#some wounds remain as a TRACE of the other time just as you yourself were once

[genderqueerpond]

We don't talk enough about the fact that Amelia Pond, s5 Amelia Pond, before the timeline is reset, isn't just a normal orphan. Her parents didn't die, didn't abandon her, and didn't send her away. They never existed in the first place.

And if her parents never existed, then Amelia cannot exist. She is a causal impossibility.

"People fall out of the world sometimes, but they always leave traces." A photograph. A face carved into an apple. Yes. Sure.

A child.

Now that's too big, surely.

But that's what she is. She is exactly the same as these things. A trace. An echo of something that could never be, never was, never could have been.

And the universe should never allow it. A whole person, that's just too much. She could not have continued to exist indefinitely, in normal circumstances, after her parents never existed.

In normal circumstances.

Because the Doctor didn't just save her from things coming out of the crack in her wall. He saved her from going into it. And he didn't just save her from the threat of going into it simply because of its vicinity.

No, by arriving when he did, he interrupted a process that was probably already in motion. And then by arriving again only moments later on a cosmic relative timestream (too quickly for the process to complete) and yet in the local relative timestream, years later --- years of a potential future caught midway through the process of rewriting -- he solidified that existence. Amy is a creature from another timeline, caught in amber. The Doctor prevented her from never existing, but only after she could already never exist.

And so, no one around Amelia thinks about it. Neither does she. There's some kind of consciousness block, because if you thought about it, really thought about it, for two seconds you'd realize she cannot exist. And the human mind can't deal with that. So, to protect itself, everyone's brain simply slides off it before ever noticing. They just assume that her existence makes sense, and don't question it, and don't notice what they don't question, that is staring them in the face.

But of course, to some extent they do notice. They can't think it, but they notice subconsciously that there's something they can't think. They notice there's something wrong with her, something uncanny. And they don't like it, and they alienate her even more because of it.

"Does it ever bother you Pond that your life existence doesn't make any sense?"

[llamagoddessofficial]

I can just see the Mafia boys coming by after a scuffle of sorts- wounded in various ways- and MC absolutely insisting on playing Nurse. Bonus cuteness: Nightmare is too proud to admit he’s been hurt as well, only for that same care to be overloaded onto him.

It’s the one time MC really gets him to blush after firmly, but gently caring- despite still being obviously wary

Horror... oh, Horror. He reacts to you tending to him like a wounded wild animal being comforted for the first time; confused, frozen, visibly alert. He's stiff and flinchy, hard to get to, sweating up a storm, simply because he's not used to it. It's so uncommon that he gets tended to. Sometimes, Dust will help him bandage up wounds he can't reach, but no one ever thinks the biggest guy out of all of them needs help. But he does. He really, really does. So long sorting out his own injuries has made him react to all care like he's never been touched in his life. ... Over time, he will melt into you. His love of your affection will ease him through the instinctive fear. His eyelight gets bigger, the purring starts... and then it'll be hard to tend to him for another reason entirely - he regularly loses focus on the fact that he's injured, and simply goes in for cuddles and kisses. He'll forget you're bandaging him/wiping away blood, and nuzzle the side of your head when you lean too close. And when Horror decides to move, I'm afraid nothing will stop him. You will get soft little nuzzles.

Dust, at first, simply won't allow it. When he's come home from a 'job' he won't go anywhere near you until he's cleaned himself up and sorted out his own fractures and cuts. He won't allow himself to be close to you after significant violence - you have too much to worry about as is, being the centre of the affection of so many deranged monsters. He refuses to be another thing that frightens or worries you. If you want to tend to him, you're going to have to find him yourself, bullying your way into whatever room he's hidden himself away in. It'll be very tender, with Dust. Moments alone with him often are. Unlike the others, who get caught up in how nice it is to have your full focus, Dust will actually help you treat him - he'll talk you through you how to properly bandage bones, what ointments and foods most accelerate healing. He shows you his scars... injuries that never fully healed, because monsters need positive emotions to repair themselves, and his high LV poisoned his ability to feel. Just... don't let Nightmare know how lovingly you traced his scars. It won't end well.

Killer will spend the whole time making sexy nurse jokes. He'll say how he needs kisses to feel better, it's vital you smooch him, monsters can recover HP from being around people who care about them so it's actually scientifically proven that if you give him kisses he'll feel better faster. Don't you want him to get better? ... Underneath all the jokes, though, Killer is in utter turmoil. Much like Horror, he's not accustomed to being treated with care. He's always been a particularly violent tool, and little else, a curse to be set upon some unfortunate soul who got on his boss' wrong side - he's very valuable to Nightmare but the injuries he sustained on his missions were never discussed. In fact, Killer spoke about his injuries as little as possible; they were signs of failure. A broken tool is one at risk of being replaced. And yet... here you are, worrying about him. Fussing him. Treating him not as a broken tool, but as a person. And though he'll never turn down your affection, it's beginning to stir emotions he long thought he'd killed.

Nightmare will definitely play the grouch. He'll sit there, all but pouting, complaining that it would be far faster if he just healed himself. But... he doesn't move his injuries away from you. He talks all that talk, and then he adjusts himself when you can't reach somewhere or need a better angle. He can literally teleport away at any time, yet he remains seated while you take care of him. He's clearly basking in the attention, soaking up you physically demonstrating how much you care about him. Does he need the care? Physically, not at all. But emotionally, he couldn't possibly need it more. You'd definitely end up frightening all the other skeletons without realising. At some point, Nightmare tries to get up to leave - you very gently smack his arm and tell him to sit down. He chuckles and obeys. Since you're so absorbed in making sure the bandages are neat, you don't notice how violently all the other boys flinched when you 'hit' Nightmare; nor the fact that Dust stood up, as if to rush in and grab you. The only thing you'd catch is their incredulous stares afterward... at which point, Nightmare has already given them enough cold looks to make it clear they're not to say a word.

[dernier-mystere]

! SPOILER WARNING FOR 2.5 UPDATE! READ WITH CAUTION ! summary: the yaoqing trio returns back to the yaoqing, though things are a little different, being an alchemist in the alchemy commission, you receive the instructions and diagnosis from the cauldron master of the luofu, lingsha, about jiaoqiu's condition and what needs to be prepared for him and his treatment plan. despite being someone who worked a few times with the healer, you find yourself assigning treatments to him for once, despite his stubbornness and negligence when it came to his own health. pairing: jiaoqiu x alchemist!foxian!reader (afab) warnings: slight gore, injury descriptions word count: 3.4k a/n: how are we feeling jiaoqiu fans? a mess? :,) me too <3 so we need some comfort yes <3 the idea is based on an idea oc that was an alchemist and as the xianzhou yaoqing is mostly foxians, it makes sense right? hope you enjoy it <3 sorry for the medicinal rambling too! sorry if this may seem ooc, I feel so rusty with writing these days... ^^; I plan to write some proper fluff, I apologise this isn't lovey dovey, if anyone has suggestions please send them please support me by following or sharing! it's much appreciated! <3 twitter/x: @derniermystere ao3: Dernier_Mystere

The diagnosis was almost painful to read, you knew the trio was reckless, and a part of you thought it would be the Merlin’s Claw that would come back with the injuries, not Jiaoqiu. Even Moze who lingered in the shadow of the General had his incident report of injuries, most of the events that had occurred on the Luofu remained on the hush, so unfortunately, it left you and numerous other healers in great distress when the commission received the outpatient details and care instructions for the pink-haired foxian. Toxins in the wounds have caused surrounding flesh to decay and atrophy… acute shock from severe blood loss…? Disturbed blood circulation from Tumbledust results in disturbed blood circulation, massive internal bleeding, neurological atrophy and optic neuropathy, leading to… blindness. These were just a few lines written in his injury reports, you felt your eyelids flicker in concern at the words, each description made your lips crease further into a frown, your heart wavering as you could only imagine the pain he would’ve struggled with in that short period, not only ingesting a lethal amount of Tumbleweed but also baring the injuries sustained by the Borisin Warhead, Hoolay. Not to mention there were found traces of Lupotoxin still present in his bloodstream, in short, he danced on the thin line between life and death, a second too late, and he would have died an agonising death.

As you sat in the cool room of your examination office, the rhythmic ticker a counterpoint to the steady hum of the medical equipment in the room still trying to convince yourself how Jiaoqiu remained in such good spirits, and oddly with a good appetite despite his situation… his calmness and sly exterior made you fear the worse, after all, he hid a lot of his emotions, using his fox-like smile as a mask to pretend all was fine, even if inside he could have been begging for a semblance of hope. Your e/c gaze flickered up to the Foxian who hummed softly, sitting on the examination table with a Gaiwan* in his hands, as he curiously took in a whiff of the scent of the tea, swirling it occasionally in his hand as he tried to depict what herbs were in it. “Not much to say honestly, I feel quite fine besides the fact, I have been told not to eat spicy food… it’s truly a torturous treatment,” his voice was calm, yet the mention of not being allowed to eat his favourite food made him click his tongue, one of his long ears flicking in annoyance, “But, other than that, I am quite alright,” 

Your eyes squinted as you observed him talking to the pot plant in the corner of your examination room while you were seated on the other side of him, yet… you felt your insides soften that, he was still adjusting to his new condition after all. “Master Jiaoqiu, you know ingesting amounts of spicy food will only increase inflammation of your wounds.” You spoke softly, choosing not to comment further that he was talking to the plant rather than yourself. Jiaoqiu’s ears flicked in your direction rapidly, as he quickly adjusted himself to face the direction your voice came from, acting as if he knew the whole time you were seated there, it made you softly giggle in amusement as you slowly lit a stick of Dreambranch Incense in the office, in hopes of providing calmness to the mind during his routine follow up examination.  

“You always say you’re quite alright to avoid unnecessary long appointments, who dropped you off today? Was it the Merlin’s Claw or Moze?” You teased, prepping the small station beside him with all the necessary tools and treatment needs. Jiaoqiu’s tail flicked in annoyance as he crossed his arms, followed by a tiny pout on his lips, “I will have you know, no one dropped me off, Thank you.” His tone was almost childish and petty, “I came as instructed by the Cauldron Master of the Luofu, nothing more than a routine check-up.” He clarified, yet the creases in his brows seemed to convince you further that someone made him actually arrive at his scheduled appointment. “For a healer, Master Jiaoqiu… you should always look after yourself before treating others.” You commented, your fluffy tail swaying behind you in amusement as you spoke, enjoying the small amount of petty banter with the Foxian healer who had left the field a while ago now. Being a long-life species, a mere few years seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye, but when one formed friendships or any kind of relationship when they left or moved on, it felt as if they had left for centuries, this was no different to Jiaoqiu. His sassy nature and his usual greeting with a cunning smile were oddly something you missed, but deep down, you knew the losses on the battlefield tore and ate away at his heart, leaving nothing but emptiness, a path of Nihility to creep in. Some days, you found yourself sitting on the stairs of the commission, looking at the fake night sky of the Yaoqing, wondering if your research and treatments meant really nothing in the end. Countless patients slipped between your fingers like sand, no matter how hard you tried to grab the delicate granules, it would still slip through. The many nights where you prayed to Lan or any aeon to hear your pleas and silent begs to help a young patient that was slowly succumbing to the effects of Mara, the way their limbs twisted un-naturally, root-like appendages growing from his body like a deformity as they slowly lost their mind day-by-day, yet none of them cast their gaze on you or your pleads… they always replied in a numbing silence. You felt his pain… you sympathised with his feelings for those who were lost in battle… You could treat a thousand patients, but what was the point if they returned to the battlefield and lost their lives in the end… was their sacrifice in vain? These were the many questions that went through your mind on a daily, and something you assumed most alchemists thought. 

Your eyes fluttered closed as you shook your head to dismiss the darkening thoughts, you forced yourself to read over the letter submitted by Lingsha. As written in his treatment plan, you were to clean his wounds with Pathovore bugs, before applying liberal amounts of medication and dress them up firmly. As well as take a deeper examination of his blindness and relay any suggestions to her for possible treatments of his blindness. “Well, I know you want this to be done quickly, so I will start with the treatment of the wounds, Master Jiaoqiu, then if possible, I would like to examine your eyes…?” You asked hesitantly, your h/c ears pinning back against your head as you cautiously asked him, you honestly didn’t know why you were nervous, it was your job… but he had only recently just lost his vision, was it a touchy subject? Or maybe would flat-out refuse and say it was nothing.  

Jiaoqiu simply remained silent as he continued to hold on to the delicate clay cup, he gave the tea one last sip before he gently pressed the edge of his hand along the surface of the table to confirm he could safely place his cup upon it, “Why are you concerned, Y/N? it’s your job after all. Do what you need. For once, I am simply the patient, and you’re my healer now, are you not?” He spoke up, turning to face in your direction, though you could hear the slight hesitation laced in the last few syllables of his words but you slowly nodded in reply, not that he could see it. 

The initial examination was rather simple, you had to look over his wounds, the deep lacerations on his chest, the state of his collarbone, checking him for any signs of Lycanthropic symptoms which came in the forms of excessive hair growth, elongation of the canine teeth, hostility (namely to Foxians) and a heightened increase of Lupitoxin which are evident in a blood rage. Further examination of his red blood cell, Platelets and the protein count in his plasma, to gauge how well his blood would coagulate over time, while the effects of consuming Tumbledust has significantly lowered the count, he was slowly making progress as there were some improvements. While it wasn’t much, it was better than none… 

“So far, you seem to be on the road of recovering… slow, but I am sure we can get there eventually, there has been a minimal increase in your plasma counts, and platelets, but not much to say you can return to handling sharp objects… I am hoping you’re not, Master Jiaoqiu, and you have no signs of Lycanthropy so that rules out any further conclusion of you becoming a borisin.” You explained, all while scribbling on his patient forms that would be sent back to Cauldron master Lingsha, and further approval by Head Alchemist on the Yaoqing, Yingyue. “With this, I would like you to be placed on a higher dose of anti-inflammatories, to help reduce the swelling in your wounds. That, or need I remind you that you are not to ingest spicy foods, Master Jiaoqiu.” You slowly raised a brow at him as he turned to you, pulling out his fan that was underneath his alchemy commission uniform that he had removed so you could treat his injuries. He delicately fanned himself a few times, before hiding his lips behind the coloured feathers. 

“I would never betray the doctors’ words, no knives or spicy food here. Are you insinuating that your patient ingested spicy foods? Y/N you wound me… I would never,” He stated with a cunning smile pulling at his lips behind that fan, his tail swaying behind him as he took in the results of his examination. “But is it really my fault that Moze had hotpot, I couldn’t turn down such a request, even Feixiao was there.” He soon added, nodding his head innocently as his ears twitched in your direction. 

“So you did have Spicy food, is that what you're telling me?” You pressed, raising a brow as he kept fanning himself, concealing his smile. 

“I never said that, I just said that Moze might have offered it to me. But as such a good patient, I never touched a drop. I instead had to sit and watch my so-called friends enjoy a hotpot in front of me, it was quite cruel, really…” His fluffy ears drooped down, as he dramatically acted as if it had taken a toll on him that he couldn’t have some. Your expression fell into a deadpanned glare as he kept innocently fanning himself, humming all innocently, you knew that this sly foxian had made the hotpot himself and threw the blame at Moze to get off any kind of lecture. You feigned a sigh in defeat as you allowed him to win at his little game, “Alright, whatever the patient says… but know your slight increase of white blood cells, and redness on your laceration tells me otherwise,” You simply pointed out as you began working on removing the now loosened bandages around his shoulders and chest, you had seen your fair share of injuries and wounds, but the deep claw marks along his chest with lingering parts of decaying flesh seemed to leave a deep pang in your heart… reading about his injuries were bad enough, but seeing them in person was just as bad. 

The audacity he had as he simply hummed in reply and with a nonchalant shrug, “I have no idea what you’re insinuating here, doctor,” He added, placing his fan down to reveal that sly fox-like grin, as he lifted his head proudly, more so that you could work on his wounds better. But upon sensing your concern with his wounds, Jiaoqiu slowly fell into silence as he turned away, “This is nothing. I can handle this, there is no need to look at me with… pity.” 

You felt an all-familiar annoyance stir inside you as if small flicking flames lapped at the insides of your chest as your movements slowed down, “It isn’t pity… it was concern Jiaoqiu when the incident reports were handed to us, it was worrying… especially when there was no news or context from the Luofu. I knew something was covered up, and it involved Hoolay, something for sure went wrong… it may not be my place to ask what happened, but… You shouldn’t bare yourself to a wolf's fangs… and ingest Tumbleweed… even if you had a plan.” you whispered, gripping the bundle of bandages in your hands that you had removed, “You could have died, then what-” 

“I would have died fulfilled and content, Y/N.” He cut her off, a heavy sigh ruminating from his chest as he still refused to face you entirely, his brow furrowing in annoyance as he refused to accept your concern for him. 

“Would you really say that?” You pressed, your shoulders slouching as you continued to remove the last of the bandages to fully observe the wound in its entirety. Yet unlike before, you weren’t phased, instead, your heart simply felt like it was crumbling at his words. However, Jiaoqiu remained silent when you pressed him, his ears folding back a tad, it was a sign that you were right in some way. Despite the deafening silence, you continued to work on him, applying the Pathovore Bugs onto the rotting parts of his wounds, all while she delicately ran her scalpel over the unhealthy flesh to promote excess skin growth. Jiaoqiu grunted softly, leaning back onto his arms as he tried to push himself through the uncomfortable sensation, he didn’t want to be seen as weak or vulnerable, even though he was the one knocking on death's door. Yet his stubbornness to admit anything or the fact that for once he required treatment was unyielding, even when he was in pain. 

The silence continued to hover between them, once playful banter turned to a darkened cloud of tension, but, Jiaoqiu managed to face Y/N once more, parting his lips as he tried to find the words to say something, “Why do you care so much. Don’t they say laying your life out on the path of the hunt is a blessing…?” He managed to whisper out, his voice almost weak and one could even say vulnerable. Y/N glanced up, but unlike the look of annoyance or a frown, she offered him a compassionate gaze, “We are both healers, different kinds sure, but in the end, we are here to help those in need. I know you have lost many patients, as have I… I may not have been through or seen what you have on the Front Lines… but we share the same burdens of what we do is the right thing…” Your voice was soft, yet anyone could hear the way your words seemed to break through the ragged breaths you took in as you tried to formulate each word with sincerity, “But… we… no, you shouldn’t allow yourself to go through such measures… General Feixiao is already strong on her own, and your patient can only go as far as they can if their healer is also healthy, I have seen too many people die over nothing to claim they did so in the name of The Hunt… but it felt like they were throwing themselves away.” 

You gently removed the bugs, placing them in a glass beaker as you kept talking, “As I said… I don’t know what happened on the Luofu… but I know, you shouldn’t have risked yourself at such a high stake. There is always an alternative, another way to do things, picking the dangerous path isn’t always the right way.” You whispered, head now falling downwards as your ears drooped once more. You had seen so many soldiers come back from the battlefields injured and proclaiming proudly that if they died, they did so for The Aeon Lan, but, it more so felt like they were throwing themselves at the denizens of Abundance without another thought of a better strategy. Y/N slowly bit on her bottom lip as she continued with the treatment by applying liberal amounts of the ointment onto his wounds, before securely wrapping them up in bandages. 

During the quiet moment as Y/N worked, Jiaoqiu found himself sighing once more, shaking his head as his expression softened slightly to that of contentment. “You might have been right, I could have found another way… but I made it, did I not?” He replied in a lighter tone, even if you swatted his side with the flick of your fluffy tail, “You’re just as reckless as the Merlin’s Claw, she is rubbing off on you. You know… there would be a lot of people upset if you had died… I am sure even Moze would be upset in his way… you may have been fulfilled as you say, but what about the others that care for you?” you added, making sure that each one of his wounds was fully covered, before you soon sat back in your chair, your mind also wanted to add ‘what about me?’ yet, you didn’t. The Foxian offered you a sad smile, as he turned to the direction of the pot plant, “You’re not wrong, Y/N.” He reluctantly whispered, his voice holding a sense of vulnerability yet again, each word spoken like a prayer, with an ear twitch he turned back to you, this time with a more genuine smile.

“I am sure you would have been deeply hurt. To think during your training you said you hated me and my spicy food you could smell from a mile away…” His demeanour shifted to his usual self, sly and jabbing, which seemed to stir you up, evident as your tail swished around in annoyance as you finished up with his wounds, giving him the space he needed to change back into his clothes. “Stop being snarky… you seriously need to take better care of yourself.” You huffed as you turned to clean your instruments, all while he resumed fanning his delicate face once more, his soft pink hair flowing with each motion of his fan as he continued that same mocking smile. “I know. I can’t promise anything.” He hummed, for once he spoke truthfully, “But, I will do my best, I have no guarantees.” 

“That's all I wanted to hear, Jiaoqiu.” Your shoulders eased up and relaxed at his words, her heart feeling ever so lighter. 

“You know, you dropped the formalities halfway, this is quite intimate, Y/N, I am almost flattered, after many years and now you call me by my name and not Master Jiaoqiu,” As usual he tried his best to get under your skin, still calmly fanning himself. He expected you to retaliate or shoot back another snarky comment, yet you did something that surprised him… You gently hugged him, wrapping your arms around his lower torso to avoid touching his wound, as much as he wanted to open his eyes in surprise, the Foxian instead felt his expression melt into a soft fondness, one that wasn’t all that often seen. “You were that worried?” He finally admitted, moving one of his hands to delicately brush against your back soothingly. 

“Just promise me you will be more careful next time,” you whispered faintly, near one of his long ears that twitched at your words, his tail swaying side-to-side. 

“I can’t guarantee anything… but, if I get hugged like this, I might consider it.” He purred, still fanning the two of you with his fan, blissfully unaware of the edge of the fan catching a lit with the sizzling of fire lapping at the tips. Jiaoqiu quickly moved the fan to stop the fire from continuing with a silent huff of annoyance, “Maybe we could even go for some hotpot sometime?” 

You wanted to say he wasn’t allowed spicy food, but you were content from his words, you simply hoped that one day, he would take your words to heart, if not for your own sake, but maybe for those that were close to him…

[fireya-x]

they say don't open old wounds

AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

The mask hides more than just a face; it hides a shared past, a love lost, a ghost you thought long buried.

[3,7k words]

cw: angst, smut, piv sex

they say don't open old wounds

but this is still brand new

and I've got nothing left to lose besides you

and I've already lost you once

what more could you do?

they say don't open old wounds

but I want to

PVRIS - old wounds

It had been months since you joined the 141, months of missions that pushed you to the edge, missions that forged an unexpected bond with your team. A sense of mutual respect and care for each other, a blend of professionalism and camaraderie that softened the harsh realities of the work you did. Soap was always ready with a joke, Gaz offered tactical insights and support, Price kept a watchful eye on your well-being — but Ghost… Ghost remained an enigma. Shrouded in mystery. He rarely spoke more than a grunt or a clipped command, the complete opposite to the warmth of the others.

He was the same hidden figure, strict and cold, like he had been a few years ago when you had the honour of being trained by him and Captain Price. He was a puzzle you couldn’t solve, a cipher you hadn't even intended to attempt to crack, yet the easy familiarity with which the others interacted with him, offering their vulnerabilities to someone who resembled Death himself without a second thought, left you constantly bewildered. You needed to know more. How could they trust someone implicitly who was hidden behind a mask, someone whose past remained a blank slate?

He could be anyone, a traitor in their midst, and no one would know. You shook your head, catching yourself staring yet again, your gaze tracing the lines of the thick skull sewn to his balaclava, desperately trying to find a flicker of the man beneath.

Missions blurred into weeks, then months, and the uneasy feeling just didn’t let go. You had an eye of him always, your gut telling you to, but you found something different than you were hoping for.

It began with small, almost imperceptible observations that chipped away at the carefully constructed wall of Ghost’s persona. Subtle movements, like the precise, almost ritualistic way he adjusted his gloves like he had always done; a subtle tilt of his head as he listened, mirroring his thoughtful pose from years ago. The way he favoured the knife in the strap on his left, like he had always shown off his favourite weapon to you, shown you how to use it to defend yourself if you ever had to grab it from him. The subtle shift in his breathing when under stress, something he tried to conceal but you recognized it with an unnerving familiarity.

You’d catch yourself staring, again and again, searching for something, anything, beneath that mask to prove your mind wrong — or right.

You scoffed at yourself, pushing the thoughts away. Wishful thinking. Ridiculous. Simon was gone. He is and always will be.

It was your mind playing tricks on you, you reasoned, grasping for closure. You were back in the field, surrounded by danger, by ghosts of your past. Of course, you’d see him in every shadow, hear his voice in every whisper of the wind. Your heart, starved for the his presence, filled the void with illusions.

But you couldn’t help it. The mask. A blank canvas that taunted you, allowed your mind to paint his face onto it a million times over, feeding your impossible, unrealistic hopes with the absurdity of ever seeing him again.

Then, a mission had gone sideways. A sudden ambush, a chaotic scramble for cover. Shots were exchanged, but the target was hit, the job done. But in the chaos, you’d gotten separated from the team, wandering some endless fields, unsuccessfully trying to contact anyone through the deafening static of your radio.

Suddenly, you saw him — Ghost, slumped against the rough-hewn timbers of an abandoned barn, a gash bleeding freely on his forearm beneath the torn fabric of his jacket.

Adrenaline surging, you raced towards him, your medic instincts taking over. 

Inside the barn, the air was thick with the scent of dust and hay. Ghost leaned against the bales and exhaled loudly, avoiding looking at you.

You carefully set down your rifle in the hay. “We have to wait here and hope we can contact the others. Comms are down.”

No response.

“Let me look at the wound, Lieutenant.” Not a question, but a command, softened by the implicit understanding that he couldn’t afford to ignore the wound, not now, not while still being out in the field.

You knelt beside him, your hands already moving to assess the damage. “Fuck,” he swore, the word muffled by the mask. You assumed it was the pain, but later you would understand the true reason behind the swearing.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured, your focus narrowing to the task at hand. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.” You pressed an alcohol-soaked cotton against the wound, retrieved form your medkit, your touch surprisingly steady despite the frantic beating of your heart. Even through the layers of his tactical gear, you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Something about the feel of him, the solid weight of his body against yours as you leaned in to examine the wound, sparked a disconcerting sense of déjà vu. Stop it, you berated yourself. This is not the time.

All those times he'd been around you, he’d kept his distance, interactions brief, clipped, professional. But now, trapped with you in the suffocating silence of the barn, with nowhere to run, no excuses to offer, no escape from your touch, his carefully constructed walls seemed to crumble, inch by agonizing inch. With your hands on him, gentle and caring as they had been countless times before —

You heard the thud of his helmet hitting the ground, followed by the soft rustle of fabric as he shifted, loosening your hold on his arm. “You need to hold still, sir.”

And then you heard it. Your name. Not your call sign, not the impersonal formality of military protocol, but your name. Whispered with the same cadence like it had been in your dreams, and you were sure fatigue had finally driven you beyond sanity. 

Your blood ran cold. No. It couldn't be. He’s gone. It was impossible. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to wake up from this nightmare. He is not here.

But when you turned, you froze. You looked at a ghost. Not the Ghost, but that ghost from your past that had haunted your every single waking moment, your dreams, your nightmares. It had been stalking you, mocking you, reminding you of a love lost and irrevocably buried. The ghost with its dirty blond hair and scarred face and hazel brown eyes.

Simon.

The man who had stolen your heart, then shattered it with his sudden, unexplained disappearance. 

A strangled sob tore through you, the sound raw with disbelief, with years of suppressed grief.

A torrent of emotions washed over you – shock, denial, a resurgence of a love you thought long buried, a burning anger at his deception, at the years of silence, of unanswered questions. “Why?” you choked out, the word laced with accusation. “Why, Simon? All this time… we were here. Together. You knew.”

He winced, his gaze dropping to his injured arm, unable to meet the intensity of your gaze.  “I… I couldn't risk it,” he murmured, the words a strained whisper. “Risk you.” 

A wave of nausea washed over you. He knew. All those stolen glances, the way you always gravitated towards him—he'd known. The realization struck you, and fury warred with the irrational surge of joy. Alive. But he chose this. Chose to hide, to let you grieve.

“The things I've done…” His voice cracked, the weight of his secrets heavy in the air. “…The things I had to do…” He met your gaze, bracing himself for the storm of your anger. “I couldn't risk you getting hurt.” A weak excuse, a pathetic justification, but the only truth he could offer. 

Shame burned in his gaze, and for a terrifying moment, he thought he’d lost you, before you even had the chance to find each other again. The anger, the hurt, the unanswered questions — he saw it all swirling within you.

“Hurt?” The word was hollow, edged with bitterness. “You left me to rot in hell for seven years, wondering if you were even alive, and you talk about hurt? You were here, Simon. You even trained me!” He flinched at the pain in your voice, a pain he inflicted. Something he deserved, not you.

You felt a flash of anger towards Price, who had kept this from you, knowing how much Simon’s disappearance wrecked you. But you also knew that Price, above all else, was loyal to his men. 

“I know what you're thinking,” he whispered. “I asked them to keep it from you. I asked them not to say my name around you… I thought… it would be easier.” He knew now how wrong he'd been. How could he not know? How selfish and misguided this attempt at keeping you safe had been. He was supposed to protect you, not hurt you. “If you’re angry, be angry at me.” He was the only one to blame. It was never up to his comrades to take this weight off his shoulders. 

Then suddenly, he closed the distance between you, and his hand, trembling, cupped your cheek. A jolt, a spark, in the desolate wasteland of his guilt. Your skin, soft and warm beneath his fingertips. A reminder of everything he’d lost. Everything he risked losing again by revealing himself.

No. Your mind screamed in protest, wanting to pull away from the unwelcome tenderness. Don't you dare forgive him. But the words remained unspoken. His thumb gently stroked your skin, a familiar caress, and a sob escaped your lips. This is wrong. He hurt you. But the voice of reason was a faint whisper against the roaring tide of longing. Your hands trembled, wanting to push him away, to distance yourself, anything but this aching tenderness. But at the same time, you wanted nothing more to feel him.

“I don’t want to be angry,” your hand found its place above his on your cheek. “Just… tell me why, Simon? Why?”

He didn't answer. He couldn't. Instead, his lips found yours, a kiss that was both a question and an answer, a desperate, hungry reconnection of two souls separated by time and circumstance. 

He knew you’d push him away, he expected it, he deserved it. But he needed this, this moment of contact, the fleeting taste of a past he had thought was lost forever. He had been dreaming of this moment for too long, torturing himself with imagined reunions, each encounter an agonizing exercise in self-control. Every time you were near, he’d shackled himself mentally, fighting the overwhelming urge to reach for you, to touch you, to scream at you that he is alive and yours, and to beg for your forgiveness.

Your lips on his were like watering a withered flower that his heart had turned into, dry and shrivelled, unable to let love close if it wasn’t yours. He’d sworn never to love again when he left, believing it was that easy, believing it was the only way to protect you.

He had hoped that each mission and kill helped to bury his heart and his emotions until there was nothing left but death. Bury the part of himself that yearned for you, that ached for your touch, and leave only the Ghost behind.

But then you were there. On his team. You stood before him, more beautiful than he remembered, your long hair braided back, your uniform hugging your curves, a vision that made his breath catch in his throat. He could have died then and there, content to simply exist in the same space as you, to breathe the same air.

And with your return, so was he, whether he wanted to or not. He was powerless against you. Simon Riley, the man who loved you, resurfaced from beneath the mask, shattering the carefully constructed illusion he'd built around himself. 

The moment he dreaded haunted his work now, and he considered running, again. Leave the team, like a dog with its tail between its legs, give up and run from his past.

But Price had promised him that he wouldn’t tell you, if he stayed. He had almost begged him not to run again, knowing his past and his pain, and somewhere, he knew Price was right. He needed them. And he realized he needed you.

From then, he cherished every moment with you together, and it pained him to be so harsh to you. But he had to be, afraid the mask would slip, literally. Conversations cut short, orders barked, the subtle flinch in your eyes when his voice cut through the air — each interaction was a battle, a constant war against the overwhelming urge to reach out, to soothe the hurt he knew he was inflicting, to pull you close and beg you to forgive him.

And now, with your hands on him, so gentle and caring, the dam had finally broken. He couldn’t bear it any longer, this agonizing distance from you.

And your lips, so sweet and so soft, like no time had passed at all, they were his salvation, his damnation, his only hope of redemption.

A sigh left your body, distorted from the sobs, and he pressed your face closer to him. He never wanted to let go anymore. Never again.

He still expected you to push him away, to be angry, to unleash your wrath upon him for abandoning you — but you didn’t. Your hands touched every single inch of skin that was exposed, and he didn’t stop you.

He was ashamed of the relief that flooded through him, ashamed of the way his body responded to your touch, ashamed that he dared to enjoy this moment, a moment that should never have existed, a moment born of his lies and his carefully constructed deceptions. Then your hands cupped his length through his jeans, and an unexpected groan escaped his lips. 

He should stop you. You should be furious. You shouldn’t be rewarding him for the years of silence, for the agonizing absence that had left a gaping wound in your life. But the moment your hand touched him through the fabric, every carefully constructed defense crumbled to dust. He was lost.

“Show me you’re real, Si,” you whispered against his jaw, your lips leaving a hot, wet trail along his stubble, your hips pressing against his thighs, the friction igniting a fire in his blood. “Show me… I need… I need to know this is real.”

How could he deny you? How could he deny himself this one moment of reckless abandon, this one chance to reclaim a piece of the past he had so carelessly thrown away?

“Are you sure?” 

He felt the zip of his jeans slide down, heard the quiet clink of his discarded weapons against the hay. He felt you nudging his thighs open, a sense of anticipation coursing through his blood like pure, electric adrenaline.

“I don’t know.” You whispered, looking up at him. Your sight was blurry from the tears, but you saw real concern in his eyes. Mixed with confusion. He had expected you to react differently, you were sure of that. 

If this was just a fever dream, a hallucination conjured by a mind desperate for solace, then so be it. You would savor every moment, every touch, every stolen kiss, before the inevitable awakening, before the cruel return to reality.

You kissed him again, your hand now firmly stroking him, the familiar texture of his skin, the throb of his arousal beneath your palm, sending a wave of heat through you. His hands found their way beneath your uniform, slowly pushing your pants down as far as your position allowed, and the catch in your breath when his touch found your centre was his undoing. The small, shuddering breath that passed through your body, an unconscious reaction to his finger as it played against your sweet spot. And he felt the blood rush to his cock, hardening it, causing it to ache with a need he hadn't felt in years.

You crawled closer onto his thighs and slowly eased yourself onto his waiting length, and that puzzle that was Ghost, the unsolvable mystery, finally clicked into place, a puzzle piece finding its perfect fit, making you both whole.

The world around you ceased to exist. It was just you and him and nothing else. The wound and blood were long forgotten. If there were enemies outside, you didn’t care. You could die right then and there, if it meant you were in your lovers arms for all eternity and beyond.

The stretch of his cock inside your sensetive walls was pure bliss, and you sighed into his neck. “There hasn’t been anyone else. Just you. Always you.” You whispered in confession, and you earned a groan in return.

“I swore to never love again,” he murmured against your hair, as he began to move inside you, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. “And then,” a hard thrust, a gasp escaping your lips, “you were right there again. Fuck.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into the worn fabric of his uniform as he moved within you. The rhythm was both familiar and achingly new, years of longing poured into every thrust. The feel of him, solid and real, chased away the ghosts of the past, the years of wondering, of imagining, of hoping. This was real. He was here.

You sobbed, a mixture of relief and the lingering sting of betrayal, and he responded with a guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His breath, hot and ragged against your skin, mingled with incoherent apologies whispered against your ear.

“Si…” you breathed, his name a prayer, a plea, a reaffirmation of a love that had endured despite the years of silence and pain.

His hands tightened on your hips, guiding your rhythm to match his, the friction building and building. It wasn't just the physical pleasure, though it was like a white-hot fire spreading through you; it was the reconnection, the desperate need to erase the years of separation, to meld back into the person you were before he disappeared. 

“I missed you,” he groaned. “So fucking much.”

“Me too,” you whispered back, the tears you thought you'd cried out returning.

The world narrowed, shrinking down to the feel of his clothed body against yours, the heat of his breath, the relentless rhythm that was driving you both toward the edge. 

There was no pretense, no holding back. Just the raw need to be close, to reconnect, to find solace in each other's arms after so long apart, even with the limitations imposed by the circumstances.

You arched into him, the friction of clothing against skin a delicious torment, and a wave of pleasure ripped through you. His grip tightened, and his name tore from your throat as wave after wave of sensation crashed over you, shattered you, dragging you under.

He followed close behind, his release a shuddering groan against your ear, his length pulsing inside you. For a long moment, you just held each other, hearts pounding, breaths ragged, the silence broken only by the occasional shuddering sigh. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t poetic. It was messy, desperate, and utterly perfect.

Even as the aftershocks subsided, you kept your eyes closed, clinging to the warmth of his embrace, afraid to break the spell, terrified that opening them would erase him again, that this precious moment would dissolve into the cruel, cold reality of his absence. You felt a kiss on your forehead, a tender gesture that sent a pang of fear through you. Was he going to leave again? 

But he didn't move.

“I’m so sorry, love” he whispered, his voice ragged, breath warm against your skin. “Please… look at me.”

You opened your eyes, your gaze locking with his. Scarred skin, hazel eyes filled with remorse, but also with an unmistakable love.

He was still there.

He hadn’t disappeared.

He didn’t walk away.

“I promise,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “I won't ever leave you again.”

You clung to his words, your heart swelling with a cautious hope. “Will you tell me what happened?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening, but his eyes held yours. Watching you these past months, your strength, your resilience in the face of unimaginable danger, revealed a simple truth that would strip him of any excuses not to tell you. You were stronger than he’d given you credit for, stronger than even he had believed. You deserved the truth, no matter how dark, no matter how painful. And he would give it to you. He swore it to himself.

 “I will.”

“Bravo Six… in the blind… you… copy?” The radio crackled, a jarring intrusion into the fragile intimacy of the moment. He reached for it immediately. 

“Bravo Six, this is Ghost. We're in the blind. What's your status?” 

His voice, when he responded to Price, was still tinged with the softness you’d heard only moments before, a subtle reassurance that despite the return of the impersonal detachment, despite the mask he wore for the world, for his team, he was still there, somewhere beneath the surface.

“When we go back,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the static of the radio, laced with a vulnerability you hadn’t intended to reveal, “…when Ghost comes back,” you corrected yourself, the words catching in your throat, “will I still have… Simon?” 

He paused, his hand hovering over the radio, his gaze locking with yours. “You, always,” he said, without any hesitation. “And I promise,” he added, his voice softening, the warmth of him breaking through, “I'll help you understand… Ghost.”

He would reveal the darkness, the secrets, the pain that had driven him to become the masked soldier. He would trust you with the broken pieces of himself, the fragments he’d kept hidden for so long. He owed you that much, if not more. 

He’d give you every little piece of him he could offer.

[kaisacobra]

Let You Go - Tara Carpenter

Summary: It's been a while since Tara has seen you. She misses you, but maybe she's broken your relationship to a point beyond repair.

Warnings: Violence, blood, mentions of death, angst

Word Count: 7.9k

a/n: thank you so much for the ride guys! Here we have part 3 of second best, which (kind of) ends this trilogy. Of course, I'm still writing the alternate ending so stay tuned if you're interested!

third part of Second Best

It was two in the afternoon when Tara began rummaging through that box she kept at the back of her closet, sorting the contents into "burn" and "don't burn," all in line with what her therapist had advised. She needed to overcome the past, even if in small steps, and what better way to start than by burning traces of when everything started going wrong?

She looked into the box, examining the contents that would survive the purge. To no one's surprise, most of the photos contained you.

Tara reached for a specific photo among the others. A polaroid depicting a hug between the two of you, both with radiant smiles and faces so close that your cheeks touched. Mindy had taken this photo just before you both visited an amusement park that had been in town for a while. Tara's heart throbbed painfully. She missed you. A lot.

The girl sat on the bed with slumped shoulders, clutching the polaroid as if it were a precious possession. She couldn't take her eyes off the image of the two of you, with a happiness and innocence that would soon be ruined by her own actions. With a tired sigh, Tara closed her eyes, remembering her therapist's words.

The initial sessions were slow and unproductive, mainly because Tara kept her guard up and refused to talk much about her life to a stranger. Over time, the man became a pleasant presence, and Tara began to see him as some sort of a grandfather figure trying to advise his granddaughter. That's when she started sharing her problems and actively sought solutions.

"Do you think she'll forgive me?" she remembered asking, looking at her hands with shame. The bright white light in the room made the sweat on her palms stand out on her tan skin.

"Tara..." The man sighed, taking off his glasses as if he was preparing for a battle. "Don't you think you should worry about forgiving yourself first?"

The girl frowned and looked at him as if he were crazy. If anything, she was guilty of not only ruining her own life but also becoming a problem in everyone else's. She had no right to see herself as a victim. "What do you mean?"

"From what you've told me, I've realized you harbor a lot of resentment towards yourself on the inside." He pointed to Tara's chest, and she noticed no hint of judgment in his expression. Still, she felt strangely exposed. "Have you ever really reflected on this internal conflict you feel? About feeling guilty for things beyond your control?"

Tara scoffed and leaned back until her shoulders rested against the chair again, crossing her arms and staring at the walls like a stubborn child avoiding conflicts. "Beyond my control? I was awful to the best person in my life! I let a murderer into our life for-"

"See? You're doing it again." He smiled with a patience that bordered on irritating for the girl, crossing his hands on the glass table that separated them. "I'm not saying you're not at fault for being rude to your friend, but I'd like to focus on your past. That girl's attacks, parental abandonment... You're not to blame for that, Tara, but it doesn't stop you from carrying the pain anyways. Don't you think it affects you?"

She remained silent, but now her head was bowed in embarrassment. Her arms, once crossed, now enveloped her elbows in a half-hug, as if that would protect her from something. Without more exchanging words, the therapist followed the cue and continued speaking in a gentle tone, as if trying to educate a wounded animal.

"Tara, have you ever talked about your concerns with anyone, or have you just kept all these grievances inside until they exploded? Have you ever had any healthy coping mechanism?"

I don't deserve one. That's what she wanted to say, but didn't, because she knew it would make the situation even worse.

"Do you think I don't recognize the signs? Troubled young adult refuses help out of fear of abandonment and ends up driving everyone away, taking the opportunity to take out your emotional wounds on others? You won't be the first or the last person I've seen with this pattern." He spoke as if he could read her thoughts, leaving the girl a little scared.

Sitting up straighter in the chair, Tara turned her gaze back to the therapist, momentarily becoming interested in the conversation again. "Okay, what do I do to end this? What do I do to not be like this anymore?"

Broken, she wanted to say.

The man smiled gently and pulled open a drawer in the wooden cabinet to his left. Tara watched impatiently as he took out a black notebook and placed it on the table between them, looking between her and the object with a certain expectation. "I thought you could start documenting your feelings on paper, instead of keeping them locked within you. I think it can help you in the long run."

"Do you think writing in a journal will make me less of an ass and make y/n forgive me?" Tara replied with a sarcastic tone.

"I think it can influence a change in behavior, yes." The therapist reaffirmed, deliberately ignoring the girl's foul language. "And this exercise is not about y/n; it's about you. How do you expect her to forgive you if you can't do it for yourself?"

As stubborn as Tara was, the words had truly left an impression on her. That's why, on top of her messy desk, was the damn black notebook. The calluses on her hand throbbed with the memory of the force with which she wrote each new entry, trying to release her negative feelings onto paper.

She knew that your name was probably the most repeated word on all the pages, like a sacred mantra that she had to honor. Tara couldn't escape the fact that many of her emotions were so directly intertwined with the idea of you, and honestly, she accepted having to carry that burden as her own Sisyphean stone. She deserved it, after all.

Looking again at the polaroid, she sighed and slowly ran her thumb over the smiling image of your face, almost wishing she could offer you the same affection in person.

She was going to change. She had to change. For you.

_

"That was pretty good!"

The floodlights on the university’s sports field lit up as it began to get dark, allowing the young athletes to continue their training even at night. There weren't many people around, but you could see that the track team seemed to be gearing up to practice for the 100 meters a little to your left.

"Kate, I hit the white part." You grumbled in response to your friend's encouraging words. Kate Bishop had convinced you to attend one of her archery practices to "see her talents firsthand," and at some point, she thought just watching wouldn't be enough, and that you had to experience the sport for yourself.

That's why you were now on the archery training field with her, holding a semi-professional bow that was much heavier than you expected, proving over and over again that you were definitely not a natural at this.

It didn't seem to discourage Kate, however, as the girl still smiled with enthusiasm while looking at your target with a single arrow stuck in it. "At least you hit the target! You're improving; it could be worse."

"True! You could have hit someone's foot, like Miss Bishop did once." One of Kate's teammates, Yelena, commented with a laugh. The two, along with Maya Lopez, made up the Blackmore University women's archery team and were surprisingly good at it, having won all the recent competitions.

You laughed along with the other two while Kate gradually turned redder and assumed a betrayed expression. "Hey!" She protested.

It was amazing how people you had known for such a short time could make you feel so good. You couldn't even remember the last time you had laughed so freely since the incident with Tara happened, and that was already a significant victory for you. It's not like being with Mindy, Chad, Anika, and the others didn't make you happy, but it was hard to enjoy the moments with them when you remembered that, in any other situation, Tara would be there with you too.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, and you leaned the tip of the bow on your foot, letting its weight rest on your shoulder so you could reach the device with your hands. Through the lockscreen, you could see a message notification from Mindy, as if she had read your thoughts.

Best Twin: Movie night at the Carpenters' house, are you coming?

Best Twin: Sam misses you

Best Twin: We all do

You sighed deeply and looked at the notification with a grimace, not sure exactly what to do. Of course, you would love to spend time with your friends, and you definitely felt guilty for avoiding Sam by extension, even though she understood the reason. But your palms started to sweat just at the thought of sharing a small space with Tara again.

Mindy had already told you that Tara had started therapy after the encounter you had in some of the university’s corridors some time ago, but she had also said that it was entirely valid if you still didn't feel ready to see Tara after everything.

It was a strange feeling, as if two forces were fighting for dominance within you when it came to Tara. On one hand, just thinking about her made your chest ache. A wave of anger, sadness, and pure humiliation invaded you, and your eyes threatened to well up. What she did to you, what she said to you, marked you like a painful burn that might never stop pulsating.

But on the other hand, you wondered if there were still traces of that other Tara who loved and treated you well. The Tara who made you soup when you were sick and promised never to leave you. Maybe it was your foolishness, but you didn't want to believe that that part of her had simply gone away forever.

"Are you okay?" A soft voice reached your ears and quickly snapped you out of your thoughts, causing you to loosen the tight grip with which you had involuntarily held the phone. Looking up, you came face to face with Kate's kind blue eyes, patiently waiting for your response.

Kate Bishop had been an angel in your life, fitting in perfectly at the moment you needed her most. You had met her in the waiting room of the counseling center after spending a week living like a zombie following everything that happened with Tara, and you could barely comprehend that you were sharing the same space with someone like her.

At first glance, Kate Bishop didn't seem like someone who needed to be in a counseling center. She carried herself with confidence, always with impeccable posture and a calm expression on a model-like face. Always dressed in neat clothes that you were sure were designer and carrying a sports bag indicating her athletic background.

But when she approached you and started a conversation, saying she needed to talk to someone or she'd explode with anxiety before her first appointment, you began to realize that Kate might not be what you expected. She was, in fact, much kinder and more attentive than you could have predicted.

You talked a lot that day, and the next day, and the day after, until there came a point where you got along well enough to consider her a friend. Kate listened to everything about your issues with Tara and provided advice and emotional support. In return, you listened to her vent about her problems with a father who died in childhood, a mother imprisoned for fraud, and an inherited company she didn't want to have to run at that age.

They were quite different dilemmas, just as you were quite different people, but still, you felt at ease in her presence, and it was good to have someone who truly noticed you for once in your life.

"Hm? Okay. It's fine, yes, I just..." You searched for words but gave up, opting to speak the truth about what was bothering you. "Mindy invited me to watch movies with the others, and it's at Tara's house, and I didn't want to have to refuse, but I don't know if I'm ready for-"

Kate widened her eyes and raised her hands as if asking for a pause, interrupting your rapid and anxious flow of words. "Woah, hold on, champ. You don't have to go if you don't feel okay. They'll understand."

"Yeah, I know, it's just that..." You sighed, looking down at your feet planted in the field's grass. "I miss them, but... I can't."

As much as it hurt and was embarrassing to admit, you knew it still wasn't the right time. Not when you sometimes still woke up crying in the middle of the night with nightmares involving her.

"Then how about this?" Kate began to suggest, getting closer to you and gently shaking your shoulders. Physical touches had always been her way of offering comfort. "There's a party at my place tonight with some of my childhood friends, and I'm officially inviting you. You can tell your friend that you'll be busy spending time with a very beautiful, charming, and talented company."

You smiled as you let yourself be shaken by the cheerful girl in front of you. "A very humble company, apparently." You teased, poking her ribs playfully. "I don't want to disturb you, but thanks for the invite."

"Disturb? I'd be the one disturbing your illustrious evening by forcing you to hang out with my friends! Believe me, it's torture listening to Peter for 2 hours when he gets excited about his nerd stuff." Kate tried again, and by the way she looked at you with the expression of a begging puppy, you knew there would be no escape. "Please? It'll be nice to have you there."

There were two available possibilities. In the first, you could go back to your dorm, watch a bad movie alone, and spend the rest of the night thinking about how your friends would be having fun, specifically wondering if she would be having fun. In the second, you could take another step in getting rid of your codependent friendship (if it still existed) and enjoy the night with new people and a person who was becoming more and more important to you every day.

If Tara didn't want to be stuck in the past, you also had the right to do that. You deserved it too.

So, you accepted and only remembered to inform Mindy when you were already in the passenger seat of Kate's black Audi RS7.

_

Tara was distraught. Actually, saying that she was distraught was an understatement.

Last night had already started off as garbage from the moment Mindy announced that you wouldn't be coming to see them at the apartment. Sure, she should have expected it, but that didn't mean she didn't have any hope. She couldn't stop thinking about what you might be doing, the reasons why you hadn't come, how everything would have been better if you had.

But mostly, she felt relieved that you hadn't been there, because that meant she hadn't put you in danger again with another ghostface attack. It was a selfish thought. Quinn, her roommate, had died in front of her, Anika had her belly almost cut from end to end and was now in surgery, and all Tara could think about was finding you to see with her own eyes that you were okay.

She urgently searched for your face in the midst of the crowd of students walking through the Blackmore University campus, seeking the slightest fragment of your presence anywhere. She cursed herself again for not being able to just call you like she would if she hadn't messed up and made you block her in practically every possible place.

Finding you and making sure you were okay, in addition to delivering the terrible news, was her obligation. Mindy and Sam were with Anika at the hospital, and Chad had gone to check Ethan's alibi in the damn economics class. She needed to find you.

Fortunately, her prayers seemed to be answered by whatever entity it was. She saw you in the distance, radiant as she hadn't seen you in a long time. Tara's heart skipped a beat, and she opened her own smile after yours. It was bittersweet, the feeling of seeing you so happy but knowing that this happiness would be ruined the moment you laid eyes on her.

In a moment of distraction, a new wave of people passed in front of her, blocking her view of you. Fucking height. She thought with some annoyance as she tried to make her way through the students, trying to get closer to where you were.

When Tara finally managed to locate you again, the scene was quite different from before. Instead of laughing, looking forward, you had your back turned, seemingly struggling while a girl wrapped her arms around your neck. Tara felt a wave of anger rise through her veins and marched in your direction, ready to free you from whoever that crazy bitch was.

The younger Carpenter approached you with a speed she couldn't quite explain, and her motivation only seemed to grow when she noticed that the mysterious girl looked a lot like that senior she had seen with you in the hallway some time ago. Choosing to embrace her negative feelings, she used her strength in a way that would make her sister proud and aggressively pushed the girl away. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Tara?!" You exclaimed in shock, your voice carrying surprise, and your expression wavering between anger, astonishment, and anguish. "What do you think you're doing, are you crazy?!"

Tara saw you getting closer to the girl (Karen, Kendra, she couldn't remember.) and gently placing your hand on her shoulder, as if checking her condition. That small gesture made more anger bubble in her stomach. She wanted to scream, throw a fit, damn, she wanted to destroy something just to get rid of that rotten feeling corroding her from the inside.

But she looked into your eyes and could see a glimpse of the sadness she had caused in the past by this same line of thinking. She couldn't do this to you again, especially because that wasn't even why she had come looking for you. Tara swallowed hard and clenched her fists, deciding to save her frustration to take it out on calluses on her own fingers later.

"She was attacking you," Tara mumbled reluctantly, knowing that the explanation sounded stupid but that she also owed some reasoning for her actions.

You clearly didn't seem satisfied with her motivation, as you only stared at her with a frown and crossed arms. "Kate is a martial arts expert, Tara. She was just showing me how to escape from an arm lock."

Well, how was I supposed to know that? Tara thought, but she decided it was better not to worsen the situation. Before you could ask why she had been clearly looking at you for some time, she decided to explain.

"Look, I'm sorry. There was a ghostface attack in the apartment yesterday, and I just needed to know if you were safe."

"What?! An attack?! How- Are you guys okay?!" You asked exasperated, and Tara saw it. She saw the exact moment when you had to restrain your arms by your sides before doing something you would regret.

Tara remembered that being the first thing you did when you could see her after the surgeries last year. You ran to her on the gurney and held her face with both hands, as if she were fragile. You ran your thumbs over her cheeks, right above the freckles, wanting to make sure nothing was injured. She remembered feeling well cared for and loved.

But that was before she messed everything up. Now, all that was left was that. You restraining yourself from offering your heart to Tara, and she wanting to die realizing the damage she had done between you two.

"Sort of. Anika is in critical condition in the hospital, and... Quinn died." Tara delivered the news with a solemn voice, trying to control her own tears as she remembered what happened. She saw when Kate raised her arm to offer a comforting stroke on your back, and, for the first time, all Tara felt was emptiness knowing she couldn't comfort you in that way.

You let out a few sobs before trying to compose yourself. It was clear that you had been affected by the events, and Tara knew you well enough to know that you would want to go after the others to comfort them. "Which hospital is Anika in? And where are Sam, Mindy, and Chad, I... I need to talk to them."

Tara felt a bit of pride in realizing that she still knew your way of dealing with things, even though she was worried that your priority was always to take care of others' pains. Of course, much of that was her fault, and a knot closed in her throat every time she remembered that fact. "Sam and Mindy are at the hospital waiting for Anika to be discharged. Chad went with Ethan to handle something about an alibi."

"I can take you if you want," Kate offered you  in a chivalry that almost made Tara vomit. "It will be faster if we go by car."

"Or maybe it would be faster for her to take the subway with someone who knows the address, like me." Tara retorted sarcastically, crossing her arms to try to cause, at least, the minimal intimidation to her rival. It didn't seem to be working, which made her even more irritated. "Speaking of addresses, where were you last night, Kate?"

Feeling that the conversation would only escalate, you quickly shook your head. "Stop it, Tara. There's no way Kate could be the ghostface."

"And why not?" The girl asked defensively, with an offended tone almost similar to one she would have if you had accused her. It was frustrating for Tara that you seemed willing to vouch for a person you had barely known. "She suddenly appeared in your life, got so close to you in such a short time, don't you find that a bit suspicious?"

"This might sound a bit surprising to you, Tara, but some people actually like having me around." You retorted with irritation, throwing daggers at the girl with a look so intense that she almost stumbled backward. "Kate can't be ghostface because I spent the whole night with her, okay?"

Suddenly, Tara felt dizzy, with a buzzing in her ears. Apparently, you hadn't had the best problem in overcoming your feelings for her. She felt weird inside, as if something were stuck in her throat. "Oh, I didn't know you guys..."

"No! Not like that, I just..." You widened your eyes and hurried to correct the double meaning of the sentence, waving your hands frantically in a way that made Kate open a smile in amusement beside you. "...I slept at her apartment, but not with her. Not that I owe you an explanation anyway."

Your phone vibrated with a notification, and all three pairs of eyes turned to the device. You quickly checked the message and let out a sigh of relief. "It's Sam. She sent me the address of the hospital; I'm going there now. Without any of you, please."

"Okay. Just be careful, alright? And call me if you need anything." Tara watched reluctantly as Kate pulled you closer by the shoulders and planted a small kiss on your forehead. She swallowed the envy and looked away, trying to think of the last time she had offered you any kind of affection.

You said goodbye to Kate with a warm smile and a hug. For Tara, your lips pressed into a line, and you nodded briefly, almost as if you were greeting a stranger.

She wondered if that's what you two were now.

The Carpenter girl prepared to leave, maybe to find Chad and help him or just take a walk to ease the tornado swirling in her chest. However, she was interrupted by a hand on her arm. Kate Bishop tried to get her attention, wearing a conflicted expression on her face.

"What is it?" Tara grumbled, shaking her arm to free herself from the other girl's touch. She was used to being shorter than most people, but with Kate, it became even more annoying, especially when she had to look down at her.

"Look, I know you don't like me, and, to be honest, I don't like you one bit, but I need you to do something for me," Kate said seriously, putting a hand in her pocket and retrieving an object that Tara could only identify as a car key.

The shorter one scoffed. "Listen, I know Y/N and I are on bad terms, but I don't need you to ask me to take care of her. I'm going to do that anyway because I care about her, believe it or not."

Kate rolled her eyes impatiently. "I know. I can see that in you the same way you can see it in me."

It was true, as much as it bothered Tara to admit. She wasn't blind, and she had enough experience in reading people to know that the way Kate looked at you was sincere, and the girl genuinely cared about you. Putting aside her own jealousy and envy, Tara was relieved to know that there was someone good enough to show these feelings for you. You deserved it, after all.

The girl continued, "This device here is a prototype from my mom’s—my company. It's for security." She raised the object and placed it in Tara's hand, who could now see the details of what she had previously thought was a car key. It was a black oval keychain with a single button in the middle, also black. "I pulled some strings and turned it into an emergency button. As soon as you press it, a signal will be sent to police cars and ambulances, and it will be their priority to get to you. That's one of the advantages of being rich and having contacts, I guess."

Tara turned the button in her hands, feeling the object weigh more now that she knew its function. "And why are you giving this to me and not Y/N?"

"Because I know she would use it on anyone but herself." Kate sighed in frustration. Tara knew it was implied in the sentence that you would use the button for her. "I'm giving it to you because... despite the fighting and you being a jerk..."

"Wow. Thanks for the honesty."

"... I can still see that you care." The taller one finished her sentence without caring about the interruption. She looked between Tara and the button with a bit of uncertainty. "When you press it, a signal will also be sent to my phone, and I'll come running wherever it is."

There were more implicit intentions in that sentence that Tara could pick up. I'll come running to help Y/N. I'll take her away from you. I can protect her better than you can.

Tara just offered a short nod and turned to leave, with the emergency button weighing as much in her pocket as her heart weighed in her chest. Thousands of thoughts filled her head, and all of them were about you and your safety. It was Tara's duty to keep you safe, first because it was her fault that you were even in that situation, and second because she had already hurt you enough.

It was her mission to protect you. To prove to herself that she could still be good for you. To prove to you how much she still cared.

And if she couldn't, if she had to press that button... well...

Maybe it would be the sign she needed to understand that Kate Bishop deserved more of a place in your life than she did.

_

The lobby of the abandoned cinema ironically looked like something straight out of a horror movie that Tara would hate. Dust had piled up in heaps on all surfaces, and the orange lights were so dim that they threatened to go out at any moment.

The others were in the center of the other room, where Richie Kirsch, being the maniac he was, left his extensive collection of items from stab movies and real life ghostfaces. Tara, however, thought it would be a better idea to follow you wherever your feet and lost expression took you, just so she wouldn't have to leave you alone, of course.

You had your back turned to her while leaning on the filthy counter with your elbows. Tara couldn't tell what you were thinking, but obviously, you were not okay, just like everyone else in that situation.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a box of Milk Duds on the other side of the counter that seemed untouched, just a few inches to your left. She approached with light steps, not wanting to make any sudden movements as if that would scare you away, and reached out to bring the box closer. "You like these, right? You can have them if you want."

You didn't respond to the joke, and you didn't even turn around to look at Tara. She felt your indifference like a stab to the chest, but she continued nonetheless. "Or not. This must be like a thousand years old anywa-"

"Tara, shut up." You finally responded sharply, making the younger girl look down in shame. She really needed to get used to your new treatment of her. You ran your hands over your face, covering it as if you were tired.

"Sorry." Tara whispered back weakly. She deserved it, but more than anything, she wanted to be able to offer you some kind of support in that difficult moment, just as you had given her all the support she needed in the past.

You scoffed, in a gesture so hostile that the younger Carpenter almost couldn't believe it came from you. You were still facing away from her, but now slowly taking steps away with tense shoulders. "Did you learn a new word? Didn't know it was in your vocabulary."

Tara felt the anger in your voice, and it made her hands begin to tremble with anxiety. You were right, and it was long overdue for you to know that. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I know it's too late for this, but I'm sorry for everything I did."

"Do you even care? Seriously, Tara, do you really feel sorry, or do you just miss having some idiot around who would do anything for you?" You retorted, your voice rising even as your vocal cords trembled. A dam had just burst open between you two, and now it was time to deal with the flood.

"Of course, I care, I love you!"

"SHUT UP!" You shouted in response. Tara recoiled from you with a start, startled as she had never seen you raise your voice at anyone. You were still facing away, but Tara could see that, even though you had wrapped yourself in a hug to control your reactions, it wasn't working. Your entire body was tense, as if your brain was struggling to choose between fight or flight, and the result was the tremors that seemed to spread through your system. "You have no right to do this to me! To play with me like this!"

"I'm not lying!" The shorter one retorted, and in an impulsive move, she grabbed you by the shoulder and forced you to turn until your gazes met. Tears were already streaming down your eyes like waterfalls, and your entire face seemed contorted in excruciating pain. Tara wished she could absorb all your hurt for herself. "I know I messed up, but I really love you!"

"You're toxic, Tara! That's what you are!" You shouted back with strength, holding the girl's gaze as if it were a challenge you needed to win. "You hurt me! And I was getting better, damn it, I was getting better away from you!"

"I know you were! I know! That's why I'm apologizing, okay? Because you're the best person I've ever met, and I ruined you like I ruin everyone! Because the best moments I've ever had were with you, and I feel like tearing my eyes out when I remember that I hurt you by being this way!"

"Tara..."

"No! Please let me finish." She rejected your interruption, taking the opportunity to relieve all the pain and guilt she felt inside her. "I'm getting treatment, okay? And I know you're not obligated to forgive me for anything, but I want you to know that I'm trying to be better for you! I'm trying to fix my shit to be someone you and Sam and the others can be proud of!"

"Tara..."

"And I know I hurt you a lot, but please don't doubt the love I feel for you because it's the only good thing left in me. I won't blame you if you never want to see me again, but..."

"TARA, GET DOWN!" You shouted, and before Tara could react, you were already pushing her toward the dusty wooden floor.

Everything was happening too fast for the Carpenter's mind to process. She hit the ground with a grunt of pain and a potential bruise on her arm, but she could see the exact moment when an arm covered in a black cloak descended toward your leg, making a deep cut in your thigh.

You screamed in pain, and Tara screamed next, watching your blood soak through the fabric of your pants and start dripping onto the floor. In a surge of adrenaline, the small girl ran to your side and almost reached for your arm when she was suddenly engulfed in a tight grip, with her two arms pinned to her back and a hand holding a knife to her neck.

She struggled against the masked person holding her, futilely trying to break free to get to you. Tears streamed so quickly down her face that she could taste the saltiness invading her senses. "Let me go! Y/N, run! Please, run!"

A sinister laugh reached her ears like the hiss of a snake. "Oh, Tara. Did you think it would be that easy?"

She recognized that distorted voice with effects all too well. She still heard it in her nightmares, calling her name in the dark. Ghostface was back. "I'm going to kill you, you motherfucker!"

"Oh, but I don't think so." The voice spoke in an amused tone as another killer, wearing the same mask and black cloak, approached your figure on the ground. Tara wailed like a banshee when the other pulled your hair forcefully, forcing you to stand up as he placed a knife on your neck.

She struggled a little more. "Leave her alone!"

"And where's the fun in that?" The ghostface holding her responded, almost as if they were laughing. "Come on, Tara. Weren't you the one who liked to release your anger by hurting Y/N? Why should only you have that privilege? Let's see, where was it that you got stabbed again?"

At the same time, as if reacting to a code, the ghostface holding you advanced in quick and precise movements, gripping you by the waist with one arm while thrusting the knife into you with the other, just above your kidney.

You let out another gasping scream as the blade pierced your skin, and Tara felt your body sagging as if you were about to collapse. She herself wanted to fall to her knees and plead for you to be released, but she couldn't. Whoever was holding her had great strength.

"Don’t you want her to feel the same pain you felt, huh, Tara? Don't want her to suffer what you suffered?" The voice continued to growl in her ear, sounding increasingly excited by the escalating violence. The knife on Tara's neck kept her head in place, so she couldn't look at anything other than your agony.

"No, I don't. Please, PLEASE." Tara pleaded with a tearful voice as another stab was delivered to you, this time in the center of your abdomen. Your shirt gradually turned into a pool of blood, and Tara feared you would faint at any moment.

"Tara..." You could barely pronounce her name, your voice choked and your own blood streaming down your lips. Tara's gaze met yours, and she shivered when you shook your head. She knew what that meant.

You looked feverish. Sweat and blood mingled on your skin, creating the most disturbing of the paintings. Your eyes were vacant, and Tara was so afraid they would close at any moment, never to open again.

And yet, with that nod of your head, Tara understood that your top priority at the moment was to make her understand that it wasn't her fault.

The girl's knees threatened to give up as the knife entered you one, two, three times. She shook her head but couldn't close her eyes because she needed to see you, needed to see that your eyes were still open, that you were still alive.

You couldn't die. You promised not to leave, even if everyone else did. You couldn't die. You couldn't die. You. Couldn't. Die.

"I love you. I'm sorry for loving you, I'm sorry," Tara whispered because she had no strength to speak louder. She felt on the verge of giving up and letting those maniacs do whatever they wanted with her. Nothing mattered anymore if you weren't here, and it was all her fault.

The ghostface holding her laughed with a deep voice. "You know, I could turn this into a Romeo and Juliet scene, but I think it would be more fun to kill you while Sam is watching."

With that, Tara felt her body being thrown backward, and she hit the dirty wooden floor again, this time landing with her head in a wound that would undoubtedly become a concussion.

She got up in a frenzied pace, in an adrenaline rush, thinking she could try to save you now that she was free. But, looking ahead, she realized she was outside the lobby’s door, and the maniac murderer already held the handles. Despite Tara's attempt to advance, the ghostface had already sarcastically waved and locked the doors, creating a deadly separation between you and herself.

Tara pounded on the hard wooden door, ignoring the pain in her knuckles. She hit and hit and hit, feeling cuts open on her skin and burn from the repetitive contact. She was crying, screaming, punching, cursing, doing things she couldn't even rationalize because it didn't matter anymore.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not without you.

She collapsed on the floor, tired, injured, and desperate for you. Her sobs echoed in the seemingly empty hallway, and she was too afraid to put her ear to the door and hear screams of pain like your last breath. Tara felt lost until she remembered that she was no longer trapped.

Rushing to reach the device in her pocket, she sighed in relief to find it unbroken. She pressed the button multiple times without a second thought. If she had a chance to maybe save your life, she would grab it without a doubt.

Tara remembered what she had thought before, how pressing that button might symbolize that she shouldn't be in your life. She stood up and leaned against the wall, trying to rid herself of the wave of nausea, and left the button hidden near the door. If help came following the signal, the first place they would look would be where you were.

If help came and you made it out alive, that was a promise. Tara would finally leave you alone. That's what you deserved.

---

Tara was almost sure she had developed a hospital phobia since the events of last year.

There was no other explanation for why she felt uneasy in that environment, even after they had taken all precautions for her. She still hated the white walls and the smell of chemicals and couldn't wait to get out of there.

For now, she decided to ignore this feeling and continued following Sam through the corridors of fluorescent lighting. It was important for her to stay inside until they finally found the doctor who could tell them what they wanted to know.

She checked her hands again, finding the tanned skin covered in some bandages but free from the mixture of her blood and Ethan's after she... lost control.

After she was separated from you, everything happened so fast that Tara could almost think it was all a delusion. All the revelations, the attacks, her adding another victim to her count, the police arriving... All of that had taken a back seat because nothing was more important than you.

It was as if her life had turned into a black and white movie in the moments she was without you. Everything felt colorless, purposeless. Fortunately, she was pulled out of her own spiral of melancholy when she saw you being taken out of the old movie theater on a stretcher by paramedics. She tried to get closer, but it was needed to give you space so that nothing touched your wounds and caused an infection.

Tara tried to go in the ambulance with you, but she and Sam were pulled for another checkup, and you needed to be rushed to a surgery room urgently if you wanted to have the slightest chance of survival. So, Tara let you go, but there was not a moment when you weren't on her mind.

That's why now, she desperately searched for your surgeon with Sam. No one seemed to know about your condition, and she already felt like tearing her hair out from anxiety. Tara just needed to know if you were at least breathing.

"Dr. Isley?" Sam called the attention of a red-haired doctor who was passing by them in a hurry. Tara sighed in relief that her sister was paying attention to her surroundings because her mind was in a completely different place. "We were informed that you performed emergency surgery on a family member. Her name is Y/n Y/L, admitted with multiple stab wounds."

"Oh, yes. Miss Y/L." The doctor replied in a professional tone, but there was impatiency all over her body language. "It was a difficult surgery, and she lost a lot of blood, but fortunately, no vital organs were hit. I won't lie, the recovery will be painful, but at least she survived the operation without any apparent severe collateral effects."

This was the best news Tara had heard in days. She opened a smile and didn't even try to hide her own happiness as she prolonged the conversation. "Is she in any room? Can we see her?"

"Miss Y/L is in room 604, but I'm afraid only one person is allowed in at a time to avoid any disturbance."

"No problem, we can take turns." Sam pointed between her and her sister. Despite seeming much calmer than the younger one, Tara knew Sam was just as relieved as she was to know that you were still alive.

"No, you didn't understand. There's already someone in Miss Y/L's room." Dr. Isley warned and, seemingly losing the rest of her patience, she began to walk away. "Sorry, but I have other patients to attend to."

The two Carpenter sisters looked at each other alarmed. Who could be in your room? Chad was still in his own surgery, Anika had gone to stay with Mindy while she received some stitches, and frankly, your parents had never been present enough to travel between states so quickly for your sake.

They walked down the corridor, moving as fast as possible without disturbing the other people being treated or working in the area. Tara's heart threatened to jump out of her mouth as she looked from door to door, searching for the numbering of your room. 601. 602. 603.

Tara stopped so abruptly at the door that she and Sam bumped into each other, their sneakers making noise against the shiny white floor. The simple door had a small window through which it was possible to see the inside of the room without necessarily entering. Tara looked inside, ready to break the handle and force her way in if necessary.

But it wasn't, because Tara Carpenter recognized exactly the girl sitting next to your bed, holding your hand gently and stroking your hair, even though you were sleeping. She remembered, with a tightness in her chest, that Kate Bishop would be notified the moment she pressed the button.

And, in her own words, she would come running to take care of you.

"Tara, who-"

"I have to go." Tara interrupted her sister's words, looking at the scene in front of her without blinking. She knew what she had to do; there was no reason to fight the facts.

"What? What do you mean? You just got here." Sam asked, partially annoyed and partially confused by the younger one's actions.

"You heard the doctor. Her recovery will be painful, and if I stay around, all I'll cause is more pain." Tara opened a small smile just to try to pretend that she wasn’t dying inside. She knew Sam could see the truth, that she could see her broken heart and internal conflict, but she also knew that was the only possible solution.

"Tara..."

"Sam, you know I'm right. You told me that yourself a few days ago, remember? I hurt her." The girl shook her head in surrender and took a few steps away from the door. Away from you. "She needs peace, Sam. And the only way she can get that now is if I'm not around."

Tara took one last look inside the room, seeing how peaceful you looked. Sleeping, without any worries, and with an incredible and caring person by your side, ready to help you in whatever you needed.

Someone much better than her.

Perhaps that was the first time Tara had made a selfless decision in a long time, but she didn't feel deserving of any credit for it. What she had to do now was get better. Maybe more entries in her journal and more visits to her therapist would eventually fill the void she felt within her.

For now, she just turned around and started walking away from room 604. Each step hurt, like a razor cutting her skin, but it was the right thing to do. Tara had hurt you for far too long, and now...

Now it was time to let you go.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Captain John Price Masterlist

➺ All works are F!Reader

➺ 18+ fics will be marked & all works will be sorted from most recent upload to least recent.

➺ Popular fics will be marked with a '✧'

ONE-SHOTS:

✎ CHOKE ON THE SUN - Angst, torture, 7k event fic, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [You'd known John ever since the Academy, and even after losing touch, the love you had for one another was never gone. Like a snake, it had stayed hidden in unseen places. But it was always there.] ❞

✎ ALL, MOST, SOME, NONE - Heavy angst, character(s) death

╰┈➤ ❝ [Snow melts in the heat of blood.] ❞

✎ LIONS AND IBEXES - Canon-typical violence, wife!reader from 'I'll Take the Nightshift'

╰┈➤ ❝ [Impulsive was what John always called you - affectionately, of course. But he sure does worry when you disappear without him.] ❞

✎ GLORY TO THE REAPER - Angst, pining, hurt/comfort, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [He was strange, you admitted to yourself. Always around even when you didn't want him to be. But perhaps the Brit just might surprise you.] ❞

✎ OUR REMAINS - Pregnancy, angst, fluffy ending, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [You disliked hiding things from John. Certainly something as big as this.] ❞

✎ ORIGAMI BOATS - Connected to 'See No Evil', stalking mentions, trauma, protective!Price

╰┈➤ ❝ [Wounds of the mind are harder to heal than wounds of the body. But can John ever stop blaming himself?] ❞

✎ COMFORTS OF HOME - 18+, housewife!reader, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [Good are the days when you wake up and John is already beside you.] ❞

✎ THE FIVE TIMES - Fluff, awkwardness, inner turmoil

╰┈➤ ❝ [You've never been in a relationship before - at least, one that was romantic. And then on the off chance when you're lending an old book to a childhood friend, you meet John.] ❞

✎ I'LL TAKE THE NIGHT SHIFT - Torture, wife!reader, suggestive, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [Before you knew it, John was gone - taken from right under your nose and leaving you no choice but to retreat without him. But you would do anything to get him back, even go into the lion’s den itself.] ❞

✎ CHEATING HEART - 18+, toxic relationship (previous), cheating, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [Your feelings for John were wrong - horribly wrong - but when you see your current boyfriend in bed with another woman, what's to hold you back anymore?] ❞

✎ SEE NO EVIL - Stalking, intense gore, suggestive, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [The flowers came every week - Tuesday, two O’clock, two minutes after your break. The only problem was that you knew they weren’t coming from John.] ❞

✎ LUSTFUL GOLD AND A CRIMSON-STAINED TONGUE - 18+

╰┈➤ ❝ [It was supposed to be simple - an intel Op. in some Russian arms dealer's mansion. Hell, you were actually looking forward to it, especially with the way John was undressing you with his eyes. You hoped that the red silk dress you had gotten made it through the night.] ❞

✎ LET ME LEAN ON YOU - Intense gore, enemies-to-lovers, suggestive, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [You have a bad habit of putting yourself in harm’s way, enraging John to no end. But can you survive a wound like this? Or will everything you hate to love about John Price never see the light of day?] ❞

✎ THE TRACES HE LEFT BEHIND - Angst, grief, mentions of death, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [You had never expected the dog tags to be so heavy, but now, as they sit in your hands, they’re just about the heaviest object you’ve ever held. M.I.A doesn’t mean John’s dead...but it might as well.] ❞

✎ BABY BLUES - Angst, gore, abductions

╰┈➤ ❝ [The promise of a normal Sunday is lost when your door is torn open, and, you, kidnapped. All you can do is pray that John finds you in time.] ❞

MULTI-PART WORKS:

➺ DAUGHTER!READER:

✎ MEMORIES OF YOUTH - Angst, fluff, banter

╰┈➤ ❝ [It was hard being away from his little girl, but warm mornings spent in each other's company were blessings - even if they were far and few in between. It didn't matter the form.] ❞

✎ DUCKY SOCKS - Fluff

╰┈➤ ❝ [It's your father's birthday, and what better way to celebrate than to go on a hike before giving him the gift he told you not to buy?] ❞

✎ LATE NIGHT COOKIES - Fluff, school stress

╰┈➤ ❝ [Stressed and still awake, you go to grab food from the kitchen before you get right back into your work. Your father talks some sense into you over a nostalgic recipe.] ❞

➺ LIEUTENIANT!PRICE:

✎ CALLUSUS ON HIS GENTLE HANDS - Human Trafficking, blood, trauma

╰┈➤ ❝ [John Price was the one to help you up from the concrete corner you had pushed yourself into when the gunfire had started; his hand holds yours like delicate glass despite the hard calluses. Sticking by him seemed like a good idea.] ❞

✎ CALLUSUS AND MILKY SCARS - 18+, angst, human trafficking

╰┈➤ ❝ [It's been years since you've seen or heard from John and yet you still can't get him out of your head. But can a chance meeting rekindle old emotions?] ❞

➺ SCRATCHES IN THE SURFACE:

✎ PART ONE - Intense gore, heavy angst, torture

╰┈➤ ❝ [Investigating Shepherd was a mistake, but the betrayal of John Price hurt more than anything Shadow Company could do to you.] ❞

✎ PART TWO - Heavy angst, gore, trauma

╰┈➤ ❝ [Finally free from torture and pain, can you ever bring yourself to forgive John for what he caused? Learning to move on and heal is easier said than done.] ❞

[melithril]

[Adar] Moments of Peace

♫ - Alone -Burna Boy

A/N: I haven't seen the finale yet, but I just thought everyone could use some comforting Adar content, because I know I do. Also, my brain just said 'braid that mans hair dammit' so enjoy!

Peaceful moments were sacred, especially in times of war. Few and far between were times in which you could relax, truly relax. Every time there was a semblance of serenity, something had come along to ruin it.

It was quite a dim day, raining outside and for the most part, slow. Your husband, Adar, had been away almost all of the day, and so you kept to your home and tidied up, doing some small household errands. Well, as much as you could do in the camp's quarters. It never truly looked clean after you were finished,which made you chuckle. Little tasks like this allowed your mind to wander, and today it was a nostalgic jaunt through your recent memories. 

When times like this arose, your thoughts always travelled to Adar. For as long as you had known him, he was always kind and caring towards you, despite his past. This man loved you beyond words. A tortured soul, you knew the treatment he had suffered at the hands of Morgoth. The scars on his face were enough to tell you that. Though, in the beginning he feared you would be scared of him, that there would come a day you'd run. However, that day never came.

Marrying the leader of a band of orcs was not how you expected your life to turn out, but you were not complaining. Growing up, you were raised to believe orcs were bad, living for only violence and destruction. Since meeting Adar and being introduced to his children, you quickly realised that what you had been told was a lie. They were honest creatures, they and families and a delicate bond between each other. They were also fiercely loyal. The reputation they and was only because they were used as pawns by people like Sauron.

Your tidying was almost finished, and in perfect timing, your husband walked through the door. Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you looked over to him as he made his way to the table, taking a seat.

You sighed, not unhappy to see him but not overjoyed at how he looked. Adar was tired, the weight of impending war and balancing the currently-stable ecosystem of his family was bearing down on him. He would tell you he was fine, and you knew he was lying.

"Adar," you called, making your way to your husband, who's head rested in hands. He looked up, and smiled, though his smile did not reach his eyes as normal.

"My love, forgive me," his gruff voice was quieter and more solemn than usual. "I did not mean to enter without greeting you. I have had a long day, and-"

You placed a finger to his lips, and he knew you understood.

"It's okay, you need not explain anything to me. Can I help you relax?"

Adar took your hand in his, pressing a kiss against the knuckles. In return, you cupped his face with both your hands, holding him gently as your fingers traced the scars on his face. Adar's eyes fluttered shut, still partially not used to how careful you were with him. He was always the one who acted headstrong, leading his people in battle and ensuring at all costs that they remained safe. He still was not accustomed to having the opposite at home. At home, with you, he could unwind and be his true self. 

Your fingers wound into his long, dark locks, and Adar sighed with content. The feeling of your hands on him calmed his nerves, and he wrapped his slender arms around your waist, pulling you closer between his legs. His gauntlet and chest plate were cold against the thin fabric of your clothing, but you didn't care. Right now, your husband was your primary concern.

"Adar, come here," you took his hand again and led him to your bedroom, pulling him in and closing over the door. Sitting him on the edge of your shared bed, you undid his chest plate and moved on to his gauntlet, discarding them both by the bedside. You lay on the bed, beckoning him to lie down with you. In a vulnerable moment, one you rarely saw and cherished when you did, Adar collapsed onto you, arms around your waist and head resting on your chest. He lay between your legs, and you felt his whole body relax.

"I have you, you are safe here," you whispered, making sure you were as caring as possible with him. "I love you, Adar. I will always be here for you."

Your words calmed him, and he felt, for the first time in so long, at peace. His mind was cleared, and he was grateful to you for everything you did for him. Adar wasn't easy to live with, and the fact you had married him was even more of a mystery to him. He felt unworthy of you, he never felt whole enough or handsome enough. But, you stayed and reminded him that he was neither broken nor too far gone, and that his beauty lay inside, not just in his looks. Which, as you always put it, were a massive bonus. 

"I love you, Y/N, more than I could put into words."

As you lay in silence, your hands fiddled with his locks again, occasionally placing a kiss atop his head, you wove a small braid into the side of his head, finishing it off with a tie you found on the bedside table.  You weren't sure if he had noticed. Staring down at him, you were in awe. It happened a lot, you often were struck by just how ethereal your husband was, and how lucky you were to stand by his side and receive his affections. 

"You are so beautiful, my love. Please, never forget that. No matter what happens outside of that door, in here, you are free of that. I will do everything in my power to see that you are well, and anything I can to remind you of the love I have for you."

A tear fell from Adar's eye, as he leaned up to look at you. To him, you were always his beacon of hope. The calm in the eye of a storm. He hugged you closer, the moment becoming emotional for him. Perhaps it was the release of negativity paired with the adoration he had been shown. Whatever the case, he sat upright and took you in his arms. You cuddled into his chest, and his warmth. 

"You know, I-" your lovers voice was cut off as he stopped mid-sentence. Curious, you glanced up to find his hand on the side of his head, confused. "What is this?"

You giggled, realising he hadn't stopped for anything serious. "A braid."

"I am aware of that, my light," his voice had softened, and his mood had lifted a little at the humorous situation. "Why is it in my hair?"

"I don't know, I was fiddling with your hair and before I knew it, it was there. If it helps any, you look very pretty with it."

Your bashful smile sent his heart soaring, and he could no longer even pretend to be mad. Looking at you, he shook his head with a smile.

"Just what will I do with you, melda..." Adar's voice trailed off, and you felt it through your whole body when he called you 'beloved'.

Bringing you back to lean against the headboard of the bed, you nestled next to your husband and held his hand. He tilted your head up to look at him with his free hand, and he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours. Even after all this time, Adar had the respect for you to ask for a kiss, should there be a time you didn't want one. Not that such a scenario had ever happened thus far. You closed the gap, and he kissed you with passion. The kiss was soft and loving, despite the feelings laced behind it. Pulling away from your lips, Adar kissed your jaw and down to your neck, his teeth nipping gently, not enough to mark you.

"Y/N, I promise with everything I have you will always be safe with me. I will protect you and cherish you forever."

Your heart leaped, and you settled in with him.

"As will I, you, Adar."

Adar never did take that braid out.

Thank you for reading! <3

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – preview

alexia putellas x childhoodfriend!barçaplayer!reader

warning: light angst

status: work in progress

(a/n in the tags) [parts: preview]

The car ride was deafening in its silence.

In Alexia’s defense, she’d done everything she could to fill it: she’d tried asking you about your flight and when that didn’t work, she started talking football. She asked you about your last season, about how you won your league and wondered about how that must’ve felt; inquired about your negotiations with the club and how you felt about returning back to Barça–solicited for the reason that made you inclined to come back. Heck, she even tried to get you talking by mentioning things you used to do or like–things she didn’t know you didn’t do nor like now. 

For every question, you’d given her the same kind of nothing. A yes, a no, or a hum. There was a weight in your chest that exhausted you past the point of exchanging pleasantries and niceness, a seemingly impossible task for the tiredness in your bones, your soul. So you excused yourself, told her it was the jet lag, and you saw the way the light in her eyes dimmed with disappointment, training them on the road with deliberate focus, her lips tightening to a line of silence.

You still knew the language of her face and body–how could you not when they’d carve themselves into the tissues of your mind?–to perceive that she wasn’t entirely convinced with what you just said because maybe, just maybe, you were to her as she was to you: familiar. The thought provided little comfort, made your chest heavier with guilt even, another stone dropped into the pitcher. 

The feeling gave way to another thought, unpleasant in the way it told you what you already knew, ‘Way to treat the person who took time out of their precious night to drive you to your apartment when she could be using that time to rest for tomorrow’s practice. How nice.’

And then, another.

‘Just like how you treated Olivia, right?’

The reminder made you close your eyes from the sting that followed, a stitch torn from its place in a wound newly closed, and you tried to prevent the tears’ impending arrival but the darkness that followed served to rub salt to the cut as it made the fleeting images clearer, the words ever louder.

“I’m so stupid! So stupid…” 

“Go. Please, just go. You won’t find happiness here.”

A touch on your arm startled you back to the present, the jostle from the gasp you let out just enough to make a tear fall, and you found Alexia with her eyes on you, concern and a question reflected in their light.

The car had stopped, parked outside of your apartment complex. 

“What’s wrong?” Soft was the way she spoke the words but the look she laid upon you was even more gentle. Your heart lurched–away or towards her, you weren’t sure–and you ached, and for what exactly, you didn’t know but the question made you reminisce about the old times, back to when you used to tell each other everything.

But how could you tell her about this? About what led to this? When the fire from that night remained in your chest, glowing and waiting patiently as an ember in the night, waiting for the wind to call her name–to set her aflame again?

You casted your eyes aside and turned your head away so you could wipe the tear that fell, before you met her eyes again. You said with a small smile, apologetic. 

“Nothing. I’m just–I’m sorry for being a bitch.”

Alexia regarded you for another moment, eyes tracing some invisible path along your face, long enough that you considered she’d ask you more about why you cried just then. Instead, she said with a half-smile, teasing, “Don’t worry about it. What else is new?” 

Your shoulders eased down a bit.

“Still a smart-mouth, I see. Indeed, what else is new?”

At your response, the both of you chuckled but the pressing silence returned. 

“How long has it been since we’ve played together?” 

Alexia whispered with a wistful tone, brows knitting together at her question as she leaned back against her seat, putting her arms behind her head which pulled the sleeves of her shirt to reveal the tattoo under her arm.

You turned your gaze away, to the unlit window of your apartment.

“Too long.”

“Two years too long.” Alexia corrected you and then she shook her head, “I know you already explained it but I still don’t understand why you went to the States out of all places. Out of all your options, you had to choose the furthest one.”

You shrugged, hunching forward so you could rest your elbows on your knees, fingers clasping together as you twiddled your thumbs.

“You knew I’ve always wanted to see what the league is like there.”

“Right,” Alexia drawled in a tone that told you she was, in fact, aware that she didn’t know–that what you said was a load of bullshit. “So, what’s the verdict?”

‘It wasn’t like home.’

“I can hear your judgment all over your tone.” You replied drily then added, “It was great, thank you very much.”

Alexia laughed and strands of her hair fell to her face which she brushed back with a finger before she sank further into her seat.

“Well, you should tell me more about how you enjoyed yourself, then. Surely, you must have a lot of stories to tell.” You heard the unspoken words, ‘Stories you never bothered to tell me through the phone or during the instances we’d met during the time you were away.’

Still you answered her in your mind, ‘I would’ve enjoyed it better if you were there.’

“Where do you want me to begin?” If Alexia heard the weary sigh in your tone, she made no indication she did. 

“I don’t know. Where do you want to start?”

‘I went away because of you.’

“At this point, we’ll be here all night.” You laughed.

Alexia laughed along. “Just tell me anything then.”

‘Distance didn’t work. You still have my heart.’

You hummed, thinking of a story, easing back in your seat finally and then you began. 

“Well…”

[gay4abby]

hii can i request a jordan li x reader comfort type thing? like maybe reader gets hurt during a fight or smth and jordan tends to her wounds & makes her feel better?

why would you want to fight me at cheesecake ??

masterlist. no y/n. requested, yes. warnings, angst (slight) & fluff. pairings, jordan li x reader. hope u enjoyyyyyy, i love me some caring Jordan. divider by kimjiho1.

Justine was the one who started it. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was talking shit about Jordan and how they quite literally dislocated her jaw, you wouldn’t be in this mess. Just like any other Supe, you have the ability of strength, but what differentiates you from the others is that your power is to manipulate dark matter. Essentially, you can take dark matter and change its particles. It is absolutely devoid of any kind of life you can imagine, but by being able to concentrate its compounds, you can create chemicals out of thin air.

This kind of power doesn’t come very often. Anyone from a mile away can recognise the significance this kind of power has. But, it doesn’t protect you from the occasional bruise and cuts whenever you find yourself in a fight. For Justine to step to you as if you wouldn’t manipulate her out of existence was very bold, however. “You fucking cunt!” You screamed before lunging at her, your fists balled up to land a clean one on her eye. The eyeball itself is severely pushed back into her skull, causing her to scream at the top of her lungs. You spat out some blood and wiped your mouth of any remaining traces of it left around your lips.

“Babe! What the fuck?” Jordan was approaching with haste, seeing blood on you was the last thing they’ve ever wanted to see. You can practically feel the worry oozing from them as they cupped your face in their nimble hands, their rings feeling cool against your heated skin. Jordan turned your face every which way to assess any other injuries that may have occurred that went unnoticed the first time. “What the fuck are you doing?” They practically yelled into your face. You clasped on to their wrists, slowly pulling their hands away. “Honey, I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m cool.”

“No the fuck you’re not. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. Do you see yourself? You’re all cut up, fucking kidding me. “I’m fine” the fuck you’re not,” Jordan ranted on as they made their way out, Justine wailing behind them. “Did you see what they fucking did to me? This isn’t fucking funny!”

“You’re a self healer, Justine, get over it.”

“Look at me, this way.” Jordan instructed you to face them as their subtle hands gently wiping away at the dried blood that developed around the cut on your lip. You whined slightly, Jordan scolding you with a silent expression. “It’s not that bad.” You spoke, turning your head to the side so they can tend to the gash on your cheek. “Stop diminishing the situation. You got into a fight. No wait, you got into a fight, at the Cheesecake Factory! Do you realise how that sounds?!”

A sheepish expression graced your features, embarrassed at the accusation. “At least I lived up to the Drake lyric, am I right?” You chuckled, immediately stopping when you saw Jordan turning red. “I’m sorry.”

“Damn right you’re fucking sorry. You could’ve gotten hurt!”

You were taken aback by that a little. What was Jordan trying to say? That you can’t defend yourself at a moment’s notice? That you’re so weakling who needs their reduce every time you find yourself in a scuffle? “I can defend myself, thank you very much,” you spat. Jordan’s expression suddenly softened.

“That isn’t what I meant. I know you can I just.” They stopped a moment trying to find the right words to say without sounding like a complete douchebag to their partner. “I meant that…actually. I just. I don’t want to lose you, okay? I know you’re strong, you’re the fucking strongest between you and me. But, you don’t always have to fight every battle.” Their voice got lower at the end, cracking just a bit. You saw their waterlines slightly filling up.

Cupping their cheeks, you kissed them off guard, Jordan leaning into it immediately. Soft and tender, your lips moved in unison. A puzzle piece finally connected from its part after being away for so long. It went on like that for a couple moments before the both of you pulled back for some air. You were just staring at each other, your eyes flicking to their lips every now and then.

“You could never lose me, you know that?” Jordan nodded, pressing their forehead against yours. Your warmth radiated off to them, Jordan basking in its comfort before moving back to continue tending to your wounds. “But,” they began pausing for a moment to look at you with narrowed eyes, “Cheesecake Factory, really?”

“Oh my god, you’re not gonna let this go are you?”

“I’m sorry! It’s just, so fucking comical. Like of all places, you guys fight at the Cheesecake fucking Factory.” Jordan’s laughter rang through the room as they placed a Queen Maeve bandaid on the gash on your cheek. Although they were making fun of you, you couldn’t help but feel your heart soar beautifully at the laugh that could light up a thousand street lamps. “Whatever, I was defending your honour!”

“My honour was defended enough when I broke Justine’s jaw.”

[geeks-universe]

Yagi Toshinori x Supergirl!Reader

I’ve been slowly adding to this idea over a few months. It’s based around a young All Might and reader (who is Kryptonian/is basically supergirl)

“I’ll stabilize the building, you get the villain,” he ground out, his steadfast grin calming the few civilians who dared to look out the window.

Your nod was resolute as you passed the weight over to him, turning back to the one responsible for the chaos. Despite his years as a hero, and all of the training that ensued, he didn’t like leaving the villain to you. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your ability- he did, maybe more than any other hero he’d ever worked with- it was that he didn’t want to risk the chance of you getting hurt.

Not after that crazy man months ago who was asking specifically for you.

The name you were making for yourself as a hero was starting to attract the wrong villain crowd. They wanted to prove themselves capable, and you were the perfect person to do so. Nothing drew attention like kicking the ass of someone the media drowned in praise.

It couldn’t be helped though. You would be fine, he just needed to focus on getting the people out of this building. It wasn’t a skyscraper by any means, but he couldn’t possibly just hold it upright while everyone evacuated. That could take hours if he were lucky.

Just as he’d considered drilling it into the ground a bit, a rescue hero who specialized in rock manipulation rolled onto the scene- Rock? Rocky something?- and created a support capable of stabilizing the building. He sighed at the sudden weight lifted off his shoulders, and shot a thumbs up to the support hero, before making his way to where you were locked in battle.

It’d only been a few minutes, but in that time you had moved in, forcing the villain a fair distance back. The little bit of defense he’d mustered up with the last remaining metal had been blasted away by you.

In a final, desperate attack, he lunged forward, an outstretched hand forcing a large piece of shrapnel towards your back left. You sidestepped it, throwing your body to the right just in time to dodge.

Only….

You hadn’t dodged.

The villain had planned it. In his waiting hand was a green blade, a bit lighter than the one that the villain in the park head, and significantly smaller. Still, his quick move forced it into your abdomen.

Toshi shouted then, a terrifying noise that struck fear into the villain’s heart. It didn’t matter, he initiated with a speed the man couldn’t even comprehend, slamming him into the ground with a little more force than necessary.

“Toshi,” you muttered, your voice oddly quiet.

He tore his eyes from the unconscious villain, jumping to you before you could fall. Your body fell into his arms, weight limp against him as you held your hands to the wound in your stomach. Blood was gushing through your fingertips, staining your skin.

Blood.

Your blood.

A fist had wrapped itself around his heart, holding it steady as he stared at the sight of your wound.

It…

You…

Fear.

Fear like he’d never known before, like he’d never even considered, bloomed in his still chest, the thought of losing you bringing the world to a crushing halt.

“You need a doctor,” he told you slowly, gently.

You shook your head, crying out at the pain. The sound tore at his heart, digging itself into his mind.

“No, no, it’ll heal,” you promised him, trying to pull on the handle of the dagger. “I just need it out.”

“That isn’t-“

“Toshinori!” Your voice was firm, the fire in your eyes sharpened as you yanked, the sound harrowing as the blade slipped out.

You hissed, the sound caught between your teeth as you threw the knife far from your person. It took a second, but he watched with amazement as the skin slowly sealed itself, leaving no trace you were ever hurt to begin with besides the red, sticky substance coating your hands and clothes.

“That is some quirk,” Toshinori whistled, still holding you against his chest like he was afraid it’d open back up.

And maybe he was afraid.

That rage in his stomach, the absolute fury he felt at the villain for daring to harm you, was foreign to him. He’d never felt an anger so intense, a fire so brutal, that he’d wanted to make someone hurt- not just incapacitate them.

But you were there. You were solid, your trembling hand reaching out to rest against his chest, drawing his attention.

Somehow, you knew. Somehow, you’d read his expression, had seen the change in the pull of his muscles, and despite the situation, you still chose to comfort him.

Your hand was strong, steady, against the rising and lowering of his chest. Slowly, cautiously, patiently, you pressed your forehead to his, the warmth of your breath fanning over his mouth with each beat of your heart.

A heat spread from the base of his stomach, a finger grazing up his spine, settling against his skin. It was a warmth, a familiar one, yet something he’d never felt before altogether. Affection, and still, something so much more.

He felt it in the hammering of his heart, the pumping of his blood, the reverberation of every breath. The world faded away at some point- the chaos, the wind, the destruction- it became nothing. Existence itself began and ended with the press of your forehead, the sprawl of your fingers, the gentle call of his name on your lips.

For just a moment, a perfect moment, it was you and him, a reality all in itself, where there was only comfort and attachment and love.

Click.

It was quiet, near imperceptible, but to two people who had spent far too much time in the public’s eye, it was like a gunshot.

You pulled away first, and the cold air was startling against his body. He shivered, clenching his hand into a fist to prevent from reaching back out to you. Panic swelled, pouring down his form like a bucket of cold water.

His gaze landed on the cameraman with far more rage than he intended, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done. A crowd had formed while you’d been distracted, a number of devices aimed in the general direction that you’d both been standing in.

“Shit,” he cursed, twitching at the thought of what Gran Torino would say to him.

No doubt the old man was going to give him an ear full.

While his curse was said lowly, yours was much more pronounced. Red tinted your cheeks, and you looked flustered, either from the sudden attention or you were feeling exactly what he had been.

He hoped it was the latter.

“I should-“

Whatever you’d been about to say, you stopped short, backing away as you shook your head. He tried to calm you, maybe to offer an apology, but you were pushing off into the sky before he could stop you.

He gave a friendly wave to the crowd before he followed suit, phone already in hand by the time he landed blocks away to text you- what? That he was sorry? That he felt something?

Eventually he settled, pocketing his phone before making his way home to wind down.

Toshi ^.^ 18:56

I hope you’re okay. If you need anything, I’ll be here.

[milkb0nny]

If you write for Jing Yuan, can I request angst with him being in love with Yanqing's biological mother (Reader) but she died asking him to take care of him? If this isn't up your alley or violates any of your boundaries please feel free to delete!

××× my shooting star ×××

Jing Yuan x fem!reader

Note: Thank you so much for this request! It was a very interesting and saddening experience. I hope I met your expectations. Have a lovely day and feed yourself with some wholesome content as well. 🤎

The night was quiet, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon and the occasional twinkle of distant stars. Jing Yuan stood before your grave, his heart heavy with grief, even after a year had passed since the death of his beloved. Even though he loved you more than anyone else, he struggled to visit your grave. Your death haunts him, as he wished to see your smile one more time. The times he approached your grave, covered in flowers, it was a clear night. He raised his eyes to the lonely night-sky, watching as shooting stars streaked across the heavens, each one a painful reminder of the love he had lost. Each one a reminder he had to take care of your beloved son.

“My love,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "My shooting star, my dearest sweetheart, my darling. How I miss you."

The memories of you were still vivid in his mind – the warmth of your smile, the sound of your laughter, and the way you had filled his life with light and love. You had been his confidante, his anchor, and the love of his life. Never did he thought to lose you one day. Tears dwelled up in his honey colored eyes, a hurting smile crept over his lips and his shoulders hung low. He never wanted you to be apart from his side, he desired you every day. He prayed, he screamed, he cried so much, only for a last kiss.

A year had passed, but the pain remained as raw as ever. He had made a promise to you on your very own deathbed, a promise to care for your dear son, Yanqing. The young boy, with his mother's eyes and your cheerful spirit, was a constant reminder of the love he had lost. Regardless Jing Yuan loved Yanqing, he always did. There was no moment where he cursed him or accused him of reminding him of his loss. Jing Yuan was mature enough to use that negative energy and turn it into anticipation. The general wanted to make Yanqing stronger, so at least the young boy would never leave Jing Yuan’s side.

Jing Yuan had taken Yanqing under his wing, teaching him the ways of the world and the art of fighting, just as he had promised. He loved the boy as if he were his own, and Yanqing had become like a son to him. But despite the joy that the boy brought into his life, the pain of losing his lover was a wound that refused to heal. After all, Yanqing often visited Jing Yuan, expressing how he also suffered from his mothers death. Both men loved you: one as a strong, confident mother, the other as a beautiful, faithful wife.

Tears ran down, down Jing Yuan's soft skin, as he continued to watch the shooting stars. One after another, all of them being a potential wish for you to come back. Each of them harbored the hope to wake up and see you. Jing Yuan missed the mornings where he woke you up with caressing your arms and kissing you. He missed the evenings you three strolled through the market. He finally knelt beside her grave, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The pain this man owned ate his soul day by day.

“I can't help but wonder… why you had to leave me so soon, darling. I feel so lost without you. I can’t, I really can’t. You were my little fragile flower and I tried so… so hard to protect you. I still love you. I love you so much that my heart’s been hurting, bleeding and wanting to join you. My love…”

Jing Yuan traced a finger over the engraved words on the gravestone, as if seeking solace in the cold stone. Your name was written there but it had already withered with time. The rest of your tombstone was covered in blue and white flowers that Yanqing had always brought to you. Your son, your partner cared for you but handled it their very own ways.

“But, sweetheart, I will keep my promise," he vowed. "I will always care for Yanqing, just as you asked. I will make sure he grows up strong and wise, just like his mother. He is such a good kid, so strong to deal with your death." He cried out loud, sniffling and wiping away his tears. There were rare occasions where the grown up man sobbed, but when it was about you he never refused to bawl his eyes out. Where were you?

As he gazed up at the sky once more, another shooting star streaked across the heavens, as if in response to his words. Jing Yuan took it as a sign, a message from his beloved, reassuring him that you were watching over him from the stars above. Oh, what bright shooting star you were this cold night.

With a heavy heart, he stood up again, kissing a flower, then wiping away his tears. "I will carry your love in my heart always," he whispered, his voice cracking and breaking apart like shattered glass. "And I will find the strength to continue on, for you, for Yanqing, and for our love."

With one last lingering gaze at the night sky, he turned around, his back facing your grave, and walked away. His steps heavy but determined, as he faced another day without his beloved by his side. Before entering the front door of his residence, he looked up, to the brightest shooting star that caressed the sky this night. Naturally he smiled at that.

“My shooting star. I love you.”

After saying these words, he opened the door to find Yanqing sleeping on a chair. He always waited for Jing Yuan to show up before he head to bed. To Jing Yuan, he treasured it deeply. He softly woke his apprentice up. Tired eyes met the reddened eyes of Jing Yuan, though the younger one didn’t question why he had cried. He knew, they both knew well enough.

[beauiestars]

OBI-WAN KENOBI - Scars of Age

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Fem!Reader {PART TEN}

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: SLOW BURN, pining, plenty of inaccuracies with timeline and facts, graphic-ish violence, a sprinkle of death and injury, a couple mentions of vomiting (non-explicit/totally casual) [LIST TBC].

Beau's Note: Sorry this took ages to upload on here! I've been super busy, but I must deliver. All uploads go to my Ao3 first (under the same username)!

Summary: They say time heals all wounds. But with the forces of the universe tearing them apart, can two childhood best friends rediscover their connection and find solace in each other once more?

News spread like wildfire through the Jedi Temple. By the end of the week, everyone knew what had happened between you and Obi-Wan. They saw it in the way you avoided each other, how neither of you could meet the other's gaze. The once-constant presence of your partnership was gone, replaced with a silence so pointed it was impossible to ignore.

There had been a time when you and Obi-Wan stopped speaking for six months, a misunderstanding that turned into a trial of endurance. Yet even then, everyone saw the longing glances and knew it wouldn't last. This time, though, was different. The rift stretched into months, unyielding, with no cracks in your determination—or Obi-Wan's. Eventually, even the Temple's most relentless gossips grew tired of speculating. The famed duo of the Jedi Temple was no more, and no one could deny the unease it left behind.

You threw yourself into your new routine, spending most of your free time with Juna. She seemed to prefer your company over Padawans her own age and had taken to calling you her older sister. You didn't mind. Her youthful energy filled the emptiness. You never turned her away when she sought you out. Her presence was a welcome reprieve from the ache you carried.

It had been nearly a year since you'd uncovered the truth, the truth that severed your bond with Obi-Wan. No attempts were made to fix what was broken, and you weren't ready to forgive him. Some days, you feared you never would be. Seeing him had only gotten harder as the months passed. As you both climbed the Padawan ranks, the sting of betrayal remained fresh, a wound that refused to close. Every encounter was a reminder of what had been lost, the bitterness of it lingering like salt on an open cut.

Worse still, Obi-Wan seemed to have grown resentful of you. He excused himself from missions that required your involvement and bristled in meetings where he couldn't avoid your presence. His unwillingness to cooperate infuriated the Jedi Order, though Master Qui-Gon often intervened on his behalf, a silent acknowledgment of his role in the divide. It angered you. After all, Obi-Wan was the one who had caused this. He had no right to avoid you.

As Yoda's Padawan, you were often granted the freedom to operate solo. Your master was busy with his own duties, leaving you to complete missions on your own. Meanwhile, wherever Qui-Gon went, Obi-Wan followed. You appreciated Qui-Gon's quiet efforts to shield you, but part of you seethed. Obi-Wan shouldn't be allowed to run from the damage he'd caused whilst you lived with the ache.

On the worst days, you'd find yourself retreating to the alcove where he'd once carved your initials into the wall. The letters hadn't faded in the ten years since, a cruel testament to what used to be. You'd trace the 'O' with your finger, a bitter sigh escaping your lips. You hadn't expected him to grow to resent you. If anything, you thought you'd be the one carrying that weight. Yet no matter how much it hurt, you couldn't bring yourself to hate him.

Your accomplishments within the Order should have been a source of pride, but they always felt overshadowed. Obi-Wan was the golden child, the one everyone admired. It burned more now than ever.

Juna, ever perceptive, never mentioned him. One evening, you brought her to the alcove. She loved it immediately, just as you once had. She didn't ask about the initials—she understood better than most. Instead, she chattered about her training, her excitement infectious. You couldn't help but smile at her boundless energy.

"Hey, kid," you said, interrupting her ramble. Her wide eyes turned to you, brimming with curiosity. "You're nearly sixteen, right?"

She nodded eagerly. "Two months to go!" Her curls bounced with every movement.

You scratched your chin in mock thought, watching her anticipation build, a grin slowly pulling at your cheeks. "I was thinking... maybe I could wait until you turn sixteen to take you on a mission. Or, maybe an early present is in order."

Her gasp was audible before she leapt to her feet, practically vibrating with excitement. "Please! Please, please, please!" she exclaimed, her words tumbling over each other in her eagerness. "I'll be on my best behaviour—like, Jedi-level best. I'd do anything. Just give me a chance!"

You laughed, unable to resist her enthusiasm. "Master Yoda gave me a brief today, and I thought of you immediately. I wasn't about to do it without you."

She twirled herself around, grabbing your hands. When she pulled you into a hug, you hesitated for only a moment before wrapping your arms around her. Physical affection wasn't something you'd received much of lately, but her warmth melted some of the walls around your heart.

"You're the best, Y/n," she said, her voice sincere. Her words brought a rare, unshakable smile to your face. In that moment, you believed her. Her encouragement made you remember why you were still here.

"You should get to bed," you said. "We've got an early start tomorrow."

"I wish you were my Master," she said as she skipped off, leaving you flushed and humbled.

***

You were jolted awake by a frantic chorus of knocking at your door. Groaning softly, you clutched your blanket tighter around yourself, not daring to leave its warm embrace. For a brief moment, the knocking stopped, and you exhaled in relief, curling back into the comfort of your bed. The gentle pull of sleep beckoned you once more, its lull soft and irresistible.

Then the knocking resumed, louder and more insistent this time. You groaned again, this time with a note of irritation, and reluctantly threw off the blankets. The chill of the early morning air bit at your skin, making you immediately regret leaving your cocoon of blankets. Shuffling reluctantly toward the door, you rubbed your eyes groggily, half-expecting to find Juna standing there, too awake for such an unmakerly hour.

When you opened the door, however, it wasn't Juna.

"Obi-Wan?" you blurted, your voice sharper than intended. He stood in the doorway, his expression a mixture of frantic desperation and exhaustion. His hair was a mess, as if he'd been raking his hands through it all morning, and his eyes held a wildness you couldn't ignore. He looked as though he'd seen something truly horrifying.

Your hand moved instinctively toward him—comfort was once second nature between you—but you stopped yourself, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. Your voice came out cool, restrained. "Why are you here?"

If your detachment stung him, he didn't let it show. But the flicker in his eyes was telling enough. His gaze briefly dropped to the floor before meeting yours again. "Don't go on the mission," he said abruptly, his tone laced with urgency. "Tell Master Yoda you can't. I'll help you come up with an excuse if you need one. Just don't go."

You stared at him, dumbfounded. Obi-Wan hadn't come to your door in a long time—hadn't spoken to you unless absolutely necessary. And now he was standing here, looking every bit a mess, telling you to abandon an assignment? The madness in his eyes made you hesitate for just a moment, but you forced yourself to stand your ground.

"Why should I?" you asked, your voice sharp.

"I had a dream," he said, his words tumbling out quickly. His voice cracked, a sound you hadn't heard in a long time, but it stirred no sympathy within you. He ran his hands through his hair again, the motion almost frantic. 

"It wasn't clear, but I saw something—something terrible. If you go on this mission, it won't end well." His voice broke slightly on the last words, but he pushed forward. "Please, Y/n. I know you don't owe me anything, but I need you to listen. I swear I won't bother you again after this. Just trust me this once."

You watched him closely as he spoke, studying every line of his face, every nervous twitch of his hands. His sincerity was palpable, but the memory of his betrayal loomed large, refusing to let you believe so easily. Once, you trusted Obi-Wan implicitly. Once, you thought he'd never lie to you. But you had been wrong before.

A part of you wondered if he had ulterior motives. Did he want the mission for himself? Was this just another manipulation? Or perhaps he truly was trying to protect you. You couldn't tell anymore—your heartache clouded every instinct.

"I'm going," you said firmly, the finality in your voice leaving no room for argument. "Whether you want me to or not. You lost your right to help me make decisions when you started making them for me."

Obi-Wan froze, his eyes wide and wounded. Somewhere along the way, he had grown taller, broader. He wasn't the boy you had once trusted with every part of your soul. He was a man now—a stranger wearing the face of someone you used to know.

"Goodbye, Obi-Wan," you said, your tone clipped and cold. "I have an operation to get ready for."

He opened his mouth, his shoulders tense as if he was about to argue again, but you didn't give him the chance. You closed the door in his face, the sound echoing loudly in your silent quarters. For a moment, you stood there, your chest heaving.

You stomped around your room for a while, trying to justify your response to yourself. But as the minutes passed, exhaustion overtook you, and you eventually climbed back into bed. Despite the turmoil of your thoughts, sleep came quickly, pulling you into its embrace once more.

However, what lay behind the dark veil of sleep was a voice you wished had never become so familiar.

Ah, young one. Even now, the Jedi conspire to stifle you. To shackle your power.

Your mind instinctively reached out for the source of the voice, but there was nothing—only an endless void, cold and oppressive. A shiver coursed through you as the disembodied presence lingered, its words curling through the recesses of your consciousness like smoke.

Join me, and I shall unlock your true potential. Together, we will ignite the galaxy. No longer will you be bound by the Jedi and their lies, their hypocrisy. You will shape the future—not as their pawn, but as my apprentice.

Darth Sidious' voice, like a dagger cloaked in silk, sent chills down your spine. Despite the dread that prickled your skin, his words carried a dangerous allure. They coiled around your thoughts, whispering to the doubts you had buried deep. You turned in frantic circles, seeking an escape, yet the void stretched endlessly in every direction. You weren't awake; you knew that much. But the sensation was too vivid, the voice too real.

You hesitate, child, yet you do not turn away. If your loyalties to the Jedi were so steadfast, why then have you kept my presence a secret?

The words struck, cutting through your fragile defences. You swallowed hard, your throat tight with the weight of unspoken truths. The voice softened, almost tender, and that was what frightened you most.

Yes... you feel it, don't you? The cracks in their teachings. The chains they've placed upon you. You know the truth, even if you fear to admit it. You belong to something greater than their narrow path.

His presence pressed closer, his tone shifting into a whisper that echoed inside your very being.

My offer remains. Do not let the Jedi extinguish the fire within you. Embrace it, and the galaxy will kneel before you.

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

TAGS:

[needed-as-a-grace-note]

Drowning - Part 2

Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Anxiety, mental health, difficult thoughts

Your body felt so heavy, your eyes unwilling to open. You gasped out a breath you moved, your entire body aching. Hands slid behind your back, helping you sit up. The familiar scent of Azriel surrounded you, bringing your senses back to you as you opened your eyes.

You met Azriel’s gaze, taking a breath as his eyes scanned you. He gave you a small smile, noting how your eyes lacked their usual shine. He had felt the reeling panic you experienced many times before in his early days as spymaster.

“Let’s get you clean.” He whispered, gently tugging your hands as he stood. He observed you closely, prepared to catch you if he needed to, not knowing how the shock and previous panic affected your body. As you stood, you reached for him, his arms immediately wrapping around your torso. He held you to him, letting you ground yourself before gently tugging you after him towards the bathing chamber of your room.

He released your hands, turning to fill the bathtub with warm water. You stood numbly, watching him move about the room, gathering soaps and towels for you.

He returned to your side after stopping the warm water from overflowing in the tub. You reached for him again, wanting his touch to keep you grounded. One arm wound around your back, the other coming to rest on your check. He gently tilted your face up to meet his gaze, rubbing the dried sand from your cheek as he did so.

“Do you want me to stay?” Azriel, questioned, noting the way your eyes were slightly glazed over, as if you were not fully present. Your body slightly trembled as you leaned into him. He was afraid to leave you like this, prepared to convince you to let him stay pending your answer.

You slowly nodded in reply, taking far too long to answer his simple question, marking what kind of mental state you truly were in. Azriel frowned, but nodded as he stepped back. He reached for the buckles at the top of your leathers, eyes watching your reactions, ready to stop on a dime if needed. He knew you were vulnerable right now, and he didn’t know what could set you off into another spiral.

Your hands flew to his arms as he reached the last buckle, causing him to instantly stop.

“What is it, darling?” He questioned, struggling to understand the reason behind your sudden movement.

“I….” You trailed off, unsure as to why you stopped him. You struggled to make sense of the thoughts in your head, the world seeming to zoom by. It was so incredibly hard to focus. “I’m sorry” you whimpered, squeezing his forearm harder as you began to tremble again.

Azriel immediately brought you into his arms, his shadows coming to surround the both of you as you shook. You just felt… incredibly confused and broken. Things were so hard to process, a haze seeming to fall over you no matter how hard you tried to fight it.

Azriel rubbed your back, gently swaying the both of you. He could feel your confusion flow openly down the bond, concerning him. He had never seen you like this before. He took a breath, steeling himself so he could devote his attention to you.

“Okay, love.” Azriel spoke. “I know you’re feeling a lot, and you’re confused, and that’s okay. But I need to help you get clean and settled so you can feel better, okay my love?” His hands gently rested on your sand covered cheeks, gaze burning into your bleary eyes. You still trembled, but had managed to nod along with his words as he sent love and comfort down the bond to you.

He moved his hand back to the last buckle on your bodysuit of leather, eyes still tracing you; your breathing, your gaze, trying to decipher what was swirling in that head of yours. You remained silent, letting him peel the sticky leathers from your body, but refusing to not have some hold on him. He guided you to step out of your leathers bunched on the floor, and reached to carry you the small distance to the warm tub.

Azriel settled you in the water, your grip settling on his hand as he sat next to the tub. You leaned your head against the large basin, closing your eyes as he dripped water over your head and face, beginning to wipe away the stains of your mission.

You lulled in and out of a trance-like state as he helped you get clean. The fog clouding your mind began to dissipate, leaving you feeling drained.

Azriel’s shadows swirled around his ears, informing him of the visitor before they reached the door. Feyre had gently knocked, softly stepping in the room once Azriel welcomed her. You could hear her feet pad over to the bathing chamber, stopping short of the entrance, giving you and your mate privacy. Azriel’s shadows came to swirl around you nonetheless, providing you a small cocoon of protection.

“I just came to see if you’d like the sheets changed, as well as some food and water brought up.” Feyre whispered.

Azriel nodded in response, grateful that his high lady checked in on the two of you, despite his earlier warning to stay away. He was uncomfortable with the thought of having to leave your side, even to sort things for your own comfort. He turned back to you once he heard Feyre begin to shuffle around the room, removing sheets and finding new ones to place on the bed.

He gave you a soft smile, noticing how you were openly gazing at him now, the haze receding from your eyes. Your hands rose out of the water, reaching for his own to tug into your grip. He settled on the floor in a more comfortable position, leaning his own head on the edge of the basin next to yours, letting you hug his arm to your chest as he waited for Feyre to finish settling the clinking dishes on the nightstand for the both of you.

“Thank you,” he called, hearing Feyre’s steps begin to recede. The high lady smiled, noting Azriel’s shadows twirling about before she gently latched the door shut behind her.

“Time to get out, love” Azriel whispered as he pulled the plug to let the luke-warm water drain. He supported you as you went to stand, one arm leaving you briefly to grab a fluffy towel to wrap you in. Once covered, he lifted you out of the tub, patting you dry and drying your hair. He wrapped his arms around your waist, carrying you like a small child back to the freshly made bed, free of the smell of the sea and blood that previously lingered there as a result of your nap.

“I’m going to grab you some clothes, darling.” Azriel whispered, sitting you on the bed. As soon as his arms began to release you to the downy comfort of your shared bed, you latched your arms around his neck, refusing to let go. You were afraid that without the comfort of his touch, you would spiral back into the pit of darkness you were tiptoeing on the edge of.

“Y/N….” He trailed off, gathering you back into his arms as your body began to tremble. He carried you with him to the wardrobe, gathering one of his shirts and a comfortable pair of shorts for you to put on. Your small whimpers and tugs on his shoulders were threatening to chip away at his resolve. He sat with you on the bed, tossing the clothes next to him as he reached for your hands, gently urging you to release your iron grip. You obliged only when he brought one hand to cradle the back of your head, his other hand leading yours to tuck in between your bodies, then wrapping behind your back. His other hand urged your arm to the same position, enabling him to reach around you and gently remove the towel you wore, replacing it with his shirt. He twisted you slightly in his lap, guiding the soft shorts up your legs to rest around your waist.

Resting a kiss upon your forehead, he tilted both of your bodies backward to rest on the bed, wings circling around you to block out the little light seeping through the covered windows. Your head laid on the pillow, eyes focused on those of your mate. He mustered a small smile before placing a longing kiss on your forehead before your eyes drifted, and the silence took you.

Taglist: @percyjacksonspeen @marigold-morelli

[get-lost-in-fanfiction]

I have been rewatching Lost and I love your writing! Can I request a soft Ben fanfiction, maybe where the reader is tending to his injuries? Thank you!

Ask and you shall receive <3

Because You're Injured

Paring: Ben Linus x F!Reader Word Count: 943

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The Island's night held an eerie calmness as you carefully tended to Ben's injuries. His usually confident demeanor was subdued by the pain etched across his face. The flickering light from the campfire painted gentle shadows on his features as you cleaned the wounds with utmost care. You didn’t speak about how he got injured like this, it scared you too much to think about what it would mean for you, your friends, and the Island.

"Does it hurt?" you asked softly, your voice carrying concern., distracting yourself from your thoughts of impending doom. However, the feeling still swooped in your stomach.

Ben winced slightly but managed a faint smile. "I've had worse, believe me."

Your fingers traced over the bandages, making sure they were snug yet not too tight. You had a lot of practice, helping Jack for all that time. It’s not like you had no medical training; you had taken some classes before the crash. Not that it mattered anymore; it felt like a lifetime away. His gaze met yours, gratefulness shining through the pain, making your heart ache almost painfully. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the rustle of the trees.

"You don't have to thank me," you replied, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead with shaking fingers. "We take care of each other here."

Silence fell between you, the crackling of the fire filling the space. In moments like these, the barriers came down, revealing the vulnerability hidden beneath Ben's usually guarded exterior so few got to see. You felt a powerful emotion rise up in your chest, so you busied yourself with fussing over his bandages again to distract yourself. If you were being honest, you were scared of the attraction you felt for Ben. You didn’t begin on the best of terms, but now? Now he had become an ally and a trusted friend, at least to you; the others still didn’t like him as much. You couldn’t help to trust him, though.

"You're good at this," he remarked, his eyes fixed on the side of your head, which was the only thing he could see. 

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words against your will. You decided to take a chance and look at him. "Just practice,” you try to shrug as noncommittally as possible, “I've patched up more scrapes and bruises than I can count too."

Ben's hand found yours, a silent gesture of appreciation and perhaps a touch of vulnerability. Despite the impending doom that clouded your thoughts about the Island, in this intimate moment, it felt like the two of you were the only souls existing in that universe.

"You should rest," you suggested gently, noticing the fatigue weighing down on him.

"I'll be fine," he insisted, though his eyelids betrayed his weariness.

"You can be stubborn, you know that?" you teased lightly, earning a small chuckle from him.

Moments like these brought an odd sense of tranquility amidst the chaos. After all that had happened recently, you didn’t think you get another moment of peace like you did during the Dharma Days. As the fire crackled, painting dancing shadows around you, you remained by Ben's side, watching over him with a mix of concern and an unspoken affection.

The night deepened, the stars sparkling above like distant beacons, their serene light a stark contrast to the turmoil of the island. You adjusted the blankets around Ben, ensuring he was as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. His breaths came steady, hinting at the slumber that beckoned him, despite his stubborn resistance.

"You're not invincible, you know," you murmured softly, a gentle reminder.

A faint smirk played on Ben's lips, he opened one of his eyes. "You'd be surprised," he quipped, his voice barely above a whisper. You just laughed.

The tension that usually hung between you both seemed to dissolve in the night's quietude. You found solace in the shared silence, a language of understanding that didn’t require words. Despite the uncertainty that loomed over the island, here, under the canopy of stars, a fragile sense of peace enveloped you.

"I'll keep watch," you offered, your voice low but resolute.

Ben's gaze met yours, a hint of gratitude glinting in his eyes before he finally surrendered to sleep, his features relaxed in slumber. You sat beside him, keeping a vigilant eye on the surroundings, the fire crackling as the night deepened. As much as you were tired, you weren’t really sure what could happen in the cover of the night. While considering Ben's injuries, you planned to find the others in the morning. It would be difficult to trek through the jungle with the state he was in right now. But you knew that god healing sleep would help any soreness ben had greatly, even if he was sleeping on the ground.

At this moment, with the weight of the Island's still looming mysteries bearing down on you both, you found a strange sense of unity. Perhaps it was the vulnerability shared, the unspoken trust forged through adversities, or maybe it was simply the solace found in companionship amidst the unknown. You thought maybe something more could happen between the both of you, despite the idea scaring you beyond belief. Intimacy wasn’t your strong suit, after all.

As the night drifted on, you remained steadfast, a silent guardian in the shadows, watching over not just Ben, but the fragile semblance of peace that enveloped you both. You steeled yourself for another day, another fight, another journey. You would be ready for whatever would come because you had Ben by your side. 

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Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged for oneshots!

[ofglories]

[ WOUND ] + sabervere and lancerthur!

|| Romance Novel prompts ; no longer accepting [ WOUND ]: upon noticing a recent injury on the receiver’s person, the sender carefully moves closer, running a thumb (or hand) across the wound in a gentle, troubled manner.

The boar's tusks had cut deep.

Not deep enough to be fatal, mercifully, for it was only a glancing blow in truth but the pain was still there. A painful ache that burned with each inhale even as he kept a hand carefully pressed over it. Some mercy was how none of the others seemed to notice, or... almost none. Deep green eyes caught jade, concern shining clear and bright in them. Concern that Arthur lightly shook his head at, just barely enough that only Bedivere would notice. It wouldn't do, after all, for the others to see that their king was injured.

So instead he shifted his weight slightly, letting the movement disturb his cloak so it would fall over his left side more.

Obscuring the wound until he could get some privacy.

Thankfully the discussion ended soon enough, the demon boars handled firmly and Kay now taking over what remained as was his usual duties. Another glance out of the corner of his eyes, jade against emerald, and a minute nod to his husband before Arthur excused himself. It didn't take long until Bedivere joined him, one hand gently yet firmly gripping his waist to provide much-needed support as they walked. His pillar of support, always ever since they were both but children. Their time apart while his beloved had become a proper knight had not changed that. Would not change that, no matter what. Because they had always been together from the moment Bedivere had started living in Ector's lands.

Arthur blinked awake at the feeling of his armor being removed and set aside, at a soft blanket beneath his already armor-free hands.

He didn't know when he closed his eyes, nor when he'd dozed on the walk.

"I...? What?" he started, shaking his head to rid it of the fog to focus entirely on the present. Was the injury that severe? Or had it simply been his exhaustion from the hunt that left him like this? And then his side stung, ripping him fully from sleep's clutches with a sharp gasp. Whining softly, no matter how it didn't suit a king to whine, Arthur half-curled on himself, stopped only by familiar hands. For a long moment it was as if he and Bedivere both were frozen, Arthur's gasps from the unexpected pain sounding almost like sobs. Then, finally, he laughed however shakey and weak it sounded.

"Arthur?"

Ah, his husband sounded so worried.

"I-I'm fine, don't worry. I was just caught by surprise, that's all, fy anwylyd," the king snorted, forcing himself to sit still and upright. A truth, even if it might not seem to be so. Arthur raised his head with a small smile, tinged with exhaustion though it was, to reassure Bedi.

It seemed to work too, if the exasperated but fond sigh it earned him was anything to go on.

"You should be more careful, Arthur," Bedivere sighed softly, his hand delicately tracing over the injury, cool and soothing on the damaged area. "Culhwch had plenty of time to get out of the way of that charge without you needing to put yourself at risk." Ah, there was the scolding he'd been looking forward to. Arthur chuckled, closing his eyes as Bedivere continued. "I'm serious, Arthur. This could have been far worse than a nasty cut. Some washing and poultices will fix this up, but imagine if the boar had actually managed to strike you in full? Merlin is all the way back in Camelot, and I doubt that any of us could ride quickly enough to fetch him if that had been necessary?"

Jade eyes opened minutely to watch the older man as he scolded.

There was something especially beautiful about Bedivere when he was like this, cheeks red and eyes flashing as if he were on the battlefield.

But still his hands were gentle as he stripped Arthur of his torn tunic and washed the injury. As gentle as flower petals were soft while applying the poultice in question and then wrapping the bandages. All the while still scolding, breathlessly now as his initial feigned anger began to fade behind the worries that were the true source of the rambling.

"Bedi."

"Additionally, then we would also need to worry about- Mmh?!"

Arthur smiled to himself as he firmly cut Bedivere off with a sudden kiss, nipping at his lower lip lightly before deepening it. His hands slid up from the man's shoulders to tangle into his hair, undoing the loosened braids effectively. For a moment Bedivere seemed unresponsive, before his arms firmly wrapped around Arthur. Pulling him close while pushing him down onto the bedding with his solid and warm weight. One hand on his hips, lightly holding him in place, the other gently gripping Arthur's own hair, tangling the messy golden curls further.

A conversation without words.

Unspoken apologies and muted forgiveness as they lay together, tangled up in each other as they kissed and embraced.

"Rwy'n dy garu di, Bedivere," Arthur whispered once they parted for need of air, still so close he could feel his lips brushing against his husband's as he spoke. And then he repeated his oath of love once more, again and again until Bedivere silenced him now with his own promise of love and a kiss.

His husband, his love, his world.

These were all what Bedivere was to him.

It really made the injury worth it.

[sugurus-thoughts]

06. white xmas

❅ pairing — soldier!nanami kento x nurse! reader

❅ summary — I'm dreamin' of a white Christmas. Just like the ones I used to know May your days be merry and bright. And may all your Christmases be white.

❅ w/c — 8,23k

❅ warnings — WW2, mentions of death,pain, heartbreak, takes during 1940's WW2, nsfw, angst,mentions of memory loss (amnesia), fluff, smut, MDNI.

❅ a/n — honestly I don't even know where to start, this is actually such a sad sorry I thought of I was inspired by the movies called The English Patient. I immediately thought of Nanami and how the story would fit him,i cried so much writting this but I hope you enjoy it, thank you for reading and please do tell me what you think!!! Merry Christmas to everyone out there!! 🎄🤍

❅ taglist — @getobitchs, @coffee-and-geto 🍰

15 December 1954

You were his everything. You still are. Yet here you sit in a stark white hospital, holding his hand, hoping that some flicker of recognition will spark in his eyes.

But his eyes. Just the weight of his gaze empty and unfamiliar, and the cruel reality that he does not remember you, not even your name.

The man you loved once looked at you as of the sun had risen in your smile. Now he looks at you as if you are a stranger. And still you remain here : wiping his brow, cleaning his burning wounds, reading him stories, trying to remind him of the life you once shared. Because if you let him forget, it would mean letting him go forever.

During

World War II - 1946

The slow rustling of doctors, nurses rushing as if a life was at stake,but you are— you stand there as your trembling figure tries to hold every little ounce of yourself together. Never have you thought the war would take such a toll on him. His body covered with bruises and burned marks, his scarring figure in pain—for you cannot bear to see him like this. Every bit of memory you have shared was not lost “My dear Kento”, as tears threatened to spill, like a snowflake falling to the ground and slowly disappearing… as if there was no trace.

“Y/N”, Mei gave you a small nudge as the tears pricked down at the corner of your eyes.

“Go sit down, we will take care of this”, your colleague helped you regain the little bit of strength you had left and set you in one of the chairs.

Never have you thought, your life would change, just by the snap of a finger.

16 December 1954

Slowly nightfall approaches as all the nurses and doctors that took care of him have been sent home, only for you to stay behind. It was your duty as nurse, to take care of him and your other patients.

“Y/N…”your friend Shoko and her husband Haibara appeared next to you. She was a doctor, and Haibara was a veteran just like Nanami. You smile softly at the two, for some reason they looked so perfect next to one another —something you wish you had in that moment.

“I'm… sorry, Y/N, if there is anything the two of us can do for you know that we are here”

Haibara pointed out and looked at his friend's lying body,as Shoko approached your frail figure in a hug.

The two of them, giving you an empathic smile as they left the hospital's doors. You stood there in your worn out uniform,as a few tears left your eyes.

❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅

Today was the day he returned to the hospital, just as he had every year for the past nine years. And yet, despite all the time that had passed, he still hadn’t regained any memory of you—not even your name.

Heartache crept into your chest like a familiar intruder, but you pushed it aside as you always did, wiping the tears from your cheeks. Memories of the life you once shared threatened to spill over, but there was no room for such thoughts now. Not when others needed you. You moved through the hallways like a ghost, checking on each patient, ensuring they were tucked in, safe, and resting peacefully.

Finally, your feet brought you to his bed, as if by instinct. His familiar form lay still beneath the dim light, and your breath caught when you found his eyes wide open, staring into yours.

“Thirsty,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but steady enough to make you spring into action.

You hurried to his side, lifting him gently as you pressed the glass of water to his lips. Despite his weakened state, his eyes never left yours. They held a quiet intensity that made your heart ache.

The silence between you was heavy, broken only by the sound of him sipping the water. You wished, desperately, that he could say something more, something that would spark a memory—a fragment of who you were to him. But his gaze, though warm, held no recognition.

“You’ve been crying,” he said softly, his voice rough but unmistakably tender.

You froze, caught off guard by the observation.

“I’m sorry,” you replied, brushing quickly at your eyes. “Nurses aren’t supposed to show emotion. I got carried away.”

But the truth was far deeper than that. Inside, your heart burned with the need to reach for him, to take his hand and beg him to remember. You longed to hear him say that it was all going to be okay, that his memories would return, that he would return to you. But the fear of his blank stare, of the emptiness where love once was, kept you silent.

“Could you read to me?” His voice broke through your thoughts, hoarse but so gentle it tugged at something deep within you.

Your smile faltered but didn’t fade entirely. “Of course. I always do.”

You reached for the worn copy of "Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman" , the same book you had read to him countless times before, both in the past and now. The edges were frayed, the pages soft with wear, but it was a comfort to you. It was the last thread tying you to the man he used to be.

As you read, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill, your heart ached. Every word, every line, felt like a plea to a man who had forgotten you. Was there any hope left after nearly a decade?

Suddenly, a hand brushed against yours.

You froze, your breath hitching as his fingers curled slightly around yours. His gaze met yours, and though his smile was faint, it was there. It wasn’t a memory—not yet—but it was something. A flicker of connection, subconscious and fragile.

So you kept reading, your hand still in his, holding onto that flicker as tightly as you dared.

17 December 1954

The next day, the hospital was unusually quiet. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you stepped outside for a moment to catch your breath. The cold December air bit at your cheeks, but it was refreshing after the suffocating warmth of the wards.

That’s when you saw them: the Lanterns.

Hung along the hospital’s stone walls, their golden glow flickered like tiny stars against the encroaching night. The sight stole the breath from your lungs, not because of their beauty, but because of what they reminded you of.

Lanterns. The lanterns.

Your knees felt weak as the memory came flooding back.

Before the World War II

14 February 1944

Borgo Fiorito is a small, picturesque town nestled in the rolling hills of Tuscany. Known for its cobblestone streets, vibrant flower boxes, olive groves, and a quiet town square with a stone fountain. It was quite small but nothing compared to its wonders it had to offer during summer and winters.

Not far from the small village—a historic hospital called Santa Maria della in Florence, an hour from Borgo Fiorito. It’s housed in a grand, aging building with high ceilings, wide windows overlooking the Arno River, and the faint smell of lavender from the surrounding gardens. The hospital rooms were simple, with a large window framing the rooftops and a hit of lavender which covered each window with its beautiful colour.

It was the little things that made this hospital bloom but during the cold midst or air that is when you clung to your cross, on— your knees begging to the heavens.

War.

War.

It poisoned everything it touched.

Every corner you turned, it was there—etched into the broken faces of soldiers, painted in the dark crimson stains on your uniform, and carved into your soul with every life you couldn’t save. The halls of the hospital were a cacophony of suffering: groans of agony, the scrape of gurney wheels against blood-streaked floors, and the faint murmur of words spoken by men too weak to cry out.

Why must there be war?

The question haunted you, an ache that throbbed with every heartbeat. You asked it as you worked, stitching wounds and holding hands, as though the answer might somehow reveal itself in the lifeless eyes of those you couldn’t save. But there was no answer. Only the unrelenting march of chaos and death.

War turned men into shadows of themselves. It robbed them of their laughter, their dreams, their limbs, and often their lives. You hated it for its cruelty, its unrelenting appetite for destruction. The sight of blood had once made you queasy; now it was as common as water, soaking into your skin, your clothes, and the deepest corners of your mind.

The hospital was no stranger to the foreign men who stumbled in, limping, shattered, and pleading. They came from different places, spoke in fractured sentences, and carried photographs of families who would never see them whole again. And you—what could you do but try? Try to patch them together, to offer comfort, to shield yourself from the unbearable truth that it would never be enough.

You wanted to scream at the futility of it all. For every man you saved, there were ten you couldn’t reach in time. For every life you mended, there were countless others torn apart. War didn’t care about your efforts; it didn’t care about anyone. It swallowed everything in its path, leaving behind nothing but ruins.

And yet, you kept going. Not because you believed it would change anything—not because you believed it would ever end—but because stopping wasn’t an option. Because in the face of something so monstrous, all you had was your hands, your skill, and your humanity.

As you walked the halls, you tried not to think about what lay beyond the hospital walls: the battlefields littered with bodies, the towns reduced to ash, the lives that would never be the same. You tried not to think about how war had taken everything from you too.

But it had.

And still, you fought back in the only way you knew how.

Despite these inner conversations and confusion of the dark side of this world there was always a way to overcome these challenges and for you that was— family, friends and your faith. Although you have lost so much, you have also gained plenty more.

Like Him, during those times

Lanterns.

It was a warm summer evening in Borgo Fiorito, and the air was alive with the hum of laughter, distant music, and the faint scent of lavender carried on the breeze. The annual lantern festival was a cherished tradition, illuminating the cobblestone streets with golden light and bringing the small Italian town together under a blanket of stars.

You stood on a rickety wooden ladder, your arms stretched high as you tied a delicate paper lantern to a post. The lantern swayed slightly, catching the soft glow of twilight, and you bit your lip in concentration.

“Careful up there,” a deep voice called from below.

Startled, you looked down to see a young man standing with his hands in his pockets, his honey-brown eyes warm with amusement. He was tall, broad-shouldered, blonde hair, and unmistakably out of place in this little town. His neatly pressed shirt and polished boots stood in stark contrast to the casual attire of the locals.

“I’ve got it,” you replied curtly, adjusting the knot on the lantern.

His smile widened, revealing a hint of mischief. “Are you sure? Looks like you’re one strong gust of wind away from disaster.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the corner of your lips twitching upward. “I’m fine. Just hold the ladder steady if you’re so worried.”

He stepped closer, his hands grasping the sides of the ladder with steady confidence. “Consider it done.”

As you finished securing the lantern, you glanced down, catching his gaze for the first time. There was something about the way he looked at you—equal parts curious and captivated—that made your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you,” you muttered as you climbed down, brushing your hands against your skirt.

“Happy to help,” he replied, releasing the ladder and stepping back. “I’m Nanami Kento , by the way. And you are?”

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. “Busy,” you finally said, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you walked past him.

He chuckled, falling into step beside you. “Busy, huh? Well, Miss Busy, do you at least have time to show me around? I just got stationed here, and I’d hate to miss out on the best parts of this beautiful town.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Stationed? You’re a soldier?”

He nodded, his expression softening. “For now, yes. But tonight, I’m just a man enjoying the lanterns.”

Something in his tone made your heart ache, but you didn’t press further. Instead, you gestured toward the square, where the festivities were in full swing. “If you’re not afraid of getting your boots dusty, follow me.”

Present

The soft glow of the lanterns outside the hospital cast long shadows across the snow-dusted courtyard. They swayed gently in the cold December breeze, their golden light reminiscent of the festival you hadn’t thought about in years.

You stood frozen, staring at them as the memory flooded your senses. For a moment, you were no longer in the hospital. You were back in Borgo Fiorito, laughing with him beneath the lanterns, your heart light and full of hope.

“Why are there so many lights?”

His voice pulled you back to the present like a tether,and you turned to find him standing in the doorway. His frail frame leaned against the doorframe for support,but his eyes—those honey - brown eyes were fixed on the lanterns.

“They’re lanterns,” you said softly, stepping closer. “They’re meant to bring light to the darkness.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze distant. “I’ve seen them before… haven’t I?”

Your breath hitched slightly, hope began to flare in your chest but yet you feared so much.

“I believe you have, yes”

His brows furrowed, in frustration flickering across his face as he rubbed his temple. “It's… familiar. But I…. can't”

“It's okay” your voice steady even though there was a storm within you.

“Don't push yourself. Just…. take your time”

He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours as if trying to grasp something just out of reach.“Were you there?”

Your heart clenched, and you forced a smile. “Yes. I was there.”

You wanted to tell him everything but you know that his recovery was frail and if you said anything it could ruin him just like that. Besides the storm that ruffles within you, you weren't going to shatter him.

“Let’s get you back inside,” you said gently, moving to his side. “It’s too cold out here, and we still have to wash you up”

He didn't protest as you guided him back to his bed, but as you helped him settle, he grabbed your hand, his grip surprisingly firm.

“The lanterns,” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. “They mean something, don’t they?”

You swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “Yes. They mean hope.”

He nodded faintly, as you started to take off his badges. For a moment you felt hopeful again and the lanterns were the one thing that gave you that.

19 December 1954

The morning light filtered softly through the hospital windows, casting a pale golden hue across the quiet ward. In your hands, you carried a simple vase of fresh flowers—white camellias and sprigs of rosemary. Their scent, earthy and sweet, filled the air as you stepped into his room.

You placed the vase on the table beside his bed, arranging the blooms carefully. The flowers were a small act of devotion, a way to bring life and beauty into a place so often filled with sorrow.

The scent lingered as you worked, subtle but insistent, and suddenly, it hit you. You froze, your hands trembling slightly as the smell transported you back.

Before the World War II

23 June 1944

The olive trees stretched endlessly, their twisted branches heavy with silvery leaves. The world felt suspended in a timeless moment as you walked beside him, your steps crunching softly against the earth. The air smelled of ripening fruit and wild rosemary, a fragrance so intoxicating you could almost forget the war that loomed beyond the horizon.

He had asked you to meet him outside the village, promising a surprise. You had gone, curiosity outweighing your hesitation, and found him waiting beneath the shade of an ancient olive tree.

“This” he murmured and he inhaled the air, “is my favorite place in the word” as he gestured towards the tall grass of the field.

The rows of olive trees surround your figure out like an ocean green sea. The scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed earth hung filled your nose as you couldn’t help but smile at the smell,the faint chirping of birds could be heard in the background.

“It's beautiful” you whispered softly as if the words were only meant for you, turning to look at him.

But he wasn't looking at the grove. He was looking at you.

“Yeah”, he said softly yet so tenderly he whispered. “It is”.

The colour crimson dashed against your skin and he only smiled at your shyness.

He held out his hand,and you hesitated for a moment before taking it. Together you walked through the grove, hands swaying and you walked. The sunlight filtering through the leaves painting patterns on the ground.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked tenderly.

He stopped, turning to face you fully. His expression was serious, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart flutter.

“Because this place is special to me,” he said, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. “And so are you.”

Your breath caught, the weight of his words sinking in. He didn’t wait for a response, instead pulling you gently toward a clearing where a single white camellia bush bloomed, its flowers bright against the green.

“They only grow here,” he said, plucking one and tucking it behind your ear. “Just like you. One of a kind

You giggled softly, the sounds didn't go unnoticed by his ears. “Now you're just making things up, stop”

“And if I say no?” he asked you teasingly. You couldn��t answer,not once as his lips quietly pressed against yours. Your hands slowly wrapped around his neck as his gliding their way to you hips pulling you flush against him

And in that moment surrounded by olives trees, wildflowers and camellia, you knew.

Present

The camellias in the vase seemed to glow in the soft morning light, their white petals pristine against the sterile backdrop of the hospital room. The scent of rosemary mingled with their delicate fragrance, weaving through the air like a ghost of the past.

You stood there for a moment, your fingers lingering on the edge of the vase as the memories washed over you. The olive groves, the sunlight, the way he had looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

A soft rustle behind you broke your reverie, and you turned to see him awake, his honey-brown eyes watching you from the bed.

“They’re beautiful,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady. “The flowers.”

“They reminded me of you,” you replied before you could stop yourself.

His brow furrowed, his gaze flickering to the vase. “The scent… it’s familiar.”

Your heart leapt, but you kept your expression calm, your voice even. “They grow in olive groves. There were camellias like these back in Borgo Fiorito.”

“Borgo Fiorito,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the name. His eyes narrowed slightly, his hand twitching against the blanket. “I know that name.”

You took a step closer, your breath caught in your throat. “You do?”

He nodded faintly, his gaze distant. “It’s… it’s on the edge of my mind. The smell, the name… I’ve been there before.”

A flicker of hope ignited in your chest, but you forced yourself to remain steady. “Yes,” you said softly. “You have.”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, they were filled with something you hadn’t seen in years: recognition, or perhaps the shadow of it.

“Were you there too?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart ached, but you smiled, keeping your voice steady. “Yes,” you said simply. “I was.”

He didn’t say anything more, his gaze drifting back to the flowers. But as he reached out and brushed his fingers against one of the petals, you saw something in his expression—a spark, a glimmer of the man he had been.

And as you stood there, watching him, you let yourself hope. Maybe, just maybe, the flowers would lead him back to you.

❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅

The night had settled in, cloaked in a shroud of stormy gray, the faint patter of rain echoing through the halls of the hospital. The cold crept in like an uninvited guest, seeping through every crack and corner, chilling you to your bones. You weren’t beside him this time. Duty had pulled you away, leaving him alone in the quiet of his room.

You moved through the dimly lit ward, tending to the others who needed you—feeding those too weak to lift a spoon, bathing those unable to move. Your hands worked tirelessly, but your mind kept drifting back to him. Was he sleeping? Did he call out in the night?

Finally, as your tasks come to an end, you let yourself breathe. Retreating down the corridor, you nearly stumbled into Shoko. Her presence was a welcome relief, a familiar face in the ever-turning wheel of your routine.

Her tired eyes softened when she saw you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You look like you’ve been through the wringer,” she said lightly, though there was an unmistakable note of concern in her voice.

You tried to smile, but it wavered. “I’m fine,” you murmured, brushing past her, but Shoko wasn’t convinced.

“Wait,” she called after you, her voice gentle but firm. “Come with me.”

You followed her, your legs moving automatically as she led you down the stairs to the small chapel nestled beneath the hospital. The tiny room was quiet, the storm outside reduced to a faint hum. The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, the silence pressing down on you like a weight.

Shoko turned to you, her brows knitting together. “How are you really doing?”

For a moment, you opened your mouth to give the same rehearsed response, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, your chest tightened, and your carefully constructed walls began to crumble.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I—I can’t keep hoping, keep waiting. It’s been ten years, Shoko. Ten years, and he doesn’t even remember my name.”

The tears came then, spilling over like a flood you could no longer contain. Your body sagged under the weight of it all, and before you could collapse, Shoko was there.

Her arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you into her warm embrace. “Let it out,” she murmured, her voice soothing. “You’ve carried this alone for so long. Let it out.”

You clung to her, the sobs wracking your frame as the storm within you broke free. Shoko held you without judgment, her hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

“I know it hurts,” she said softly, her tone laced with empathy. “I see it every day. But you’ve been so strong, stronger than anyone I know. And if anyone can hold onto hope, it’s you.”

You pulled back slightly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. “What if… what if it’s all for nothing? What if he never remembers me?”

Shoko cupped your face in her hands, forcing you to meet her steady gaze. “Then you’ll have loved him enough for the both of you. But don’t give up, not yet. He’s still here, and as long as he’s here, there’s a chance.”

Her words settled over you like a balm, soothing the raw ache in your chest. You nodded, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “Thank you, Shoko.”

“Always,” she said with a small smile, squeezing your hand. “Now, go to him. He needs you, even if he doesn’t know it.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you left the chapel and made your way back to his room. The storm had quieted, the halls now silent save for the soft hum of machinery.

When you opened the door, you found him awake, his honey-brown eyes meeting yours the moment you stepped inside.

“You’re back,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady.

“I am,” you replied, moving to his bedside. “Did you need anything?”

He shook his head faintly, his gaze drifting to the book on the small table beside him. “Will you read to me?”

Your heart clenched, but you managed a small smile. “Of course.”

You settled into the chair beside him, picking up Leaves of Grass. The words flowed from your lips, familiar and comforting, filling the quiet room. As you read, his gaze remained on you, and for a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was still hope.

Finally he was asleep, you sigh with relief. Setting the book neck to you,as you open your bag to look for your dairy.

Usually, you would write in it but it's been longer than three months now. Opening the book you smiled reminiscing as you discovered little to do lists you wrote down for yourself. As you flip through, a pressed wisteria flower falls to your feet.

Your breath hitched, at the sudden sight.

The memories, of that day

15 August 1945

The village of Borgo Fiorito was in full bloom, its cobblestone streets lined with bright bursts of flowers and the scent of fresh citrus carried by the warm breeze. The war seemed like a distant shadow that day, as if the world had conspired to offer a brief reprieve from its relentless cruelty.

He had asked you to meet him in the lemon grove just outside the village. You found him there, standing beneath the canopy of trees laden with ripe, golden fruit. The sunlight dappled his face, catching the edges of his smile as he turned to you.

“You’re late,” he teased, though his tone was light.

“I’m not late,” you countered, your lips curving into a smile. “You’re just impatient.”

He laughed, the sound so rare and genuine it made your heart ache. He stepped closer, his hands slipping into his pockets, his expression suddenly serious.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with nervousness.

Your stomach flipped, the playful air between you replaced by something heavier, more profound. “What is it?”

He reached out then, taking your hands in his. His palms were rough, calloused from months of war, but his touch was gentle, grounding you in the moment.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” he said, his voice low. “The war, the uncertainty… It terrifies me. But the one thing I’m sure of, the one thing I’ll always be sure of, is you.”

Your breath caught, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“I love you,” he continued, his gaze locked on yours. “And I want to spend whatever time I have left by your side. Will you marry me?”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The war, the fear, the chaos—all of it faded away, leaving only the two of you beneath the lemon trees.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He smiled then, a smile so full of relief and joy it left you breathless. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you might disappear.

The scent of lemons and wildflowers filled the air, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. It was a perfect moment,

But the moment wasn’t over yet. When he pulled back, his gaze softened, deepened, filled with an unspoken longing that made your breath hitch.

“Do you trust me?” the question came out vaguely as he held out his hand. You tilt your head to the side as if to ask him —I literally just said yes to marry you, how can I not? —he chuckled, when you put your hand in his.

After his proposal, the two of you had walked to the little cottage at the edge of the olive grove, your hands intertwined like they were meant to fit together. You could still feel the faint weight of the ring on your finger, its presence grounding you in the surreal beauty of it all.

Inside, the room was simple yet inviting—rough wooden beams overhead, the scent of lavender from a spring tucked into the windowsill, and the faint flicker of candlelight casting shadows on the walls. You had been nervous, but so had he. It was written in the way his hands hovered just above your shoulders, unsure of where to land, in the way his breath caught as you stepped closer.

“I…as you know I-I…” his stuttering got the best out of him as always. You smiled, as you kissed him. Your hands wrapped around his neck as he found comfort around your waist.

The kiss was slow, much more tender than usual almost as if he was being careful not to overstep any boundaries but you both knew tonight, there were no boundaries. You acted on your own as you jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist, a small giggled escaped your childish actions when he laughed while carrying you to the bed slowly.

He carried you to the bed with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“I'm sure Kento,I've always been sure about you” you said as he looked you deep in the eyes, almost looking for a sign, any sign of hesitation.

You smile. And that was all it took for him. His lips found yours soft at first, tentative, as if he were afraid this moment would shatter. But then he deepened, the kiss and everything else melted away. You forgot the world outside—the war, the uncertainty, the shadows of tomorrow. In that moment, it was just the two of you, and it was enough.

The kiss grew so much his lips started making its way down to your collarbone. Kissing the skin softly, he kissed a certain part which made your hands find home in his hair and the sound that escaped from your lips was beautiful to him—it's as if he could hear an angel. His eyes never left your features as he sucked on that certain part—the simple sounds only rushed to his pants now becoming tighter by the second.

“Kento” a hoarse moan escaped your lips while his calloused hands, traveling down to the skirt of your dress. For a moment you looked him in the eyes, almost like a silent reassurance. His hands reached the corners of your silk underwear, “May I?” his voice laced with uncertainty but yet deprived from like a man's natural hunger.

You nodded softly as you felt the air hit your bare core.

Honestly you were very shy, he was the first man to see you like this,and he will be the last. With your dress still covering you,and for a moment before you could prepare he finally kissed you.

The spot where you needed him so desperately, your hands flung to the bedsheet as you gripped them hard so your knuckles turned white. Your breathing hitched as he licked you for a second.

“Kento,my love” he gave you a little hum, to acknowledge your calling upon him. You knew that at this moment he had lost himself within your waters. One of his hands found you intertwining your fingers with his, as he prepared you for his next coming mission.

Like a starving predator, he was devouring you as if you were his last meal. You back arching slightly as his name rolled off your tongue.

Never in your life have you felt this amount of pleasure. Yes you have sneaked off many times with your past lovers:kissing, caressing and canoodling but never like this.

This was your first time, your first time making love to a man you've loved so much.

Your moans grew louder by the minute, and your grip on Kento tightened.

“Kento, oh my…. my-my” a shiver ran down your back and you heard him mutter “ you taste so sweet” his lips came into contact with your clit, and he slowly sucked on it.

You could feel it.

The feeling of erotic bliss creeping into your. You were so until you felt him enter a finger. A low gasp escaped your lips

“Forgive me my love”, the apology sounded so sincere, while he penetrated through your walls.

Slowly that feeling started to build up again. Your hands flung to his hair, begging to find a solution to this feeling.

“Relax, for me sweetheart” he whispered against your wet womanhood.

The fresh scent of lavender surrounds your state,as the wind gushes through the window.

“Oh my god, you smell amazing” the sudden compliment threw you off guard. Your walls tighten around his finger, back arched fingers between the loose strands of his hair.

You whine, as you start to move your hips against the rhythm of his tongue and fingers. You were so close—that feeling was starting to dwell within you again.

Like a bliss you felt a release, your thighs shaking as you were coming down from the pleasure. Nanami held your hips in place and he kept lapping up your waters. You squirm, at the sensations you were feeling.

“So sweet, like lavender I swear”, he whispered against your thighs kissing his way up to you,only to find your foreman against your eyes.

“My love…” he murmured softly. Trying to remove your arms and what he saw could not compare to anything in this world.

Your beauty, it was your beautiful eyes that he so adored. It was the way your lips curved into a sudden smile even though droplets of tears seem to form at the corners.

He cupped your cheeks and whispered softly “You are so beautiful”

You shy away from his gaze,but he kisses you again. It's as if you can feel the love even through every little action.

His hands wander down, to your chest. The feeling of his rough calloused hands squeezed your fully clothed breast.

“Kento… my-my god” you moans against his lips. His lips traveled down to your chest, slowly unraveling the button. His eyes never left yours, just to be sure that you were okay with this.

Your dress discarded on the floor, you fully naked in front of him was something he always imagined but never thought he could have. His eyes darted down your figure, taking in every single detail, every scar, every single birthmark. You were beautiful— laying there lips parted, half lidded eyes, nipples erected just for him. Only now he realized that you finally belong to him, and that he is finally yours.

“Kento, you know it's rude to make your fiance wait” a teasing smile spreads across your lips

How could you just lay there and look so beautiful. He smiled and took off his briefs, your eyes ranking over this masculine figure l, your eyes widened slightly at the sight of his manhood. You swallow, loudly enough for him to hear,only for him to smirk at your reaction.

Finally reaching you, he leans down framing your head with his forearms. You gasped, feeling his torso against yours,the feeling of it against your thigh was enough to make you wonder if it would even fit.

The pad of his fingertips traces patterns against your cheek , his eyes searching for any concerns.

“Kento… ” your tone is so soft and low, wondering if you'll ever get the chance to say the words. “make love to me” as you looked into his eyes.

The confession itself made it clear that you wanted just as much as he wanted you.

“I promise I'll go slow”

The weight of his words lingered in the air, and finally he kissed you. The kiss wasn't as tender as it used to be. Instead there was passion, desperation and a pleasant force of love. Your hands flung around his neck as his hands slowly ran down the silhouette of your body, settling against your hips.

You could feel his member lining towards your entrance. One push was all he needed and that's what you felt, him finally stretching you out slowly. For the first time you felt it, and it was painful, yet so pleasurable.

His eyes found yours, with such concern. He mumbled “Are you okay?” you could only nod and smile. He kisses your temple before he withdraws slowly, but then pushes again the pattern following thoroughly—but steady.

At first it was as if you were dying from pain but now as the rhythm of his slow and gentleness suppresses you could only feel pleasure seeping through and that wasn't enough.

“Sweetheart I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to move a bit faster” his half lidded eyes ranking your features.

He kisses you again as the rhythm of his strokes begins to increase.

“Kento….ahhh oh my god” you moaned loudly.

“You feel so good, god Y/N” it's as if his hips were snapping with pleasure. You could feel every bit of him so deep within you.

Your breath hitched, quickening with every movement, as he angled his firm length to press against a spot that left you trembling.

“I know, I know sweetheart” he says as he kisses your now wet skin slowly making his way to your breasts,sucking the soft flesh as he continues his ministries.

“Kento I can't - can't” you moaned loudly, the stinging sensation was there. Your hands searching for anything to grip on,he kissed you so suddenly the pleasure overwhelmed you.

Your eyes met for a brief moment as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. You feel the rhythm of his hips, while his heavy member keeps pushing into you.

The feeling of his groin rubbing against your clit ws enough to send you into the stars.

“I'm so close,sweetheart” you heard him whisper “tell me you're close, oh just tell me you're almost there” he continued.

And you were, “Kento…. I…I think I'm gonna-” you couldn’t finish your sentence as you felt him thrust against that one spot. Just like that you came, your thighs shaking to the core. Your toes curl and your hands find their way to his hair gripping onto him for dear life, not even soon after you feel long strings of ribbons follow after you,with the sounds of Kento’s groans stringing along with your name.

Moments pass, moments of silence where you both could hear the sound of birds singing. It wasn't morning but it's as if they were singing for you—after your wonderful bliss.

Afterward, you lay tangled together under the thin linen sheets, his arms wrapped protectively around you. The cicadas sang their nighttime song, and the moonlight painted silver streaks across the floor. He traced lazy circles on your back, his voice a soft murmur in the darkness.

“Mia Stella” he whispered to you.

You tilted your head to look at him,you frowned and he laughed at your confusion.

“You’re my guiding light in all this darkness, my star.” he whispered to you as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Kento…” you couldn’t help but be emotional, tears started to build up again.

“You really are the light of my life, Y/N” he said again and in those final moments, you knew that you were his and he was yours.

Present

The hospital room was quiet save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. You sat by his bedside, your fingers brushing against his as he slept, your mind still lost in the memory of the lemon grove—the day he proposed, the night you gave yourself to him completely. It lingered in your chest, both sweet and devastating, knowing that he didn’t remember it.

You reached for his hand again, searching for the man you once knew in the warmth of his skin. But as you turned his wrist slightly, your eyes caught the faintest mark—a thin, pale scar wrapping around the back of his neck.

You froze.

It was the scar left by the chain of the locket you’d given him all those years ago.

Your breath hitched as your heart clenched, and in that instant, you were no longer in the sterile, somber hospital room.

1 Day

Before the World War II

13 September 1945

The train station buzzed with the chaotic energy of departure. Soldiers in uniforms stood in lines, their faces hard with resolve or softened with barely hidden tears. Families clung to one another, desperate to stretch seconds into minutes, minutes into hours.

But for you, the world had gone still. All you could see was him—Kento, standing there in his olive-green uniform, his jaw tight as he avoided meeting your eyes. His hand gripped the strap of his pack, his knuckles white from the effort.

“Do you have to go?” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid.

He finally looked at you, his amber eyes softer now, filled with sorrow and love. “You know I do.”

The tears you had fought so hard to hold back began to spill as you clutched the small locket in your hand. You’d chosen it for him the day he received his orders, a tiny token to keep him grounded, to remind him of home. Of you.

“Then promise me,” you said, your voice cracking as you fumbled with the chain. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

He reached out, his rough hands gentle as they closed over yours, helping you fasten the locket around his neck. The silver pendant rested just below his collarbone, glinting in the weak sunlight.

“I promise,” he said, his voice steady even as his eyes betrayed the fear and uncertainty he couldn’t voice.

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as sobs wracked your body. “Don’t let it take you,” you begged. “The war… don’t let it take you from me.”

His arms came around you, holding you tightly, as though he could shield you from the cruelty of the world. “Nothing could ever take me from you,” he murmured into your hair. “Not really.”

But as the train’s whistle pierced the air, cutting through the haze of desperation, you felt the lie in his words. The world could take him from you—just as it was about to.

When he pulled back, his hands lingered on your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that refused to stop falling. “Stay strong,” he said. “For me.”

You nodded, though your chest ached so fiercely you thought it might shatter.

The final whistle blew, and with one last lingering look, he turned and climbed aboard the train.

You stood there on the platform, clutching yourself against the cold as the train pulled away, its wheels screeching against the tracks. He leaned out of the window, his locket catching the light as he waved to you.

And then he was gone.

Present

19 December 1954

Your breath came in shallow gasps as you blinked back into the present, your hand trembling as it hovered over the faint scar on his neck.

That locket. You remembered how he’d sworn to return with it, to bring it back to you when the war was over. But he never did.

Tears welled in your eyes as you swallowed hard, the ache of that day at the train station crashing into you like a tidal wave.

“Kento…” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Do you still feel it? Somewhere, do you still feel me?”

He stirred slightly, his lips parting as he murmured something too soft for you to hear. The faint motion pulled you back, grounding you, though the pain in your chest lingered.

Wiping your tears, you leaned back in the chair and opened Leaves of Grass again. Your voice wavered as you began to read, the words trembling with the weight of love, memory, and hope.

You didn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop.

Because you still believed—somewhere deep in your heart—that the man you loved was still in there, waiting to find his way back to you.

25 December 1954

The morning sun filtered through the frosted hospital windows, its weak rays casting a golden glow on the endless white expanse outside. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the heavens, blanketing the earth in a serene stillness. The halls of the hospital buzzed with quiet activity, nurses exchanging soft smiles as they wished each other a Merry Christmas. You, too, wandered through the corridors, stopping at each room to offer gentle holiday greetings to the patients.

But your heart felt heavy.

It had been days since the flood of memories had overwhelmed you, each one more vivid than the last—his smile under the lemon trees, the sound of his laughter, the warmth of his embrace. You carried them like fragile glass in your chest, terrified that holding them too tightly might shatter you completely.

Today was Christmas, a day of hope and miracles, but for you, it was just another day to face the ache of loving someone who didn’t remember you.

With trembling hands, you approached his room, your heart thudding in your chest. The small, wrapped gift in your hand felt heavier than it should have. It wasn’t much—just a token, a gesture—but you’d hoped it might bring a flicker of light to his eyes, even if he couldn’t recall why it mattered.

Pushing the door open quietly, you stepped inside. He was sitting up, his body still frail but his presence strong. His amber eyes turned toward you, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw something there—something familiar, something real.

“Merry Christmas,” you said softly, forcing a smile as you approached his bedside.

He nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Merry Christmas.”

You placed the gift on the small table beside him, your fingers lingering on the ribbon as you tried to steady your breath. “It’s not much, but I thought… I thought you might like it.”

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “You’ve been crying again,” he said, his voice hoarse but gentle.

Your eyes widened, caught off guard by his observation. “I’m fine,” you whispered, shaking your head. “It’s just… the season. It brings back memories, that’s all.”

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the silence between you was suffocating. Then, he reached out, his fingers brushing yours as they rested on the edge of the bed. “Tell me,” he said.

“Tell you what?”

“About the memories,” he said, his voice quieter now. “About… us.”

Your breath hitched, tears welling in your eyes as you struggled to find the words. “Kento, you—”

But before you could finish, his hand tightened slightly around yours. “Mia Stella,” he whispered.

The world stopped.

You froze, your eyes snapping to his as your heart began to race. “What… what did you say?”

“Mia Stella,” he repeated, his voice stronger this time. His eyes, once clouded with confusion, now shone with a clarity you hadn’t seen in years. “That’s what I called you. My star. You were my light, even in the darkest times.”

The tears you’d been holding back broke free, streaming down your face as a sob escaped your lips. “Kento…”

“I remember,” he said, his voice cracking as his own tears began to fall. “I remember everything. The lemon grove. The nights under the stars. The way you always smiled, even when I was too stubborn to. And I remember… how much I love you.”

You collapsed onto the edge of the bed, your hands clutching his as you wept. “I waited for you,” you choked out. “For ten years, I waited. I never gave up, even when it hurt, even when I thought you were gone forever.”

He reached up, his hand trembling as it brushed against your cheek. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “For all the pain I caused you. For making you wait. But I’m here now. I’m here.”

You leaned into his touch, your tears falling freely as you nodded. “You’re here,” you echoed, your voice breaking. “That’s all that matters.”

He pulled you closer, his arms weak but steady as they wrapped around you. “Mia Stella,” he murmured again, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re my everything. You always have been.”

For the first time in a decade, you felt the weight of your heart lift. The man you loved had returned to you—not just in body, but in spirit.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, blanketing the world in white, you held onto him, knowing that this Christmas was a miracle you would never forget.

It was the White Christmas he had always promised you.

©suguru's-thoughts 2024, do not copy or translate my work. Art work does not belong to me and my deviders are from the lovely @adornedwithlight 🍰🤍

a/n — I will not lie the dates got me mixed up but I hope you enjoyed this story it was so nice to write but yet so emotional. Feel free to comment your thoughts one this :')✨

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