust breathe with me. in through your nose, out through your mouth. focus on me.â
her eyes meet yours, full of fear. âplease, is my baby going to be okay?â
âyes, weâre going to make sure you both are okay,â you reassure her, glancing up at sana, whoâs already keeping an eye on the womanâs vitals. her expression is controlled, but you can see the urgency in her movements.
the husband steps forward, his face twisted with anxiety. âi donât understand⊠she wasnât supposed to go into labor yet! what do we do?â
sana glances up at you, her eyes narrowing in thought. âwe donât have iv fluids here, but thereâs a first aid kit in the car. iâll grab it. itâs not much, but it could help stabilize her for now.â
the husbandâs eyes widen with disbelief. âa first aid kit? what good is that going to do? my wifeâs in labor early!â
sana remains calm, her voice reassuring. âitâs not ideal, but itâs what weâve got. iâll be right back. stay with her.â
you nod at her, giving her hand a quick squeeze. âweâve got this,â you say to the husband, keeping your tone firm but supportive. âwe just need to keep her calm, keep her breathing.â
sana rushes out the door, and you stay by the womanâs side, speaking gently as another contraction hits. âyouâre doing great. just breathe with me. in, out. keep your focus. weâre here with you.â
her grip on the table loosens slightly as she follows your instructions. she winces with the pain but nods. âit hurts so muchâŠâ
âi know, but youâre strong,â you reply, your voice steady. âyouâre doing everything right. stay with me.â
the husband is still holding her hand, his own face tight with fear. âweâre going to be okay,â he mutters under his breath, trying to steady himself as much as heâs trying to steady his wife.
minutes pass, and the tension in the air is suffocating. the restaurant has gone silent, all eyes on the small drama unfolding in the corner. you glance toward the door, willing the paramedics to arrive. âthe paramedics are coming,â you murmur to the woman. âtheyâll be here soon. youâre doing great.â
another contraction hits, and she gasps in pain. the time feels like itâs moving slower now, the seconds stretching endlessly.
just then, the door bursts open, and sana rushes back in, the first aid kit in her hands. without missing a beat, she snaps on a pair of gloves, moving toward the woman with expert precision. you meet her gaze for a split second, and in that moment, everything falls into place. this is where you both excel - in these moments, when everything is on the line.
âcheck her cervix,â sana says, already preparing to assist. âwe need to know how far along she is.â
you grab the gloves from her, moving into position immediately. the woman winces as you gently check, and you nod, your voice steady. âsheâs two centimeters dilated. early labor, but still manageable for now.â
sana checks the womanâs vitals. âher pulse is stable for now, but these contractions are getting closer together. we need to keep her calm, and we need paramedics here fast.â
the husbandâs anxiety spikes again. âbut theyâre not here yet! i called them forever ago! where are they?â
âstay with her,â you say firmly, offering him reassurance. âthe paramedics will be here any second now. weâre doing everything we can. focus on your wife. she needs you now more than ever.â
as if on cue, the paramedics rush in, taking control immediately. one of them quickly kneels beside you, and you brief him on the situation. âsheâs preterm, two centimeters dilated, contractions coming every few minutes. weâve kept her stable, but she needs to be in a neonatal unit.â
the paramedics work quickly, moving with practiced efficiency. you glance at sana, and the briefest smile passes between you. together, youâve done what you can, and now itâs out of your hands.
as the woman is wheeled out, her husband still holding her hand, she looks up at you, her voice barely above a whisper. âthank you. thank you so much.â
you squeeze her hand gently. âyouâre going to be okay. weâve got you.â
as the paramedics disappear with the woman, you and sana stand in the quiet, watching them go. the weight of the situation lifts just a little as you turn to her.
âwell,â you say, your voice quieter now, âi think that was our adrenaline for the night.â
sana chuckles, a tired smile on her face. âi swear, you thrive on chaos.â
you shrug with a grin. âguess it comes with the job.â
but as the adrenaline fades, the exhaustion sets in. you take a deep breath and, with a quick glance at sana, you both rip the gloves off, tossing them into the nearby trash bin. you take a moment to catch your breath, before sitting back down at the table. the world is starting to slow, but you still feel the adrenaline coursing through you. the meal is cold, the wine forgotten, but it doesnât matter. you look at sana, and in her eyes, you find a quiet comfort.
âeven after all of that,â she says softly, âi wouldnât want to be anywhere else, or do this with anyone else.â
you smile, squeezing her hand across the table. âme neither. no matter what happens, weâve got this.â
and in that quiet moment, as the restaurant resumes its hum, you both find peace in the shared understanding that no matter the chaos, youâre always ready to face it - side by side.
#kpop x reader#kpop imagines#twice x reader#twice imagines#twice sana x reader#twice sana imagines#minatozaki sana x reader#minatozaki sana imagines#sana x reader#sana imagines#girl group x reader#girl group imagines#gxg x reader#gxg imagines#kpop#twice#twice sana#minatozaki sana#sana#girl group#gxg
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