#recovery from a flare-up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ceilidho · 7 months ago

Text

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 20 / epilogue)

masterlist

Black trees against a yellow sky at evening time.

It’s late when you finally reach home. Dark enough to almost be night—a full day longer to return than it took to leave, but then you hadn’t ridden as hard coming back, too sore and sleep-deprived to manage the same pace. Even the meager sleep you got on the road was hardly sufficient.

Then the shape of your house appears on the horizon and you nearly break down in tears. The sight of it fills you with such relief that you nearly lose your balance, your head slumping forward. Too long. Days that felt like weeks, your body and mind weary from the long trek home. Against the gold of the horizon light, it appears like a boat arriving at port.

You throw yourself off your horse and to the ground before John has even had a chance himself to dismount and come help you down. He stomps over when your foot nearly catches in the stirrup, nostrils flared and mustache twitching with his scowl.

“Don’t go breaking your leg before I’ve even gotten you home,” he growls when he reaches you, fitting his hand around the nape of your neck and giving it a squeeze. You’d shiver, but your body is too exhausted for your libido to manage more than a half-hearted twitch. Instead you nod, head bobbing like a baby doll.

John takes the horses to the stables while you clamber up the stairs on wobbly legs, headed straight for your bedroom, passing out the second your head touches the pillow. Your growling stomach will have to be addressed in the morning.

You aren’t conscious for when John comes up to join you, but you swear even in sleep you can sense his presence in the room. Certainly when he curls himself around you, the wall of warmth at your back briefly making your eyes flicker open before sleep claims you again and they slide shut.

In the morning, you eat a big breakfast before letting John rub a liniment onto your inner thighs and bandage the cuts on your hands and face. The doctor he takes you to see after breakfast for the shoulder that Graves dislocated prescribes bed rest and light stretching for recovery and laudanum for any lingering pain.

“What did you tell him?” you ask when the two of you head out for a light lunch in town before heading back home.

“Told him you fell off a horse.” He shrugs. “Not that uncommon around here.”

All you can do is roll your eyes.

Still, it’s as good an excuse as any. No one questions your story when you tell it to them over the following days, when your shoulder is still too tender for you to move it too vigorously. Only Kate lifts a brow knowingly, all but cornering you for the real story when you finally get a moment alone.

“That sonuvabitch,” she hisses when you finally break and tell her what happened.

“It’s fine,” you insist, shushing her. “John… Well, John handled it.”

She nods approvingly, then looks like she might say more before thinking the better of it. Silence falls between the two of you.

“He—” you pause in the middle of your sentence, unsure of how exactly to say it. “It wasn’t so bad. Telling him, I mean.”

Kate must catch the slight inflection in your voice because she stares at you expectantly, waiting for you to say more. “…I’m happy to hear that.”

You inhale as if gathering your breath to say more, but nothing comes out. You know what it is you want to say, but it’s getting it out that’s the tricky bit. What you want to tell her is that your trust wasn’t misplaced in the end; all of your fears that the truth would shatter the affection and trust that had finally been shown to you after a lifetime of nothing were unfounded, proven ultimately wrong.

“Was there something else you wanted to add?”

You chew your lower lip.

“No. Nothing else,” you say in the end. There’ll be a time someday to tell her that her trust wouldn’t be misplaced with John or Kyle either; perhaps that day will come sooner than you expect, but for now it remains on the distant horizon. It’s not your place to lecture or admonish; your place in her life is to offer the same feeling of security and companionship as she’s offered you.

Today, you loop your arm through hers and join her for lunch.

In town, people greet you like you never left. Only one person asks you about the man you were walking with the previous day, and Kate covers for you when you stumble over your answer, throat constricting in your panic. There’s no suspicion in the question, but still you anticipate it because life has conditioned you to expect pain as a response to any action or inaction.

You are surprised when pain doesn’t come this time. But still, you are wary.

When you get home, John fills the tub with hot water for you and lets you wash up on your own while he tends to the horses, the third now unofficially his. You lean your arms over the side of the tub and drift in and out of your daydreams, ears attuned only to the sound of his voice and the owls calling from the trees just beyond the house. Eyes fluttering shut until slipping deeper into the water kicks you back into wakefulness.

“You falling asleep in there?” he asks when he stomps back inside, the door slamming shut behind him and nearly giving you a heart attack.

“No,” you deny, discreetly wiping the rheum from the inner corners of your eyes. “Just resting my eyes.”

“Of course,” he snorts. Amused as ever by seemingly anything that comes out of your mouth.

A telegram comes in to the sheriff's office some weeks later asking about a missing bounty hunter, and though you pitch forward in your chair when John tells you this, he’s quick to remind you that as far as anyone else knows, Graves moved on after his first visit a month or so back.

It takes time to reassure you, but slowly your hands unclench from the edge of your seat.

Still, you make yourself scarce for a week after that. It takes some time for you to feel safe again. You spend those first few days after hearing about the telegram constantly looking over your shoulder, plagued by the worry that you’ll be found out. Sharing your worries with John doesn’t go a long way towards alleviating them because his confidence never wavers. It’s almost infuriating.

“Would it kill you to just pretend?” you huff, cracking an egg into the skillet.

“Nobody’s gonna come looking for him here. ‘Far as anyone knows, he made his way west a long time ago,” he says, dismissing your concerns while clipping his fingernails at the kitchen table. You scrunch up your nose when you glance over your shoulder.

“You better not think I’m sweeping those up.”

He barks out a laugh at that, shaking his head at the same time.

True to his word, the front door stays shut. No one comes knocking looking for an errant bounty hunter. Perhaps that is a lesson that you can take away from all of this—that there is no reward for isolating oneself. Your safety has only ever been assured in community, in putting your trust in others and safeguarding their secrets in turn. Only love has ever held out its arms for you to fall into.

And now the days pass like clouds in the sky.

Tranquility hovers on the periphery of your life with every intention of calling out your name. It’s waiting for you with open arms.

In the evenings, John takes you upstairs to the bedroom and pries you open enough to fit himself in. His mouth blazes a trail across your body, sucking your nipples until they’re beaded, wetting his beard with the essence of your pleasure, and bringing you to the brink of completion time and again before pushing you over.

After a while, he leaves a piece of himself behind.

Weeks pass and the seasons change. The changes you notice in your body are physical as well as emotional. At some point since coming home, you must have started to unwind. Shoulders loosening up, knots melting down your back. Is it just you, or does the air smell fresher too?

You pin the laundry up on the clothesline and wait for your husband to come home. The sun sets earlier these days with autumn just around the corner. Already the leaves have begun to redden and brown, some breaking off from the branches altogether and floating to the ground where you know eventually they’ll rot and dissolve into the earth, starting the cycle of death and rebirth all over again.

Winter is fast approaching and you know this one will be tough with a little one on the way. You’ve already started preparing for the winter months—canning and storing corn and potatoes and other root vegetables harvested from your garden, making preserves from the fruits of autumn—apples and pears sealed in jars of thick syrup—and filling the cellar with barrels of salted and cured meats. In town, you visit the seamstress for clothes of thicker material and leave with an armful of wool flannel petticoats, fur-trimmed bonnets, and corsets of a heavier cotton coutil.

You rest a hand on your belly as you stare off into the distant mountains. Even the sky darkens earlier these days. When all of the laundry is pinned on the line, you pick up the wicker basket resting by your feet and bring it back inside, shuffling into the kitchen to get started on supper.

There’s still much that needs to be done before winter arrives. Firewood to be chopped, furs and blankets to be hung on the walls, the fireplace to be swept, and more. Enough to keep you busy and your mind occupied when you aren’t bent over a book because that’s also your reality these days. The librarian in town now knows you by name and knows to set aside a few books a week for you to pick up when you pass by with Kate.

You don’t think much of the knock at the door at first, absent-mindedly thinking that it must be a neighbor come to visit. Only when you open the door to an unfamiliar face do you pause.

It’s a woman, not too dissimilar in looks from you. A bit taller, but otherwise if someone were to describe you from looks alone, they might be tempted to use the same words for either of you. She stands on your porch with a suitcase held by her side, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead from the short trip from town. She dabs her forehead lightly with a handkerchief before pocketing it again.

“Hello there,” she greets, a bright smile on her face. “I’m looking for John Price. I was told he lives here?”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at her nonplussed, not understanding why a strange woman might be at your door asking for your husband in such a familiar way. It takes a moment for it to sink in. Then the light goes on and your confusion shifts to disbelief with a twinge of rage.

“We’re engaged to be married,” the other woman hurries to explain, taking a step closer, foot wedged in the door almost as if intending to barge right in.

Her gall nearly makes you lose your temper. Months ago, you might’ve welcomed her arrival, eager to prove to John that you weren’t the woman that he mistook you for so that you could be on your merry way. But that time has long since passed. There isn’t anywhere else in the world you’d rather be than here. You’ve put roots down, entrenched yourself in every way.

Your lips pull into a hard line, face set in stone. “You must be mistaken. He’s already married.”

She blinks, uncomprehending. “That’s…—are you sure? We’ve been corresponding. I know I’m a few months late, but I was held up back in—”

You cut her off by sticking out your hand, topaz ring shining bright on your third finger. “I’m sure. But thank you for stopping by; I’ll let John know you send your apologies.”

And with that, you shove her foot out with yours and shut the door on her face. On another day, you’ll allow yourself to feel guilty for your rudeness; for now, this is your happy ending to enjoy.

And savor it, you will.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #price x reader #price/reader #john price x reader #price x you #john price x you #john price x y/n

1K notes · View notes

bytemee · 4 months ago

Text

RECOVERY — YU JIMIN.

“learned a lot through trial and error, tryna make it right.”

synopsis. karina’s been holding onto her pride for so long, but seeing you with someone else? it hits hard. and she doesn’t know how to handle it.

pairing. mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader

warning(s). angst, jealous!karina, she's very toxic, miscommunication, mentions of drinking, and um let me know if there's more

words. 3.6k

authors note. jealous karina!!! everyone celebrates in sync while jumping up and down

navigation. main masterlist. series masterlist. prev. next.

being wrong? yeah, karina would never admit it. she always had to be right, even when the evidence clearly proved otherwise. it was frustrating trying to have a rational conversation with her because she would never back down from her stance, no matter how illogical it seemed.

it was the way she crossed her arms and set her jaw like a locked safe. or the way her eyes narrowed into slits and her nostrils flared. it was the way her lips pursed and the way her body stiffened, like she was preparing for a fight.

but with you? you were different. you didn’t argue for the sake of winning. you wanted understanding, compromise. that’s what made it all worse. you had been patient with karina for so long, more patient than she ever deserved. and now, after everything, after all that patience, she had finally managed to chase you away.

who she chased you away to? that was the worst part.

karina saw you walking into the sorority house after months of silence. her heart nearly stopped. you hadn’t been back here since the last fight—the one where everything between you had shattered.

but now you were back for her, right? obviously.

karina’s lips twitched into a smug smile. you finally came to your senses. you must have realized you’d overreacted, that you couldn’t stay away forever. maybe you were here to apologize. maybe you were here to grovel.

her chest filled with anticipation when your eyes locked across the crowded room. that familiar ache bloomed inside her chest—the look you used to give her, the one that made her feel like the only person in the world. she felt her confidence returning.

but then, just as quickly, the air brushed past her.

wonyoung’s dark hair bounced as she skipped up to you, throwing her arms around your neck. she laughed before her lips pressed against your cheek in a kiss that karina felt like a dagger in her chest.

you didn’t pull away. instead, your eyes softened, and your hands came to rest on wonyoung's hips, pulling her close. you spoke, but the music and the distance were too loud for karina to hear what was said. all she could do was watch, helpless, as she laced her fingers with yours before leading you down the hall.

now wonyoung had you.

karina’s sorority sister. the same wonyoung who had run against her for president last year, who always seemed to be just one step behind her—or, depending on the day, ahead. they’d made peace for the sake of appearances, for the sake of the sorority. but there was always an underlying tension. a competition.

you had been karina's loyal puppy for quite a while, and she'd thrown it all away. she was too stubborn to realize what she'd had until it was too late. and now, as karina watched you and wonyoung together from afar, her heart twisted in her chest.

she missed you. she was furious at you. but more than anything, she was jealous. jealous that wonyoung had been the one to steal you away. jealous that wonyoung would be the one who got to keep you.

karina hated feeling out of control. and jealousy? that was the worst kind of chaos.

the next morning, she walked into the kitchen of the sorority house to find you standing at the counter with wonyoung.

you were chopping fruit—distracted, slow, like your thoughts were somewhere else. wonyoung stood beside you, leaning against the counter with her head tilted, watching you with a lazy, amused smile. she kept nudging you with her shoulder every few moments, drawing small chuckles from you.

karina's heart squeezed in her chest. this wasn't fair.

her gaze darkened when wonyoung reached out, snagging a strawberry from the bowl you’d just filled. “hey!” you protested, but she simply grinned before popping it in her mouth. “i spent, like, a whole minute cutting that.”

“and you can cut another,” wonyoung teased.

“morning.” she didn’t mean to sound curt, but the word came out harsh. your eyes lifted, and her heart stopped. you looked good. really good. like the months away from her had done you some good.

then, you went back to cutting fruit like she didn't even exist.

that hurt more than she expected.

“hope you didn’t ruin the kitchen,” karina said tightly, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and leaning into your personal space. your shoulders were tense, your eyes were focused on the cutting board, and your mouth was pressed into a thin line.

wonyoung arched a brow. “you mean we’re not allowed to eat strawberries in here? i must’ve missed the rule.”

the two locked eyes for a long, tense beat.

“i don’t remember anyone asking you to be part of this conversation,” karina shot back.

your brows furrowed, and you turned to wonyoung.

a smirk twisted her lips. the brunette took a step closer to you, her hand coming up to play with a strand of your hair. her voice was light and playful. "do i need permission from the president?"

karina’s eyes narrowed. she had no time for this little game. not today. not ever.

karina turned her gaze back to the fridge, grabbing the juice and pouring herself a glass. then, without a word, she swept past the two of you, leaving the kitchen.

later that week, karina saw you again. this time, you were sitting on the sorority house’s front porch, stretched out on the bench swing with your laptop open. wonyoung sat next to you, head resting on your shoulder while you scrolled through whatever was on the screen.

karina tried not to look. she really did. but her feet refused to keep moving, and her eyes refused to leave the sight of you.

it was supposed to be her sitting beside you.

supposed to be her fingers brushing against yours as you scrolled through playlists, talking about which songs to add to your shared playlist.

wonyoung wasn’t part of the picture. she shouldn’t be.

her fists clenched again, and before she could stop herself, karina stormed over.

"what the hell are you doing?"

you glanced up, confused."i'm not supposed to use the front porch?"

"don’t play dumb," karina snapped, her eyes darting between you and wonyoung. "i’m talking about this."

wonyoung slowly lifted her head from your shoulder, arching a brow. “last i checked, we don’t need your permission to sit here.”

you looked between them, clearly confused.

karina didn't care.

"well, this is the official property of our sorority. and i'm the president. so, if i say no, no one gets to sit here. not even you."

wonyoung leaned back, rolling her eyes. "so, you're the president, and therefore the dictator. is that how it works?"

karina ignored her, crossing her arms over her chest. her eyes landed on you, and her throat tightened. "get up."

you blinked.

"excuse me?"

"did i stutter? i said get up. you're not supposed to be here."

you exchanged a glance with wonyoung. a look that said, what's gotten into her? she knew that look. she'd seen it a thousand times before.

"this is the best spot for wi-fi," you argued, closing your laptop and rising to your feet. "and no one said we can't be here."

"well, i'm saying it now," karina bit back.

"oh, come on."

"i'm serious."

wonyoung rose too, taking a step toward karina. "no one's making you stay. go be the president somewhere else. you're ruining the mood."

karina's lips curled into a smile. "that's cute, that you think you can tell me what to do."

you stepped between them. "look, let's not do this. i'll go inside, okay?"

"no," wonyoung cut in. "i'm not letting her walk all over us like that. why are you letting her tell you what to do? the way she’s bothered is so pathetic.”

your eyes widened.

"pathetic? you have no idea what pathetic is. you've had your foot on my back since the day we met, and now that you finally got the upper hand, you can't stop gloating." karina snapped back.

wonyoung tilted her chin up, defiant. "if i'm so far below you, then why can't you just let us be?"

the words caught in her throat. she didn't have an answer. she wanted an excuse. an explanation.

because this isn't fair.

because y/n’s mine.

but the words never came.

instead, karina felt her cheeks burn. she was humiliated. again. in front of the one person she couldn't afford to look weak in front of.

karina’s silence was louder than any retort she could have thrown back. wonyoung’s question hung heavy in the air, the weight of it pressing down on all of you.

you shifted uncomfortably, watching karina’s face twist with emotions she couldn’t seem to hide. for once, the perfectly composed, untouchable sorority president looked completely lost.

“karina—” you started softly, but she cut you off with a sharp shake of her head.

“don’t,” she said, her voice raw.

before you could say another word, she turned and stalked away, disappearing back into the sorority house. the slam of the door echoed across the front lawn.

“she’s used to getting what she wants,” wonyoung muttered. “let her walk away.”

but you weren’t sure it was that simple. you weren’t sure karina wanted to walk away at all.

the confrontation came two days later.

the study lounge was quiet, save for the soft hum of music in your earbuds. you sat at a small table, flipping through notes and tapping your pen rhythmically on the edge of your notebook. occasionally, you hummed along, lost in thought.

that is, until the chair across from you scraped against the floor. you didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

karina settled down in the chair, tossing her bag on the table. you kept your gaze on the papers spread out in front of you. you couldn't avoid this forever. you didn't look up or say anything.

but she did.

"i thought you were better than this."

her words were sharp enough to pierce through your focus, but you didn’t react right away. instead, you finished writing the sentence you were on, letting the silence stretch out.

"better than what?" you asked, voice carefully neutral.

"wonyoung." karina’s tone turned brittle. “why are you still hanging around her?”

you finally looked up, your brows knitting together. “not that it’s any of your business, but we’re hanging out.”

karina’s eyes narrowed. her leg bounced under the table, restless and agitated. “you think i don’t see what you’re doing?”

your head tilted slightly, incredulity rising. “what i’m doing?”

“yes.” her jaw tightened as if holding back something explosive. “you’re parading around with her like—like—”

your expression flattened, unimpressed. “like what, karina? just say it.”

karina was quiet for a moment. it wasn't like her to hold her tongue. when she spoke, her voice was low, and her eyes flashed dark. "you're trying to get back at me."

it’s funny, you said the same thing to her on that fateful night. and she’s finally beginning to understand how you felt.

“unbelievable,” you muttered. “you can’t stand the idea of not being in control, can you? you pushed me away, karina. you didn’t want me—”

she scoffed, but you continued before she could interrupt.

“—and now, just because someone else might actually give me the time of day, you’re throwing a fit.”

her face twisted. “it’s not like that.”

“then what is it like?” you challenged. “explain it to me.”

karina paused, her hands curling into fists. she looked conflicted. like she wanted to say something but was struggling to get the words out. finally, her gaze dropped, and her voice softened. "i miss you."

you froze, eyes widening. that was not what you expected to hear.

"i miss you, and i want you back." this was the closest karina had ever come to admitting that she'd made a mistake. her confession hung heavy in the air, waiting for a response.

you stared at her.

"oh, you miss me? how long did it take for you to finally admit that?"

karina's expression hardened.

"are you still mad about the videos?"

"how could i not be?"

"it's not like it meant anything," karina snapped.

"it was humiliating," you shot back.

"i was drunk."

"no excuse."

"you disappeared," karina retorted, her eyes narrowing. "you left without a word. i needed you, and you weren't there. what did you expect me to do?"

your throat tightened. "i told you it was a family emergency. i thought—" you stopped, shaking your head. "it doesn't matter. we're done, karina. you made sure of that."

karina's nostrils flared. "don't act like you're the victim. if anyone's the victim here, it's me."

"you're unbelievable."

"i'm the victim," karina insisted, her voice rising. "you're the one who abandoned me when i needed you the most. you're the one who walked away and decided to start over with someone else. i never asked for any of this."

your anger faded, replaced by a heavy, tired sadness. “you treated me like a toy, karina. i was always there when you needed something. and when you didn’t, i was discarded like trash.”

“you were never trash,” karina said through gritted teeth.

“yeah? well, you made me feel like it.”

karina’s anger simmered, but there was something else beneath it now—hurt. “how dare you say that. i never treated you like trash. you’re the one who left me. you’re the one who chose wonyoung.”

“i didn’t choose anyone,” you shot back, slamming your hand on the table. “i left because i was hurt. i’m not going to take responsibility for your decisions. i was done being treated like shit. you have no idea how much it hurts to love someone who turns their back on you.”

you grabbed your bag, throwing it over your shoulder. “i’m done with this conversation.”

she stared at you, speechless.

the valentine’s day movie night was supposed to be a tradition. last year, it was one of karina’s favorite memories—the two of you sharing a blanket, fingers laced under the covers, sneaking kisses when no one was looking. now she was walking into the same room alone; well, she had a bottle of wine in hand to keep her company.

when she spotted you walking in with wonyoung, something inside her cracked. wonyoung was practically glued to your side, her arm looped through yours and her head resting on your shoulder.

she couldn’t even focus on the movie.

all she could see was the way wonyoung snuggled into your side, the way you whispered in her ear and brushed a strand of hair from her face. the way wonyoung reached out, tracing a fingertip over your jawline, drawing a small, private smile from you.

it was almost too much. so she drank.

one glass. two. three.

by the time the movie ended, wonyoung leaned over to yujin, murmuring something about their plans for the next day. the crowd thinned out, but karina stayed glued to her seat, her eyes fixed on the paused ending credits. she stared, unmoving, lost in thought, her shoulders drooping, and her cheeks and glassy eyes made it clear she’d had too much.

it didn't take long for someone to notice.

“karina.” you approached cautiously, your eyes lingering on the empty wine bottle. you didn’t mean to stare, but it was a stark contrast to the poised, controlled karina that everyone else knew. the sorority president blinked, raising her gaze. it took her a moment to recognize you. she didn’t respond.

you stood in front of her, studying her face. your expression was unreadable. she tried not to wince.

karina cleared her throat, straightening up.

"what?" she croaked, her voice rough from disuse.

"you look like you could use some help," you said, reaching a hand out. she didn’t know why, but the gesture felt like an olive branch. her eyes darted between your face and your hand. she hesitated, then nodded, taking your hand.

her body felt heavy, but the touch sent sparks up her arm. your skin was warm—soft, familiar. karina stumbled slightly, and your other hand instinctively wrapped around her waist, steadying her.

her breath hitched.

you guided her to her room, careful to avoid the rest of the girls scattered throughout the house, drinking and celebrating. the lights were off, the room shrouded in silence. karina sank onto the bed, her body slumping as exhaustion weighed her down.

without a word, she reached out and grabbed your hand, her fingers trembling. then the tears came.

“i’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “i—i’m so sorry. i was wrong.”

her sobs wracked her small frame as she clung to your hand. “i was selfish. i pushed you away because i didn’t know how to handle how much i needed you. and then i saw you with her, and it hurt so much, but it was my fault.”

you sighed again, softer this time. “karina—”

“please,” she interrupted, her eyes pleading. “please forgive me. i know i messed everything up, but i can’t stand this anymore. i miss you. i miss us.”

before you could even think about leaving, she stood up and buried her face in your shoulder, her sobs muffled by the fabric of your hoodie. your hand instinctively found her back, rubbing slow circles as she tried to steady her breathing.

"please don't go," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. the silence stretched out, and for a moment, you were tempted to pull away and leave her. it would be easier that way. but when you looked at her face, her tear-stained cheeks and red eyes, you couldn't find the will to walk away. “come on,” you murmured gently. “let’s get you cleaned up.”

leading her to the bathroom, you turned on the tap, letting her wash her tear-streaked face. she winced at her reflection in the mirror, eyes swollen and red, but didn’t say anything as you handed her a towel. you stayed beside her while she brushed her teeth, holding her steady when she swayed slightly.

when she finished, you helped her sit down on the edge of the sink counter. for a moment, neither of you spoke. karina stared at her hands. her throat was dry, and her head was still fuzzy from the wine.

“i’m not…with wonyoung,” you said finally, breaking the quiet. “we’re just two people who happen to spend time together. there’s nothing romantic going on.”

karina’s head snapped up, her eyes filled with both surprise and relief. “but you—”

“she’s a friend,” you cut in firmly. “that’s all. no one ever took your place.”

her lips trembled, but she didn’t cry again. instead, she reached for your hand once more. “i’m sorry i hurt you. i never meant to do that. i was scared. i am scared. i don't want to lose you. not to anyone else."

"karina—"

"i'm serious."

"i know."

she squeezed her eyes shut. "i'm so stupid."

"yes, you are." you nodded slowly, if karina wasn’t so tipsy she would’ve shot a glare your way. then you exhaled, “i left because i was hurt. i needed space to figure things out. and i still need time, okay? but… i'm not going anywhere."

her shoulders slumped. "promise?"

"promise." you leaned forward, brushing her hair behind her ear. your thumb caressed her cheek. her heart fluttered. "you're too pretty to cry."

her face flushed. she couldn’t meet your eyes, but she didn't pull away. her gaze dropped to your lips. you could smell the alcohol on her breath.

"come here." you reached out and wrapped her arms around your neck.

"what are you doing?"

"putting you to bed. you need to sleep off the wine."

"but i don't want to sleep," she whispered. her hands slid under your jacket, her fingertips trailing along the bare skin of your lower back. the feeling sent a shiver down your spine. "what do you want?" you asked softly.

"for you to stay," she murmured.

your eyes fluttered closed. "i can't."

"why?"

"because it's not a good idea."

"it's always been a good idea."

you chuckled lightly, opening your eyes to meet hers. they were wide and pleading, and she couldn't hide the hope in them. her gaze softened, but you stayed firm. "sleep first, karina. we'll talk more when you wake up."

reluctantly, she nodded. you helped her lie down, pulling the blanket over her. she shifted slightly, watching you as you slid into the bed beside her. without a word, she scooted closer, resting her head against your chest. her hair tickled your skin.

"this is what you want, right?"

"yes," she murmured, closing her eyes. she snuggled into your side. her body was inviting and light. her fingers trailed lazily across your stomach, drawing patterns on the fabric of your shirt. "can you hold me, please?"

your hand traced along the curve of her spine, coming to rest on her hip. she hummed quietly, nuzzling her cheek against your chest. your heart pounded. her breathing slowed, evening out as sleep finally claimed her. you stayed there, your fingers tracing absentminded patterns on her skin, until the softness of her body against yours and the rhythmic sound of her breathing lulled you to sleep.

when karina woke up, the sunlight streaming through the window made her squint. she reached out, but her hand met an empty space. her heart dropped for a moment, panic settling in—until the door creaked open.

you walked in, hair messy from sleep, wearing a loose shirt and boxers, two steaming cups of coffee in hand. "morning," you greeted softly.

she sat up, pushing her hair back. "you stayed?"

"of course i did." you handed her a cup, settling on the edge of the bed. she took a sip, her hands still a little shaky.

“wonyoung texted you,” you mentioned casually, setting your coffee down on the nightstand.

her brow furrowed. she grabbed her phone. sure enough, there was a new text waiting for her.

wonyoung: she was my stray :(

karina: you must’ve been feeding her cheap treats. she’s back where she belongs. hope you’re doing well!

she rolled her eyes. "stupid."

"hey."

"not you." she smiled at you.

you stared at her for a few moments before humming. “so…we should talk."

she nodded.

taglist - @brocoliisscared @spidrgamer @kimminjiissosjdirbidnsjje @kyakpack @snsgf @sscieloz @fruityg0rl

navigation. main masterlist. series masterlist. prev. next.

749 notes · View notes

goldfades · 24 days ago

Note

“letting them collapse against your chest the second they make it through the door after a hellish day” / “it’s just me now. you don’t have to pretend anymore- just let me take care of you.” / “you always take such good care of me. i’m never not going to jump at the opportunity to return the favour.” — with paige 🥺 (my heart is broken after finding out she’s in concussion protocol 😭)

me too, im praying for a speedy recovery if it is a concussion :( here's a soft fic just for you<3

warnings: hurt to comfort, uconn paige

i feel like this is lowkey word vomit, i was typing it on a diff keyboard i wasnt used to LOL, but lmk what u think

It’s not that Paige ever let the whole world in, just that she was so good at making people think she had. Charismatic, warm, unshakably confident in that quietly magnetic way that pulled cameras and teammates and little girls with Sharpies straight into her orbit. She smiled when she was supposed to, answered every question like it hadn’t already been asked six hundred times. She made twenty-point games look casual. She made pain look invisible.

You knew better.

There were cracks. Not obvious ones. Paige didn’t crack like that, she didn’t shatter under pressure, she tightened. You saw it in the way she walked a little faster on days when she was trying not to think, in the way she curled her fingers into fists at her sides when the pain flared back up in her knee and she didn’t want anyone to notice. You could hear it when she texted you short and late: Still at the gym. Almost done, even when she wasn’t. You’d stopped asking if she was okay. Not because you didn’t care but because she was too good at saying yes.

She was relentless. Every time someone said she’d peaked, she answered with another performance they’d play on loop at camps for years. Every time they whispered about injuries or burnout or lost time, she made herself sharper, stronger, scarier. She’d come back to UConn like a ghost refusing to stay dead and picked up right where she left off: leading, dominating, carrying. The team was good, undoubtedly one of the best but the pressure was brutal. It always landed on her, whether it was fair or not and you knew what that kind of weight could do to someone, even someone like her.

It was easier for Paige to hold up the whole world than to admit she might need to set it down for a second.

Except with you.

You’d learned, over time, how to be her soft place. You didn’t ask for the highlight reel. You didn’t flinch when she wasn’t golden or perfect or poised and she’d stopped pretending with you, mostly. Sometimes she still tried to be a little too composed when she walked through your door after a brutal practice or a media gauntlet or a game where she thought she hadn’t done enough but even then, you could feel it in the way her eyes flicked to you, just for a second, like tell me I don’t have to keep it together anymore.

She hadn’t said it out loud, not yet but you’d gotten good at hearing what she didn’t say. You’d gotten good at Paige.

You heard the key before you heard her.

Just the soft metal jostle in the lock: a sound that shouldn’t make your chest ache but it always did on days like this. It wasn’t loud or frantic. That was the thing. Paige never came in like a storm, she came in like fog. Quiet, creeping, hard to name until it was sitting heavy in your lungs.

You didn’t move right away. You stayed curled on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, the glow from your laptop painting gentle shadows across the living room. You’d paused whatever show was playing half an hour ago. Not because you lost interest but because your mind had drifted somewhere else, somewhere quieter and heavier. You’d been waiting, not in a dramatic way, just… waiting in that soft way you’d learned to.

The door creaked open. A beat passed. Then another. No footsteps yet, no greeting, no clatter of keys hitting the counter or shoes being kicked off. Just that quiet hum of someone trying to hold it together for five more seconds.

You closed your laptop without looking. Set it gently on the coffee table and pulled the blanket off your legs, letting the chill of the hardwood floor ground you as you stood. You didn’t rush. You never did. Paige didn’t need someone running toward her like she was breaking. She needed space to breathe, she needed space to choose softness.

When you finally saw her, she was still in the doorway. Bag still on her shoulder. Hoodie pulled up over her head like armor. Eyes on the floor.

Your heart cracked a little at the sight. Not in a way that made you want to cry, but in a way that made you want to wrap, in a way that made you want to pull her in and hush the world for a while.

"Hey," you said softly, voice like a feather drifting through candlelight.

She looked up. Slowly. Eyes a little red-rimmed, not quite from crying — Paige didn’t really cry when things hurt. Not first, but there was exhaustion there, the kind that curled under your ribs and made you feel like you couldn’t get a full breath no matter how hard you tried. The kind that didn’t go away just by sleeping.

"Hey," she echoed and her voice was smaller than usual.

You took one slow step toward her. Then another. You didn’t ask what had happened. You didn’t need to.

The game had been ugly, sure but it wasn’t just the loss. It was the press conference afterward, where every question came sharpened with doubt. It was the way Coach’s words hit a little too close. It was the way her body probably ached, not just from tonight, but from every minute she’d pushed through pain and refused to call it that. It was all of it — too much and not enough all at once.

By the time you reached her, she still hadn’t moved.

You slipped your hands under the strap of her bag and slid it off her shoulder. Set it gently by the wall. Then you reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of her hood. She let you pull it down. Her hair was a little damp at the ends, like she hadn’t had time to dry it fully after showering at the facility. You smoothed a few strands back behind her ears. She blinked, slow and heavy.

Then she whispered, like it wasn’t a big deal, like it wasn’t everything. "Can I just... be here for a minute?"

You didn’t answer with words.

You just opened your arms. And Paige — quietly walked into them.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t desperate. She didn’t break down or sob or collapse. She just folded, like she’d been holding herself upright for too long and your body was the first thing that felt soft enough to land on. Her forehead pressed into your collarbone. Her hands slipped around your back and her weight settled into you like an anchor you were more than willing to carry.

You held her there, swaying just slightly, like the rhythm of your breathing could remind her how to find her own. One hand curved over the back of her neck, thumb brushing gentle arcs against the warm skin there. The other splayed against her spine.

Minutes passed. Neither of you moved.

Eventually, you murmured into her hair, "Wanna sit?"

She didn’t answer right away, but you felt her nod against your chest.

You led her gently to the couch, still without letting go. She moved like someone underwater, slow, dragging, tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix. You sat first, guiding her down with you and she followed without hesitation, legs draping over yours, body curling into your side like it had always belonged there. You pulled the blanket back over both of you.

Her head dropped to your shoulder. You kissed her temple once, then again.

Silence settled between you. The soft, comforting kind.

Eventually, she whispered, voice thin and hoarse, "I don’t know how you do it."

You turned slightly, resting your cheek on top of her head. "Do what, baby?"

"Just know when I’m..." She trailed off, then gave a humorless little laugh. "When I’m not really holding it together."

"Because I pay attention."

She didn’t say anything to that but her hand found yours under the blanket, fingers twining together like muscle memory.

You squeezed gently. "It’s just me now. You don’t have to pretend anymore. Just let me take care of you."

A quiet breath escaped her. Maybe a sigh, maybe a release, or maybe the first sign of the guard slipping.

"You always take such good care of me," she said, so quietly you barely caught it. "I’m never not going to jump at the opportunity to return the favor."

You smiled, but you didn’t tease. There was no need. The thing between you was soft and real and unspoken in all the right ways. You could joke later. You could nudge and laugh and light her up again when her chest wasn’t so heavy but for now, you just held her and let her rest.

Outside, the world kept spinning. Deadlines and expectations and cameras and commentary. All of it could wait.

Inside, it was just this: her body against yours. Her breath steadying. Her hands warm. The slow unravel of tension as she let herself be held, finally, without needing to earn it.

#evangeline's 6k celly!#paige bueckers #paige bueckers uconn #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #paige bueckers x y/n #paige bueckers x fem!reader smut #wbb x reader #wbb imagine #wbb fic #wbb smut #wnba #wnba x reader

382 notes · View notes

sabrinajenre96 · 2 months ago

Text

"Badges and Bedside Manners"

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Doctor!Wife! Reader

Warning: mention of injury, surgery and inaccurate medical definitions ( I am not a doctor I apologize in advance) , angst, some fluff and humor.

The shrill ring of her phone cut through the organized chaos of the ER. Dr. Y/N Bradford wiped her hands on a towel and glanced at the caller ID: Sgt. Grey.

Her stomach dropped.

“Grey?” she answered, breath tight. “What’s going on?”

“Y/N… it’s Tim. He’s at St. Joe’s. A piece of metal’s dangerously close to his spine. He’s stable, but it’s serious.”

The world tilted for a second. She gripped the edge of the nurse’s station.

“I’m on my way.”

—

Outside Tim’s hospital room, it looked like a scene straight out of a precinct family reunion. Angela, Nyla, Nolan, Lucy, and even Jackson were all huddled by the window, peering in.

“He’s being so Tim about it,” Lucy whispered. “Stubborn, refusing help, complaining about the bed—”

“And flirting with the nurse he just insulted five minutes ago,” Angela added, arms crossed.

Y/N walked up, coat flaring behind her, her bump barely concealed under her scrubs. The group turned like guilty schoolchildren.

“Oh, you’re so dead,” Nyla muttered with a grin.

She pushed open the door, cool authority radiating off her.

“Timothy Bradford!” she barked.

Tim, mid-argument with a nurse, stiffened like a cadet.

“Hi, honey,” he said sheepishly.

“Don’t you hi honey me. You got impaled, ignored the pain, scared the hell out of everyone—and you yelled at my favorite nurse!”

“I didn’t yell—”

“Apologize.”

Tim blinked. The room outside went silent. Then, without missing a beat, he turned to the nurse. “I’m sorry. Ma’am.”

The nurse smiled smugly and walked out, passing Y/N with a grateful nod.

Angela whispered, “You need to teach me how to do that.”

—

When the attending neurosurgeon arrived, he paused, surprised to see Y/N already flipping through Tim’s chart like she owned the place.

“Doctor Bradford,” the surgeon said, nodding.

“Doctor Han,” she returned. “Can you explain the MRI findings? I want a second read.”

Tim grunted from the bed. “Do I get a say in this?”

“No,” both doctors said in unison.

Han chuckled. “The metal fragment is precariously close to the spinal cord. There’s a chance it could shift. Without surgery, there’s a significant risk of paralysis if it moves.”

Tim looked up at Y/N. “And with surgery?”

“There are risks,” Han admitted. “But we’ve done this before. He’s in good hands.”

Y/N stepped forward, hand gently brushing Tim’s arm. “We’ll do this together. Whatever happens, I’m here. Always.”

He nodded slowly, then kissed her knuckles.

—

Y/N stepped out to check on a trauma case, but her pager went off again before she reached the doors. Her nurse flagged her down.

“Doctor Bradford, your husband’s in OR. Emergency. He chased a suspect down the stairwell. It dislodged the fragment.”

“What?!” she shouted.

“And Sergeant Grey’s being admitted too. Blood pressure crisis after trying to stop him.”

Y/N closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I swear to God, if I didn’t love that man…”

—

Hours later, Tim was groggy but alive, in recovery. The surgery went smoothly.

Grey was lying in the bed next to him, hooked up to monitors, reading a newspaper like it was a vacation.

Y/N walked in slowly, hands on her hips.

Tim tried a grin. “Hey, doc.”

“You ran after a suspect with a spinal injury?!”

“She was getting away—”

“Tim.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Grey cleared his throat. “To be fair, I tried to stop him.”

“And ended up hospitalized with a BP of 200 over 110.”

“Occupational hazard?” Grey offered.

Y/N shook her head and sat on the edge of Tim’s bed. “You're both lucky I love you. And that my blood pressure is the only thing in this room that’s normal.”

Outside the room, their friends watched through the glass again, amused.

“Think we should get her a badge?” Nolan joked.

“No,” Lucy grinned. “She’s way scarier without one.”

—

END

#the rookie #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fanfiction #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #Tim Bradford x Doctor wife reader #the rookie fanfic

408 notes · View notes

revelboo · 2 months ago

Note

Howdy Rev! I hope things are going well for you (or at least better than how things have been for me, as I had to have my gallbladder removed and it may take about 2 to 3 weeks before I’m on my feet and active again lol.) Could I request a scenario where Knockouttends to his favorite human after surgery? He’s always been my comfort character, and especially through the post surgery healing process.

I hope everything went well and your recovery goes smoothly

Scenario-care

Knockout x Reader

• “What do you think you’re doing?” Flinching guilty, gripping the edge of the hospital style bed you’re trying to not worry over how he’d acquired for you, you look up to find him looming over you, optics narrowed and panels flaring slightly like an affronted cat to make him look bigger. “Because I know you’re not trying to get up after I told you not to.” Wilting under the weight of his glare, you can’t muster the energy to be indignant about being treated like a little kid by him.

• Tension winding him tight as you ease back down and he vents tiredly. Hating this. That he’d had to entrust your surgery to a human medic, but you’re so tiny, even mass displaced he’d been scared to try and do it himself. His servos never failing him for delicate wet works, but just the thought of cutting into you had made them tremble uncontrollably. That hadn’t stopped him from researching and learning everything he could about your surgery, though. Or bringing you home as soon as he’d been able, using his avatar to smuggle you out of the hospital pretending to be a human medic. Because human or not, he can take better care of you than some other organic could. “I was going to get some water,” you mumble, unresisting when he hooks a servo under your legs and swings them back up into the bed and pulls the safety rail back up.

• And you thought he’d been a pain in the butt before. He was a saint compared to whatever this is, though you’re beginning to wonder if it’s actually worry. If he’d been scared of the surgery even though you’d told it was routine. “And risk falling? Popping your stitches,” he growls, fetching you some water. “That what you want? To bleed all over my clean Medbay?” Sighing as you take the water and he fluffs up your pillows. Again. Fiddling with your blankets. Worrying over you and hiding it behind arrogant annoyance as you warm. “What are you smiling about?“

• “You like me,” you say, grin widening and he freezes, servos flexing. Not sure what to say to that and you reach out to pat his servo before he can think of a clever comeback. “Love you too, doc.” Sputtering at you, he growls. Because you must still be loopy on pain killers. Love? You can’t love him. The two of you get along, you fight with him and argue, but get over it. And you challenge him, push him to try harder to not be outdone by a human. You’re his. But do you actually love him? Why is that thought so terrifying?

• Is he actually speechless? Or did you break him? You’d been teasing, but he’s just staring at you and he almost looks scared as he pushes away from your setup on the counter and heads for the back where his supplies are, walking stiffly. Watching him go, you relax into your bed to wait for him to come back. Did the ‘I love you’ really mess him up that bad? Because you’re so tempted to tell him how much you love his arrogant, narcissistic, shiny butt all the time if it bothers him that much.

#transformers x reader #knockout x reader #tfp knockout

300 notes · View notes

morgy-doo · 1 year ago

Text

school bus graveyard realtionship headcannons

^ such cuties

Ashlyn Banner~

insanely protective

when you are in the phantom dimension this girl is mostly focused on making sure you don't get hurt/die

keeps you away from Aiden in that dimension so you don't end up getting roped into something stupid

Altho she isn't the most affectionate person, she will grab your hand and squeeze it tightly when she is nervous

she begrudgingly...after ALOT of begging, allowed you to play with her hair, when it is undone it is super wavy from being in those plaits all day

if you every get seriously hurt/die in the demon dimension, she will act calm and collected at first, but then totally lose it

she wont cry until she is alone of course

refuses to leave you alone until she knows you are better

after that she doesn't let you leave her sight

she just wants to keep you safe and close to her

Aiden Clark~

your more of a mother/father than a girlfriend/boyfriend-

CONSTANTLY bouncing off the walls

literally-

at one point in your relationship he would tell you he had a cute date planned....you had no idea that it was skydiving

he loved it

you not so much

in the phantom dimension he is using you to back him up in arguments

and he definatley tries to show off for you at one point

when they get locked in the mental assylum, he paints his face as you instead of the clown because why not

he found it endearing, you found it absolutely terrifiying

if you die then he will go silent, not as energetic or bouncy until he knows you are okay again, he constantly brings you things to entertain you with while in the hospital

he just wants you to never get bored of him

Ben Clark~

the most sweetest boyfriend ever

he will buy you flowers out of nowhere just to see you smile

sometimes he feels bad that he cannot say how much he loves you verbally

constantly has hand cramps from writing huge paragraphs about his love for you

the type of boyfriend to just pick you up and hug you when you are mad

you help him calm down when his temper starts to flare up

he really enjoys doing soothing activities with you such as pottery, painting, and baking

he is AMAZING at baking

he loves making you food

in the phantom dimension he likes to have you on his back

to reassure him that you are still there and safe, and also as a way to have quick access to you when you are in danger

if you die in the phantom dimension he will have this deeply disturbed look on his face

he honestly looked after you better than the doctor did

he brought you home cooked meals, your clothes, some things to cheer you up

he wants you to feel loved and to know that he will always be there for you even though you cannot hear him say it

Taylor Hernandez~

such a sweetie

she is so good at reading your feelings and can tell when you are upset/ when something is bothering you

she has pictures of you two together all over her wall so she always has something of you with her

she loves matching outfits with you

she 100% owns a shirt that says "i love my boyfriend/girlfriend" and has no shame in wearing it

she has this ritual where she kisses each picture of you before bed each night and saying "i love you y/n" over an over until she has kissed each picture

Tyler was just stood in the doorway of the room terrified-

in the phantom dimension you both make a vow to protect each other

and she will protect you with her LIFE is she has too

if you die in the phantom dimension she would never forgive herself

she would think its her fault as she didn't stick to her side of the vow

she let you get hurt

will sob infront of everyone

honestly needs more comfort then you do

when you are on the road to recovery tells you all these silly stories about her and Tyler to see you smile

she wants you to never leave her

Tyler Hernandez~

this one is a mixed bag

lets just say you will be very aware when he has entered the room

you slowly help him start to enjoy baseball again

he invites you to practice to show you off to his team

you are now lumped into his protection pile

congratulations, you are now one of his top priorities

he wont say it very often, but he adores you

and he misses you very much when you aren't around

he plays guitar for you when he is feeling especially loving, he teaches you the songs his dad taught him

when you are in the phantom dimension he gets very angry very easily

he is just so overwhelmed and worried about keeping you AND Taylor safe.

he is terrified he would of failed in his job of protecting you

if you die in the other dimension he would be angry at everyone but mostly at himself

he would close off, he wouldn't speak to anyone and he ends up flunking some of his classes to see you at the hospital

he is very aggressive to everyone else but when you are getting better at the hospital he is all gentle smiles and sweet tones

he owes it to you for letting you down

he wants to be able to feel that he can provide and protect you

Logan Fields~

he thinks he doesn't deserve you

why would you pick someone small and pathetic when you can have the full package like Tyler

despite his self doubts he treats you as best as he can

he is the most cliche person ever

has definately watched the sun set with you

study dates are a must

you both defo have this little potted flower that you have "raised" together

he tells you ALL about flowers as he has alot of knowledge about them

when you are in the phantom dimension he always has this dreaded feeling sitting in his stomach

as if he knows something is gonna happen to you and he wont be able to stop it

the feeling would eat him up inside

if you die in the phantom dimension, he would be determined to be the reason you got better, that it wouldn't happen again

he wants you to view him as worthy of your love, and he would do almost anything to earn that

1K notes · View notes

rottenbologna · 2 months ago

Text

Breaking the shell

Pairings ~ Fridolina Rolfö x Norwegian reader

Genre ~ fluff

Warnings ~ jealous frido, a bit of internal homophobia, any language besides English is Google translated

I decided to make a universe out of this fic

"Glare any harder, and I think our token Norwegians will burst into flames." Marta teased to which frido rolled her eyes, taking a sip from her watered down drink grimacing at the taste lightly.

"I'm not glaring," the Swede grumbled before returning her piercing gaze to where you sat laughing freely with ingrid, Caro, and some of the younger girls on the team.

Frido was glad you were much more comfortable with the team, and they learned you were quite the chatter box and indulged your yapping even with your broken English and the few Spanish words aitana had helped you mesmerised.

The problem came when you naturally gravitated towards ingrid, knowing you can have a conversation without having to think about the words you were trying to say or that she could relate to what was being said you took to the girl like a duck did to water and it rubbed the older woman the wrong way when most of your time was completely taking up with the younger girl.

She was the one who talked to you first. She was the one who made sure you were always comfortable, the one that made sure you stuck to your diet plan by making your meals and even drove you anywhere and everywhere you needed to go not ingrid so why did she feel like she was being repaid with crumbs of your time?

"What's the matter cause at this point I think ingrid can feel the chill from all the way over there." Marta asked ever the preseptive one. Frido sighed cause she didn't have an answer. She didn't know why she was bothered by sharing your attention. This has never happened with any of her other friends, so this was new and unfamiliar territory.

"I.. I don't know. It's nothing." She's muttered before looking over at your clearly drunk form trying to get you lengthy body to fit in ingrid's lap. Another thing they discovered was that you loved physical touch. Frido's shifted uncomfortably at the sight before her gaze shifted back to the watered-down whiskey in her glass.

"Wanna know what I think?" Marta smirked subtly before continuing. "I think you're a little jealous."

Frido tried to brush the comment off. There's no way she could be jealous. She was not jealous..just didn't like the thought of being left out. Yeah, that was it.

"The faster you accept it, the better Rolfö" Marta said teasingly before leaving to join their other teammates.

Frido rolled her eyes before focusing on your drunk self again, her nostrils flaring at you comfortably cuddled up to ingrid. She had enough and marched over, dragging your limp body to her side and leaving before her confused teammates and a smirking Marta could say anything.

°●°●°●°●°●°●°● ♤♧♡♤♧°●°●°●°●°●°●°

At training the next day, you sat with ingrid giggling and speaking among yourselves quietly, occasionally sending a soft smile frido's way across the room.

"Jealously is not a good look on you." Ingrid teased, smaking the blonde with her towel after they were done for the day.

"What are you talking about?" Frido rasied an eyebrow trying to play it cool like she was watching every interaction you had throughout the day.

Ingrid smirked, throwing the towel over her shoulder. "You like her."

Frido furrowed her brows before sighing in defeat. "Maybe."

The younger woman's smirk softened at that "she likes you two. You're all she yaps about. Besides, do i need to remind you im spoken for? she's all yours. Ingrid's smirk picks back up at the last part, causing frido to groan.

"I will say she has a nice ass tho." Ingrid teased running off when a piercing glare and an empty water bottle is thrown her way.

Frido went off to find you Icing your ankle from a rough tackle earlier in the recovery room and sat beside you without a word taking over the task of keeping the ice in place.

"You ok?" Y/n asked softly to which frido just hummed quietly.

There was a beat of silence, then you spoke. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I forgot you. With Ingrid, it’s just... it’s easy, because we’re from the same place. But with you? It’s different.”

Frido looked at you, brows raised. “Different how?”

You hesitated, then smiled shyly. “Like butterflies. And maybe that’s a little scary.”

Frido's heart thudded. “You’re not the only one who’s scared.”

You push the ice pack aside before sliding down the bed, trapping her between your legs before pressing your lips to hers. You both eventually pull away from air foreheads still connected.

"Wanna have dinner with me tonight?" Frido Asks slightly out of breath, her minty breath hitting your lips

"It's a date."

#woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso one shot #barca women #frido rolfö #fridolina rolfo x reader #fridolina rolfö #frido Rolfö x reader #barca x reader

355 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 7 months ago

Text

poly!marauders drabbles (3/3)

☁︎ = headcanon ✩ = 18+, mdni ♡ = mae's favs

Poly!marauders x dancer!reader ☁︎

Your emt boyfriends coax you into a hospital visit

They make you end a spat with Remus

You react oddly to an injury, but the boys are there for you

The marauders help you with your recovery fatigue

Your emt boyfriends have to wake up early

Your roommates hate your douchey boyfriend

Your pain flares up in the cold, and your emt boyfriends are sweethearts ♡

You're (accidentally) magically roofied when the boys' prank goes awry

Your boyfriends discover your praise kink

Your emt boyfriends coddle and tease you when you burn yourself

The boys comfort you when you find out you can't have kids

The marauders fret after an ice skating mishap

Your boys help you sleep when you're nervy about nightmares

You're an aggressive drunk, but they have your back

Your boyfriends deal with an emotional you on your period

Rockstar!marauders embarass a shy you

Your emt boyfriends help with a midnight bloody nose

You aren't used to pet names yet (that's gonna have to change)

Your emt boyfriends get after you for "girl dinners"

You try on lingerie for the marauders

You trust your boyfriends to make you your first drink(s)

Your emt boyfriends comfort you after a scare

You don't have to manage your boyfriends

Your emt boyfriends take care of you after your iud insertion

They offer comfort after their raised voices spook you

You're terrified of anesthesia, and your emt boyfriends comfort you

Emt!marauders when you faint during a blood draw

You pass out in the shower, and your emt boyfriends rescue you

Who's That Girl AU (platonic marauders, eventual Remus x reader)

Your new roommates flatmates are not going to murder you You learn the hard way about London social norms The boys comfort you after a bad day You learn the consequences of a shared bathroom Your flatmates want you to be able to rely on them You and Remus make a new friend (Sirius does not approve) The boys help with your dating profile

Your emt boyfriends suss you out when you're sick on a holiday

The boys reassure you about your life purpose

James takes you all to bed (chastely)

Your emt boyfriends show up after your car wreck

They launch a search party for your lost stuffed animal

Your boyfriends think it's hot that you're strong

Your emt boyfriends step in when you're being treated dismissively

You all have norovirus

Your boyfriends know you and your chronic illness

They think you're too hard on yourself

Emt!marauders help you calm down after an accident

You go to the marauders after running away from home ♡

The marauders are actors, and you enjoy a home premiere

Your boyfriends coddle you and Remus when you have migraines

The boys are patient with you learning to take care of yourself

Your emt boyfriends know when you're anxious

Rockstar!marauders are protective when you're hurt by a crowd ♡

You learn you don't like being tied up, and they're sweethearts ✩

#poly!marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders drabble

454 notes · View notes

woniwontons · 24 days ago

Text

dead end - CHAPTER SIX ; bob's pov of events

bob reynolds x therapist!reader

summary: after being assigned to monitor bob reynolds’ recovery inside the new avengers tower, you try to keep your fears hidden. but between quiet training sessions and unsettling therapy logs, you start to realize he’s watching you more than he should—and that something inside him never stops whispering.

w.c: 4.9k

warnings: some significant use of she/her pronouns for the reader here, psychological thriller, inaccurately depicted mental illness, emotional manipulation (by void), nightmares, slow burn, possessive themes, combat violence, unreliable realities, hallucinations, murder, domestic bob, gore/bloody void, like a lot of blood & violence, taking pills (not suicide), kidnapping

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°｡⋆

bob's pov; retold in his perspective, starting from the events of chapter one

He heard the footsteps before he saw you.

Soft rubber soles echoing off the polished concrete floor, slow and uncertain. A familiar cadence to him.

His body went still. Every muscle locking into place, even as his breath caught halfway up his throat.

Even after everything, even after the fifth time they’d scrubbed your memories clean, his body still remembered your steps before his mind did.

He stood behind the door. Motionless. One hand pressed to the reinforced wall beside the frame. Just close enough to hear.

You were here, again.

His eyes burned.

You shouldn’t have been assigned to this level yet. The reassignment protocol wasn’t supposed to go into effect until morning. That’s what Harding had said. That’s what the file claimed.

But he should’ve known better because you were always so curious.

Even now, stripped of memories, stripped of trust, stripped of any memories of him, your curiosity still found its way to his door.

He didn’t need to look to know what you’d see.

A hallway too quiet. Fluorescent lights that always flickered once right above his room, reacting to the flaring energy growing in his mind. The kind of silence that felt like it was watching you.

He could feel your presence in his chest now. Not in any mystical way, but in the most human way of wanting.

You were on the other side. Breathing. Staring.

He closed his eyes, watching you on the security monitor as your hand reached up to the panel.

His hand twitched in sync with yours, reaching up to the door as a fist clenched around his heart.

Every instinct screamed at him to open the door. To pull you in. To tell you everything, and find another way to bring your old self back together.

To say, You came to me, remember? You always do.

But you wouldn’t remember any of that.

Not after what they did to you.

Not after he begged them to do it. Again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched so tight it throbbed in complaint. His palm pushed harder into the wall, trying to ground himself. Trying not to break.

The Void stirred beneath his skin like a serpent waking.

She forgot us.

“Yes,” he whispered, under his breath. “I made her forget you.”

And in doing so, she forgot it all.

His fingers curled into a fist. Nails digging into his palm.

You've ruined it all, this is the fifth time now.

“She was breaking.”

And now she’s empty.

“She was hurting, she was in so much pain.”

And you left yourself alone. Again, with no way to fix her yet.

He pressed his forehead to the cool surface of the wall. The pain was easier to bear when it was physical.

He had watched the footage. All of it.

You siting in the memory suite, consent on your lips, determination in your voice. “I want to forget.”

He remembered the first time you said it.

How much it destroyed him to hear that wanted to forget. That in order to forgot about the events that had occurred when you were fourteen, you also had to forget everything about the creation of the procedure. Even if it overlapped with your time with him.

How quickly he’d whispered, please don't leave me.

You lied, saying you would reconsider, but you had done it anyways.

He couldn’t bear it, especially not with what lived inside him.

He heard your breath catch. On the other side of the door, and he recovered himself then, realizing how quickly his energy had made the temperature drop. How you must have felt the sudden coldness.

You were still there.

Lingering.

Maybe you felt it, too. The pull to each other that neither of them could name, one the extended beyond the bounds of memory.

He reached for the handle, but stopped himself. A tremble shook in his hands as he kept the urges contained.

Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes as the Void rose higher, licking at the edges of his grief like a wound it wanted to nest in.

You didn’t know him anymore. Not really.

He was just another locked door in a facility full of familiar faces to you; everyone but him.

He lowered his hand and forced his feet to stay planted.

Let her walk away.

Let her feel safe again.

Even if it meant being a stranger to you. Again.

Even if it meant burning from the inside out every time you looked at him without recognition. It hurt him so badly, his mind spun with pain he didn't realize could be felt mentally. An ache that tore into the cavity of his hollowing chest.

He waited until your footsteps started again—faster this time, retreating.

He didn’t let himself breathe until they were gone.

S̵͇̺̿̓E̷̜̼͂͋S̵̘̙͊̐S̶̟͂̾Ị̶̂̔O̵̟̪͝Ň̶̫̼͌ ̵̣̽Ö̴̰̪́N̴͇̺͑E̶͚͋́ ; in the pov of bob

The lights above the training room hummed faintly. Blue-toned, cold. Bob sat at the edge of the mat, his body still, eyes half-lidded—not asleep, just quiet in waiting.

He didn’t have to look up to know it was you.

The moment you entered the observation room, something shifted in the air. Your presence buzzed under his skin like static. You were always soft at first. Not afraid, not yet. But holding something back. Holding him back, maybe, without even realizing it.

You stood behind the glass. Clipboard in your hand with your shoulders drawn.

He lifted his head slowly and met your gaze.

You flinched.

No glowing eyes. No voice from the dark. Just at him. Just at Bob.

That hurt him more than the previous time.

You introduced yourself. He already knew your name. Had said it to you and whispered it to himself more times than he could count. But he listened again to your voice like it was sacred.

Your voice had changed a little. Brighter at the edges now, but still yours.

You spoke like a professional. Rehearsed. And when he teased you; about not being a doctor, about whether you were there to shrink him—you answered back with a faint smile.

You always did have a sense of humor. They couldn't take things like that from you.

He said he didn’t feel the Void when he was awake anymore. Not a complete lie, although it hadn't been true for these last few days. But you tensed anyway. He felt it ripple off of you like cold air. Your heartbeat stuttered before you even realized it.

You were gripping your clipboard too tightly.

Bob stood, carefully. Slowly, like he was approaching a deer. He stayed a few feet away, enough not to startle you. Not that it mattered. His presence always rattled something loose in you, even if you didn’t understand why.

When he told you he’d felt you at his door yesterday, he meant it. God, he meant it, even if he couldn't divulge into how badly he wants to go outside and just hold you again.

“I wasn’t watching,” he said softly. “I just… noticed.”

Because how could he not?

Your presence had a signature for it. A specific weight in the air. A rhythm in his chest that beat faster when you approached. He didn’t need a security feed to know when you were nearby.

You looked down at your notes. Trying to redirect. Retreating into clinical distance. It didn’t work. Not for either of you.

Your voice was quieter when you asked what he meant.

“My shadow,” he’d said. “Or maybe your heartbeat.”

You froze. Didn’t know whether to feel threatened. But he wasn’t trying to scare you. He was trying to reach you. Trying to find some trace of the person who used to fall asleep on his chest without fear, who'd look at him like a protector.

He apologized. Said he was trying to get better.

At being normal.

At being someone people didn’t instinctively fear.

When you asked about the Void, he told a white lie the only way he could. Carefully. Sometimes, he said, it was hard to tell where he ended and it began.

Especially when he was tired. Especially when he was alone, without you around to distract him from it all.

He wanted to ask if you’d been dreaming. If the Void had touched you yet. But he didn’t. He asked if you dreamed instead. It was safer. More human.

You said yes.

He told you he hoped they were good.

Because his dreams were always of you. And none of them ever ended well.

Then Harding came in. Sharp voice, cold heels on tile. Talking about sensor spikes and midnight activity.

You didn’t look at him.

But he never took his eyes away from you.

Harding dismissed you casually, offering to let you leave.

And Bob’s heart sank.

But then—

“I’ll stay,” you said.

Something in his chest cracked open.

You wanted to stay around him. Even if you didn’t know why.

Harding said nothing, just gave you permission. Told you to pull a chair.

You sat in the corner of the room like you didn’t know what his presence was doing to you.

But he did.

And it nearly destroyed him.

He answered Harding’s questions politely. Obediently. Softly. But every now and then, when she looked down, he looked at you instead.

Not hoping for recognition.

Not even for a kindness.

Just for a moment where you saw him: not as a monster, or a file—but as someone.

As yours.

Even if you didn’t remember.

Even if you never would.

before ; bob's pov

He didn’t go back to his room right away.

He should have. That’s what Harding expected. Cool down. Hydrate. Log the session in his recovery journal. Wait for another hour of silence.

But the hallway would smell like you. You’d stood there longer than you realized. The faint trace of your skin, your breath, it clung to the energy in the air like static.

He couldn’t walk into that right now.

So instead, he turned toward the elevator.

The corridors were quiet. His shoes feet stuck slightly to the vinyl flooring, badly needing a mopping. Every light he passed flickered the tiniest bit—whether it was the Void or faulty wiring, he didn’t know anymore.

He stood outside Bucky’s door for longer than necessary, gathering his bearings. The hall cameras would catch it. Harding would raise an eyebrow later.

Let her.

He knocked twice.

There was a pause. Then the soft hiss of the lock disengaging.

Bucky answered shirtless, hair still wet, towel slung around his neck. He looked tired in that way only soldiers could. Fatigue wasn’t an emotion for him, just a state you adapted to.

Bob didn’t say anything right away.

Bucky stepped aside and let him in without asking.

The door closed behind him with a sigh.

“Wasn’t expecting you,” Bucky said, moving toward the dresser, pulling on a dry shirt like it was part of a ritual. “You just finish a session?”

Bob nodded, slow. “She stayed the whole time.”

“The assistant?”

He hesitated. Then: “Yeah.”

Bucky didn’t say anything right away. He just grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, tossed it toward him. Bob caught it without looking.

He didn’t open it.

He just stood there, still holding it, staring at the floor. “She looked at me like she knew something she couldn’t name.”

“That’s how she looks at most people.”

“Not like that.”

Bucky’s tone was calm, but sharper now. “She doesn’t remember you, Bob. You need to stop looking for things that aren’t there.”

“I’m not,” he said softly. “It’s not a look. It’s something deeper. Like her body reacts to mine before her mind catches up. You saw it when she walked past my door on the security feed.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “And what do you think that means?”

“I don’t know.” A pause. Then quieter: “But it hurts.”

The words landed harder than he meant them to.

Bucky’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture softened. He had a soft spot for the younger man since he'd first met him.

“You’ve done this four times already,” Bucky said. “You knew what it would feel like. Why is this different?”

Bob looked down at the unopened water bottle. His thumb pressed into the plastic hard enough to crinkle it. “Because I can’t stop remembering the way she used to look at me before. Like I would make her happy by just existing in front of her.”

“And now?��

“Now she looks like she’s bracing for impact.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, tired. “She’s not scared of you, Bob. She’s scared of the only stories she remembers of you.”

Bob didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. They both knew what that meant.

“I’m trying,” he said, finally. “To be better. To give her space. But I don’t know how to exist in the same building as her and pretend none of it ever happened.”

Bucky leaned against the wall. “Then don’t pretend.”

Bob looked at him, confused.

“Be real with her. Let her form her own opinion. Don’t try to force the past back onto her. If something’s going to grow again, let it happen naturally without telling her about her lost memories.”

“You think it could?”

Bucky didn’t smile. But there was a flicker of something gentler in his expression. “You forget, I watched her help put me back together. If anyone knows how to see past someone’s worst moments… it’s her.”

Bob’s throat tightened. He didn’t trust himself to answer.

"I'll try to, without doing anything to remind her."

But they both knew he couldn’t promise that.

Not when you looked at him like that. Not when the Void already had a foothold. Not when the only thing that kept it quiet... was you.

In Session ; bob's pov & more answers

You entered the room, and it was like the center of gravity shifted.

Bob had already been seated on the mat, hands resting loosely on his knees, breath slow, posture calm enough to pass. He’d practiced this stillness. Every morning. Every day since the last time.

But when you walked in, something in him broke rhythm.

You didn’t look different. Not outwardly. Clipboard, clean lines, and a mask of professionalism. The same stance as always.

But he could tell the difference.

Your steps were heavier. Your breath was quieter. You were trying to be normal, and failing in all the same places you used to. The weight in your gaze told him the Void had seen you again.

And if the Void was touching you, dreaming through you—then that meant Bob was losing control.

Again.

Dr. Harding spoke first. She always did. Her voice was efficient, clinical. All the questions were the same: ideation, impulse, suppression. He answered them all perfectly. That was the job. That was the only way they let him stay lucid.

But every time she spoke, his attention wandered back to you.

You weren’t writing like you usually did. Your hand moved, but he could see it wasn’t words. The lines were loose. Repetitive. Just drawn circles on the page.

He knew that from you. Your old self used to do it, too—right before you’d break.

He tried not to stare. But when your eyes met his for a second longer than they should have, it was enough.

Harding’s comm buzzed. She left.

And the second the door sealed, the breath left his chest like it had been held for days. He made a small joke. Something to fill the silence.

You responded.

He was careful not to say your name. He didn’t know what you’d remember. What you felt. But he could see the fracture lines now. In your eyes. In your voice.

“There were a few before you, but they didn’t last long,” he said carefully. “The last one, she actually started getting sick. Headaches, panic attacks, you name it. Like her brain was shutting itself off."

He said the last assistant had gotten sick. He didn’t say it was you.

He couldn't tell you that there were no assistants before you. Only resets of you, four in total, and you in front of him now was the fifth.

The one who got headaches. Who couldn’t sleep. Who started hearing the Void whisper during waking hours.

All you.

Each time, they promised it would work. That this version would stick. That he just had to love you so gently, so distantly, that you wouldn’t feel the pull again.

But it never lasted.

You remembered every time.

Your body always remembered before your mind did. That’s how the Void found its way back.

“You don’t feel sick, do you?”

You shook your head. Slowly, but Bob could tell it was a slight lie.

“That's good,” he said, "the last thing I'd ever want is to hurt someone else again. Especially you."

You were talking to him now. Your voice quieter than the hum of the vents.

Something about Harding’s tablet. About seeing notes you weren’t supposed to see. You said you thought you were the subject.

And you were right.

He looked at you, heart breaking all over again, because he couldn’t say the truth—not here. Not where they were still watching. Not where the wrong sentence could put you back under.

“You think they’re doing this on purpose?” he whispered.

You were already spiraling. He saw it in your hands. The way you wrung them together, the same exact way you had during Erasure Cycle #3, when the dreams started bleeding into the day.

And still—you trusted him.

You said it plainly. A short laugh escaped you as you adjusted on your seat, throwing you ankle over the other. "I can't believe I'm even telling you this, but I think you're the only person I trust right now."

You trusted him.

It hollowed him out.

You weren’t supposed to. You were supposed to be reset. Clean. Disconnected from the damage.

But that was the flaw, wasn’t it?

They could scrub memories. Suppress emotion. Fill in blanks with false ones.

But they couldn’t rewrite the unbreakable bond between the two of you, it was the biggest flaw in choosing her for the experiment.

He wanted to reach for you. To break every rule and tell you everything. That the old notes were yours. That you’d cried in his arms four different times, begging to be made new. That he had watched you volunteer again and again because you thought you were the danger—not him.

That he was the reason it never worked.

Instead, he said nothing. Just nodded. Just watched the shadows flicker along his own wrists, curling faintly beneath his skin.

They only did that when the Void was awake, and he knew it was watching you again.

He could feel it. Hungry. Curious. Waiting.

You said his name and he looked up.

Your expression was soft. Kind, like it used to be.

He settled, looking up at you. "Yes?"

"Thank you for talking with me, but we should wrap this up before someone notices how much time has passed."

He forced a smile. “Anything for a friend.”

But as you gathered your clipboard, he whispered the rest inside his chest where no one could hear:

Please don’t remember everything yet. Not again. Not until I can find a way to keep you safe.

Because this time, when you broke—he didn’t think you’d survive it.

before ; bob's pov

He woke not to sound, but to sensation.

The air shifted, like pressure rolling under the skin of the tower itself. A static pulse that hummed through the floor, the walls, his bones. Not from the Void this time.

You.

He sat up in bed, breath already caught in his chest. The darkness was dense around him, unbroken by the moonlight that usually filtered through the blinds. Something in the tower’s systems buzzed faintly in the walls, too faint for anyone else to notice, but he knew what it meant.

You were dreaming again, but more than that. Remembering.

He was on his feet before he realized he’d moved.

The hallway was colder than it should’ve been. That, too, was a sign. He didn’t need clearance in this building. Not with the way the Void still coiled inside his skin, dormant but never fully gone. The doors responded to his power, opening for him with ease.

When he stepped into your room, he didn’t speak.

He just stood there watching, not thinking of how it would look to you when you awoke.

You were thrashing slightly in your sleep, brow damp, the sheets twisted around your legs like restraints. Your breath was ragged. Lips parted, but no sound came out.

Then your body jolted upright with the force of someone escaping a nightmare.

Bob didn’t move. He knew the exact second your eyes landed on him.

You flinched back against the headboard, panic radiating off your skin like heat. He didn’t blame you. The look in your eyes reminded him too much of the third time—Erasure Cycle #3—when you’d begun waking up like this almost every night. Back when the memories had started bleeding through from your dreams.

"Jesus—" your voice cracked as you tried to breathe. "What the hell, how did you get in here?"

He didn’t answer at first. Just studied you in silence. Watched the way your hands trembled, the flush of sweat on your throat, the way your gaze darted toward the corners of the room—looking for something that had already left. You had scrambled backwards, pushing your body against the headboard.

"I heard you," he said quietly. "Screaming through the door. But... you were asleep."

You seemed to not remember screaming. Just like last time. You looked lost, and something inside him fractured a bit deeper.

He didn’t come here to fix anything. He knew better by now. He just didn’t want you to wake up alone.

Because he remembered every time you had.

The maze. The blood. The gold eyes. The way the Void had begun using your memories as a conduit. In dreams, it found the cracks before they formed.

And that all meant he was losing control of the Void.

The sick and twisted part of him that wanted you to remember so badly, to drag you down with him in anguish and misery. It's what he did to everyone, even to the ones he loved. This was all his fault.

You spoke, half asleep still, murmuring about a maze, about being chased. Bob listened with his heart in his throat. You didn’t know who was following you. You hadn’t turned around.

That’s good, he wanted to say. Don’t ever look at it. But he knew it was too late. You’d seen it before. Even if you didn’t remember.

When he asked if it felt like a dream or a memory, your voice came back: Both.

He folded his hands in his lap and stared at the floor.

They always said the dreams would fade. That the resets would settle eventually.

But they never did.

Because you were never just the assistant. You were never just an independent variable, You were his constant.

Every cycle.

Every time.

And now, the nightmares were starting again.

He sat still when you whispered no in response to his question about whether they were still dreams.

That confirmed it.

He was going to have to suffer through losing you, again.

He stood to leave, heart leaden, guilt choking him in silence. He’d only wanted to make sure you were okay. But if he stayed, he’d make it worse.

He turned toward the door.

But then—

"Wait—"

Your voice cracked.

You reached out, fingers brushing his wrist with a touch that undid him completely.

He stopped.

When you asked him to stay, he turned slowly. Like if he moved too fast, you’d disappear. Perhaps even change your mind.

You pulled him back with a softness that made his chest ache. He sat on the edge of the bed, unsure, bracing himself for rejection even now.

But you didn’t push him away, only pulled him closer.

And he followed.

You curled against him like you’d done in so many other moments, in so many other forgotten nights. His arms came around you instinctively. His hand in your hair was automatic—muscle memory and heartbreak all at once.

You didn’t know this was familiar.

But he did.

"You're okay," Bob murmured into your hair. "You're still safe here."

Your eyes brimmed with tears. "I don't feel safe," you confessed. "I don't even feel like myself anymore, I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. I can't understand any of these emotions inside me."

He wanted to scream. Of course it doesn’t. They’ve taken pieces of you again and again and again. How could you ever feel whole?

Bob didn’t flinch. He just held you tighter, one hand never leaving your hair. "I'm scared to fall asleep," you whispered.

But all he said was: “Then be scared. Feel everything. Cry if you need to, but don't ever think you have to do any of it alone.”

And he meant it.

He meant feel everything. Because the only thing worse than grief was numbness. And the only thing worse than pain was silence. It was what he should have stressed to you before decided to erase your memories behind his back, without a proper goodbye.

You cried then. And he held you. And the Void was quiet.

For the first time in weeks, it was quiet.

As if it, too, remembered this.

The curve of your back in his arms. The weight of your head against his chest. The sound of your breathing slowing as you finally let yourself fall apart. His thumb brushed soft circles across your shoulder as your tears soaked through his shirt. "You're not alone," he whispered, "I promise."

And he stayed.

Even after your tears stopped. Even after your body relaxed into sleep. Even after the part of him that used to hope whispered: maybe this time it’ll hold.

But he didn’t believe it.

Not anymore.

He just laid there in the dark, holding the only person who had ever calmed the thing inside him. He stroked your hair as you slept, and in a quiet whisper, "I miss you so much."

And waited for morning.

Or for the next time they took you away from him.

present day ; bob's pov

He felt it the moment the dream snapped.

Your body tensed against him like a live wire; lungs gasping for air, muscles convulsing under the weight of everything returning.

He was already kneeling when it happened. Already holding you, his arms wrapped tight around your frame where you’d collapsed in the middle of your room. You hadn’t screamed. Not exactly. But something had left your throat—a ragged, torn sound of awakening—and that was enough.

He'd been horrified at the sight of you in his sleeping quarters, collapsed on the floor. Surrounded by all the sleeping pills scattered across the ground. The vision kept replaying in his mind, scarring him deeply as something he never wanted to witness again.

Your eyes opened wide, unfocused. Wild.

He pulled you tighter. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re here. It’s okay.”

But you were already thrashing, trying to get away.

Your hands pushed against his chest, palms slippery with sweat. “No. What’s happening—”

Your voice cracked. Tears hit hard and fast, panic flooding through every word. “I saw it, I saw everything—the procedure, the—Bob, I—I was the one who—how many times? How many times did you let them do this to me?”

Bob closed his eyes for a moment, forehead resting against yours. His breath shook, but he stayed calm. Steady.

He had to be. You needed him to be.

“They kept going in,” he said softly, “removing more and more to keep me from losing you. You consented to it, every time.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, your lip trembling. “They erased me. Over and over.”

His fingers curled gently behind your back, holding you steady as you shook. “Because every time the memories got erased, the Void started waking up and ruining everything. And every time I saw what it did to you, I begged them to take it all away. Because I thought—I thought I was saving you.”

You choked on a sob. “I murdered someone. I helped them build the thing that’s been killing me, and went behind your back after I said I wouldn't. I let them put you in that position. I kept lying to myself—”

“Stop.”

“I hurt you, I lied to you, I betrayed you—how can you still love me after all of that?”

He pulled you closer, cupping your face in both palms. You tried to look away, but he held you still, like you were so frail that you could disappear right before him.

And he said, low and certain:

“Do you truly think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?”

The silence afterward was deafening.

Your breath hitched, lips parted. Your whole body trembled in his arms.

“I remember everything,” you whispered. “All of it.”

“I know,” he said.

“I asked them to erase it.”

“I know that too.” His hands never left your skin. “You deserved to recover on your own, I interfered with it, and for that I am infinitely apologetic to you.”

Your forehead pressed to his collarbone. He held you as your body sagged in defeat. His fingers stroked the back of your head, soothing. Always aiming to sooth, to be your happiness once more.

You broke again—just sobbing now, raw and endless.

And he held you through it, like he had every other time, silently praying this time would be different.

I don't have much to say as I updated a few hours ago as well, but thank you to everyone who has gotten this far in the story. I appreciate all of you and hope that you enjoyed the reveal. Two chapters STILL remain in the story, so stay tuned and comment below to be added to the taglist! I'll be at work when this scheduled update goes up, so there will be a slight delay in the taglist for this one. ps. did any of you catch that little doctor who quote reference that i snuck in there? in the spirit of this going up on the day of the season finale!! <3 xoxo -woni

link to part seven (coming soon)

190 notes · View notes