#still feels like I could make a companion piece of this

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Possibly [Ghost x Fem!OC]

Summary: Ghost wouldn’t know love if it shot him in the face… or comfort, for that matter. A certain pretty medic could change that.

Author’s Notes: A companion piece for Maybe, with 10.7K words! Reading Maybe isn’t necessary, but provides bits of context for this toward the end. And again, a HUGE thank you to my beloved @uselsshuman for proof reading this for me. ❤️

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Modern Warfare

Warnings: language, canon-typical violence, extremely suggestive content

Ten years ago

“Stay with me, Simon! Shit, shit, I need help!”

Ghost could hear Price yelling for the medical team, but he couldn’t make his mouth work enough to tell him to bloody stop. It was making his already splitting headache twice as bad. There were searing pains in his chest and abdomen that he was pretty sure came from bullets, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He tried to focus on the pain to keep him awake, but he could feel his consciousness slipping.

“Shit, Kate! I need that medic!”

Laswell did respond, but Ghost couldn’t hear what she said over the commotion of being lifted out of the chopper. “C’mon, Simon. Stay with me,” Price muttered. The older man patted his cheek somewhat less than gently, shaking his other arm. “We’ve got too much work to do for you to go dyin’ on me now.”

Ghost tried to snort, but what came out was more of a wheeze. He opened his mouth to retort, but couldn’t seem to get enough air in to say anything. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to compartmentalize the pain. The stretcher he was on bounced along with the footsteps of the men carrying it, making the throbbing in his torso worse.

His eyes snapped open when he heard metal doors slam against the wall. A pretty medic jogged to the stretcher, carefully shining a light into his eyes and running her hands down his body. He could tell when she found the bullet wounds, fingers prodding gently at their edges. He wheezed again.

Ghost was still fighting to stay conscious while she asked Price what had happened, one hand lifting to his mask. A last vestige of strength surged through him as he reached up to grab her wrist. Her eyes snapped to his, questioning.

“No,” he croaked weakly. His grip on her wrist had already loosened, despite his panic, and he feared she would pull the mask off anyway. But she only looked at him for a moment before pulling a pen torch from her coat pocket and shining it in his eyes. He squinted, trying his best to follow the light as it moved.

“Alright, you don’t have a concussion,” she said. “You can keep the mask on.” Ghost’s hand fell back to his side as she produced a pair of trauma shears and sliced through his tactical vest and shirt. The chilly air on his bare skin made him shiver. He slipped in and out of consciousness as the stretcher was carried into a surgical room and he was lifted onto a table.

Something cold swiped along his chest and in the crook of his arm. He felt a pinch as an IV was inserted, then a light tingling throughout his body. Then an agonizing pain pierced his chest.

He blacked out.

When he woke up again, bright sunlight shone through the window. It was cracked open to let in a fresh, cool breeze, and he could hear birds chirping outside. A soft beeping drew his attention to a heart monitor near his headboard. The pretty medic was at it, making notes on her chart.

Without looking toward him, she said “Good to see you’re finally awake.” Now that he wasn’t fighting for his every thought, Ghost took a moment to study her while she worked. She had delicate features; high cheekbones, a pointed nose, and a small chin. A deep cupid’s bow accentuated her full, upturned lips. Wisps of strawberry blonde hair framed her pale face while the rest threatened to spill out of a massive bun at the back of her slender neck, and he could see in the light that freckles dusted the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks. Pale, seafoam green eyes sparkled at him as she tilted her head, studying him back.

Bloody hell, he’d been caught staring.

He cleared his throat, preparing an apology, but she cut him off before he could start in.

“You took quite a beating. I pulled out a couple of bullets and got your lung reinflated, but you’ll need to take it easy for a few days. I’d prefer a couple of weeks, but Captain Price told me I’d be lucky to keep you at all once you woke up.” She smiled wryly at him. “I’m hoping you’ll work with me, here.”

As if hearing his name, a soft knock sounded at the door and Price stepped in. He smiled at Ghost from the doorway before turning to the medic. “How’s he doin’, doc?” he asked.

“Oh, he’ll be right as rain in no time. He just needs to take it easy for a while.” 

Price snorted, glancing toward Ghost. “Good luck with that,” he muttered. The medic giggled, an echoing wind chime sound in the otherwise cold room. Ghost rolled his eyes, half because it’s what he would have done in the first place, half to stop from laughing himself. As he did, his grin dropped and his hand darted up to his face, instantly relieved to feel the fabric of his balaclava still there.

The medic arched one slender brow and smirked. “Don’t worry, it hasn’t come off.”

Ghost looked to Price for confirmation, who nodded slowly. “You can trust her, Simon.”

He looked back to the medic again, blinking at her. “I don’t even know your name,” he finally said. The realization had taken him too long to come to. 

“I’m Cat,” she said cheerily. “Nice to meet you, Simon.”

Ordinarily, Ghost would have flinched. Only Price called him by name. Maybe it was because Price trusted her, maybe it was because he thought he might have some small amount of trust in her himself. Just a bit. He didn’t flinch. He sighed, feeling something almost like defeat sag his shoulders. Exhaustion.

“Nice to meet you, Cat,” he murmured.

She hummed in response, ushering Price toward the door. “You should get some sleep. If you need anything, just hit that call button.” She gestured to a small device on the bedside table as she checked his monitors one more time. “I’ll be back after I make some rounds, but hopefully you’ll be sound asleep by then.” She turned to leave, then looked back over her shoulder at him. A smile spread across her pretty face when he held her gaze. “See you tomorrow, Simon.”

He slept peacefully that night for the first time in years. He decided when he woke up that it was from battle fatigue, not Cat’s presence in his room. She sat in a chair in the corner, curled up under a throw blanket, utterly engrossed in a book. For a long moment, Ghost just watched her. He couldn’t see what book she was reading- the back cover was facing him. The paperback spine was so worn that he couldn’t read the faint lettering on that, either.

“What’re you readin’?” he finally asked. His throat was hoarse, his voice even more gravelly than usual. Cat’s head snapped up and she beamed at him, scrambling out of the chair. She poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the countertop and moved toward him slowly. Giving him time to tell her to stop. 

“The Great Gatsby,” she answered, handing him the cup. Carefully, he raised himself onto his elbows, taking the cup as he scooted back toward the headboard.

“‘Every one suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known,’” quoted Ghost. Cat’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening as a smile spread across her face.

“You’ve read it?” she asked.

Ghost gulped the water she’d brought him, nodding as he gestured to her tattered copy. “Not as much as you, though.”

Cat looked toward the book with a fond smile. “It’s my favorite book,” she said softly. Her gaze dropped to her hands. “I could read you some, if you’d like.” Ghost blinked at her. After a moment of silence, she glanced back up, suddenly nervous. “O-or not, I’m sure you-”

“I’d like that,” he said. Her smile came back full force instantly. 

“Well before I do, how do you feel? All of your vitals are looking good, but are you in pain? Collapsed lungs are no joke. And, y’know, neither are bullets.”

Ghost rolled his shoulders carefully. His stitches tugged, his joints ached, and there was a dull burning sensation where his wounds were. “I’ll live,” he said gruffly. Cat snorted.

“That’s kinda the poiiiint,” she sing-songed, grinning at him. She dragged her chair up to the bedside, leaning back and crossing her feet near his at the foot of the bed. She read softly, deliberately, voice lilting over the words. Ghost thought that if this was what taking it easy looked like, he could possibly get used to it.

Four years ago

Ghost hissed as he peeled his gloves off, tender skin protesting at the friction. His hands and arms had been burned pulling men out of a crashed helicopter. 

“Half an hour and you’ll be with the medic,” rumbled Price as he passed by.

“I’m fine,” Ghost muttered back. Price stopped dead in his tracks, turning slowly on his heel to stare.

“Half an hour,” he said deliberately, “and you’ll be with the medic.” Ghost stared for half a second before remembering himself, dropping his gaze, and mumbling a quiet acquiescence.

He didn’t need help like some of these men, but Price was unlikely to be swayed. Besides, there was nothing else for him to do when he got back to base. The mission had been quick and simple, a rescue for a downed bird. Price wouldn’t need him in the debrief and he’d only end up licking his wounds himself in the privacy of his own quarters. Besides, the base had a full medical team. The other soldiers would get medical care regardless of him. 

When their plane landed, he made his way to the infirmary. He watched as several men were carried in on stretchers and slunk to the back to wait in the corner of the room. He stood for what felt like both ages and only minutes, watching soldiers come and go. 

“Simon?” called a soft voice. He turned his head to see a petite woman with a mass of strawberry blonde hair. Cat.

“Cat,” he answered gruffly. She beamed at him, and even though she couldn’t see it, he smiled back. He was pleased to see her. After she’d treated his punctured lung some years ago, she’d come back to read to him every day of his recovery. He wasn’t sure if Price had specifically requested her presence, but he hadn’t been seen by any other medics during that stay.

It had settled his frayed nerves more than he’d ever admit.

Cat turned on her heel, motioning for him to follow her. He did. She’d treated various wounds and injuries since their initial meeting, and Simon had grown to trust her as Price did. She was competent and professional, gentle and compassionate. She seemed to know how much space he needed and she had never tried to insert herself into that space.

They reached a room, and Cat gestured for him to sit on the exam table while she shut the door behind him. He pulled off his hoodie as she slipped a pair of exam gloves onto her hands, back to him..

“So, Price tells me you’ve changed professions,” she said. Simon raised an eyebrow.

“He what?”

She turned to face him, eyes twinkling. “He says you’re a firefighter now.”

Simon scoffed at that. “That’s because the old man is losing his marbles.” Cat snickered.

She pulled a tray with various items across the room and stood directly in front of Ghost. He saw ointments, bandages, and several metal tools he didn’t like the look of.

He nodded toward the tray as she took one of his hands, lifting his arm to better look at it. “What’s all that?”

She glanced at the tray before turning her gaze back to his arm. “The tools? They’re for debridement, but I shouldn’t need them. They’re just standard in burn kits.”

Simon nodded, relieved. Cat cocked her head at him. “I… do kinda need you to take off your shirt. Well, preferably most of your clothes.”

He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, holding her gaze. She waited patiently as he stood, unbuckling his vest and pulling his shirt over his head. She busied herself with examining the tubes of ointment and opening the bandage packages as he untied his boots, removing those and his pants and sitting back on the edge of the exam table in his boxers and mask.

Simon cleared his throat, and Cat turned back to him, smiling gently. She murmured questions about his pain level as she examined the burns on his arms, smearing various burn ointments across them before wrapping them gently. She worked her way up his arms, across his chest, down his torso, and finally down his legs, periodically using ointment and wrapping patches of skin she deemed needed attention. When she was satisfied with her work, she strode across the room and washed her hands.

“You can get dressed now. You should be okay in the next week or two, just try to keep those covered.”

Simon blinked, standing to pull his clothes on. “That’s it, then?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Cat turned to look at him, gaze piercing. He knew what was coming. He knew he’d opened the door. Why, he would never know.

“Well,” she said softly. “I really should look at your face. Lots of your burns are thermal, and there could be more under that mask.” She continued when he stared blankly at her. “Thermal burns are basically like steam burns. There’s no actual contact with fire, but the skin heats up so much that it still causes damage.They can be painful.”

Simon sat again, looking toward the wall. His eyes snapped back when she said “It’s up to you.”

He studied her. He’d studied her a lot since he’d met her. She held his gaze, but not in challenge. He could see concern, built up from all the times she hadn’t asked him to take off the mask. She seemed nervous; she leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around herself. Her shoulders were hunched slightly and in that moment, she looked much smaller to Simon than he knew she really was. She was as nervous to ask him as he was to consider her request.

He weighed the choice in his mind, gauging how much he had come to trust this woman. Her eyes flickered anxiously over his hands, his chest, the bandages she couldn’t see now that he’d put his shirt back on. Anywhere but at his eyes. She hadn’t wanted to ask.

He looked down to his hands. “Alright,” he said softly. He said it so softly that for a moment, he thought she might not have heard him. He raised his head. When he caught Cat’s eye, she was watching him carefully. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Slowly, as though he were a scared animal she didn’t want to frighten, she placed her clipboard on the countertop and picked up a new pair of gloves.

She stepped toward the bed, pausing as she reached his side. With one hand, she tapped his knee. Simon froze for a moment, then parted his legs. Cat stepped between them, carefully raising her hands to the edges of the mask at Ghost’s throat. She glanced up at him, a final request, waiting for his tiny nod before touching the fabric.

Her fingers were feather light as she tugged up the fabric slowly, revealing his face centimeter by centimeter. Ghost held his breath, eyes unfocused somewhere near Cat’s elbow. She pulled off the last of the mask, laying it on his thigh lightly. Reverently. 

He met her eyes and felt stripped bare. More naked than he had been moments before without his clothes. She smiled at him, small and somehow relieved. Slowly, she reached up, turning his head in her hands. Her fingertips brushed against tender skin at his temple, then again at his jaw. She turned, opening another tube of ointment, and dabbed it onto where he assumed the skin was red. Simon’s eyes fluttered shut of their own accord. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched so tenderly, if he ever had been at all. He was overwhelmed with the abrupt desire for more of this gentleness. More of her.

Before he knew it, Cat withdrew her hands. He opened his eyes to watch her pull her gloves off before picking his mask back up. With as much care as one might handle a fine and delicate piece of art, she lifted the mask, rolling it carefully over his face. She leaned back just a bit, eyes soft. Simon instantly and viscerally missed her fingers on his cheeks.

“There you go,” she whispered. Then, before he could even gather his thoughts enough to thank her, she was gone.

Three months ago

Ghost breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. He had to remind himself to do it, lest he lose his cool. Soap’s shoulders weighed inordinately heavy in his arms. Gaz held the Sargeant’s feet as they hustled down the halls, trying to find a functional elevator. Daniela ran from door to door, mashing buttons furiously, swearing under her breath in Spanish Ghost wasn’t sure he wanted to understand.

He couldn’t believe he’d shot his subordinate. His friend.

“Take the shot, LT.”

“Soap, I can’t get a clear-”

“Take. The shot.”

“-I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t believe he’d actually done it. What kind of sick, twisted-

“Aquí!” shouted Daniela. She’d found what seemed to be the only functional elevator in the building, and the 141 crammed into it. The tight space forced Ghost to hoist Soap further up, resting the younger man’s head on his shoulder. Daniela reached up, stroking his cheek and humming shakily. Ghost leaned back against the elevator wall, letting his eyes drift shut. He fought to keep a clear mind.

“He’ll be alright,” rumbled Price. Ghost’s eyes snapped open. The Captain was leaning heavily on the elevator wall, eyes boring into Ghost with an intensity he was much more used to giving than receiving.

Ghost didn’t answer him.

The rest of the trip passed in a blur. The exfil chopper landed and they loaded in, strapping Soap in as comfortably as they could. Daniela’s hands stayed on him the entire flight. She worked to stabilize him, alternately whispering prayers and curses. Price had stayed back to deal with Hassan’s body, but radioed a safehouse location to Gaz, who passed it to the pilot and graciously didn’t try to talk to Ghost. One look had told him all he’d needed to know.

When they landed on a hospital roof, Daniela held bandages against Soap’s chest as Ghost and Gaz carried him toward the door. Just before they reached it, it burst open and Ghost’s whole body sagged with relief. Cat. Her eyes met his and the two shared the briefest nonverbal conversation before she scanned his body, then Soap’s.

Cat took charge instantly, ushering her team forward to move him onto a stretcher, and the whole group rushed inside as Daniela nervously detailed to Cat what she had done to treat the wounds. Gaz was pulled to another room to be examined. Another medic motioned for Ghost, but he shook his head. He caught Daniela’s arm when she tried to follow Soap’s stretcher into the operating room. She tried to wrench out of his grip, but he had been expecting it and held her tightly. 

She screamed, fighting him as he lifted her bodily to carry her away from the door. She swore at him, kicking his shins and clawing at his arm, throwing her inadequate weight in every direction in an attempt to break free from his hold before realizing that she couldn’t. She sobbed brokenly in his arms. If Ghost hadn’t been numb from his own worry, listening to her whimpers and cries would have broken him, too. 

When she finally quieted, the two sat together in the hallway, backs to the wall, waiting on any word. Gaz joined them shortly after, wearing several bandages but otherwise looking no worse for wear. He sat across the hall, stretching his legs out to touch his boots to Daniela’s in solidarity. She sat curled into Ghost’s side, head resting on his shoulder, while he sat ramrod straight next to her. Gaz raised an eyebrow, shocked that she hadn’t been pushed away, and Ghost shrugged the shoulder her head didn’t rest on. 

He didn’t know how to comfort her, wouldn’t even begin to try- but he owed it to Johnny to allow her this. Especially since it was half his fault he was here in the first place.

It had been at least several hours when Gaz suggested that they find something to eat. His expression was nonplussed at the immediate “no” he received from Ghost and Daniela, even when he offered to wait outside the door, but he accepted it in stride and rose to his feet to find something himself.

He returned not long after, carrying chairs and followed by two nurses carrying steaming trays of food. Ghost gratefully moved to a chair and accepted the food, eating it robotically. If anyone had asked him later what he’d eaten, he wouldn’t have an answer for them.

The three were dozing in the hall when Price arrived, Ghost the only one to open his eyes when the Captain pulled up a chair of his own to join their silent vigil. They both nodded off, and everyone bolted upright when the door opened hours after his arrival. Cat walked through, offering quiet reassurances all around that their teammate would be fine. When her team rolled out the gurney, Daniela’s hand was on Soap’s before anyone could react. Ghost followed as their little convoy made its way down the hall into a recovery room, pulling a chair to the bedside for Daniela. She thanked him softly, laying her head on Soap’s hip and watching his face intently as she stroked his hand.

Cat touched Ghost’s elbow, bringing his attention to her upturned face. “Has anyone looked at you yet, Simon?”

“No,” he said hoarsely. “I’m alright.”

Cat’s brows came down worriedly. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He raised a hand to hers, squeezing lightly. Cat’s face relaxed just a bit. “I’ll let you look at me once he wakes up, how about that?”

She rolled her eyes, smiling up at him. “If that’s the best you’ll give me, I’ll have to take it,” she teased. Ghost relaxed, squeezing her hand before moving to the other side of the room to sit in a chair in the corner. He watched the sun and moon dance across the window, watched Daniela doze and wake, took another tray of food from Gaz, and then another later from Price.

He and Daniela hadn’t uttered a word to each other since walking into the room. It was over a full day later when Ghost gently rested a hand on her shoulder, waking her from her fitful slumber. “You should go sleep in a real bed,” he said gruffly. Daniela shook her head violently.

“No,” she said. “I’m not leaving him.” They both watched Soap’s chest rise and fall several times before Daniela spoke again. “You should take your own advice, Lieutenant.”

Ghost shook his head. “No. I’m not leaving him, either.” He turned to the window, staring out across the water. “It’s my fault he’s here in the first place.”

The scoff that Daniela uttered was enough to turn his head. She leaned forward, stroking Johnny’s cheek. Her eyes were glued to his face. “No. El idiota se lo hizo a si mismo,” she said softly. Her words weren’t particularly kind, but her tone was affectionate. “It’s not your fault.” 

Their eyes locked, sharing a moment of fear and regret for the man in the bed. Then Ghost nodded. “If I go shower, will you go when I come back?” Daniela had begun to shake her head. “It’ll only take a couple of minutes. You’ll feel better,” he pressed. She hesitated, then nodded.

The shower did wonders to help rejuvenate Ghost, and he was grateful for the clean clothes that had been left for him. Even though he’d been virtually unscathed in the mission, he felt filthy. Guilty, and disloyal. The hot water helped to wash some of that away. Some. His mind had raced, the last day or so, over every detail he could have used to protect his subordinate. Johnny had told him to take the shot, but damnit, he should have found another way. There was no other way. If he hadn’t, Johnny would have been thrown to his death and they might have lost Hassan, anyway.

When he got back to the room, he called Daniela’s name quietly from the doorway to wake her from her drowsing. Despite her agreement, he still had to pry her fingers from around Johnny’s to get her across the hall. Ten minutes later, she was back in the same chair, head back on his hip as she stroked his skin. 

Cat had been by several times to check on Johnny’s vitals, saying nothing to disturb the peace. She’d only looked over first Daniela, then Ghost, concern written across her features. She hadn’t tried to convince either of them to leave. The next time she came after they’d showered, though, she walked to Simon’s side, fidgeting with something behind her back. She glanced back to Daniela’s sleeping form, then looked at her feet.

“What is it, Cat?” Ghost asked softly.

“I, um, thought you might like something to read,” she stammered. She pulled a book from behind her back, holding it out to Ghost to take. He recognized the tattered paperback before he even saw the cover. The Great Gatsby. He took it from her outstretched hand, suppressing a shiver when their fingers brushed.

Something had changed between them the day she’d seen his face.

It was like she couldn’t bear to look at him any more if it wasn’t a medical conversation. Ghost felt ill at ease in her presence, nonsensically longing for physical hurts to match his injured soul, just to have her benevolent gaze and gentle touch again. He found himself mourning the easy banter they’d shared, her quiet presence being enough to quiet his mind. He was both cynically unsurprised and stupidly, deeply wounded by the shift in her demeanor around him. 

He broke from his rampant thoughts when she stroked a finger down the side of his hand, and he realized he hadn’t actually withdrawn it. He snatched the book toward his chest. “Yeah,” he started hoarsely. “Yeah, thank you. That’s nice.” He glanced up, meeting her stare briefly before dropping his eyes. “That’s really nice. Thank you.”

“Of course.” She lingered for a moment, and Ghost held his breath. She seemed to want to say something. He hoped she did. But she turned and walked away, murmuring a quiet goodnight from the door.

He sat for a long while, staring at the place she’d been, before opening her well-loved book reverently and beginning to read. Upon opening the worn pages, he was surprised to see notes scribbled in most of the margins. He felt as though he’d been brought to a secret, special place- reserved only for Cat’s deepest thoughts. He felt honored. He read by the moonlight, storya nd notes alike, wondering briefly if he was like Gatsby- craving the idea of Cat rather than who she really was. But he put that thought quickly aside, not truly believing it for even a moment.

He devoured the book, and around the time of Gatsby’s grand declaration of love, Soap stirred. Ghost sat bolt upright, watching closely. He barely dared to breathe. Then, Soap’s eyes opened slowly. 

“Johnny?” Ghost whispered.

Slowly, Johnny turned his head. As he did, Ghost rose to his feet from his chair, taking two quick steps to the bedside. Soap opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Ghost scrambled to pour a cup of water, then gently helped Soap lift his head to drink. He saw the younger man’s eyes settle on Daniela before swallowing several times to clear his throat. 

“What happened?” he finally asked.

Ghost’s gaze dropped to the floor, dreading this very question. “Do you want the short or long story?” he asked. His voice sounded exhausted to his own ears.

“How about the short one, for now?”

“I shot you,” said Ghost. He let that statement hang in the air before looking up to meet Soap’s eyes. “I shot you, Johnny. Because you told me to. Because you’re the best of us, and you’re clever.”

Soap nodded, eyes drifting shut, as though this was the answer he had expected. Ghost wondered if he’d really heard him.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. “You’re lucky I’m such a good shot,” he grumbled. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to ease tension only he felt, or create tension on his friend’s behalf. He shouldn’t be so okay with this.

Soap chuckled softly, wincing as he did. “That I am,” he said. “Hassan?”

“I shot him, too. Twice, actually.”

“Through me the first time, eh LT?”

Ghost deadpanned. This wasn’t funny. But when Soap grinned at him, he softened. Good that he could find humor in even this.  “That’s right, Johnny.”

“Perfect shot, LT.” “You called it, Sargeant.”

“The best of us, huh LT?” Of course he’d heard that.

“Can it, Sergeant.”

For a moment, the two shared a companionable silence. Then, Ghost spoke so softly that he wondered if Soap would even hear him. Almost hoping he wouldn’t. “I almost didn’t take it.”

“The shot?” Of course he’d heard. Again. “Why not?”

“There was no shot,” Ghost exploded, throwing up his hands. His frustration was finally breaking the surface. He glanced at Daniela, lowering his voice as he continued. “He had you directly in front of him, and he would have thrown you out that window before I had time to move.” He had been scared for the first time in who knew how long. Soap’s calmness was making him angry, because he shouldn’t have been okay with this. He should have been angry. Ghost was supposed to take care of him, not shoot him.

Almost as though he could hear Ghost’s raging thoughts, Johnny let his eyes drift shut again. “You still got him, LT. I’ll call that a win.” Just like that, Ghost’s anger abated. Only weariness remained. “We got him, Johnny.”

“I’m starting to think you really have taken a shine to me, Simon.”

Ghost hung his head before looking back up. He most certainly had. Johnny had been one of only two people he’d let himself learn to trust in the last decade. “Maybe I have,” he relented. He turned, picking up his chair, and sat it right by the bed as quietly as he could. “That one has, for sure,” he said, nodding to Daniela.

Soap looked down at her. “How long have you both been here?”

“Since you got here,” Ghost mumbled. Soap’s head snapped back to him.

“And when was that?”

Ghost shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Four days, give or take.” Soap stared at him. Finally, he threw up his hands as irritation bubbled back to the surface. “You, Sergeant, should have died.”

He lifted one gloved hand, ticking off fingers as he spoke. “You have a field-treated gunshot wound to your right arm, which was in fact infected. Thank your lucky stars that Daniela saw through your idiocy.” Johnny, at least, had the decency to look sheepish at that. “A bruised bone in your hip. Three cracked ribs. A grade four concussion. Multiple hairline fractures in your legs. And a shredded left pec from a 50 caliber bullet. Might I add that last one only missed your heart by centimeters?” By some miracle.

Soap snorted. “Well, that explains a lot about how I feel. Hell, how I’ve been feeling.”

Ghost just shook his head, dumbfounded by Johnny’s casual reaction. Most men would have been in an uproar. Then again, Johnny wasn’t like most men. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Thought we lost ya. Again.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, LT.”

“Good,” grumbled Ghost. He looked toward Daniela. “I had to pry her off of you,” he said softly. 

Soap looked down at her again. There was a softness in the way he looked at her. Simon had only seen it a handful of times before- when Daniela looked at Johnny, when Price looked at Laswell, and when Cat looked at him. “Yeah?” he asked. 

“Mhmm,” murmured Ghost. “Could hardly get her across the hall to shower.” He was tired all over again just remembering arguing with the feisty woman.

Soap let his eyes drift shut, looking exhausted. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Amsterdam. Laswell has friends here. We’re in a private hospital.”

“Price? And Gaz?”

“They’re trying to find a lead on Shepherd.”

Soap nodded sleepily. “She kissed me,” he murmured.

Ghost rolled his eyes. “Doctors say she saved your life with that.”

Soap hummed, cracking one eye open to peer at Ghost. He shrugged. 

“Something about the adrenaline helping to push off the shock.” It made sense to him, in a strange way. He wondered if Cat would ever kiss him like that, if she thought he was dying.

He banished the thought quickly as Soap hummed again, letting his eyes slide shut.

“Sleep, Johnny.”

He didn’t answer, and within moments, his breathing had evened out as he rested. Ghost waited for a while, watching the monitors beep steadily. Then he stood, stretching before he made his way to the door. He padded down the hallway to Cat’s office, then stopped outside her door. He rolled his shoulders, bracing himself, and then knocked.  

He’d barely lowered his hand when the door flew open, Cat looking anxiously up at him.

“Is he..?” she asked.

“He’s fine. He woke up for a few minutes, but he’s asleep again. All of his vitals looked good.”

Relief washed over her face. “Good, then we’ll let him sleep.” She stepped back, gesturing Simon in. “Now let me take a look at you.” He shuffled past her, sitting on the chair in front of her desk. On a wild impulse, he pulled his mask off and ran his hand through his mussed-up hair. Cat froze for a moment when she saw him. Then a wide smile broke over her face.

“Nice to see you again, Simon,” she said. He flushed.

Under his breath, he murmured “It’s nice to be seen.” He’d thought it when he pulled off his mask days ago, standing alongside Price and Johnny and Daniela and Kyle and Alejandro. He thought it again now as Cat stole glances over her shoulder at him while she donned gloves and gathered instruments.

She came around the desk, slowly moving between him and it, to perch on the edge between his knees. He spread his legs, leaning toward her, and let her check his pupils and inspect him for injuries. She ran her hands over his face, his arms, and his torso. Her soft words didn’t do enough to prepare him for the cold of her stethoscope on the skin of his chest as she reached under his shirt to listen to his heartbeat. 

He leaned involuntarily closer as she reached around his back to listen to his lungs, raising his arms to rest on the desk on either side of her thighs. He hadn’t realized he’d shut his eyes until Cat ran a gentle thumb along his cheek. He blinked up at her.

She looked angelic in the soft lamplight. Her hair seemed to halo around her head, and Simon belatedly realized that it was in a long braid over her shoulder instead of her usual copious bun. Her skin looked velvety and he longed to touch it. Her eyes roamed over his face as her thumb smeared the grease paint under his eye.

“How are you really, Simon?” she whispered.

“Tired,” he answered truthfully. He felt so exhausted from the past week that he wasn’t sure any amount of sleep could restore him. 

Cat studied him for a moment. Then she firmly pulled his head down to rest on the top of her thigh. She threaded her fingers through his hair and scratched gently at his scalp, reaching her other hand up to squeeze his shoulders. 

Simon nearly purred.

He shifted his arms so that they circled her waist, burying his face in the crook of her hip. Cat lifted her legs, crossing her ankles behind his back and pulling him closer.

For the first time he could remember, he felt at home. Comfortable, safe. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep. When he woke up, Cat was half folded over him. Her arms were around his shoulders and she was leaned forward, cheek resting against the top of his head. He didn’t want to wake her, but he was sure she couldn’t be comfortable. He disentangled himself as smoothly as he could, but as he lifted her arms, her eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” she said sleepily.

“Hey yourself,” he answered. She reached up to scrub her eyes, wincing as she straightened out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Don’t be silly,” she yawned, leaning back and raising her hands above her head. “You need the rest.”

“So do you,” Simon retorted. Cat smiled lazily at him. He looked to the ground. “I should go check on Johnny.”

“I’ll come with you.” Cat reached behind her on the desk, then held out a small, black piece of fabric to him. His mask. 

He took it from her gratefully. Once he’d pulled it on, he extended a hand to help her off the desk. The short walk from Cat’s office to Johnny’s room gave Simon enough time to fully wake up, but he still wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him when he opened the door. 

Johnny had clearly woken up while they’d been gone. He half lay, half sat, propped up on one elbow as he held Daniela tightly to him. She straddled him, one hand bracing her as the other ran through his hair. Her mouth was on his collarbone, and his eyes were shut in bliss. Simon blinked and the image of himself in the same position with Cat seared itself into his eyelids and his brain before he could stop it.

He coughed sharply, to shake both the lovebirds and himself out of the haze they all seemed to be in, and looked to the ceiling. He could feel his face burning under his mask. Daniela sprang up, scrambling off the bed with one hand covering her mouth. Johnny’s head whipped toward the door.

Simon could hear Cat’s amusement as she quipped. “Glad to see you’re feeling better, Sergeant. My name’s Cat, I’m a friend of Kate’s. Mind if I take a look at you?”

Johnny must have given some indication that he didn’t mind, because Cat moved toward him while Daniela retreated to the corner of the room. Simon refused to lower his gaze from the walls. 

“Would you two-” started Cat.

Johnny cut her off. “They can stay. Nothing they haven’t seen already.”

Simon glanced at Johnny as Cat helped him out of his gown. He flinched internally at the mottled bruising, angry broken skin, and the two bandaged bullet wounds. He looked back toward the ceiling.

“So Cat,” asked Johnny. “How did you meet Laswell?”

“Oh, she and I met probably fifteen years ago. She was still on the field, back then. I was still in training, working in a field hospital. I patched her and John up after a rough mission. I guess she decided she liked me, because as soon as I graduated, she snapped me right up.” She turned to Simon, who had turned his gaze to her as she spoke, and smiled. “Good thing, too. I’ve fixed this one up more times than I can count, and Kate tells me he won’t let anyone else touch him.”

Simon looked away again, focusing on a scuffed tile halfway between the chair Daniela sat in and Johnny’s bed. He hadn’t expected her to know that.

“Oh, is that so?” teased Johnny. Simon shot him a warning glare. He didn’t like that tone. The younger man’s eyes twinkled with a mischief Simon hoped he was imagining, but knew he wasn’t.

“I trust her,” he muttered.

Cat beamed at him. She looked back to Johnny, smiling conspiratorially. “Quite the compliment, eh?”

“That it is,” he answered smugly. Simon held his stare, unamused. Johnny looked back toward Daniela, eyes softening. She smiled back at him. Then Cat smiled at Simon, and he thought she might have looked at him the same way Daniela had just looked at Johnny. He blushed even more. He was so absorbed in his own bashfulness that he missed most of what Cat said to Johnny.

“Alright, well I’ll be back tonight to check in with you again. Simon, would you walk me out?”

He saw Johnny’s head whip in his direction, but refused to look at him, holding Cat’s gaze instead. He nodded at her, holding the door for her on their way out.

“He’ll be fine,” she told him as they walked. Simon nodded, relieved. “It might take a month or so, but he’ll be back on the field in no time.”

“That’s good,” breathed Simon. He held her office door open, following her in.

“You need to sleep,” she said. “Why don’t you take my cot over there?”

Simon glanced at the cot in the corner of her office. “I don’t want to put you out,” he began, but Cat’s cheshire-cat grin stopped him in his tracks.

“Who said you’d be putting me out?”

Simon’s face flamed. He’d seen Johnny and Daniela in a too-small bed together twice now, and he’d by lying if he said it didn’t make him crave sharing his own space. He’d never wanted to be close to anyone before, but Cat was like a magnetic force to him. He wanted to be close to her, and after today’s display, he was having flashes of desires less innocent than simply being close to her.

“I- I don’t-” he stuttered. Cat took mercy on him, reaching out to lay a hand on his.

“I’m only kidding. Sleep for a while. I have some paperwork to fill out, and you need the rest much more than I do.”

He looked longingly at the cot again, and Cat took the opportunity to shove him toward it. Her determination was rather cute, really. He moved because she wanted him to, not from the force of her physical strength. But she got him to the edge of the cot, sat him down, and rested her hands on his shoulders. He looked up at her, hoping she would stay. But she only smiled, turning to walk toward her desk.

“Will you wake me up when you’re ready to sleep?” he called.

He sounded desperate to himself, but Cat gave no indication that she thought so when she said “Of course,” to him. He lay back, closing his eyes as his body tensed and then relaxed into the cot. He could faintly smell something like the ocean, and realized it was Cat’s pillow. Before he could overthink it, he turned his face, pulling his mask up over his nose, and breathed in. He drifted off not long after that.

Today

Ghost breathed deep, forcing himself not to panic even as he felt it bubbling through his stomach, searing up his throat. Even as his mind threatened to grow fuzzy from it.

A week ago, Price and Laswell had briefed the 141 on a new mission far behind enemy lines. It would be unsanctioned and unsupported. They’d have no backup if anything went wrong. It would be just the four of them- Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost- and one medic.

Cat.

Ghost had asked Price privately if it had to be her. Price kindly didn’t question his Lieutenant questioning orders, only assured him that it did have to be her. She was Laswell’s most skilled and trusted medic, and this mission called for the highest level of skill and trust.

She’d gravitated to him on the bird in, and he’d helped her secure her parachute and pack and tactical vest. She was to post up in an abandoned bunker two klicks from the site they were infiltrating. She was nervous, but not too nervous. She’d be alone, but she’d be safely away from the enemy. At least, that was the plan.

The plan didn’t pan out.

Somehow, the enemy soldiers knew they were coming. They were met at the gate of the facility by at least ten men, all of whom were quickly and quietly gunned down. Soap made good on his call sign, Gaz made good on his excessive target practice, Ghost made good on his hand to hand combat skills, and Price made good on his leadership skills. Within ninety seconds, all ten bodies were hidden and the 141 pushed silently forward. 

Ghost was grateful for the radio silence Price had called for on their way in. It meant he got a break from Soap’s incessant pestering and teasing about the way he acted around Cat.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, LT.”

“Had what, Sergeant?”

“Love.”

Ghost had scoffed. “Love? I acquiesced to taking a shine to you, but I wouldn’t call that love.”

“‘M not talkin’ about me, LT.”

“Who then?”

Soap’s face had been unimpressed.

All throughout Soap’s physical therapy and rehabilitation training, Ghost had listened to this. Any time Cat walked away, Soap would joke about Ghost hating to watch her go. Any time she passed them in the halls, Soap would get her attention, trying to set up awkward encounters for Ghost to wriggle out of. At one point, he got so far under Ghost’s skin that the Lieutenant said something he instantly regretted about Soap projecting his missing Daniela. The joking had stopped then, and Ghost had felt guilty. But the reprieve hadn’t lasted, so neither did his guilt.

He’d rebuffed his friend over and over, denying any feelings for Cat other than comfort.

“I trust her, Johnny, but I wouldn’t know love if it shot me in the face,” he’d huffed after a particularly long session of rebuttals.

He’d never seen Johnny look so unconvinced.

He’d have never told Johnny, but he was honestly confused about his feelings for Cat. He’d never loved anyone before, and he’d only been half joking when he’d told Johnny he wouldn’t know love if it shot him. Ever since she’d seen his face, the air had shifted when they were together. Ever since falling asleep in her lap, he craved her presence. Ever since watching Johnny with Daniela, his thoughts would race to imagine himself with Cat like that.

He’d dreamed about her, after that. Often. Mostly, the dreams were innocent. She’d read to him, they’d have picnics, or he’d just be in her office, spending time with her whenever he could.

Some dreams weren’t so innocent. Her hair spread out under her, cheeks flushed as she moaned his name. One hand on her mouth, one on her belly, holding her against him and keeping her quiet as they moved together in his cot with the rest of the 141 only meters away. He did his best not to think about those. It felt wrong, as though he were betraying her trust. He felt ashamed. He told himself it was just pent-up lust, manifested in her because he cared for her as a person. As a friend. It couldn’t be love.

Now, as he stood with his hands raised, kicking his gun away, he knew- deeper than anything he’d ever known, better than he knew himself- that he had been wrong.

He did love her. More than anyone he’d ever loved before.

He wondered- as tears streamed down her face to the gag in her mouth, as he put his hands on his head, as he was roughly shoved to his knees- whether he’d ever have come to the realization on his own. Probably not. 

The squad had known they were coming because Cat’s bunker hadn’t been abandoned. The enemy team had sought refuge there after a mission of their own gone wrong, found Cat, and dragged her back to this base to warn their fellow soldiers.

Ghost had breached the room he stood in now, ready to eliminate any target who showed his face.

Only one had. From behind Cat’s back. 

He held a gun to the side of her head, wrenching her back by her cuffed hands, and screamed at Ghost not to come any closer.

Four more men flooded the room, all guns on Cat.

“Drop your weapon,” snarled the first. 

He did.

“Hands on your head!” yelled another, while the first shouted for him to kick his gun away.

He did those things, too.

Cat shook her head violently back and forth, sobbing around the gag in her mouth. Blood dripped from her temple into her coral hair, and her normally pale skin was bone white. She shook in her captor’s grip. Whether it was from fear or pain, Ghost couldn’t tell. 

“Ghost, how copy?” came Soap’s whisper in his ear. “I can hear men, are you in that room?”

Ghost said nothing.

“Alright,” breathed Soap. “How many?”

Ghost turned his head almost imperceptibly. Then, as softly as he could, he clicked his tongue five times.

“Five?” said Soap. Ghost made no sound, hoping beyond hope that the Sergeant could put together a plan. He was quiet for almost too long, then “Cat?” Clever, Johnny. 

“Cat,” he said softly. “Are you injured?” She shook her head quickly. He breathed out a sigh of relief, even as the man behind him kicked his legs, pushing his shoulder to drive him to his knees. Another yelled and stepped closer, cocking his gun. Soap cursed quietly in Ghost’s ear. Cat wriggled, wide eyes still on him. His eyes hadn’t left hers since they’d met two minutes prior.

After another long silence, Gaz spoke in his ear. “Ghost, I’m in the building across. I have sights on the bastard who’s got her. When I fire, you go get her, alright?”

Ghost nodded a tiny nod.

“We’re right behind you, hermano,” came Soap’s low rasp. “We’ll get the other ones.”

“On my mark,” whispered Price. There was a beat, then two, then three.

Ghost breathed in.

“Mark.”

A loud crack rang out as glass exploded and the man who held Cat dropped. She spun to look at his body in shock, ducking instinctually. Ghost launched himself from his place on the floor, tucking her under him as he wrapped his arms around her head. Heavy fire rang behind him as Soap and Price burst into the room, taking advantage of the other soldiers’ surprise to put them down.

Cat whimpered, shaking, and Ghost tilted his head to be closer to his ear. “Shh, I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

By the time he got the words out, the gunfire had stopped.

“LT!” called Soap. He’d jogged the two steps forward, extending a hand to pull Ghost up. “Y’alright, sir?”

“Solid,” rumbled Ghost. He tucked his hands under Cat’s armpits, hauling her to her feet less gently than he’d have liked to. He reached for the gag, dragging it down and out of her mouth, and she gulped in the stale air.

“Simon,” she whimpered. He hauled her to his chest with one hand around her waist, the other stroking the back of her head.

“I’ve got you, Cat,” he whispered. Then, over his shoulder, “Price! Have you got keys?”

“I’ve got ‘em!” called Soap. He’d turned away the moment Ghost had pulled Cat forward, his small gesture of granting what little privacy he could. He’d made good use of the time, patting down the bodies of the fallen soldiers as he went. He tossed the tiny key to Ghost, who caught it deftly and spun Cat to release her hands from the cuffs. “Got the flash drive, too.”

Ghost glimpsed Soap handing the flash drive to Price as Cat rubbed at her wrists, still shaking. He still had a hand on her elbow and he wasn’t keen to let her go quite yet. He’d be damned if he let her out of his sights again, that was certain.

“Alright, move out! Gaz, how soon can you get to the rendezvous?”

“Three minutes, Captain.”

“Right, let’s go then.” Price and Soap raised guns to move out, and Ghost turned to Cat.

“C’mon, petal, let’s go.”

She nodded, but as she moved toward him, she lurched forward. Ghost’s hands flew to her shoulders to steady her as he looked her over frantically.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I am concussed,” she said softly. Her lips were pursed, eyes narrowed as she thought to herself. She looked up at him, and nodded. “I am concussed.”

Simon leaned down, wrapping one arm around her waist and one under her knees, and hefted her up. “Thought you said you weren’t injured,” he grumbled.

“Well I was a little too busy getting dragged away to think about it at first, and then they-”

Ghost glanced down at her as he rushed down the hall after his teammates. They were halfway down the staircase, carefully checking each landing and doorway. When he looked back to Cat, she was staring at him with an intensity he’d only seen a handful of times over the years.

“I thought they were going to kill you,” she whispered. She reached up, stroking her fingers across his cheek over the mask. Her eyes were watering, her bottom lip quivering, and her hair had long since abandoned the tight-wound bun she’d put it in before they flew in. Simon curled his arms up until he could touch his forehead to hers, allowing himself one brief moment to close his eyes and thank the powers that be that she was okay.

“I thought they were going to kill you,” he murmured back, moving quickly through the building again. Price had just breached the door at the ground floor and Soap made his way to an abandoned truck. Gaz jogged out of the building he’d positioned himself in, meeting Price and Soap as they popped the hood of an abandoned truck. “Never would’ve forgiven myself if anything happened to you.”

Cat’s voice was soft when she said “It wouldn’t have been your fault.”

Ghost only looked at her as he climbed into the chopper.

The flight back was filled with quiet chatter as Price assessed Cat’s concussion, Gaz filled in Laswell, and Soap watched Ghost watch Cat.

Ghost was just grateful the Sergeant kept his mouth shut.

Cat leaned heavily on Simon’s shoulder as they stepped off the chopper, but was able to walk on her own. Price dismissed him from their debrief and he walked her to the med bay to be checked over by a colleague, then back to her office, opening the door for her and helping to ease her into her chair.

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know.” She grimaced even as she said it, reaching up to rub her temples. 

Simon froze, watching her. “I… I can go, if you want me to-”

“No! I mean, I didn’t mean it like that,” she stammered. She looked down to her hands, picking at her cuticles. “I just meant I’m sure you have more important things to do than babysit me.”

“I don’t.” Cat’s eyes flicked up in disbelief and he shrugged. He pulled a chair around from the front of her desk to sit facing her, taking her hands in his. He studied them as he struggled to choose his words. His palms dwarfed hers, fingers nearly fully looping her wrist to touch his thumbs where they stroked the backs of her hands. “There’s nothing more important to me than you. Not even the mission.”

The silence was tense enough to snap, like a rubber band stretched to the breaking point. Like a tripwire about to set off a grenade. Simon’s heart pounded in his ears as he stubbornly refused to look up, keeping his eyes locked on his fingers. He had to get the words out before he buried them too deeply to ever be found again. 

“I make out like I think Johnny’s pretty daft most of the time, but he’s one of the most clever people I’ve ever met.” He paused, steeling himself. “He annoys me, but he knows how to read people. He’s been telling me for months that I’m in love with you, and it took today for me to realize he’s right.” Cat inhaled a sharp breath, but he still kept his gaze glued to their hands.

“It took being scared for the first time in…” He thought of Las Almas. He’d been scared then, too. But nothing like this. “I’ve never been afraid like I was today. Afraid that I could lose you without telling you that I love you. And that I’ve loved you for… probably years, now.”

Simon finally tore his gaze from their joined hands. Cat’s eyes shone with unshed tears that he reached up to wipe away. “I don’t expect you to feel the same way-”

“I do,” she cut him off. 

They stared at each other for a moment before Simon said “I think that’s your head injury talking.”

Cat’s head whipped back and forth as she shook it emphatically. “It’s not the concussion, Si.”

With that single syllable, Simon’s heart seemed to melt in his chest, seeping between his ribs and pooling in his stomach with a warmth he’d never felt before. He let his eyes drift shut as he pulled Cat’s hands up, laying them on his masked cheeks and leaning heavily into her touch. 

“I’ve known for a long time, too, but… I didn’t want to scare you off,” she admitted softly. He opened his eyes to find her watching him, eyes shining again. Her fingers twitched against the fabric of his balaclava. “I know you have a hard time trusting people.”

“I trust you.” The words came unbidden, instant. He’d never meant anything more. He leaned further against her hands, turning his face to nuzzle her palm. As her fingers fiddled with a loose string, he whispered “Take it off.”

She froze. Then, slowly, she ran her fingers down his cheeks, across his jaw, down his neck to lay against his collarbones over his hoodie. She grasped the zipper, waiting for him to protest, and tugged it down when he didn’t. She only lowered it enough to tuck her fingertips under the edge of the balaclava, pulling up gingerly.

She paused again when she reached his mouth, fabric bunched under his nose. Suddenly, Simon couldn’t help himself any longer. He leaned up, quickly closing the gap, and kissed her softly. She tugged the rest of the mask off, tossing it onto her desk and pulling him closer by his hoodie’s zipper and the back of his neck.

Their lips slid together, insistent and firm. Cat’s lips yielded when his tongue traced them, allowing him entrance. He groaned quietly as her grip on him tightened, pulling him nearly out of his chair. His hands ran from where they’d rested on her shoulders, down her sides to grip her waist, and he pulled her forward.

She let out a squeak of surprise, but spread her legs as he dragged her onto his lap, body flush against his. She gathered herself quickly, tilting his head up with her thumbs on his cheeks, and bent down to kiss him again. Simon squeezed her thighs as she kissed him feverishly, pressing him back until his head hung over the back of the chair. When she broke for air, Simon wrenched his head up to attach his lips to her neck, just under her jaw, sucking lightly. When his tongue ran over the flesh there, she keened, throwing her head back and holding him tightly in place by the back of his neck. All of those less than innocent dreams and thoughts came flooding to the surface.

His heart stuttered in his chest and he doubled down, desperate to hear that sound again. To drag it out of her. He sucked harder, tongue flat against her skin, and wrapped one arm around her waist tightly. He reached up with the other hand to grip the back of her neck and then leaned forward until Cat was nearly parallel with the floor, held up only by his hold on her. She clutched at his shoulders, gasping as his tongue laved the tender skin just under her jaw. No dream could ever compare to this.

When he leaned back again, pulling her up with him, she held his head and kissed him sloppily, sucking on his bottom lip. His breath caught in the back of his throat, and then she released him and took her turn at kissing his neck. When she licked the underside of his jaw, his hands fell to his sides, vision blurring around the edges. She took full advantage of his ragdoll state, pressing herself forward and squeezing her thighs around him as she sucked a spot that made his head spin. She reached up to his hoodie again, pulling down the zipper, and Simon came back to himself like he’d been hit by a truck.

He reached up, grabbing both of her wrists in one hand, and held her upright with his other as he leaned forward. Cat stared at him, wide-eyed and panting. Simon squeezed his eyes shut. The only sound in the room was their labored breathing.

“I’m sorry-” Cat began, but he shook his head to cut her off.

“No, I’m sorry.” Then he whispered “I can’t take any more from you than I already have.”

Cat wriggled a hand out of his grasp, stroking his cheek with her knuckles. “It’s not ‘taking’ if it’s freely given.”

A humorless chuckle escaped him. “Wouldn’t be freely given if you knew what you were getting yourself into with me. Who I am, what I’ve done.”

Cat pulled her other hand free and held his face. “Look at me,” she commanded. Simon opened his eyes, holding her gaze. “I know who you are, and I don’t care what you’ve done. I’ve loved you from a distance for years. And if you’ll let me, I want to love you from a little closer now.”

Simon searched her face for any sign of uncertainty, but there was none. His heart beat wildly as he reached up to stroke her cheek.

“And if I don’t come back one day?”

Cat’s eyes watered, but she still gave him a shaky smile. “‘‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’,” she quoted.

Simon let out a breathless chuckle. “‘Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?’”

Cat beamed down at him through her tears. “You know Alfred Lord Tennyson?”

Simon reached up to tuck a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. “‘Course I do. I grew up 200 kilometers from where he lived.”

Cat hummed, turning her face to kiss the palm of his hand. Again, he wondered at the lovingness with which she touched him. He wondered at his killing hands, touching her with the same love. He leaned forward, laying his head on her chest and clutching her waist, and rocked them slowly. They stayed that way for a long time until Cat finally leaned back, taking his face in her hands again.

“Don’t shut me out, Simon.” Her stare was heavy, sincere. “Think you can do that?”

He leaned up, kissed her temple, and then rested his forehead against hers. He smirked slightly. 

“Possibly,” he teased. The smile Cat beamed at him wiped away any fears he had for the moment, and he leaned up to kiss her again.

[witchygagirlwrites]

Really

Hank Voight x Reader

You asked Hank out, it's only fitting that you admitted your feelings first too

Companion piece to Let me Decide

It was a little unconventional, your relationship with Hank. The age difference for one had a habit of raising a few eyebrows. The fact that no one had really seen him date after his wife passed then he got with you. You knew how most people saw him, as Sergeant Voight. The hardass over intelligence that did whatever he saw fit to solve the case he was handed. The man that played by his own set of rules and didn’t care who got hurt.

Hell you’d seen him like that for years. He put up a good front and to a certain point he was a bit of a hardass but that was simply due to the fact that he came from the old school of policing. Him, Platt, they had to learn to make themselves seem like they didn’t give a damn so they could attempt to help the people that needed it.

The longer you were with Hank the more you got to see past that demeanor and to who he actually was. He cared about his unit, kept a safe in his basement that had money in it that you weren’t actually sure where it came from but you’d seen him go in it to pay for a victim to be able to start her life over when her husband drained her accounts. He sent money to Olive every month so if she or his grandson Daniel needed anything. On Camille’s birthday he took her favorite flowers to the cemetery and on Justin’s he tended to want to stick closer to the boys out of his unit.

The man had gone through so much loss and was still standing it amazed you at times. You weren’t sure how he did it. There was no surprise he put that front forward. If you didn’t let anyone close, you didn’t stand a chance of losing them. You hadn’t given him a chance to not let you in, in Adam’s words “You’re always there waiting to make him be human”

You were leaving med from dropping off a heart attack patient. The entire morning you and Sylvie maybe had gotten a thirty minute break, Adam had sent lunch to the station house with a note that read “I pissed Voight off. Please protect me” which had caused a round of teasing from the entire rescue squad until you turned it onto Matt and Sylvie.

You turned to talk to her and bumped into someone’s shoulder. “I’m sorry” you apologized and realized it was Kevin. “Kev! Hey” he smiled “Hey, you dropping off?”

You motioned behind you “Our third trip today” “Good grief” he nodded to Sylvie then cut his eyes back at you “You get Adam’s note?” you nodded “What did he do to Hank now?” he grimaced “He broke the coffee maker in the break room” you shook your head “And the big bad detective needs my protection why?” “Because dad’s mad so we run to mom” he teased with a grin.

Sylvie giggled “Bet ya didn’t realize you were inheriting a unit of kids?” you shook your head “Actually, I knew that from the start” and patted Kevin’s shoulder “Tell Ruz I got him” then nodded to Sylvie “Let’s go. I’m gonna make a stop by the district on the way back”

Adam was doing his best to hide behind Kim at his desk. Hank hadn’t had coffee the entire day and the break room was a bit of a mess still. He heard the gate downstairs pop and figured Kevin and Jay were back.

When he didn’t hear their voices he cut his eyes towards the stairs and saw you and Sylvie carrying trays of coffee. “She got your note” Hailey laughed. He grinned and stood up to meet you halfway. “I knew I was your favorite” You passed him the tray in your hand but plucked one of the cups out. “Don’t let it go to your head. Hank in his office?”

“He’s in there,” Kim told you. The door was closed and the blinds were down but you knew he wouldn't mind you coming in. “Sylvie I’ll just be a minute” she sat on the edge of Jay’s desk and shot you a wink as she sipped on her coffee “Take your time”

_______________

You tapped your knuckles against the door as you were opening it. Hank looked like he was about to yell but his face quickly turned into a smile when he realized it was you. “Hey sweetheart, what are you doing here?” you held up the coffee “I heard my problem child prevented you from having coffee so I thought I’d make a special delivery”

He pushed his chair back from the desk so you walked over to slip between him and the desk, sitting on the edge of it as you passed him the cup. He took it and shook his head “You didn’t have to do this baby” you smiled “I know, I wanted to”

He sat the cup down on the desk so he could put a hand on each of your thighs, rubbing them gently “Why is someone like you with me?” you felt the smile fall from your face “Excuse me?” he looked up at you “You’re young, beautiful..smart as hell and a fucking livewire. You should be with someone your age, someone that can keep up with you. Not some grumpy old man that needs his mid day coffee”

You stood up, putting yourself nearly in his lap before deciding fuck it and just straddled him in the chair, watching how his eyes tracked you and his hands slipped around your waist to hold you to him. “You had no problem keeping up with me last night” you reminded him and a smirk slipped onto his face. “You know what I mean honey” he told you, one hand slipping under your uniform to tease across your skin. You leaned back just enough to look him in the eyes “Because I love you Hank” his eyes widened slightly “What?” you felt your heart drop. “And I shouldn’t have said that”

You started to climb out of his lap but felt his grip tighten “Don’t you dare move” you froze, not meeting his eyes “Why? So you can tell me I’m too young for you to love? That I’m ok to date, ok to fuck but not ok to be with long term because even though I am a grown woman and perfectly capable of making my own decisions I need to be with someone closer to my age even though that’s not what my heart wants?”

One of his hands moved from your hips to grip your chin and force your eyes to his, “No, so I can tell you that I love you too before you have to go back to work” A smile slipped onto your face “Really?” “Really” he replied and pulled you into a kiss.

You didn’t realize you hadn’t closed the door all the way until you heard Adam’s voice “Hey boss…holy hell I’m sorry” you broke away from Hank’s lips with a laugh and he muttered “I’m gonna kill him” as Adam backed out the office quickly, closing the door.

“Don’t you dare hurt my child” you laughed and he raised an eyebrow “He’s the same age as you” you shrugged “He’s my problem child and you are not going to hurt him because you love me, right?” he sighed “Right”

[wexhappyxfew]

saw you were taking prompts and am having absolute carrie x dougie brainrot! maybe something with “i can stay the night, y’know. if it’d make you feel better.” or really whatever you see fit for them!

I just think that have such a fun and interesting dynamic that i’m OBSESSED with.

HELLO LOVELY ANON!!!! :) apologies that i am now months late to this prompt - but i am happy to say, i have an incredibly fun piece written in response!!! this has gone through a few iterations i won't lie - with some of the pieces of writing most likely incorporated into other pieces in the future! BUT - for now, please enjoy my take on this prompt. thank you SO MUCH for the love on carrie and dougie! i have so much fun writing them and their entire dynamic and THANK YOU so much for loving on them!!!! carrie x dougie brainrot is REAL!!!! <33333 PLEASE ENJOY!!!!! :D

stay the night

(a/n): carrie x dougie, with a hint of angst, featuring a smidge of episode 5 in all its sad, grief-filled, angsty glory. if you squint, you can get some vivian x blakely in there as well - a prelude to them and an upcoming piece! <3 if you want to read a piece for a bit of an idea as to what both carrie and dougie discuss in the second half of this piece, highly recommend didn't think you'd notice as a starter! as always, please enjoy! carrie x dougie here fill my heart with all good stuff! :)

Carrie's head had begun to nod off at the bar.

Between the highest levels of exhaustion she'd been feeling in ages, the numbing realization that hundreds of men were being lost everyday, and a few piloting crews were out 50% of their men, meant she was on edge now more than ever.

And to top it off, Blakely's crew was missing - no one had seen them go down, nor had anyone seen their plane come back. And it'd been two days.

Everyone was feeling some sort of pain that they were trying to push away with light music, a little alcohol and the remaining crews.

After the Silver Bullets crew was split up, much to the highest distaste and dislike of both Annie and Francis; Annie, Bessie, Kennedy and Margie had gotten transferred to a new plane crew - co-ed. First of it's kind.

They were spread thin, they needed vets with the rookies. Some people got the short end of the stick - where there was no more flying and simply the Operation room as their closest companion.

That was Carrie.

Staring at maps all day, marking bombing runs with some of the navigators, filling holes where they were needed. She wasn't a map-keeper, she was a goddamn bombardier. But she didn't even bother to open her mouth.

Stress was high, tensions thick and everyone was trying to keep it together around her it seemed.

Annie was usually flying in the air or on training duty or in meetings more often than not, staving away any sort of reality that there was at this time.

Francis was nowhere to be found unless she was needed on a mission with her own co-ed flying death trap.

Bucky was gone to England with no idea that Buck, alongside DeMarco, were both MIA, along with Margie doing everything it seemed to ignore the obvious.

Judy was placed into a new crew - Rosie's Riveters - and every time Carrie saw her, squeezed the living daylights out of that poor girl when she could. Judy was a little sister to all of them. Knowing she was separated from the rest of the crew, Carrie considered going to church.

Marianne was stuck in Operations with Carrie - and she always brought Frank - which seemed to be the highlights of peoples' days when that fat orange cat would come around. Though, Marianne was fighting sleep most days, the stress becoming far too much for all of them.

Paulina was still Radio Ops, but she wasn't flying anymore - days and nights she spent beside Operations, translating and recording and writing until her hands damn-near broke.

Now, she was nursing a beer, cuddled up beside Hambone Hamilton across the bar, talking in the quietest voice anyone had ever heard from the woman. They were really all going through it.

And on top of all that, Vivian Ratcliff was spiraling beside Carrie this fine evening, trying not to lose her mind. Everyone knew how rough it was for her after losing James - they were supposed to get married, she wanted to have kids with him, he was planning to pop the question after the war.

Ev Blakely had become a good friend to her, a real good friend, probably closer than either of them had thought or even seen coming, but now, she was onto her second beer and sitting there with nothing but tears in her eyes and a blank face. Carrie was going to tell her to finish her drink and head to bed soon by this point; it hurt Carrie to see Viv like this. Ever since coming to England, it's been bad spell after bad spell for the waist gunner.

"Holy shit, it's Blakely's crew!"

Carrie's whole body froze. There were cheers and yelling and voices and a clammer of footsteps along the wooden floor to her left and she slowly turned her head to see, there coming through the door was Blakely, Crosby and Douglass. Carrie couldn't move, watching as guys hugged one another, slapped each other on the back and fell into their normal banter routine of laughter, cackles and drink offerings.

Carrie could only watch. And her eyes fell specifically right to Douglass. Stood there, his hair unruly, a few bloodied scars on his face, a wide smile on his lips as he laughed and eyes so soft she was sure if she could get her legs moving, she would be over there right now, trying to keep it together.

Carrie watched the group disperse, drinks a promise from Brady and Crank, and took to watching Dougie who was offered a beer which he took with a smile, before his eyes started roaming around. Her heart began to pound inside of her chest. Before-

"Ev!" Carrie looked up and over and watched as Vivian had looked up, jaw dropping open, a few stray tears lingering in the corners of her eyes, as she slid off the stool and hurried over towards Blakely. Carrie's heart warmed as her eyes tore off of Dougie to watch as Blakely whipped his head around, a grin blowing up on his face like some sort of hot air balloon, pushing through a few of the guys to meet Viv halfway.

When they met, it was a sort of bone-crushing looking hug, with her arms wrapped around his neck and Blakely's….rather-large form cocooning Viv against him there.

Carrie watched as Viv's form trembled a bit against him - she was sure Viv was shedding a few tears that she'd been trying her best to hold in the last few days - and watched as Blakely said something clearly enough to make her laugh.

And then, Carrie was looking over towards Dougie again, and found his eyes already on her. A beer bottle halfway to her lips and her eyes blown wide open, she slowly placed the bottle down and awkwardly lifted her hand to wave.

Why the hell was she waving?

The man had probably just seen death and she decided to wave?

Lowering her hand, she watched as Dougie smiled at her, offering a small wave her way. He knocked Brady in the shoulder, stood beside him and then began walking over towards her, a small grin riding his face.

Briefly, incredibly briefly in Carrie's mind, she remembered that feeling of kissing Dougie - and the fact that immediately afterwards, she had been pulling herself from him, mumbling about being drunk, and then avoiding him the entirety of the rest of the night. Only for the mission to be called that night, and she had found herself disappearing for the night to her cot, not telling a soul that she had been kissing James Douglass just an hour previous.

And when the news had broke that Blakely's plane had disappeared and gone down? And she hadn't said a goddamn word to Dougie the next morning, promptly ignoring him, she found herself ripped with guilt.

And now - he was here, he was back and standing right in front of her, and her only thought was that she was speechless. She didn't know what to say in that moment, and was having a rather hard time deciding if she should be upset or angry or overjoyed or pissed off.

She couldn't sort it out.

And with him standing here, after those two days, she was half-convinced she could just kiss him on the mouth and it'd be better than any other reaction she could've had.

"Hi." he said.

"Hi." she found herself saying back, fighting to say more, but keeping her walls up and closed in on every inch of herself. She was pissed the plane had gone down, that she had allowed herself to be beyond worried sick for him. She was pissed she had let herself feel like that. She was pissed he was standing here now and she was speechless and didn't have more to say.

Carrie stared at his face a little while longer, those bloodied scars along his face, his unruly hair, his kind eyes. She felt her heart begin to race.

"You should get those cuts looked at." she said quickly, her voice sounding choppy, her tone sounding fake. She sounded out of place, nervous, and flustered. She didn't sound like her.

"I will." he said with a smile, before drifting his eyes over her form and meeting her gaze again.

"Are you okay?" she asked, almost mechanically, "When I heard-"

"All good." he said, his fingers twitching near his hip, "You?" Carrie's face grew hot.

"Me?" she choked out, clearing her throat, "Fine, fine, I…I should be making sure you are." Her heart was beginning to pound harder inside her chest.

"Do you want to talk?" he asked her, before dropping his voice, "Somewhere not here?" She blinked, feeling her face turn a deeper red, before slowly nodding.

"Yeah." she said quietly, taking one more sip of beer before slowly moving to her feet, closing a few inches between them, the space between their faces minute for a split second before she stepped away from the bar, "Where to?"

"We can go outside." he said, meeting her eyes before patting the bar table and turning.

Following him out of the room and to the darkened outside world made her feel dizzy - she was sweating, red in the face, hyperaware of his presence, the way he had looked at her, and every single urge she had felt upon seeing him. Dougie stepped outside and she followed him around the corner of the hut, where for the time being, they were hidden from anyone's view.

For a moment, all they did was stare at each other, listening to the quiet rumble of their breathing, the distant voices, the chirping of mid-fall crickets and bugs holed up in trees. In the dark, she found it easier to breathe than when she had been stood inches from him at the bar.

The anticipation was killing her on the inside in every way possible - the lack of speaking (something not at all normal for either of them), they way all they could seem to do was stare (which yet again, was not normal), and the way Dougie was watching her now (she couldn't get her mind to work).

"I thought you were dead." Carrie said - quickly - her voice sounding rushed, as she met his gaze, "When they told us the plane hadn't made it back. And that the others had gone down, gotten hit. After hearing about Major Cleven's plane-"

"Carrie." Dougie said, stepping forward and gently placing his hands on her shoulders, "It's okay." He offered a small smile. "We're here now." Carrie watched him, the feel of his hands on her shoulders, his gaze on her, body inches from her own.

"But you know it's more than that." Carrie found herself saying as she stood there, "You know that." For a moment, Dougie just watched her - as if a bit dumbfounded and confused.

"Whatever is going on between us," Carrie managed out, shakily meeting his eyes, "I can't deal with it. It's suffocating. When I heard the plane had disappeared over IP - that you were on that plane. You, Dougie. I couldn't breathe." She blinked rapidly for a moment.

"Knowing the way we'd left things, and how I'd left things and now you're standing here in front of me and I'm blabbering like an idiot." Carrie said, "And I could barely sleep because I felt so guilty that I'd just left you there and then thought you had died. But now you're standing here and still alive and I….." She trailed off and grew quiet, before meeting his gaze. She knew something was wrong with her because the longer she stared at Dougie's calm and rather composed face, the more she could feel herself calming down. The presence of his hands, his eyes, him.

"I know." Dougie said quietly, taking a small step forward between them, that small smile on his face growing as she peered up into his eyes, "You okay? Don't need you losing your breath, huh?" Carrie managed a crack of a smile on her lips, before she found her eyes welling with tears.

"You're just saying that to not rile me up." she managed out, hoping her attempt at a joking tone was evident.

"Oh am I?" he asked with a laugh, his warm hand appearing on her cheek, his thumb brushing over the scars left behind from her time in the sky, left behind by the war, the memories scathed across her face, "You think that's what I'm trying to do?"

"It's usually what you're trying to do." she whispered, eyes flicking to his lips for a brief moment before meeting his gaze upwards again, "You're just like that."

"With you I am." he said, his face lingering closer, his dark eyes inviting her into him it felt.

"With me?" she whispered, her hands finding their way to the front of his B3, gripping the leather tightly as she stared up at him with a slightly watery gaze, "So, you do it just to piss me off?"

"Sometimes." he said with an almost surprised, gruff chuckle to follow that made her heart twist, "I also know it makes you laugh so…."

"Makes me laugh, huh?" she whispered as his other hand traveled down to her waist, his grip tight as he watched her in the darkness, "Not always."

"How so?" he whispered back, "I know you, Bergie." Carrie watched him - and she could feel her insides calm. It was true. He did know her. He really did. Just like in this moment.

He knew her.

With Dougie pressed so close to her, his gaze persistent in front of her own, her own eyes scoring the blood across his face, the damage of war done to someone she wanted to protect suddenly with her life, she couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh.

"What're you laughing at now?" he whispered, "I didn't even get the chance to say anything funny." Carrie laughed again and shook her head.

"You know the first time I met you, I couldn't stand that carpet on your face?" Carrie whispered quietly, "I thought it looked like a squirrel, or….I don't know…a mangled bird." Dougie let out a laugh.

"A mangled bird, are you crazy?" he whispered, his thumb brushing on her cheek as his grin grew.

"Maybe." she whispered back.

"At least Ev appreciates the 'stache." he said and Carrie chuckled at his words, before going quiet, simply gazing up at his eyes, her own smile growing.

"What?" he asked her, "You always got that look on your face, you know that? When you look at me."

"I know." she whispered, her smile growing, her boldness flickering at the edges. Dougie watched her, his tender eyes quiet and content, and Carrie was sure she could spend the rest of the night simply staring at his face, memorizing that look in his eyes, the closeness of his face, all those little bits of his eyes you never saw until you were up close. She almost couldn't take the pounding of her heart anymore.

"I had wanted to kiss you, by the way," Carrie said quietly, "when we had danced together. And I guess….it scared me what it could mean. Especially during the war. And then it sort of came true. The possibility of losing you then. After they told me." Dougie smirked at her, before leaning closer to her, his eyes looking tired and lazy, his smile wide.

"Fuck the war." he whispered, before he leaned forward fully, his lips meeting hers.

It was a desperate kiss, she will admit fully - especially from herself. Clinging onto him, hands curled into the front of his B3, trying to pull him as close as she could, her mind a scattered array of thoughts as all she could focus on was his lips on her own.

Of course, the first time it had happened, she had been slightly buzzed, a little out of sorts, and taken off guard. Yet she had enjoyed every second.

Now, it was familiar, comfortable and safe. And she had never felt more wanted. It felt as if there was a million unsaid words between them in this moment, rooted in passion, desperation and grief that couldn't be described in any other way. Her hands were in his hair at one point, his cradling her face, her heart continuing to pound inside her chest. She felt out-of-body, like she didn't know what was happening to her.

When they had pulled apart, faces still inches from each other, trying to catch some sort of breath in this moment, all Carrie could do was stare up at him.

"What?" he asked her, his voice rich with warmth and what nearly felt like adoration in his tone.

She couldn't seem to get words in her mind and out of her mouth.

She was in love, she knew that much.

Softly, she gave him a gentle kiss before pulling back.

"Nothing to worry your pretty little face about." she whispered, as he chuckled. In that quiet moment, where they could only just watch the other, a soft red lit clicked on somewhere around the corner, near the door to the flying club. It hit the side of Dougie's face gently, and in a sinking realization, she saw the smile on his face drop, mirroring her own.

They both knew what that meant - another mission. Another mission. Dougie let out a quiet sigh, leaning forward to rest his forehead against her own.

"I can stay the night, y'know. If it'd make you feel better." he whispered. They were walking a very thin line.

"Please do."

[the-cloudy-dreamer]

Feels like this fits day 1 prompt from @mr-sadman dreamling week so we are hitting reblog on it 🖤

is your blorbo really your blorbo if you don’t draw them wearing a questionable or riske outfit?? anyways I’ve lost all decency and wanted to pushed myself out of my comfort zone so may I present you ✨ Dream wearing lace panties ✨

( lovingly gonna gift this to my server sibling and loving art raccoon partner @rooftopwreck !! thanks you for always giving me inspo and generally being such a cool person 🖤)

[c-cocco]

heey, if you all were to assign sukuna a flower or two (based on vibes or japanese flower language) which one would you choose?

i got an urge to do a portrait of him with flowers but i don't have the spoons to look up flowers and their meanings ;_; (tho if anyone has a good resource for flower language stuff i'll take that too!)

[forcedhesitation]

*wheeze* slowly, but surely, working on art of them all

[mmaebee]

I used to wonder where I could go

To sit and watch the moon come out

It’s never like I dreamed it though

It had to be just a matter of time

Before you came and found me there

But silently all through the air

Came Out of a Lady - Rubblebucket

a comic about c!tubbo and snowchester

[upsidedowngrass]

okay you MAY recieve some Art images Soon .. they will be Sketches but i havent done much detailed art lately so hopefully thats not Disappointing!! too much

[angelhound]

.

[sh1-n0bu]

yall really thought i was done with monster reader? nuh uh. VAMPIRE READER WITH A SHY MONSTERFUCKER CHARACTER

a shy monsterfucker who didn’t knew they were a monsterfucker yet, who didn’t knew of the kinks they had yet to awaken in themselves, who only thought of themselves as vanilla meeting you for the first time and thinking that you feel not so human. don’t get them wrong, there was nothing about you that was out of place. you looked human but you just… didn’t really felt like it at times

maybe it was the way you sometimes yawned and your jaws opened just a little bit too wide. maybe it was the way you were able to see so damn well in the darkness, eyes sometimes nearly glowing until they shake their head and your eyes looked just fine. maybe it was the way they slowly noticed that you barely ate anything whenever you hung out together, merely ordering a black coffee with extra shots or asking for the black coffee to be made just a little bit thicker. maybe it was the way your smile stretched just a little bit too big to be normal, sharp fangs and canines glistening

either way, you didn’t feel normal. you didn’t feel entirely… human, to them. but they find themselves shrugging it off, still thinking of you as their friend and a close companion

it all gets thrown out when you go radio silent one day. no phone calls, no notifications, no messages or hell, letters. just silence. worried sick, they make their way over to your house, using the spare key you gifted them and stepping inside to a dark and messy home. blinds closed shut, home miserable and, were those claw tears in the back of the couch?

feeling their guts churning with the desire to run away, they call out your name under their breath, akin to a whisper. when receiving no response, they call out again, feeling like they want to run away as they think of their choices. only a one step deeper into your messy home and their vision was swimming, being slammed down onto the floor as something hisses above them before it trails off into a low laugh. dazed, they open their eyes to find… you. except, it wasn’t really you. glowing slitted eyes, wide smile and a sense of danger

“fresh prey, walking straight into my grasp. must be my lucky day…” even your voice sounded weird, as if two people were talking at the same time. one, your normal voice and the other more high pitched. like how some creatures’ voice becomes higher pitched to mimic others and lure prey into their grasp. like… a monster

they tried to flee, to talk sense into you, fear and desperation tugging at their heart as their words trail off into a terrified whimper when your jaws open just a little bit wider, slits appearing at the sides as a long forked tongue runs over knife like sharp fangs before closing again. this felt like a nightmare, something they never really thought of happening before. they could only look away, tears stinging in their eyes when your clawed, stretched fingers tear off a piece of their shirt’s neck area open, thinking that you will tear them apart like how you just did with their clothes just now

a shy monsterfucker who lets out a yelp when they feel a wet feeling on their neck, something long and wet slithering over the skin as if softening the flesh there. despite the fear churning their stomach, they couldn’t help but whine out as their body suddenly started to feel hot. so needy and pathetically hard and wet in their pants like a hormonal teenager as they stare at your long tongue. even as you laugh at the flushed look on their face and make some demeaning remark, all they could do was stare

and to their own horror, they let out a fucking moan when your sharp fangs bite down on the same place you just licked at, head thrown back onto the floor as a loud plea for more falls from their lips. pleas of biting their neck more, tear their flesh apart with your fangs, clench down those strong jaws, absolutely ruin them to your own pleasure. they didn’t get it, wasn’t it supposed to hurt? at least, from all the movies and books, but no, it felt good. even as their blood gets drawn out and your canines dig into their flesh, tearing the skin apart, all they could do was moan out loud like a desperate harlot. mind muddled and body twisting to weakly hump at your knee between their legs, even as your jaws let go of their neck and licked the wounds close, they could only whimper at the loss of the feeling

the next morning, they woke up in your bed, surrounded in comfort and soft beddings. was… last night a dream? were they imagining it all? a wet dream?

their confused brain stops whirring question and theory after one another as the door to the room opens, you stepping in with a cup of steaming hot tea in your hand and a plate of some fruits cut into small pieces in the other. looking just fine and normal, no fangs, no blood, no strange slits at the corner of your mouths, no long slithering tongue, just a normal [name], albeit a tiny bit worried. so it was all just a wet dream…

since that day and that strangely realistic dream that the shy monsterfucker thought they had, it became a bit hard for them to look you in the eye and hold a normal conversation. they were fucking embarrassed, hell ashamed even, by their own thoughts that conjured up such image of you in their own sleep. they always knew you gave off an eerie, not-so-very-human vibes but even then, imagining you as a goddamn vampire who saw them as your prey was... a little bit too much. they didn't even found vampires attractive, but if you were to somehow magically turn into one, maybe they wouldn't mind it much. of being your bloodbag, your sweet prey, your willing sacrificial lamb that you toy and flaunt like a trophy pet

shy monsterfucker who gets too sexually frustrated easily ever since that one specific dream, always staring into your mouth whenever you're looking away and talking or laughing, hoping to see a glimpse of an unusually sharp fangs. who think they do indeed see something and immediately lets out a quiet whimper, thighs squishing and rubbing together as that one dream plays out in their mind again. who excuses themselves from the hang out earlier so they can go home under the guise of a "not feeling very good today", when in reality they would be touching themselves again that night, humping their pillows with pathetic broken moans of your name. sometimes, when feeling bolder, they would say the same pleads they did in their dream, asking you to bite them as they throw their heads back, neck free and pristine. if they shut their eyes tight and imagined hard enough, they could remember the phantom feeling of your slithered tongue running over their skin. humping at their pillow harder with a broken sob of your name as their body shakes, soiling their pillow case with their own cum again for the nth time in the last 2 days, changing it once more

they didn't get it, they usually had just a normal amount of sex drive, who barely got horny unless they were intoxicated or something. this newfound sexual frustration was weird to them. new and scary with the ways it left their body all hot and bothered just by looking at you. staring, waiting and gulping down saliva to wet their throat as their mind goes to the gutter. imagining your clawed hands trailing over their bare skin, maybe leave a few small cuts if you feel like it, hold over their hips a bit too tightly to leave a bruise, bite at their porcelain skin. would you make them your personal bloodbag if they acted good and begged hard enough?

shy monsterfucker who gets caught, mind too fuzzy with filthy thoughts as they moaned out your name into their pillows as you invite yourself inside their home with a bag of fresh fruits that you bought for them to get better, the spare key they gifted you in your hand. who didn’t knew they were caught, thinking of it as simply one of their imaginations again as they see you standing on the doorway to their room, leaning on the doorframe with a low hum

“i knew i used too much calming saliva on you” you say out loud, only getting a broken whimper of your name as their fingers curl inside their hole, tired and confused. vampires had a special aphrodisiac like mixture in their saliva that they used to calm their prey before feasting and to their bad luck, you have accidentally used an excessive amount when you drank from them few days ago

“[n-naameee]♡︎ ahck t-touch me! touch me, please♡︎…?” they cried out, hearts swirling in their pupils, face flushed to the tips of their ears as they whined out deliriously with an open mouth. a sweet prey, right in your grasp. since you were the one to cause it, it would only be right to fix your mistakes right? cooing out words of faux comfort, you step over their sweat clung body, taking in the way they looked so out of it. all wet and hard, too dazed to even say your name properly

shy monsterfucker who immediately lets out a squeal when your fingers push into their hole, while their own fingers were inside too! please be gentle, at least let them get their own fingers out first? who only could let out a broken sob when they could feel how deep your fingers curled inside them, feeling the way your fingers stretched and fucked their pathetic hole open easily. they were nothing but just a weak sex toy for you, a meager little bunny whose legs twitched and shook every time the pads of your fingers jabbed at that bundle of nerves inside them, squeaking like the precious little thing they were

“baahn—! aangh ah haang buh-bite..?” they asked, teary eyes staring up at you with so much love and lust as their wet lashes flutter against their red cheeks. “b-bite me♡︎..? aamh haah i... i’ve been such a go-ooddd♡︎♡︎ good bloodbag for yoouu♥︎!!” they blabber on, arm wrapping around your shoulder as they try to pull you down to their neck. the bite mark of a few days earlier already gone and healed thanks to your healing saliva. you could just hear the thrumming of fresh red liquid from under their skin, heart beat loud and erratic like a war-drum, begging you to tear them apart

shy monsterfucker who lets out the loudest moan, breaking down into pathetic blabbers of gratitude and pleads for more as you gave in to the instincts to feed. back arching up from the bed so prettily, soft chest against your own, a rapid beating heart under their own skin that you could feel against your cold, still one. shy monsterfucker who lets out a filthy squeal, tightening around your fingers as they cum on your hand, soiling it as the tears that built up in their heart pupil eyes finally fall down

shy monsterfucker who begs for a kiss, asking for your lips to be against their own. who lets out a cute muffled sob when you do just as they asked, tasting the metallic taste of their own blood on your lips before something long slithers down their throat. long and wet with a thicker textured saliva coating it, being pushed into their mouth, forcing their jaws open as they choke of their own moan as you continue to torture that tender spot inside their tight hole. gagging as your tongue slithers down their throat, feeling the way their adam’s apple feels a little bit wider due to how deep you showed your tongue inside their mouth

shy monsterfucker who could only cum dry, into your hands, tired and body aching due to their constant actions to try and relieve their sexual frustration. mouth left open, swollen lips wet with your mixed salivas that connect your faces just a little bit longer as your forked tongue comes slithering back out. eyes all hazy, nearly shut close with how low lidded they were. you would have mistaken them for unconscious if it weren’t for the weak whimper of a “mmghh—! s-shoo goowd♥︎ t-tongue... wan’ your tongue inside meegh♡︎♡︎” as they weakly wiggled their hips

shy monsterfucker who watches as you seemingly easily manhandle their body so you could do as they nicely asked, their strong body meaning nothing to you. who watches with their hands on the pillows by their head, neck painted a saccharine red that you loved, lust heavy eyes staring at you as a few tears fall from them. who lets out a broken sob as they see the way your jaws open a bit too wide, slits appearing at the edges of your lips to make it easier for your long tongue to come out. like a snake, it licks at their inner thighs, bloodied fangs leaving cuts on the tender flesh there as their legs violently trembled in your grasp

shy monsterfucker who chokes on their moans, head getting thrown back as your tongue pushes past their tight walls, eagerly humping your face as much as their shaking body could allow, feeling the way your tongue reached deep inside them — more than any meager sex toys or dildos ever could, twisting their insides. wailing out “guhhckk♥︎♥︎! s-sho deEEHNGK♡︎ y-your tongue— f-fuckinnh aanh nyah♥︎!! fuckinng my guts! aah ngaah—♥︎!” as they felt the way your tongue moved back and forth inside their hole, claws digging into their legs and thighs to keep them in place, forcing them to keep their legs open. who blabbers drunkenly about their mind melting, mushing up their words as they slur your name before fucking squirting. shrill noise between a moan and a squeal falling from their swollen lips before losing consciousness

shy monsterfucker who will most definitely ask you to bite them again the next time they wake up

⇨ dan heng, yingxing, argenti, moze, bronya, firefly, gepard, robin, caelus, yukong, legolas, lindir, meludir, baizhu, charlotte, diluc, furina, ganyu, kaveh, nilou, kokomi, xiao, calcharo, jiyan, xiangli yao, rover, zhezi, shorekeeper, aerith, zack, angeal, tifa, vincent, sephiroth + anyone you think will fit, really

[himbodruid]

I’ve finally finished the next Dragon!Sylus piece! I apologize if it isn’t very good, I’ve been writing it while struggling with a high fever and an aggressive illness that came on rather suddenly (literally overnight) 😅

Dragon Sylus x Reader/You

Companion piece to A Dragon in Rut

Edging | reader on top | switch Sylus

Intended for Mature readers ONLY. MINORS DNI

A Dragon in Love

He was hiding from you. After the night you shared with him, it irritated you to no end that he holed himself up in his chambers and refused to face you.

Things had been rather cordial shortly after, companionable. He would bury his face in your neck and inhale sharply with a pleased growl. But it was like regret slowly took over as the days passed, and suddenly you hadn’t seen him for over a week. Had he tired of you that quickly?

The decision to finally confront him came after a dream you had. From a sunset flight to rolling around in a field of flowers with Sylus, you awoke wanting and needy.

“That’s it,” you said to yourself as you threw back the covers. You picked yourself up off your pallet and stormed out into the main cavern.

Only to run headlong into a solid mass of muscle. All the bluster you worked up suddenly died when you looked up into the curious expression in Sylus’s eyes.

“Oh! Sylus, hello,” you stammered, unsure of yourself. Sylus held out his hand, and you saw a fruit you didn’t recognize clutched in his taloned fingers.

“I came to apologize,” he said simply while you took the fruit from him.

“If you’re gonna apologize for the night we shared, then don’t bother.” You’d be damned if he tainted the memory.

“I mostly wanted to apologize for treating you so roughly,” he murmured, his hand ghosting over your skin. You remembered bruises galore dotting your body after he was done with you, but you were long healed from the worst of them. You looked up at him, watching him as his eyes assessed your physical condition, tension bracketing his mouth. His touch was light as a feather, and it took all of your effort not to shiver.

Bold impulse had you leaning into him, your lips searching out his. He froze when you kissed him, still unaccustomed to such human actions. He relaxed into you a moment later, his hands wrapping around your hips and pulling you closer to him. He didn’t wear his usual protective leathers, instead opting for well-made cotton pants that were slung low on his hips. You couldn’t stop your own hands from exploring him.

His breath hitched as your hand brushed against the hemline of his pants. He brought a hand up to cradle the back of your head, tilting you back to have better access to your mouth. You opened to him when his tongue darted out and brushed your lip. At the invitation, a growl of approval rumbled deep in his chest and he plunged his tongue in to dance with yours. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped you and you threw an arm around his neck to pull him closer. You could feel the length of him growing hard, pressing against your abdomen as you brought your body flush with his.

Breaking from his embrace, you tugged him into your room and pushed him down into your still-warm pile of blankets. He looked up at you with that infuriatingly attractive half smile, mischief lighting up his eyes. You stood over him, your own gaze raking over his form. His tail flicked back and forth in anticipation, waiting for you to make your move.

You slowly stripped your clothes from your body while he watched every move with hunger in his crimson eyes. Finally done teasing him, you crawled atop Sylus and kissed him hard. He moaned into you as your hands trailed down his body, tugging at the hemline of the pants he wore. Pants that were soon eagerly discarded.

You trailed open-mouthed kisses down the length of his body, letting your nipples drag feather-light touches along his torso until his cock was slotted nicely between your breasts. With a heaving chest, he watched you as you redirected your mouth to his hip and bit down on his flesh. All the while putting the barest of pressure on his cock with your breasts. Your teeth were merely human, but the action still had the desired effect as he threw his head back and groaned. You remained latched onto him, biting and sucking at the skin, until you were certain there would be a mark left for some time- payback, maybe, for the marks he left all over your body.

“Kitten, you-“ he began, whatever he was about to say cut off as he released a harsh moan. You’d turned your attention to his cock, then, rolling your tongue along the underside of the head. You were enjoying the sounds he made while your mouth toyed with him. His breaths grew ragged as he watched you take his cock into your mouth over and over again. It didn’t take long until you could feel him straining for release.

Right on the cusp, you released him from the heat of your mouth, not allowing him to roll over the edge. He was reduced to a panting, squirming mess and you took pride that it was because of you.

Sylus’s brows drew down in foggy confusion as you didn’t move on him again for a couple of minutes- allowing his ardor to cool slightly before crawling over him again. His lips found yours, coaxing you to open to him once again before plunging his tongue into your mouth. His hands clenched the backs of your thighs as you rocked against him, your cunt slicking so sensually along his cock.

“You make it hard for me to maintain control,” he growled while you continued to tease him with your body. You smirked and responded by finding his pulse with your tongue, marking him there, too, like you did his hip. His breath hissed in and he let his head drop back again. You were enjoying the way he allowed you to tease him, unrushed and completely vulgar. The reactions his body had to yours was a marvel to you.

His growling nearly turned into a whimpering moan when you finally lifted your hips and slowly impaled yourself onto his cock. You had been so caught up in him the last time you’d had sex with him, that you didn’t realize how..large he was. Your gasps turned into moans as you sank down onto him fully, relaxing your body to accept not only his full length, but his girth as well.

You rode him with a slow, sensuous pace. Each plunge earned you a moan from him, his hips rising to meet your descent. His mouth found your breast, teeth scraping your nipple. Your hand filtered through the silky strands of his hair and you sighed his name into the cavern air.

“Sylus,” you whined, picking up the pace of your hips. “You feel so damn good.”

You sat up, taking him impossibly deep and delighting in the expressions crossing his face. His eyes clenched closed, trying to maintain what little control he had left. His hands gripped your thighs, claws digging into your flesh as he urged you on faster. His body jerked of its own volition as pleasure zipped through him.

You put your hands against his chest, using the positioning as leverage to increase the friction and speed. The sounds of your bodies colliding echoed lewdly through the cavern, your voices rising to join the cacophony of your love-making.

Suddenly, Sylus’s arms came up to wrap around you. In a swift motion, you were pinned beneath him and he was driving into you while the last threads of his control snapped.

“You fit me so well, Kitten,” he growled. “So tight for me and when you cl- ah!”

You clenched your walls on him, interrupting his train of thought. Sylus dropped his head to your shoulder, murmuring sweet nothings into your ear as you clung to him. With your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs around his waist, you moved your hips to meet his every thrust.

“Sylus,” you whimpered to him. “S-so close.”

His mouth slanted over yours, tangling his tongue with yours while his hips ground against your own. He was buried in you so deep, so impossibly deep and you found yourself unable to tell where you ended and he began.

He pulled his mouth from yours, only to utter words of encouragement. “Come with me, over the edge.”

It was as though his words sent a command to your body. Fluttering deep in your core soon swept out to the rest of your body. You threw your head back, arching into him and crying out his name. He pumped into you even as your walls quivered with the intensity of your release. One final thrust and his cock pulsed and twitched inside you, your body milking him for every last drop.

His pleasure joined yours so intensely that all he could do was whimper and moan while his hips remained joined to yours. It wasn’t quite to the same level as the rutting you experienced with him previously, but gods the pleasure felt like it would never end. It seemed to taper out, only for him to move ever so slightly and send you into a spiral all over again. Even after his own climax, he was still so hard inside you.

He murmured your name into your ear, pulling out but not removing himself from you entirely. That devilish smirk of his flashed in your vision before he thrust back in. Sensitive and overstimulated, all you could do was cling to him and cry out his name. You just knew it was payback for the teasing you punished him with earlier, but it felt so good.

“S-Sylus!” You all but screamed his name as another intense wave washed over you. Your body jerked of its own volition and your back arched off the pallet. Sylus collapsed atop you, his climax chasing after yours and flooding you with more hot ropes of cum.

He nuzzled into your neck with a soft chuckle, kissing you with such tenderness that you found it hard to remember that he wasn’t human. You welcomed his resting weight on you, enjoying the companionship you could only get through him. The sight of him resting his head on your chest sent a wave of an emotion through you that terrified you. Your hand brushed strands of hair from his face and his crimson eyes met yours. That lopsided smile would be the end of you.

“Why were you avoiding me?” Your tone was lighthearted, but you could see tension enter his gaze.

“I hurt you and wanted to distance myself from you to give you a chance to heal.”

“Bruises are inevitable when it comes to humans, but it hurt more that you just disappeared on me.”

He grasped your hand and laid a gentle kiss across your knuckles. “I’m sorry for that too. But you must understand- your scent mixed with mine was driving me mad. And if I’d let instinct take over, you’d be laid flat on your back for the last week with hardly a break. I needed to let the impulse pass before seeing you again.”

You blushed furiously at his admission. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” he chuckled. “I was coming to you to explain and apologize, but we got a little…distracted.” He rolled to the side, tucking you in against his chest. His hand traced lazy circles on your arm as you laid in companionable silence.

You could get used to this, being in the arms of your dragon.

[howtofightwrite]

So. There is no safe place (in the body) to be shot. There are places that are slightly safer than others to be stabbed (i.e. being stabbed in the meat of your calf is less likely to be lethal than your torso). For the purposes of an arrow wound, which feels like a combination of shot+stab for a swords n sorcery world, is there a “less lethal” place to take an arrow? My character is traveling with companions and gets into a fun little goblin skirmish. I need her to catch an arrow somewhere that will be concerning, but not immediately fatal. Magic Bullshit™️ will keep the wound from healing properly for a few days, but I’ve accounted for field wound care (cleaning and bandaging and such) as she’s being taken on horseback to get proper treatment.

Not deeply.

So, the problem with all of these is tissue disruption. If the injury gets deep enough, the chances that it will hit something vital (especially on the torso) increase dramatically. So, getting stabbed and having the blade catch bone, instead of getting in deeper is “relatively” safe. Similarly, getting stabbed (or shot) in the hand or foot is unlikely to kill you (though, those injuries are likely to result in permanent damage impairing the use of injured appendage.)

Arrows are a little different, in a couple of ways. First, if you get shot, you do not want to pull that off (nor break it off and push it through.) That will increase the risk of bleeding out. Arrows make fairly large holes in people, but if the arrow sticks in the wound (which, it should) it will actually limit the amount of bleeding. Effectively the wound has a partial plug in it. Pulling out the arrow means that plug is no longer there, and they can happily bleed to death on the spot.

The second thing about arrows is that they actually pin muscle together. Think of it a bit like holding two pieces of meat together with a toothpick. If the toothpick isn't there, the pieces can slide across each other without issue, but that's not possible when there's a wooden shaft running through them. Your muscles are a complex web of meat, that slide over each other as you move. Pinning those together means that part of your body will actually lock up. For example, if you're shot in the shoulder, you won't be able to adjust the position of your arm. It's been toothpicked, and it's not going anywhere.

Arrowheads can get wedged in bone. If it's a broad head, or hunting tip, that will be obnoxious to get out.

At the risk of reading too much into your setting, goblins often means poisons, or other nastiness. Though, really, even just getting a tetanus infection (it used to be called “lock jaw”) from their blades is a pretty horrific potential fate. Even if the wounds themselves were relatively minor (cuts and scrapes, maybe a graze or two), a couple days might still result in some pretty horrific harm after the fact.

Also, remember, it's unlikely that bacteria will be understood by the medical science of your setting. So, first aid would still run a real risk of secondary infections.

Depending on their skill in first aid, anything outside of a severed artery or catastrophic organ damage should be (technically) survivable, though the wounds could easily result in permanent impairments, depending on exactly what was hit. A punctured lung might not kill her, but it could result in permanent respiratory issues, such as a cough, and chronic pain while breathing heavily from then on. It could also result in pneumonia and death, which is also, usually, pretty permanent.

Some of this depends more on where you want to land on a spectrum between dark fantasy and swords & sorcery. The genres are similar (and potentially overlapping), but can scatter out into dramatically different works. But, you do have some options on how you want to proceed.

-Starke

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[withleeknow]

lifeline.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort kinda?, slice of life?; unedited don't look at me lol word count: 0.7k listen to 🎧: lifeline - the rose note: weeeee it's been a good few months since i last wrote a plotless baby drabble so i might be rusty. in my head this is a companion piece to happy place :) wrote this v randomly bc i was in a mood lol

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

There’s a touch that Minho is familiar with, one that makes him drop whatever it is that he could be doing just to be there for you.

When your fingers dance across the back of his hand until you reach his wrist, wrapping your fingers around it so you could feel his pulse under your fingertips, he knows to take you into his arms and keep you there until you’re ready to let go.

It’s at the crack of dawn when you’ve just woken up from a bad dream, or in the middle of the dark, dark night when you’re plagued with bouts of uncertainty and your chest feels too heavy to fall asleep. Your hand tentatively traces over his pulse point, and Minho brings you closer, your legs tangled together in the sheets, his lips pressed against your forehead and his voice humming the melody of your favorite song.

It’s on the couch on a stormy evening, the room filled with the neverending patter of rain against the window, loud enough to drown out the trio of cats snoring in the background. You aren’t entirely there, your head is somewhere far away but you still absentmindedly reach for him, your thumb on the underside of his wrist. Minho lets you count the beats for a minute or so, before he pulls you into his lap, no questions asked. He tucks your face into the crook of his neck as he cards his fingers through your hair, gentle against your scalp, soothing when they rub the back of your neck.

It’s right before you both leave for a week-long trip with friends, when he’s hauling your suitcases to the front door but you tug him back by his wrist, and Minho knows that the airport can wait a few more minutes. He’s wrapping you up in his arms in an instance while yours wound around his neck, holding him flush against you as you breathe in his scent, your favorite in the whole wide world.

And it’s even when he’s putting groceries away that you come up to him from behind to hug him close. He rests his hands over yours where your fingers are securely fastened around his middle like a seatbelt, and you instantly untangle them in search of that familiar destination again. You press your forehead against the defined muscles in his back as you feel his pulse, beating steadily right under your thumb. A couple of minutes, it’s your little routine.

When Minho twists his body around in your hold to look at you, he scans your face for traces of discomfort, for any sign that you need him to ground you.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” you say with zero regard for the potatoes and onions that have been abandoned to roll around on the kitchen counter.

Then you’re guiding him down by the neck, a sense of urgency in your movement when you press your lips to his. He kisses you back just as eagerly, not wasting a single second as his hands find their rightful place on your waist.

You kiss him until you’re both breathless, until your cheeks are tinted with the rosiest shade of pink. When he opens his eyes, Minho finds you already looking up at him like you’re wonderstruck, your gaze doused in so much love that it proceeds to knock some more air out of his lungs.

“What was that for?” he manages to ask.

“Just… thank you.” You smile softly, nudging your nose against his before you press another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth for good measure. You’ve got more to say, he can tell.

The thing is, you two aren’t overly vocal about your affection for one another. He doesn’t have to tell you he loves you every hour of every day, and you don’t write him love letters like this is some kind of sappy romance novel.

What you lack in words, you make up for with actions, with an understanding that transcends the kind of love people often dream about. Whenever you search for him in your darkest moments, reaching for him and feeling his heartbeat against your fingertips like that is simply enough light to anchor you, to bring you back home, Minho knows that he’s your lifeline in every way that you are his.

And when you speak again after a brief moment, your voice gentle yet firm, he knows that it isn’t an exaggeration. He knows you mean it.

“I think you saved my life.”

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.09.2024]

[scarletttries]

When Baldur's Gate 3 Companions Fall in Love...(Baldur's Gate 3 Request)

Pairings: Astarion x Reader, Wyll Ravengard x Reader, Gale Dekarios x Reader, Shadowheart x Reader, Karlach x Reader

Author's Note: It's been a while! I haven't posted in a while but I've got some time at the moment and I'm just finishing a first playthrough of BG3 so wanted to write some headcanons for our charming companions. Consider me open for any BG3 request too, let me know if you want to see more pieces like this :)

Astarion:

- Travelling with you makes Astarion feel grateful he's had hundreds of years to perfect his flirting technique. He knows exactly how to let you know what he's thinking without ever giving away too much of himself, how to flash his smile without ever lowering his guard. He thinks once again he knows exactly how to capture your attention, and possibly your body, without losing an ounce of control. That is until you say something that catches him completely off guard...

- "I'm really sorry to hear that." You should have laughed at his expense, his self-deprecating humour and haunted tales from his past worn like the toughest armour over silky open shirts. But you hadn't laughed, or scoffed, or replied with some equivalently sarcastic tone. Instead you'd offered empathy, a warm look and an extended hand that somehow didn't feel like pity to Astarion either.

"Well that's enough self-pity for tonight my dear." He quickly excused himself from the campfire, turning his back as he entered his tent to hide any visible blush his cheeks may muster from the way you said good night. Of course his blood didn't circulate that way any more, but he was almost sure he could feel his heart rising in his chest as it had when he was still a mortal man. No, this didn't feel right at all.

- It would be easy for Astarion to pretend he was only interested in a night of carnal pleasures with you because of all the beauty you possess, and he'll let everyone else think him a shallow man just the same. But when he lets his mind wander freely it's your kindness he finds himself dwelling on, or your firm but fair moral code that seems to carry you through these intrepid lands without doubt or tribulation. He almost wishes he had met you sooner, so sure that his life (and after-life) could have turned out quite different with you by his side at those strange early steps.

- Suddenly all his effortless flirting feels a lot more challenging and he can't decide if he should risk a small amount of sincerity to let you know how we feels, or just to double down on letting you know one night with him would ruin you for any other lover. Luckily both approaches are met with the affection he craves, and slowly but surely Astarion starts to feel like he might be able to have something real for once.

Wyll:

- Ever the hopeless romantic, Wyll was already a firm believer in love at first sight by the time he ran into you and experienced it firsthand. He fears he cannot be too bold, his staunch commitment to his duties governing his life in a way that does not leave much room for any other kind of commitment. He tries to let his feelings settle at the back of his mind, in the hopes that in time they will become nothing but a dull ache he can learn to live with.

- That could not be less of the case for poor Wyll though, your face filling his every nightly dream and your voice echoing through his mind in every moment of silence. His heart grows heavier and heavier with each passing day you travel together and soon it feels almost inevitable that he will be yours, even if he can't quite bring himself to admit it yet. Once he has accepted that thought he must wrestle with the possibility that you might not feel the same and you will be added to his list of those he cares for most that have rejected him with scorn.

- Still he lets the lighter thoughts carry him through the toughest of times; what it might be like to hear you offer your own feelings back, how it would feel to see you smile only for him, what kind of life the two of you might be able to build in a simpler times, what he could finally do if you agreed to a wedding night together. He lets himself ruminate on that more often that he'd like to admit, all gentlemanly efforts banished from his mind when he sees you walk around his camp.

- While he builds up the courage to make his feelings known, you might catch him practicing the steps of an intricate dance one night when he thinks everyone is fast asleep.

Gale:

- Gale has known love and loss before, the intensity of his past life making him consider keeping his heart closed off from others forevermore. But the gods have a funny way of keeping Gale on his toes, and introducing him to you certainly did that.

- At first you are just the warmest of friends to him: an ever-willing audience for his lifetime of tales and knowledge, a reliable companion for the throes of battle, a selfless treasure seeker who helps him fend off hunger. But over time he finds himself desperately scanning his mind for more and more facts that it would be worth waking you up to share, more tales to capture your attention, anything the two of you might do together to keep your focus on him and no one else.

- It's about when he wonders if the two of you might just camp in one tent together, that he realises he no longer views you as simply his closest friend. No, you have long passed that threshold into an entirely new realm of love. It feels so different to anything he has felt before, like your company is the warmest summer breeze after decades of stormy lightning in his heart. It feels safe and easy to be with you, like he could be content with almost nothing as long as you were by his side, looking at him with your near endless appreciation. Gale can't be sure exactly what to do about it, but he hopes the next time you draw back the opening on your tent and usher him in for another night of exchanging tales, that you might permit him to never leave.

Shadowheart:

- It's hard to know love when you barely know yourself. That's what Shadowheart tells herself when she finds her mind wandering back to you after your memorable first impression. She has so much to learn about herself, and while she's grateful for the reliable company and kind sounding-board you provide, there's simply no room in her life for anything more.

- And yet the more she uncovers about herself, the more important it seems to have you by her side. It's like she cannot exist in this new fully realised version of herself if she doesn't know you. If she doesn't get to see herself through your eyes, to hear what you think, to have your presence beside her as he continues to take more and more steps forward down this path home.

- Without ever trying you have become the other half of Shadowheart, and by the time she realises it, she knows you must have the same awareness. There could be no way that you aren't as in tune to the depth of your bond as she is, leaving her only one question. Not if to address it. But when.

Karlach:

- Though Karlach may not have a traditional heart anymore, she is more than capable of falling for the travelling companion that seems to bring out the best in her at every step. After years spent working for the devil and his underlings, having someone in her life that strives to make the world better and put her strength to good use is like the first sip of water after countless nights in the arid desert of the hells.

- Karlach knows she's as strong as they come, so she finds her eyes frantically searching you out in battle, pushing herself on and raging forwards to always keep you safe, to get you behind her, to make sure you go on to keep her company another day.

- Her time in this plane of existence may be more limited than some of the other characters, but that only means Karlach knows how important it is to truly 'live.' While the other companions may bide their time and carefully deliberate how best to inform you of their inconvenient feelings, when Karlach knows your heart is true, she's going to let you know she is all yours at the earliest, and steamiest, opportunity.

[lieutenantfloyd]

My Red Thread - Gambit x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: After being sent to the Void alongside your chaotic companions Deadpool and Logan, the very last thing on your mind is the rarity of a soulmate bond. That is, until yours snaps into place. (Soulmate! AU)

Warnings: Fluff, mutant! Reader (undefined powers), a bit of romantic tension, attempts at humor, Wade Wilson ruining The Moment™️

Authors Note: For some reason editing this took way longer than actually writing it did. I’m still getting a feel for the characters, so I apologize if anything is kinda ooc! :)

Read on AO3

Laying with your back against a mostly broken couch, you have a view of the full room, including a set of stairs that allow streams of sunlight to cascade in. Your eyes shift lazily between Logan—who's taking the opportunity to drink himself into oblivion— and Deadpool—who's closing out his second straight hour of snooping through drawers and cabinets.

When the three of you awoke in this new location hours ago, you almost instantly flew into a fit of arguing. First about how and why you were here, then about who would be the first to go up the stairs. After a much heated debate, the consensus became that an unknown person—agreed to be either the ghost of Johnny coming back to avenge himself or the vengeful, forgotten sister from earlier—brought you here for reasons that probably didn't end with any of you walking out of here alive.

Whoever it was most likely got the drop on you first, seeing as how you decided to try your luck at hitchhiking through the void instead of sitting around and watching your two companions tear each other, along with your only ride, to shreds. As for the situation with the stairs, a rare moment of agreement was shared when you decided to stand and fight whatever possible threat was lurking. Once that was decided you all assumed the positions you currently found yourselves in.

With each tick of the dusty clock on the wall, you were growing more and more impatient, You'd been fighting for your life, quite literally, from the moment Wade got you sent to the void. Now your adrenaline had all but crashed, leaving your body to scream in agony over being brought to the brink of death more times over the last twenty four hours than you’d ever care to count. It was at the point now that you honestly began to wish that whoever had brought you here would muster up the cajones and come finish you off for good.

As if on cue, you and Logan sat upright as you sensed movement outside. You rolled off the couch and joined Wade in the middle of the room, taking up fighting stances while Logan simply sat back in his chair and continued nursing the bottle of whiskey he found without a care in the world.

Prepping for yet another fight, you were left feeling as dumbfounded as Deadpool looked when Elektra descended into the room. Your hands stayed raised but your mind began to run with possibilities. Wade began a refreshed round of incessant rambling, not missing a beat as Blade followed Elektra into the room only seconds later.

Your eyes shoot over to Logan in an effort to ensure that someone a bit less prone to hallucinations than you and Deadpool were seeing this too. His eyes flash confirmingly to yours. You swallow hard, having a brief internal battle with the childhood version of you who apparently thinks that now is the best time to start fangirling.

Tuning out Wade's awkward banter, you try and piece together the situation unfolding in front of you together. You were well aware of how people got sent to the void, but you realized then that you never thought any deeper about who exactly you could run into during your stay.

With fatigue setting deeper into your bones, you lean your hip onto the dusty wood table beside you. You fall halfway out of your defensive stance and let Wade command the room as usual, tuning back into the conversation just in time to hear him make an oddly pointed quip about some man named Ben Affleck.

Picking up on more movement from above, your attention shifts across the room. Your eyes lock on the stairs as if glued there. You to watch on silently as a shimmery purple card floats into the room and a man follows closely behind. You barely have enough time to register the flashes of purple dancing away from his hands before a force you have never felt before—and have absolutely no interest in feeling again—slams so solidly into your chest that it sends you flying over the table you were leaning against.

"Fuck!" "Merde!"

You yell out in unison. Instinct has you pulling yourself up off the floor as soon as you hit it, albeit slowly, as you try to call the air back into your lungs. Using the table for support, you manage to raise up on shaking feet. The once busy room has now fallen deadly silent. Quiet in a way you hadn't experienced since joining up with Deadpool several months ago. You suck in a few intentional breaths before letting your head rise up from its hanging position.

"What the hell was tha-" you start, only to fall silent as you take notice of everyone's eyes flashing between you and a man who looks just as confused and winded as you do.

Time seems to slow as your eyes lock with his. A smaller blow hits you somewhere deep beneath your ribs, though this time you only stumble.

"Ho-ly shit!" Wade gasps, bringing his gloved hands up to his face and flicking his head back and forth dramatically between the both of you, no doubt starting to pick up on what's happening.

A second thrumming blooms in your chest then. It's equal parts similar and different from your own. Your mind nearly starts to panic, but it's silenced by something buried in your chemical makeup coming alive.

Wade drops his hands from his face, only to end up pointing at you like an old Spiderman meme.

"You two are-"

"Soulmates," you breathe out.

Absentmindedly, your hand rises to your chest. The feel of your soulmates' heart beating in time with yours is oddly comforting, in a way not unlike finally coming home after a long, difficult mission.

Soulmates were a rare but well documented phenomenon back in your reality. Most people would go their entire lives without meeting someone who was lucky enough to bond, let alone experience it themselves. You silently cursed all of those articles and accounts you read as a hopeful tween for failing to mention just how sudden and violently the bond snapped into place.

"Say something! Suck each other's faces off! Maybe even-"

"That's enough," Logan hisses, slapping a large hand down onto Deadpool's shoulder.

You laugh awkwardly at the absurdity of this entire situation. Unsure of what to say or how to go about any of this. Bonded or not, you and the upsettingly handsome man in front of you were still strangers.

"I've been lookin' for you a long time, mon amour." He drawls. And fuck if his sultry cajun drawl isn't something you'd be happy to hear for the rest of your lifetime.

'Well, It's good to finally meet you, um..." you stammer out, only to remember that you hadn't even learned his name yet.

"Remy!" Elektra whispers to you excitedly.

You repeat his name under your breath, somehow feeling like you miss it as the syllables roll off of your tongue.

"It's lovely to finally meet you, Remy," you try again.

Logan takes the opportunity to introduce you like Elektra did for Remy. He sends you a soft smile as he learns your name, though it shines so bright and warm that you can't decide if you want to fall back against the table or leap into his arms.

You step towards him, happy to feel both of your heartbeats pumping in your chest as you both move to close the distance between you. When you're only a mere inches away from each other, his hand rises into view, silently asking permission to caress your cheek. You wait with bated breath to feel his touch, only for it to fall short when a certain red and black clad anti-hero steps between you—acting as if your entire world wasn't just flipped on its axis.

"Sorry to interrupt this precious little love session you two have going on, but I feel that I must remind you of the very pressing matters still at hand," Wade says with a look that is anything but sorry.

You look to Remy, whose face says only that he's ready to explode Deadpool with his mind and reach around Wade to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. You smile up at Remy, and watch as an unmistakable look of complete adoration flashes across his eyes.

You use your powers to send the mercenary flying backward through the air, leaving him screaming as you finally close the gap between you and Remy.

He brings you into his arms without hesitation. A stray tear slips from your eye as you realize just how right his touch feels against your skin. His nimble fingers wipe away the tear that fell onto your cheek, already coming into tune with the thousands of different emotions flowing through you.

"Don't cry chéri, Gambit's gotcha."

His words bring a fresh new crop of tears to your eyes. You savor the contact for several long moments before reluctantly pulling away. You waste no time in reaching over to interlock your hands, pulling him back a few steps.

A chorus of stifled laughter sounds throughout the room as you spot Wade stumbling back onto his feet. You squeeze Remy's hand when you hear him mutter "couyon," disapprovingly, something that earns another round of poorly dampened laughter from the group.

"Wade,” You call over to him, "Are you done being an asshole for the time being?"

"Never!”

"Can you idiots focus for five seconds?" Logan asks from the corner while taking a swig of whiskey. The rebuttal you’d prepared for Wade does in your throat, but you still give him a disapproving eye roll. Deadpool, unable to have someone speak up before him, pushes his way past Logan.

"Yeah, like I know the writer needs to hit their word count and all, but we've still got a baldheaded bitch to kill."

Getting out of the void has always been your top priority, but with your newfound bond, it felt all the more pressing.

Stepping aside to let Wade through, he begins to command the room as always. Ideas intertwine with his usual self deprecating jokes. You and Remy stand next to each other on the sidelines, as tensions begin to lower.

As the night drug on, the conversation began to buzz with urgent anticipation. Everyone takes a shot at pitching an idea or strategy that plays to some of their strengths. Logan had retreated outside while Blade, Electra, and Wade stood and paced around the room, focused on the task at hand.

With guards lowered and tensions gone, you and Remy retreated to a nearby couch. You both gave out the occasional opinion or bit of intel, but your minds never strayed far from each other.

The conversation slows, and you felt Gambit's hand brush against yours. You reach out and intertwine your fingers with his before he can back away. His fingers tighten against yours gently before letting up. You mirror his squeeze instantly, a thousand words passing in the silence hanging between you. You lift your eyes and meet his gaze, giving him a soft, barely perceptible nod. You can the low kinetic current coursing through his touch. It serves as yet another reminder of how strong your bond already feels.

Your head drops onto his shoulder, earning a low hum. Just above a whisper, and with a smile playing on your lips, you both promise that no matter what lies ahead, you are ready to face it—simply because you now have each other.

[butchvamp]

i did Lucanis's inner demons quest last night and have some thoughts [everyone groans in unison]

i admit that i definitely have a bias for Lucanis, i really like the crows (or i should say the crows from previous games & the lore around them) and my Rook is a crow so i'm inclined towards him in general.

that being said i feel i'm just. missing huge bits of information about him. he exists entirely in a void. i don't really know anything about his relationships with Illario or Caterina, the game glosses over so much of his role and what exactly he does within the crows (beyond just talking about how he was the Demon and the Magekiller) i suppose it's just too icky for the game to truly acknowledge outside of a few jokes about Lucanis poisoning the gang's food...

i know from seeing people posting excerpts from his novel that Caterina did, in fact, physically abuse him; i figured this was the case considering she's a high ranking member of the crows and thus no doubt had a role in torturing recruits, even if the game pretends like this is a thing that doesn't happen. you get a bit of banter early on where Lucanis, talking about Illario's behavior, says something along the lines of "My relationship with Caterina was complicated, too, and I was her favorite." implying some level of friction between them as well as conflicting feelings about her death.

but then that's it. we get nothing else. this should be a major piece of his story, a part of why he feels the way he does, and exploring Caterina's role in his and Illario's abuse would better expand upon Illario's resentment and make his and Lucanis's relationship more compelling beyond "Illario is a big jealous meanie."

i really wanted to like the inner demons quest more than i did, because conceptually i enjoy going into the fade/Lucanis's memories with Spite, so far Lucanis's quests have felt the most Dragon Age to me (fighting a naked woman in a giant pool of blood + seeing Spite lose control, him and Illario butting heads and having a competitive relationship before this (as the crows all should...), etc. these are fun!) but just like the rest of the game it's still holding back.

when you confront the memory of Caterina all you get are these choices:

none of these are particularly satisfying if you actually know the things Caterina has done... "Your love for him" is actually vile lol

this entire questline is a linear walk through fragments of the Ossuary & Lucanis's memories, there is nothing interesting here, Rook just plays therapist for about twenty minutes and then you make a nothing choice at the end that has no affect on anything at all... and most egregiously, we have learned literally Nothing new about Lucanis that the game hasn't already made an effort to tell us repeatedly (a real problem the game has in general, constant hand-holding and repetition).

there's Quite a bold choice to compare this quest to the Fade section in origins right at the start, with Rook and Spite joking about getting past the guards: "What did you expect, to turn into a mouse or something?" like yes, actually, i did expect something a bit more! even if you want to say the warden does the exact same thing with their companions in that quest, their dialogue is FAR better-- again, Rook's is all clinical therapy-speak (where did she even learn this shit? did the crows pay for her to get a degree in psych and become a licensed counselor?) and in origins, we do actually learn something new about each companion as well as getting to see them interact with their fantasies and/or nightmares. we get nothing here...

we could have seen him and Illario training together, being competitive, the early seeds of resentment being planted between them by Caterina's goading and abuse. we could have seen the guilt Lucanis feels about this, about Caterina's favoritism and how it's affected his relationship with Illario. we could have actually seen what happened to him when he was captured and in the Ossuary, we could have seen some of the horrible things he's had done to him and that he himself has done to become the Demon of Vyrantium, we could have learned more about why the demon inside of him became spite specifically-- because if what Zara's echo said is true, it started as an Envy demon-- so it was influenced by Lucanis in some way. what makes him spiteful? why is it spite that keeps him alive in the Ossuary...? is it spite as in defiance-- defiance of the Venatori, of Caterina's expectations and abuse, in defiance of Illario's betrayal...? unfortunately, Lucanis never really feels spiteful at all. determined to survive the Ossuary, but afterwards, never has he come across as spiteful (Spite is mostly just petty and a bit bitchy).

in my opinion the Envy demon fails because Lucanis was never envious of Illario or the First Talon position, only crushed by the loss of their relationship and guilty over Caterina's favoritism. obviously Caterina's expectations weigh heavily on him, but he knows he's the favorite, and he doesn't envy Illario for not being so-- he seems very aware of the fact that it doesn't equate to Illario having it "easier." but the game barely addresses this, only in weak voice-overs, while the majority of the quest is spent convincing Lucanis that he's not actually a demon. Lucanis is wholly a good guy that only kills blood mages and loves his poor grandma and his inner demon is entirely Literal and just him feeling bad about being an abomination :(

nevermind all that yucky complicated stuff. Illario is Bad and Jealous and deserves to be punished for... doing exactly what crows have always done.

of course it's easy to make Illario look bad when all of the other crows are treated like a found family, when we know that's not the case at all. crows have been competing and scheming and killing each other since origins. this isn't meant to make light of Illario's betrayal (in fact i still think it's quite significant given their history and the two of them being the last of their family) but instead Illario is very obviously suspicious from the start, the reveal of his betrayal was not surprising, it's predictable because, again, he is presented very differently from all the other crows we've seen in this game-- he's the Bad one, and Lucanis is the Good one. no nuance!

in his short story, The Wake, Illario is actually depicted as being extremely remorseful, getting very drunk and reminiscing on old childhood memories of Lucanis while Viago has to carry him home... of course there's no way of knowing the exact intent behind this story or what changed since (published in 2020 and written by Mary Kirby, after all) but either way, we don't get anything like that here. somewhere along the way we lost the depth and complexity of both characters; we don't get to confront this big ugly thing between them because the game refuses to engage with anything ugly at all.