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nightingale-ghost-writer · 1 year

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Convallaria Majalis [Alex Keller x Fem!Reader]

Summary: Trusting people is hard, especially when they’ve let you down so horribly before. But you trust Kate, and Kate trusts Alex. And trusting Alex? Well that might just change your entire life.

Author’s Notes: I put a lot of thought and time into the title of this one, and finally settled on Convallaria Majalis- Lily of the Valley. In the language of flowers, they mean “the return of happiness”. The plants themselves have extensive underground root systems that spread quickly, unnoticed, and can easily overtake a large area and other plants with little to no indication it’s happening until it’s happened. That also happened with this story. What I’d planned on being a ~10K fic has become a whopping 19.2 words… I can’t say I’m sorry. I hope that theme carries through what I’ve written, and I hope all of you who read it enjoy the reading as much as I enjoyed the writing. Lastly, a big shout to @chaoskrakenuwu for proofreading this for me, and the whole Uselss discord for your anticipation and encouragement. Love you all. ❤️

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

Warnings: language, canon-typical violence, suggestive content, drug usage, attempted date-rape (NOTHING graphic or explicit, implied more than stated)

It was a beautiful, sunny, colorful Virginia afternoon, just like every other you’d had so far this week. The weather was just warm enough to heat your skin in the sun, just cool enough to feel chilly in the shade. You’d brought a smart-looking blazer along that morning, just in case, but it was slung across your messenger bag, unneeded in the balmy weather. You’d stopped by your favorite coffee stand on your lunch break, let yourself be flirted with by the teenaged barista, and now walked briskly into Langley, swirling your iced espresso as you went. Your heels clicked on the tiled floor, echoing through the near-sterile hallway. You smiled and nodded at your colleagues as you went, stopping just short of the elevators when you heard your name.

You turned to see Kate Laswell half jogging down the hall to catch you up. “What are you working on right now?”

All traces of your smile dropped at her serious tone. “Coding. Why do you ask?”

“Hand it off, you’re coming with me. I need you on the ground.” She flashed you an apologetic look. “I need someone I can trust.”

Your spine straightened, field training falling over you like a sheet. “Yes ma’am.”

Kate had already hustled past you, but threw a smirk over her shoulder. “None of that ‘ma’am’ shit, Trip. You know my name.” She waved a hand over her head, calling back “Twenty minutes to brief!”

You didn’t bother answering her, punching the button for the fifteenth floor. You rolled your shoulders back, taking in a deep breath. You’d been off the field for nearly a year, after almost losing an arm in a firefight. Physical therapy had lasted for months, and trauma therapy for months after that. You’d been working out of the main Langley offices, mostly programming, while you healed. You couldn’t deny that you were itching to be back on the ground. But you hadn’t been expecting to be pulled by Kate Laswell of all people.

The elevator couldn’t move fast enough, your tapping foot the only evidence of your growing impatience. When you reached your floor, your director met you at the elevator.

“Kate find you yet?” You nodded. He grunted irritably. “Why on Earth she felt she needed you specifically is beyond me, but I wish she could’ve found someone else.” Harsh as he sounded, you took his words for what they were- disappointment at losing one of his best assets.

“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll be back before you know it.” A look passed over his face that you couldn’t quite name. Wariness? Resignation?

After a moment, he shook his head. “I hope so,” he muttered. Then he turned his back to you, stalking down the hall to his office. Something about this whole thing seemed off, but you couldn’t focus on that right now. You watched him go for a moment before shrugging the whole odd encounter off and making a beeline for your desk.

There, you logged into your desktop to forward the files you’d been working on and to set an automatic response on your emails before pulling your locker out from its place beneath your desk. The tiny key felt both foreign and familiar as you turned it for the first time since your injury.

You took a deep breath, then swung open the locker. In it were all of the pieces of your old life, your real life; your tactical vest and black fatigues, a black bodysuit, wigs, changes of clothes, a duffle, and, nestled into the side pouch, your beloved Sig Sauer P228.

You yanked the duffel out and open, shoving most of the clothes into it along with your tac vest. Then you pulled out the black leather shoulder holster you’d worn every day for four years, stroking the pliable material fondly. You donned it, tightened the straps, and pulled your blazer over it before holstering your gun. You hefted your duffel and took one last look around the office, wondering absentmindedly when, if, you’d be back. Then you marched for the elevator, scanning your badge to access the basement level where Kate set up shop when she worked out of Langley.

Ten minutes ago, when you’d spoken with her, you didn’t have access. Now you did. She worked fast, you’d give her that.

The doors slid open, silent as ever, and you clicked into Kate’s lair.

The room was dark, cold, and quiet. Servers and bookshelves lined the walkway, directing you to a large table scattered with documents and folders. A single laptop cast a soft glow on the corkboard behind it. Just as you reached the table, a low voice startled you out of your focus.

“Who are you?” You whipped around, coming nose to… well, chin, with someone. You tilted your head, looking up to meet a pair of cold, grey-blue eyes. The man glaring down at you had a handsome, chiseled face, visible even under his overgrown goatee and beard. In the low light, you couldn’t quite tell what color his tousled hair was- blond, maybe? Or a light brown?

He shifted, leaning back on his heels and crossing his heavily tattooed arms across his broad chest as he towered over you. He tilted his head, sizing you up, just as you were him. He’d sure be pretty, if not for that scowl.

Before you could answer him, Kate’s voice cut in. “She’s your new partner, Alex. Introduce yourself, and play nice.”

Alex’s brows shot up, stance relaxing immediately. He looked back to you, curiosity replacing the mistrust in his eyes. You reached toward him and offered your name. When his hand clasped yours, it dwarfed you- his fingers nearly touched his palm.

“Alex Keller,” he replied. You could tell he was deliberately keeping a looser grip than he would normally use, and you squeezed hard once. That made him grin, and he tightened his grip incrementally before releasing you to turn toward Kate. “Now Kate, what’s all this about? You know I was this close to finding those guns.” He held his thumb and forefinger together in front of him, making Kate roll her eyes.

“Yes, well, Trip was busy too. But I have a delicate assignment and I need people I can trust.” She leveled you both with a look. “This is highly sensitive, top secret, all that bullshit. Do you both understand?”

You nodded, standing up straighter, and saw Alex do the same in your peripheral vision.

“Station Chief Harding has come under recent suspicion for drug trafficking.” You and Alex shared a startled glance. A CIA station chief? “We believe he’s using a club in Amsterdam as his cover. As I’m sure you both know, if Dutch officials were to find him in possession, it could jeopardize our operations there.”

“Ma’am, I don’t mean to question orders,” said Alex. He paused, only continuing when Kate nodded to him. “Shouldn’t the teams in Amsterdam be the ones looking into this?”

“No. I need people that Harding won’t recognize. I hand picked both of you for this one. I trust in your abilities to work without supervision, and to be discreet.” Kate held Alex’s gaze, nodding toward you. “And I’m trusting you to protect her.” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Alex bend in your direction. He was still facing Kate, but he seemed to lean involuntarily toward you. Your own posture shifted, your hands coming up to rest on your elbows as you shuffled your feet.

“Protect me?”

When Kate looked toward you, she didn’t look happy. “You’re going in as one of the… workers at the club.” She paused, letting her words sink in. Your heartbeat slowed before kicking back into gear at twice the pace. Alex was watching you carefully, brow furrowed. He hadn’t put it together yet. But Kate had read the look on your face before you had even realized it was there. She reached out, laying one hand on your forearm and one on Alex’s bicep. “I wouldn’t send you in if I didn’t think you could do it. And Alex is the best man for this job. He will not let anything happen to you, okay?”

“Kate?” Alex’s open face had closed off somewhat, suspicion lacing his lips and his words. “What am I protecting her from? What’s going on?”

“I’m going in as a waitress in a strip club.” Kate shook her head, looking ready to protest. “Dance club. Whatever.” Alex’s head snapped in your direction, mouth falling open in silent protest. You spoke again before he could interject. “And you’re going to make sure Harding and his men don’t kill me if he finds out.”

There was an awful beat of silence before Alex wrenched his arm out from under from Kate’s touch, sputtering in indignance. “Now hold on-” he began. But you couldn’t hear him. A cacophonous tunnel of white noise had enveloped you while he argued with Kate; all you could hear were the voices of the last pair of agents who had been assigned guard duty for a mission like this, back when it had been a strip club.

“We could do better without her,”, “It’s not like she’s in any real danger,”, “You really expect us to babysit a girl in a strip club when we could be accomplishing something real?” You’d heard it all before, the night you’d returned to base with your arm limp and nearly detached at your side. Those two had blown into the back room, overconfident and uncaring. The target had pulled out a knife that “miraculously” made it past the club’s security and nearly cut your arm off before your partners killed him.

It hadn’t been Kate’s mission. When she’d found out, she’d summarily fired both of the agents and the special agent in charge. That knowledge did little to ease your anxiety. You trust her you told yourself.

You vaguely heard her, calmly explaining that Harding was well known for surrounding himself with scantily clad young women, both on and off duty. “It’s the easiest thing to exploit!” Everything sounded muffled, as though you were underwater.

“You can’t put her in a direct line of fire just because it’s easy! We have to figure something else out!” Alex’s roaring yanked you back to reality. You turned to look at him, then- to really look at him. His chest rose and fell quickly, eyes glinting and jaw set. One hand reached protectively out and back toward you. Somehow in the midst of the conversation, he’d angled himself between you and Kate. You wondered if he’d even noticed. And in that moment, that singular subconscious gesture, and his vehement opposition to the plan, you saw why Kate had chosen you both, why she felt confident enough to ask you to walk back into the fire. A seed burrowed under your skin, into your chest, latching onto the side of your heart.

Gently, you laid a hand on his shoulder. He seemed to unwind beneath your fingertips, tension sapping out of his muscles. He turned his head, pursing his lips as though about to speak. “I’ll do it,” you said. He froze, eyes scanning your features. Whatever he was looking for, he found. He nodded once, sharply, and lowered his hand as he turned away from you both.

“Fine.” There was a resignation in his voice that made your heart clench. Kate let out a silent sigh of relief, meeting your gaze. You nodded at her. She turned to the table behind her, picking up two case files and extending one to each of you.

“Your flight leaves in two hours.” With two quick “yes ma’am”s, you and Alex moved for the door. He darted forward, holding it open for you and not quite meeting your eyes. You murmured a quiet thanks and scurried through, turning to hold the elevator door open for him when you stepped in. He ducked his head in thanks, pressing the button for the ground floor and retreating to the far side of the elevator.

Neither of you spoke a word, not even looking at each other until the door opened and he waved a hand for you to go first. You did, exchanging small smiles, and then went your separate ways. You turned as you reached the front doors, catching just a glimpse of his puzzled face as he examined you from the garage before disappearing into it.

There was a certain disappointment in leaving behind your duffel. You laid it reverently on the shelf in your closet, stroking the side of it and tucking your handgun back inside. You felt vulnerable, leaving it all at home. But there was no place for anything in it on this mission.

In the two hours you’d been given, you managed to walk home and pack a different suitcase with a wide variety of clothes, get a cab, and make it through airport security. You arrived at the gate just as they announced early boarding, catching a glimpse of a tall head of ashy hair stepping through the bridge. You walked to the counter, scanned your ticket, and smiled at the girl who thanked you for your service. You kept your eyes down as you walked, shuffling through the narrow space. You only raised them when someone stood from their seat, dark boots blocking your way.

You’d changed into sneakers and without your heels, your eyes barely came to Alex’s shoulders. He smiled lopsidedly, offering you a hand. “Take your bag?” he asked. His voice was low and smooth, just a hint of gravel in it. You unslung your backpack, handing it to him with a grateful smile. He reached up to stow it in the overhead compartment and your eyes fixed on the rippling muscles of his arms. Pretty, indeed. “You can take the window seat if you want,” he said.

You slid between his lithe body and the seat, not giving him any opportunity to rescind his offer. He chuckled as he lowered himself into the aisle seat, giving you an amused look.

You shrugged. “You offered.”

“I did.” His eyes sparkled as he quickly looked you up and down. You allowed yourself a glance over him, as well. In the brightly lit airplane, you could see him much more clearly. His hair was an ashy brown, just as mussed as when you’d first seen him, with a wavy pair of cuts in the side you weren’t sure were intentional. His skin was tan, even under the line work covering his arms from the wrists up, and his face was lightly freckled. And his eyes, locked on you, were the stormy, slate grey of the roiling ocean, just a hint of blue in their depths.

You’d also looked him up, in your brief trip home.

His entire file had been redacted. So, you dug deeper as quickly as you could to find his file from before. Most of that file had been redacted, too. There had been single visible words scattered throughout the pages you skimmed. Efficient. Intentional. Empathetic. Cautious. And beneath his file photo, taken with the same ridiculous houndstooth scarf he’d worn both when you met him and now, a lone, lonely squad designation. Delta.

You blinked back to the present, zeroing in on his raised eyebrows. You blushed, having been caught staring, and turned to face the window. “So how long have you been doing this?” you asked. Alex took so long to answer that you looked up, only to find him turning his head away. Almost as though he’d been staring, too.

He cleared his throat. “‘Bout ten years now. What about you?”

“Depends.” He cocked his head, studying you. “I worked in the field for four years before they made me a desk jockey. And I was in the Navy for a couple of years before that.”

A look of pride crossed Alex’s face. “No kidding. Army. Six years.”

You smiled wide, turning to better face him in the narrow seat. “I have a feeling we’ll get along just fine.

A quiet dinging noise roused you from your dozing. You shuffled a bit, turning into your pillow, until it moved.

Your eyes flew open, head snapping up.

Your cheeks burned when you realized you must have fallen asleep on Alex’s shoulder. You’d both talked about your time with the military, being snatched up by the CIA, and what you did now- all in hushed tones, of course. You’d leaned together, foreheads nearly touching, and whispered stories to each other for several hours until you’d convinced him to try to sleep. He’d spent the last 24 hours flying to DC from the Middle East, and now he was back on a plane to Europe.

You registered mild surprise that you’d fallen asleep, yourself. You’d been tired, but sleeping on planes had never come easy to you. Not to mention your trust issues. You seldom so much as rested your eyes around new people.

He was still sleeping now, head angled toward you and arms crossed over his chest. The dark circles you’d noticed under his eyes hadn’t lightened yet, but you knew they would take time to fade. His chest rose and fell slowly, lips twitching slightly under the curled ends of his comically large mustache. You heaved a sigh, looking up to see what had woken you. As you did, the pilot announced your descent into Amsterdam. The glowing seatbelt sign accounted for the sound you’d heard. You fastened your seatbelt, then glanced at Alex’s lap, hoping his would be on, too.

It wasn’t.

Gingerly, you reached around him, lifting the fallen belt from the side of his seat. Just as you clicked the two pieces into place, Alex’s hands shot out and gripped your wrists like vices. You froze, looking up at him as he stared through you in a haze. His eyes darted across your face before he seemed to recognize his surroundings, recognize you, and his hold loosened.

His eyes flicked down to his hands on you and he recoiled, horror sweeping over his handsome face. “‘M sorry,” he breathed. He sat up straight, wriggling away from you, hands suspended halfway between you both where they seemed to reach for you, but clasped nothing. “Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. Panic laced his voice in equal parts with the rasp of sleep, and his eyes flew over your arms as though he didn’t believe you. Cautiously, you reached for him, laying a hand on his forearm. You lowered your head, barely succeeding in catching his frantic gaze. “You didn’t hurt me.” He swallowed hard, nodded, and scrubbed his hands down his face slowly.

“We’re landing?” he asked.

“Mhmm.” You turned your back, leaning toward the window to give Alex a moment to collect himself. It didn’t take long for him to lean forward in an attempt to see around you. You glanced at him, offering a smile that he returned tiredly. “I always love looking at the lights. They’re so pretty.”

He said nothing, but you could feel his stare heavy on your face. You said nothing else to each other as the plane landed. Alex stood as soon as the seatbelt light flashed off, reaching up to pull down his duffel and your backpack. Rather than hand it to you, though, he slung it over his own shoulder, holding a hand out to gesture you forward.

“After you,” he said.

You arched an eyebrow as you passed. “Such a gentleman.” The only response you got to that was a low chuckle.

You were able to get your bags, a cab, and to the safehouse within the next hour, punching in the door code and flipping on the lights. The house was narrow, but far deeper than you’d expected. The kitchen was stocked with various MREs and canned goods, a large office tucked behind it. When you both trudged up the stairs, you found a library and a fully stocked weapons room.

You squealed about the Dutch classics you found, while Alex lamented his general illiteracy of the language. When you offered to read to him, he gave you the softest look you thought you might have ever seen. You moved to the weapons room, taking your time admiring the stash, murmuring to each other about your favorite guns and attachments, before moving up to the third story in search of bedrooms. There were two, side by side with a bathroom and tiny loft on the other side of the long hall.

“I’ll take this one,” said Alex, moving to the first door. He shrugged at your curious look. “Closer to the stairs.”

You gawked, moved by his thoughtfulness. That seed burst, spreading roots in your veins and the cavity between your ribs. Alex shifted uncomfortably under your stare, mumbling that you could have that room if you really wanted it. You shook your head.

“I see why Laswell likes you,” you said. A brief shock flashed in his eyes before he carefully schooled his face, shrugging again.

“I like to think I’m alright,” he quipped.

Acting on a rush of boldness you’d later explain away as getting into character, you deliberately looked him up and down, basking in the blush you could see rising on his cheeks. “More than alright.”

You sauntered into your room, withholding a giggle at the choked noise Alex made as you went.

“You go ahead and shower. I’ll get started on our case file,” you called. If Alex answered, you didn’t hear. But when you finished unpacking and walked into the hall, the shower was running and the bathroom door was shut.

You walked downstairs, pausing in the kitchen and debating on dinner. You weren’t really hungry, but was Alex? You’d find out when he came down. You stepped into the office, planting yourself in the desk chair and booting up the computer. Once you had it open, you considered trying to dig a little deeper into your teammate. You strained your ears; you could still hear the water running. You had at least a couple of minutes, more time than you’d need.

But something stopped you. You weren’t sure if it was a sense of owing him, or general guilt for snooping. Or maybe the hope that he’d tell you himself, someday. Either way, you opted to open the encrypted files Kate had sent instead. You were scanning everything she had on Harding when you heard Alex come down the stairs. For such a large man, he walked remarkably quietly. However, the floorboards’ soft squeaking gave him away as he stepped into the doorway.

“Looks like the club manager is one of Kate’s contacts,” you mumbled. Your chin rested in your hand, muffling your speech. “Though how, I’m not-” You turned then and promptly lost your train of thought.

Alex stood in the doorway in a grey t-shirt and a dark pair of sweats, barefoot and still damp. His hair shone, sticking up at odd angles, and the t-shirt stuck to his sculpted chest in all the most delicious places. If he noticed that you hadn’t finished your sentence, he gave no indication. He was squinting at the computer screen, leaned slightly forward.

“Hmm, seems like your run of the mill manager at least.” You were grateful that he didn’t seem to notice your fixation on his muscles, his own eyes fixed on the screen. He’d taken the few steps into the office in order to lean over your shoulder, one hand resting on the desk. You could feel the heat radiating from his chest to your back, and you took a shaky breath. You watched him scan the file out of the corner of your eye, then a grimace crossed his face. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, and you felt suddenly freezing from the loss.

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

You turned the chair, pulling your feet up and wrapping your arms around your knees. Alex was studying you, scowling as he did. He seemed to zero in on the scars beneath the sleeve of your t-shirt. You pulled on it reflexively, regardless of the fact that the sleeve wouldn’t cover anything, and watched as a guilty look crossed his face.

“I’m okay with it.”

“What happened to your arm?”

“The last guys who ran an op like this with me didn’t take it as seriously as you seem to.” Alex flinched, arms falling to his sides. His expressive eyebrows shot up, then lowered again. That adorable little furrow between them surfaced while his lips worked silently, seeming not to find the words he wanted. “I got caught because they didn’t stick to the plan. They thought they knew better. I nearly had my arm cut off.” You lifted it, showing him the straight, vertical incision scar that ran from elbow to bicep from the surgery to repair the breaks in the bone. A patch of raised, much more ragged scarring ran horizontally on the outside where the knife had torn through your flesh.

Alex’s expression was pained as he examined it, eyes finally lifting to yours. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” His voice was low and determined. He was still frowning, but there was a softness to it. “Okay?”

You nodded, lowering your arm to wrap around your legs again. “Okay.” You watched each other for a long time, tilting heads one way and the other as you took each other in. Finally, Alex cocked his head over his shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s get something to eat.”

You were woken the next morning by a gentle rapping on your door. When you opened it, bleary-eyed and somewhat unsteady, you found an equally groggy Alex on the other side.

“‘M gonna take a run, wanna come with?”

You nodded, yawning. “Give me five?”

He nodded, shuffling to the loft and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

You brushed your teeth and picked up a light sweater, pulling a baseball cap over your hair, and slouched into the hall. There was a murmured agreement to find coffee as you locked the safehouse, and then you were off.

The run was mostly quiet, silence broken only by the sounds of your breaths in the crisp morning air and birds twittering from the tree lines. It was comfortable. By the time you found a nice coffeehouse, taking cups out to sit at a little table on the sidewalk, you both seemed to have woken up.

“I was thinking,” began Alex.

“Sounds dangerous,” you quipped. His answering playful glare made your heart skip a beat.

“How early do you have to get to the club?” he asked.

“Eight o’clock.” When you’d opened the wardrobe in your room the night before, you’d found several “uniforms”, complete with weaponized jewelry and heels, and a slip of paper with a time and door codes. You’d glared at the outfits, hummed appreciatively at the cleverly hidden blades and USB drive, and memorized the door codes before tearing up the paper and flushing it down the toilet.

Alex hesitated. He watched his coffee as he swirled it slowly.

“You need to show up separately from me,” you said. He breathed out, nodding. “I’ll be fine.”

He looked up, unconvinced. “I have done this before, you know,” you teased. His gaze flicked quickly to and from your arm as he forced a smile.

“I know. I just don’t like the idea of letting you out of my sight.”

Your heart warmed at that, and you reached out to lay your hand on his. “It’ll be okay.”

There was some more quiet discussion about how you’d both get in and what exactly you had planned once you infiltrated Harding’s space, and then it was back to the safehouse. You both poured over all of the files Kate had sent, studying the blueprints and quizzing each other on them, and then walked to the market for lunch.

You’d found familiar foods- potatoes, hearty vegetables, and a roast small enough for two- and made your way back to the safehouse to cook. Alex had cut the vegetables while you’d seasoned the roast, finally putting it all together in a large pyrex pan to bake. As you straightened up from closing the oven, Alex asked “So how’d you get your name? ‘Trip’?”

And as though the fates had written it, you’d turned to answer him only to slip on the water you’d dripped just before when you’d washed your hands. Your arms windmilled out as you tilted backward. Before you could fall, Alex’s strong hands gripped you, one wrapping around your waist and one sliding up your spine to rest on the back of your head. He’d leapt forward, feet planted firmly on either side of you as he pulled you forward. When your chest bumped his, you looked up at him breathlessly. He hadn’t let go of you yet.

“Pretty much just like that.”

He barked a laugh, releasing his hold on you almost reluctantly. “Just like that?” “Well, no. I fell the first time.” He laughed again while you regaled him with tales of your legendary clumsiness, embellishing anything you could to make the stories even funnier than they already were.

You retreated to the library, making good on your promise to read the Dutch classics aloud as Alex listened with rapt attention. After several chapters, you paused and turned to him. He’d stretched out along the coach by the window, head pillowed on his arm. The midday sun filtered through the warped panes, casting him in a soft glow that turned his hair to honey and his eyes to the clear blue of a still lake. His eyes were fixed on you. They had been since you’d started reading and, even as the sunlight and his exhausted body tried to pull him away to sleep, they kept him tethered to wakefulness.

“Do you understand any of what I’m reading?”

“Not a word.” Your giggle made him smile.

“Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll wake you when the food’s done.” When he looked like he might protest, you tilted your head at him. “Can you honestly tell me jet lag isn’t kicking your ass right now?”

“No,” he grumbled, relenting and turning onto his back. He raised his free arm, draping it across his eyes. “What about you?”

“I’m not tired. I’m going to read.” He lowered his arm, just a bit, giving you a sidelong glance. “I haven’t flown halfway around the world and back this week,” you singsonged. Alex grunted before lowering his arm across his eyes again.

“Just… don’t let me sleep too long,” he murmured. You hummed in acknowledgement, turning your attention back to your book. You read for some time before standing, stretching, and padding up the stairs to the bathroom. You had just enough time to do your makeup before the timer in the kitchen pinged. When you peeked into the library, Alex had turned in his sleep to face the doorway. The arm that had lay across his eyes now draped across his body, nearly hanging over the side of the couch.

You called his name softly. He stirred, but didn’t open his eyes. You called him again, and he turned his face.

“Alex.” The third time you called him, his eyes snapped open. He turned his head, eyebrows raising as he took in your heavy makeup. You’d lined your eyes with black kohl, brushed on a smoky eye and three layers of mascara, and filled in your brows. You were sure you looked like a different person altogether.

He sat up, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You look great,” he rasped.

“Thanks. Dinner’s ready, you coming down?” He nodded, stretching and yawning.

“Be right there.”

You walked downstairs and were halfway through plating the food when Alex shuffled into the kitchen. You handed him a plate and gestured toward the small table in the corner. The calm quiet of the afternoon had turned foreboding and you both ate in silence. Alex offered to clean up when you were done, so you went back upstairs to get dressed. You felt tense as you did, apprehension tightening your muscles and lungs.

The “uniform” was a black fishnet body suit, skin-tight black minidress, and a pair of pumps with a two-inch platform and a six-inch heel. The only part you didn’t mind was the jewelry- a glittering silver spiked necklace and matching bracelet that you could pull pins out of as weapons if you needed to. The finishing touch was a silver ring housing a miniscule USB drive that you’d programmed yourself; once plugged in, it would copy an entire hard drive in less than five minutes. You were proud of that one.

You pulled it all on, glared at your reflection in the mirror, and applied a coat of cherry red lipstick before stalking out of your room and down the stairs. Alex stood in the entryway, fastening cufflinks in a smart black button down.

It would seem that the man’s back side was just as attractive as his front.

As he heard you come down, he looked up, body going completely still as he looked you slowly head to toe. You felt suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny. The dress sported a plunging neckline, putting your cleavage on full display, and barely covered your ass. You were grateful that the fishnet bodysuit was solid black around your hips, offering you some tiny slip of modesty.

Alex looked incredibly handsome, himself. He wore a fitted black shirt, complete with a matching tie and vest. It all strained across the hard muscles of his upper body, matching the black slacks that hugged his thighs and a rounded, firm-looking ass. The jacket hung on a peg by the door, ready for him at a moment’s notice. His unruly hair looked as though he might have tried to style it, but it had sprung back to its tousled state of being. His mustache, however, had been waxed into perfect curls at the ends.

He swallowed, hard, and let out a low whistle. His pupils had blown wide, nearly eclipsing the darkened blue of his irises. “You look…” He gestured up and down, clearly coming up empty on compliments.

“Like a cheap whore?”

“No,” he snapped. His lip twitched, mustache trembling with the movement. He reached a hand forward, which you took gratefully as you descended the final few steps. The outrageous heels brought you nearly eye to eye with him, though still not quite. He looked directly at you. “You look stunning. Harding’s a madman if he doesn’t want you as soon as he lays eyes on you.”

The statement sent a shiver through you. It simultaneously ignited a fire low in your belly and a chill at the base of your spine. Alex felt it, and squeezed your hand. “But he can’t have you,” he said lowly. “I won’t let him touch you.” You offered him a shaky smile, trying to control your breathing. You considered asking whether that meant he was a madman, or that he wanted you. But there was no need for that. The heat from that particular question would keep you warm all night.

“So,” you started instead. “I look like an overpriced whore, then?”

Alex groaned, rolling his eyes and shaking you gently. “No, you do not look like a… a…” The blush that flamed up over his cheeks was so endearing that you couldn’t help reaching out to touch his cheek as you chuckled. “You just look gorgeous,” he said softly. The roots between your ribs spread out, twining more tightly into your bones and reaching toward the flesh of your chest.

You smiled. “Thank you.” Your smile faltered as you reached forward, straightening his perfectly straight collar nervously. “You sure you’re going to be able to do this?”

Alex blinked in surprise. “Me? Shouldn’t I be asking you?”

You shook your head, still looking down. “No, you. I know you don’t like the plan, but… it’s a good plan. Are you going to be able to go along with it?” Alex made a confused sound. You looked up at him. “Are you going to be able to you fit in with the men there? Act like you own me, if I need you to get me out?”

Anger churned in his eyes at that. “If it’s going to keep you safe, then… yes.”

“It will,” you whispered.

As you dropped your hands, Alex’s surged up to clasp them. “Just… so long as you know that… that’s not me.”

“I know,” you said, and you were startled by how much you meant it. A sharp honk let you know that your taxi had arrived. You squeezed his hands. “I’ll see you soon?”

“One more thing.” Alex turned to the side table in the entryway, sliding open the drawer and pulling out what looked like a glittering, silver spiked ear cuff. He turned it so that you could see a cleverly concealed earpiece on the back side. He reached up, hesitating with his hands near your ear as though asking permission. You didn’t move and, ever so gently, he reached up and brushed a lock of hair away from your ear. He fiddled with the cuff until the earpiece sat just behind your earlobe. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Your throat felt suddenly dry, voice coming out in a whisper. He was close enough to touch, close enough to kiss if you wanted to. And you wanted to. But you pulled back, smiling a fake-bright smile, and backed toward the door. “I’ll see you soon!”

Alex leapt forward, opening the door for you. “See you soon,” he echoed. You made your way down the stairs, only turning to look back at the door when you lowered yourself into the cab and murmured the club’s address to the cabbie. Alex stood in the doorway, silhouetted in the light of the hall, until the house’s facade was no longer visible. You let out a long breath, wondering what might happen if circumstances were different.

But there was no time for that. The club was only a few minutes away from the safehouse. You made some final adjustments to your dress, trying in vain to pull it down, before resigning yourself to the lamentable length. Or lack thereof. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as the cab pulled to the curb. You thanked the cabbie, tipped him, and lifted yourself out of the back seat.

You knew there was a door set into the side of the building that led into the bar storeroom and prep kitchen. Laswell had gotten pictures of you and Alex to your contact, Luca; he knew to expect you, and what you were doing. Much to everyone’s chagrin, though, he had stressed to Kate that he would not and could not afford to acknowledge either of you. Whatever you did, it had to fly under his security’s radar. If you were to be caught, he’d have no link to you, or the CIA.

Typical.

You punched in the door code you’d memorized, holding your breath for the second it took to beep and open. When it did, you slid into the building, the clicking of your heels buried under the pounding bass as you made your way through the prep kitchen. You could hear a young man jabbering away in Dutch as you approached, critiquing the presentation of charcuterie boards and drink trays. He looked up as you approached, eyes roving over you.

“Ah, you’ve finally arrived! Good, good. Mr. Harding and his guests will be here any minute. Let me show you to his preferred room.”

“Bedankt,” you said, and Luca beamed.

“Ah, you know some of our fine language!” he crowed gleefully. He began chattering again, speaking intermittently in Dutch and English as he led you through the private rooms to one at the end of the hall. He opened the door, ushered you in, and then glanced quickly around the room.

“All of Meneer Harding’s business, he conducts from his personal laptop. He will set it there.” He pointed to a narrow shelf that jutted from the wall to cross the wraparound seating built into the sides of the room. “He demands no surveillance in this room and pays handsomely for it. He is very strict.” Luca turned to face you with a deadly serious expression.

“I strongly recommend that you do not try to plant any equipment now. He has a man who will sweep the room prior to his arrival. He is quite thorough.”

“Bedankt, Luca. We appreciate your help.”

He nodded sharply, opening the door and ushering you out with another conspicuous look at your figure as you passed him. “You will bring champagne, charcuterie, and anything else Meneer Harding requests. And if they request nothing, you dance,” he muttered. “Good luck, and Godzijdank.”

While you made your way to the bar, Luca broke off to go to his office. He must have told the bartender to expect you, because he gave you a wary look when you leaned on the bar before handing over what looked like a wristwatch. When you turned it over in your hands, you realized it was a pager. You looked up as you fastened it and the bartender pointed to a tray filled with drinks.

“Booth twelve,” he shouted. You nodded, picking up the tray and turning toward the club. Colorful lights flashed and swept across the floor in time with the throbbing bass pumping through the speakers. Bodies swayed and bounced along, packed together tightly between you and the booths across the dance floor. You straightened your shoulders, lifted the tray above your head, and set off through the throng.

You’d just broken through the bulk of dancers when the door swung wide to reveal Alex, feet planted firmly shoulder-width apart. Your breath stuttered in your lungs. He looked like he belonged here; since you’d left the safehouse, he’d managed to tame his hair. Mostly, at least. It was swept back, but not slicked to his scalp, and several carefully chosen pieces still stood upright. He’d forgone the jacket, and his all-black ensemble helped to blend his broad frame with the surrounding party-goers. His piercing gaze swept the room, landing on you for only a split second before he stalked into the room, heading for the bar.

You managed to keep your feet moving, arriving at the booth and leaning too-far forward with your chest out as you lowered the tray and passed out drinks. The men at the booth whooped, eyeing you appreciatively, but thankfully keeping their hands to themselves as you turned to go back to the bar. Alex stood at the end when you arrived, facing the dance floor. You could feel his gaze heavy on you, but each time you glanced over, he appeared for all the world to be observing the room, bobbing his head lightly along to the music.

Your pager buzzed, the number “06” flashing across the screen, and you picked up another tray of drinks. You delivered them to a table of squealing young girls who shouted that you looked good enough to eat, batted your eyelashes, and sauntered away. You didn’t see any trays when you got back to the bar, and when you looked up at the bartender, he motioned to the floor. “Dance,” he mouthed.

Before you could turn, you felt a warm body press itself to your back. “May I have this dance?” rumbled Alex. His lips brushed your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine as he laid his hands on your hips. You smiled, a wide and savage smile, turning to take hold of his tie and walk backward toward the dancers, pulling him along as you went. He came willingly, swaying along with you until you were pressed together by the people around you.

You raised your hands to the back of his neck, stroking gently as his hands pulled your hips toward him. He leaned forward, pressing his lips just behind your ear. Any onlooker would think he was whispering sweet nothings or dirty secrets. Instead, he was asking “Any word on Harding?”

You turned your own head, pulling him down just enough that you could say “no” into his ear. His hands tightened involuntarily as you did, and you wondered at the goosebumps you could feel under your fingertips. Had those been there before?

After a too-brief time of dancing, your pager buzzed, flashing a bright “03”, and you grudgingly pulled free of Alex’s hold. He reached out a hand after you, and you let your fingers trail down his arm as you backed away. He watched you go, half amused and half like a lost puppy. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wanted to keep you there.

You picked up a tray of drinks, made your way to the booth, delivered while your pager buzzed again, and cycled back. Half an hour of this later, with momentary excursions into the crowd to dance, and your pager flared up again. This time, the screen only flashed light at you. You looked to the door, and there was Harding. He was flanked by two burly men nearly Alex’s height, and easily just as broad. The three of them pushed through the crowds toward the private rooms, and you rushed to the bar. The bartender had already placed a bottle of champagne on a tray, complete with two crystal flutes, and bustled you off the moment you arrived.

You picked up the tray and hurried down the short hall, pausing with your hand on the doorknob before opening it and walking in. Harding looked up, eyes widening almost imperceptibly as you let your hips sway for the three steps it took to get to the low table. You smiled up through your lashes, crouching to set the tray down on the table.

“May I serve your champagne?” you asked in a low, sultry voice.

Harding leaned back, spreading his arms across the back of his seat. “You may.” He watched your every movement as you opened the bottle, giggling as the foam gushed up and over your fingers. You expertly poured a flute, extending it to him as you leaned across the table. As you did, you rested your free hand next to his laptop in an imitation of maintaining balance. You thumbed your ring, working the USB drive free and sliding it into a port on Harding’s laptop surreptitiously.

“May I bring you anything else?” You pulled your shoulders back, exposing more cleavage in a bid to hold his attention long enough that he would miss the popup on his screen. His eyes never left you, traveling slowly down your body before raising themselves back up to your face. You could barely suppress a shudder of disgust. He cocked his head slightly, leaning further back and taking his time to contemplate.

“No,” he finally said. “Not now.”

You nodded, fluttering your eyelashes, and let your hips sway provocatively as you stepped out. When you turned back to the main club, you saw Alex leaning against the bar nearest the door. The moment he saw you, he ran his tongue along his teeth and grinned wolfishly at you. You wondered what he would taste like if it was your tongue instead. You quickly shook the thought free, striding toward him. You murmured out of the corner of your mouth, hoping you could be heard by your earpiece without being seen. “Putting on a show now, are you?”

He unabashedly let his eyes roam down your frame, and you couldn’t stop the shudder you felt now. But there was no disgust in it. You barely caught his tiny nod, but you scanned the room until your attention caught on a man watching you from a booth nearby. He was young, traditionally handsome with tan skin and sun-kissed blonde hair, and well-dressed. His suit probably cost more than your entire wardrobe, and you didn’t even want to know the brand of the gold watch on his wrist. He watched you as you walked, predatory as he sipped some dark liquor from a cut glass tumbler.

Alex reached out as you passed him, standing and pulling you to his chest in one fluid motion. “I’ll put on any show I need to, I don’t like the way that guy’s looking at you.” You let him pull you into the throng, giggling loudly for effect as you pasted a smile on your face.

“My hero,” you whispered. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the man drain his glass and stalk toward the private rooms. Into your earpiece, you murmured “Can you see which room he’s going to?”

Alex took your hand, pulling back to blatantly admire you in what was probably meant to be a salacious observation on full display for anyone watching the two of you. He lifted your hand, spinning you and then pulling your back to his chest, deftly wrapping a hand around to rest on your abdomen while turning to face the doorway. You just caught sight of the door to Harding’s room swinging shut behind someone. Likely your admirer. You leaned back against Alex’s chest, lacing your fingers behind his neck and tilting your head back to look up at him. He was already looking down at you, the leaden blue of his irises eclipsed by his pupils. Desire. You were seeing your own desire reflected on his face.

You swallowed hard, and then your pager buzzed. Show time.

You peeled yourself from Alex’s body, tracing his reaching arm with a light fingertip and smiling coyly at him through your lashes. You picked up a tray of bottles of expensive, dark liquors- some in crystal decanters to match the cut glass tumblers- and sauntered to the private rooms.

Harding and your admirer were deep in heated conversation when you stepped through the door. Your heart sank when you realized that they weren’t speaking Dutch, but Russian. Your Russian was mediocre at best, and you just hoped Alex’s was a little less rusty. You caught stray words as you sat on your heels to pour drinks, but nothing cohesive passed your ears. All the same, your skin crawled. What little you could make out seemed heavy with slurs and threats, and neither man had become any less angry than they were when you’d arrived. You stood, reaching out to offer a glass to each of them with a wide smile pinned over your rising discomfort.

“Gentlemen,” you purred. “May I bring you anything else?”

The younger man’s hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist lightning fast and dragging you down into his lap. The shriek you let out was real, too real, as your heart stopped. You forced out a slightly manic giggle, trying to play off your anxiety. After all, regardless of circumstance, the action warranted some level of surprise. You just hoped he took it as nothing more than that.

He gripped your chin and turned your head, studying you. You could see him undressing you with his eyes. You were going to be sick.

“I think I have everything I want,” he drawled. You felt a sharp pinch in your arm, looking down in horror to see a needle withdrawing from the crook of your elbow. “Let’s just test this out first. See if it works like you say.” He turned back to Harding as you wrenched your arm, but he only tightened his grip. “Give me the girl for the night and you have a deal.”

“Hey,” you began, and hated how your voice shook. “What the hell was that?”

Your heart leapt into your throat before sinking to your knees. You felt a cold sweat break as white noise overtook every other sound in the room. You snapped back to yourself just as quickly, realizing that you could hear Alex whispering. “I’ve got you. Just hold on, I’ve got you.”

Harding was studying the man who’d dragged you down, cocking his head back and forth. Both men ignored you as you looked between them frantically. “You know that this isn’t a strip club, Sasha. The girls here aren’t under my… jurisdiction.” His face betrayed nothing, as though he hadn’t just watched a man drug some girl in some club. You were definitely going to be sick. “You’d have to talk to the owner.”

Sasha’s lip was curling up in a sneer when a loud crash echoed through the room. You looked up to see Alex lurch in, careening with his hands held out to the sides. You could smell alcohol on him, from all the way across the room. Your heart sank and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry. You’d let yourself trust him. You thought he’d be different. You hadn’t pictured him getting drunk at all, let alone like this. All your hope oozed out as he swung in a haphazard circle, briefly resting his hand near the laptop before looking blearily around the small room. When his eyes landed on you, a slow grin stretched across his mouth as he raised his hands lazily.

“There she is!” he slurred, stumbling in your direction and wrapping large, warm hands gently around your wrists. He unceremoniously dragged you up, forcing Sasha to let go, and pulled you straight to his chest.

And then he kissed you. Soundly.

Whatever you’d expected, it wasn’t this.

But he didn’t taste like alcohol. Through the haze of confusion and terror and shock, you felt an overwhelming sweep of relief. Your hands involuntarily shot up to cradle his jaw as he attacked your mouth, like a parched man who’d just found water. His hands clutched at your waist, pulling your body to his tightly as he leaned toward you. The kiss was sloppy, far overdone for your audience, a tangle of tongues and teeth, but still it took your breath away. You ran a hand down the side of his neck as you tilted your head, pressing yourself further forward into the safety of his arms. His tie and the collar of his shirt were soaked under your hand. He must have poured a drink on himself to seem more drunk. You gasped, and Alex swallowed it, offering up the tiniest moan in return. The roots shot through the surface of your skin.

You felt tears burn the back of your eyes, hope swell in your lungs. You didn’t know which of you had slowed down first, but the kiss had become tender. With every brush of his lips, you could feel as much as you could hear “I’ve got you I’ve got you I’ve got you”. The flower buds tickled at your chest, begging to push through the soil of your skin into the sunlight that was this man. The inexplicable draw you’d felt to him since that first meeting at Langley, the safety, the trust, it all came flooding up. It wasn’t enough to drown the abject fear you felt in the moment, but it met it head on, keeping it from suffocating you. Holding it at bay.

You heard Harding clear his throat impatiently, and pulled back, giggling. Alex chased you, placing two more feather light kisses at the corner of your mouth. Suddenly, whatever you’d been injected with hit you like a train. The room seemed blurry, and kept spinning even once you knew your head had stopped moving. And your head. It felt so, so heavy. You couldn’t focus, could barely keep your feet under you. You clutched at Alex’s shirt front, willing your body to cooperate. It took you too long to realize that he was speaking, and you knew it more from the rumble under your palm than the sound of his voice. He sounded underwater. Other people were speaking, too. And they sounded underwater.

Then you were moving, half walking and half being carried out of the room and down a hall. It was bright. Too bright. And so loud. You looked at Alex, who was now watching you with a wildness that took you a moment to place. Raw, helpless panic. “Sweetheart?” he was saying, but the word sounded funny. Sweet as molasses and just as thick in the distorted realm you walked.

“Drugged,” you managed, a strangled croak pushing through your throat. “He drugged… me.” You thought you heard cursing, and then your feet weren’t holding you up any more. Your body floated into a place not so loud, not so hot- quite chilly, actually- and when you turned your head, you weren’t floating. Your cheek rested over Alex’s thundering heart as he ran. You reached up a limp hand, barely managing to stroke it down his temple. “Y’re so… pretty.”

You closed your eyes and slipped into blackness.

You came back slowly, wading through a haze of voices and beeping and clattering. When you managed to peel open your eyes, you saw a dark room and a man half sitting, half laying across your bed. There was a moment of near-violent alarm before you recognized Alex’s unruly head of hair. He was sleeping, face turned away from you on the edge of the bed, and one arm lay draped over your waist. The other was tucked to his chest, and you noticed with a jolt that he was holding your hand, his thumb resting lightly over your pulse.

You took a moment to inventory your feelings. Your blood still sang with a vicious flight response, but you’d managed to compartmentalize for the mission. You had no idea how Alex had gotten you both out of there, but you didn’t care. You were grateful. The kiss. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to memorize all the best parts of how that kiss had felt. In the moment, it had grounded you. Surprised you enough that you could tamp down your feelings.

Alex’s file flashed across your minds’ eye. Intentional. Disappointment bubbled up in your throat before being swept over with thankfulness. He’d kissed you as a distraction, to both you and the room. To get you out of a bad situation. Nothing more.

You didn’t even know why you were wishing it was more. You’d known this man for only days. Yet something in you reached out for him. You wanted to know him more. You’d built more trust in him in these days than in anyone else in the years since that fateful mission. Well, more than anyone except Kate. Maybe. You smiled to yourself as it dawned on you that Kate knew exactly what she was doing, putting the two of you together. She knew you needed him. Unbidden, Alex’s file leapt back into your mind. Delta.

What happened to you, sweet boy? Could you need me, too?

Unconsciously, you reached across your body to thread your fingers through Alex’s hair. The moment you made contact, his body went rigid. That split second stretched into a lifetime as you remembered the way he’d snapped awake in the plane, and again from the safehouse couch. You froze, but there was no fear. When time came back to itself, within the same second you’d touched him, he relaxed. His grip on your wrist tightened, just a bit, thumb pressing down on your pulse. He sucked in a breath and slowly, carefully, turned his head to look at you.

His eyes scanned over your face, and you weren’t sure if you imagined that they lingered just a bit longer on your lips before meeting your gaze. You quirked up one corner of your mouth in a tiny smile and it was like a dam broke.

The breath Alex had taken in came shuddering out as he raised his hand from your waist to your cheek. He half stood, hovering and squeezing the hand he still held. His thumb trembled as it skimmed across your skin and you recognized that he was shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed. He leaned further forward, pressing his lips to your forehead. You squeezed his hand.

“It’s okay,” you started, but he’d pulled back and was shaking his head. He sank to his knees at the side of the bed, clasping your hand in both of his and drawing it to his lips.

“I failed you,” he said simply. You couldn’t picture the look on your face in that moment. You just knew you must look like something out of a cartoon with the way you felt your mouth and eyebrows twist in disbelief.

“And how do you suppose…?”

Alex’s eyes flashed. “You were hurt because of me. I should have pushed back about this whole plan, I should have figured something else out. It should have been me.”

Your heart clenched. With a pang, you recognized something for which you had no proof but the undeniable comprehension that filled you. Survivor’s guilt.

“Almost,” you whispered. Alex’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching up to smooth your thumb over the skin. It disappeared the moment your fingertips brushed against it, and Alex leaned into your touch. “I almost got hurt. You stopped that from happening.”

He didn’t look convinced. You both watched each other for several long minutes. His eyes kept skimming your lips, and you were sure yours did the same. “I had no right to kiss you,” he finally murmured, and you blinked in surprise. He’d dropped his gaze, looking away as his cheeks burned with shame. You raised a hand, turning his face back toward you. He looked up reluctantly when you held him there.

“That kiss saved me from… from…” You gulped, suddenly trembling all over again. Alex made gentle hushing sounds, raising himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He reached for both of your shoulders, rubbing them lightly. You debated with yourself for only a moment before launching up to hug him. He let out a grunt at the force of your contact, but his arms came up around you, cradling you to his chest as sobs wracked your body.

You’d managed to put it from your mind, mostly. Now terror and revulsion and dread and fear and fear and fear crashed down, rattling through your lungs and threading through your veins like ice. You sobbed, and Alex rocked you, humming and hushing and holding as you broke down, kept together only by his firm grip on you. You weren’t sure how long you stayed that way, clutching him as though for dear life, but when you opened your eyes again, the sun was blazing on the horizon.

You squeezed his broad shoulders, and he squeezed your waist. You took a moment, finally calm, to run your hands over the planes of his back. Hard muscle clenched under your touch before your hands settled on his shoulders, still wrapped under his arms. You weren’t ready to let go quite yet.

“How’d you do it, anyway?”

You felt, more than heard, his answering hum. You turned your head, tucking your nose under his jaw. He inhaled sharply and you traced a line to the back of his ear, speaking with your lips at the place the two met. “How’d you get me out?”

“I,” he said, and his voice came out somewhat strangled. His arms pulled you the tiniest bit closer as he cleared his throat. “I may have, um. Told them that, uh, that I’d already paid for you for the night.”

You pulled back, blinking at him. His hold on you loosened, but his hands still rested between your shoulder blades. He seemed nervous. You smiled at him, hoping to ease his nerves. “And they accepted that?”

He scoffed. “Almost didn’t. Harding didn’t seem to care, but the asshole who had his filthy hands on you,” his own hands tightened here “said he’d buy me out.”

You raised an eyebrow in a silent question. Alex’s eyes softened considerably, and he raised one hand to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I told him I’d made up my mind about you and no amount of money could change it.” You smiled at each other then, and your eyes dropped to his lips. When you looked back up, he was watching you intently. “He wasn’t too pleased with that, but… Harding, actually told him to cool it. No weapons in the club, don’t jeopardize the operation over…” here he stopped, looking away in obvious disgust. “I knew something was wrong when I tried to take you out, but I didn’t know what.”

You took in a deep breath, looking down. “What was it?” Your voice sounded small to your own ears. Alex didn’t answer right away. When you looked up, he seemed fixed on a point on the wall.

“Ketamine,” he said softly. Your body convulsed then, a fresh wave of icy terror sweeping over you. Alex hauled you forward until you were practically in his lap, rocking you again and stroking your hair. I’ve got you I’ve got you I’ve got you.

“Tell me you got the USB,” you said through clenched teeth.

“I got it,” he answered. “Harding, that scumbag, the whole operation- it was all on that file. The Amsterdam team already locked up the asshole who had you. Harding’s next. You did so good, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

You cried again, crawling as far into him as you could. You tried to silence your mind. Nothing happened, you reminded yourself. Nothing happened.

You cried until a nurse came to release you, then managed to pull yourself together enough to get dressed with Alex watching the door, close enough to touch through the thin material of the curtain that separated you. The hospital had given you a plain grey sweatsuit, which you’d gratefully donned without bothering to put on your underwear. You’d put the jewelry in a bag to go back to Langley, but the mini dress and fishnet body suit and everything underneath had been bundled up and handed to Alex to be thrown away. He’d done it for you gladly.

You gripped his hand the whole taxi ride back, and he’d wrapped an arm around your shoulders protectively. He’d carried the jewelry bag, stuffing it into the entry table drawer in passing. Halfway up the stairs, when you stumbled from a wave of nausea you’d half been expecting, he swept you up as though it was a perfectly natural occurrence and carried you to the bathroom. When you’d collected sleep clothes and makeup remover, he turned to leave. When your hand shot out to grab his, he nodded and perched himself on the toilet to watch you take off your makeup.

You didn’t have to say a word.

When your hand shook so badly that you had to stop, leaning against the sink, he stood, silently taking the makeup wipe from your hands. With the softest touch you’d ever felt, he tiled your chin up and wiped at your eyes, intermittently stopping to re-fold the wipe in search of a patch not streaked with black.

“Where do you want me?” he asked when he was done.

You glanced around the small room, grasping your elbow. “You can go, I’ll be okay.” He watched you, giving you time to change your mind, and then nodded, stepping into the hall and closing the door behind him. You stood for several moments before turning on the shower, anxious all over again. The steaming water did little to calm your nerves, and you scrubbed yourself raw in an effort to wash away the dread that had woven into your skin.

When you’d finally stepped out, opening the door to let steam pour into the hall, there was Alex. He sat against the opposite wall, head in his hands, and looked up when you stepped out. He offered a weak smile in your direction. “Feel any better?” You shrugged, but nodded. He looked down at where you still held your elbows and pushed himself to his feet. You abruptly felt horribly selfish. The circles under his eyes had darkened again and he looked pale. His tie was loose, askew, and he still wore the vest, although the buttons were all undone. His shirt had come partially untucked and you were certain the dress pants and shoes were less than comfortable. How long had he stayed up with you? You’d been hospitalized overnight, sleeping off the effects of the drug. Had he eaten anything since your dinner together the day before?

“Are you hungry?” you blurted out. His mustache twitched, betraying the amusement he felt.

“Not really. Are you?”

You shook your head. You noticed the clean clothes in his hands for the first time, and that wave of selfishness passed over you again. “You should shower.”

“You can come, if you want.” Your head snapped up, but there was nothing teasing in his tone or gaze. He seemed to think you weren’t pleased by this, because he rushed to say “I just mean if you don’t want to be alone.”

You looked down. “I don’t,” you said quietly.

Alex reached a hand toward you. “Then c’mere.” He pulled you into the bathroom, leaving the hall door open, and lifted you by your waist onto the countertop. He opened your toiletry bag, rifling through until he found what he was looking for. He turned on the tap, running your toothbrush under the stream of water, and then squeezed out a perfect stripe of toothpaste. Your eyes filled with tears when he presented it to you.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you took it. He smiled, squeezed your shoulder, and turned to undress. You looked out into the hall, allowing yourself just one glance as he pulled the dress shirt off and dropped it to the sides. The muscles in his arms rippled under the dark lines of his tattoos, and you found yourself surprised that he didn’t have more covering his torso. His shoulders were a wide, blank canvas marked only by faded white scars.

You turned quickly away, cheeks heating with guilt. He’d let you in here to calm yourself, not to ogle him. He showered much more quickly than you had, turning off the faucet as you spat your toothpaste into the sink. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arm as he reached for his towel, pulling it back behind the curtain.

“I’ll let you get dressed,” you said, stepping into the hall. You left the door cracked, pressing your back against the wall beside it and tilting your head back as you waited. You counted the seconds to keep your mind calm, and Alex emerged at 104. Like that first night in the safehouse, his hair was wild and his t-shirt clung to his damp skin. White this time, revealing a single tattoo on his chest above his heart. You couldn’t see clearly what it was, but you thought you saw something vaguely triangular. He smiled when his eyes rested on you and you offered a shaky smile back. “You look tired.”

He stretched his neck, reaching up to run a hand down his face. “Yeah.” He said simply. “Are you?” You nodded. He tilted his head toward your rooms, stepping forward. “C’mon, then.”

Your hand shot out before you could stop it, fingers wrapping around his bicep. Alex looked down sharply, concern etching his features.

You found that you didn’t know what to say. His face softened as he watched you, patiently waiting for you to find the words you wanted. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

He visibly melted, nodding. “Of course.” Blooms burst from the stems that rose from your skin, turning toward him like sunflowers to the sun. When you didn’t move, he offered you his hand. You took it, reveling in the warmth of his palm as he led you to his bed. You crawled across the narrow space, pressing yourself as close to the wall as you could.

Nerves sprung up as Alex deposited his clothes on the floor before sitting. He was a large man, and this bed was only meant for one person. He was already so tired, you couldn’t possibly keep him from sleeping well again, you had to tell him you’d be okay on your own, you had to-

“Stop thinking so loud.” Alex had stretched out, turning to you and waiting for you to lift your head so that he could rest his arm there. You did, and he scooted closer once you rested your cheek on his bicep. You didn’t move for a moment, too ashamed for taking even more than what he’d already given you. He reached around you, tugging you forward until your body was flush with his and your legs tangled together. You were so close that your nose rested on top of his, and one hand lay against his chest while the other toyed with the hem of his shirt.

“Thank you,” you whispered. In the darkness, you could only see a slight shine where his eyes were.

“Of course,” he murmured. His lips brushed yours as they formed the vowels. Your heart skipped a beat. He closed his eyes, and after a time, his breathing evened out and you thought he’d fallen asleep. Then he whispered, so softly that you almost thought you’d imagined it, “I want you here.”

You opened your eyes to see a pale sliver of moonlight illuminating a strip of his face. His eyes were on your lips, but they flicked up when yours opened.

You hardly even had to tilt your head, more leaning than actual movement. You pressed your lips to his, and the instant they touched he whimpered softly. Slowly, carefully, you slid your lips against his. You let your fingertips slide under the hem of his t-shirt, smiling against his mouth at the goosebumps that broke out across his skin. You traced the taut muscles of his abdomen as your tongue slid into his mouth, tracing patterns against his in a slow dance.

Alex was perfectly still, save for kissing you back. His hands hadn’t moved, one flat against the small of your back and one on the pillow somewhere behind your head, and suddenly you worried that you had overstepped. You flinched back, Alex involuntarily following you forward as his eyes snapped open.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed.

He was panting lightly, clearly trying to hide it. He licked his lips. “For what?”

“Kissing you, I don’t… I don’t want you to feel used.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry smile. Finally, the hand on your waist lifted to cup your cheek. “You don’t ever have to apologize to me. For anything.” His expression turned serious and he cleared his throat. “Besides, I’ve… I’ve been used for much worse. This is… this is a nice change.”

Delta flashed through your mind, but you kept your mouth shut. His thumb skimmed your lips, your nose, and the apple of your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning forward to press one last kiss to his soft lips. He sighed into it, hand sliding down your side to your waist once more. He tugged you ever so slightly closer as you tucked your nose under his, lips still a hairs’ breadth apart. You slept soundly that night.

Two years later

You stood at the airport terminal, tapping your foot in excitement and anticipation.

Alex was coming home.

Amsterdam had been the start of a new routine for you both. He’d had to fly straight back to his post in Bahrain, but he hadn’t left without your number. You’d scribbled it in a tiny space of blank skin on his wrist, just below a line of barbed wire. You’d nearly added a heart, but worried at the last moment that it would be too intimate and instead settled on a poorly drawn shoelace, haphazardly tied around the barbed wire.

Alex had come back from that assignment with an addition to his sleeve that no one else was likely to notice. But you noticed.

You had picked him up from the airport then, too, and you’d stayed up all night, talking about everything from Alex‘s assignment that he was able to share and everything you had done in the time since. It hadn’t been much. Despite therapy, a strict gym routine, and a full plate at work (your director was thrilled to have you back), you’d been having nightmares. And early the next morning when you’d woken up on the couch where you'd fallen asleep, gasping for air and desperately trying to blink away the image of Sasha your subconscious had dredged up, Alex had pulled you into his lap and hushed you, stroking your hair and rocking gently.

“He’ll never hurt anyone again, angel. None of them are ever getting out, and it’s all because of you. You were so brave.”

You’d made each other house keys later that day. You’d joked weeks later that he should give up his apartment, seeing as he spent most nights at your townhouse anyway. He didn’t, and the change of scenery when you both stayed there was nice. You were particularly grateful when he was gone- staying there, surrounded by him, helped ease his absence- but you still felt just a bit of disappointment. You’d been joking, but you would have let him move in without a moment’s hesitation if he’d said yes.

Since the first time you’d picked him up, there hadn’t been a day that Alex was stateside that you hadn’t seen each other. This assignment had been the longest, and with the least contact. He’d been gone for nearly three months and you’d only heard from him twice- once to tell you he’d landed and once to tell you his flight information to come home.

You’d arrived at the airport half an hour before the time he’d given you, too impatient to spend the time flitting uselessly around your townhouse. Dinner was in the oven, the pantry was overfilled with snacks, and you’d made gallons of the sweet tea Alex was so fond of. Your spare room was ready with clean sheets and a lavender oil diffuser, and you’d laid out his favorite plaid pajama pants on the bathroom counter. You’d smiled to yourself as you fingered the soft material. Sometime in the early weeks of staying together, Alex had emerged from his room wearing them with one of the tank tops he usually wore to the gym.

“Oh, so we’re working out now?” you’d teased. You were curled up on the couch, flipping through channels in search of a good movie. Alex hadn’t answered right away, and you looked up to see him rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I, uh. I don’t really have too many t-shirts,” he’d mumbled. He shrugged at your incredulous look. “I’ve been on my own for a long time. Never really worn a shirt around here.”

You’d felt the heat rising in your cheeks as you cocked an eyebrow at him. “So then take it off.” Flustering Alex never ceased to amuse you, and didn’t fail now as his cheeks flushed red.

“You’re… you’d be okay with that?” You leveled a stare at him as if to ask “seriously?” and he shifted his weight, debating. After a few seconds, he reached for the back of the shirt and tugged it off. You stared openly at him. You’d assumed he’d be gorgeous, had imagined it, but your fantasies couldn’t compare to reality. Your eyes had gone first to the solitary tattoo on his chest- a dagger through the center of an open triangle with a lightning bolt on one end. Then they’d followed the trail of hair that led down and fastened on the lines of muscles along his hips. Your mouth watered. You wanted to touch them, run your tongue along them. They clenched as Alex shifted again, clearing his throat, and you looked up to see him looking, of all things, self-conscious. You let out a low, long wolf-whistle and he huffed lightly. “Hush up with all that,” he grumbled good-naturedly, dropping onto the couch and pulling you into his side. “Although I suppose I should expect it. You did call me pretty once, after all.” Your cheeks had flamed, but the outcome had been more than worth the momentary embarrassment. He’d slowly stopped wearing shirts to bed, in either of your homes, and you’d done your level best to keep your ogling to a minimum.

The tram slid into the station and you held your breath, as you’d been doing every time it arrived.

Your eyes landed on a tall head of messy brown hair, just over the top of the crowd. Your grin widened until you were sure it would split your face. You watched Alex step onto the escalator, searching the crowd for you.

You held up the houndstooth scarf he’d given you before he left for his first new assignment after Amsterdam. “Something to remember me by,” he’d said, fingers catching on the tassels even as he pressed it into your hands. As if you could ever forget him.

You caught sight of the matching scarf he wore, the one you’d given him at the airport when he’d come back from that assignment. Then his eyes met yours and he lifted his hand, offering a weak attempt to meet your smile. Your heart sank. He looked haunted, and exhausted. The circles under his eyes were far, far worse than any you’d seen before. He looked thinner, and there was a vacancy in his eyes that hurt your soul to see.

You pushed through the crowd when you saw him tap the shoulder of the man in front of him, making his way down as fast as he could. You broke through the last line of people just as his boots hit the floor and you sprinted the two steps between you to launch yourself into his arms. He wrapped you up like you weighed nothing, lifting you off your feet in a bone-crushing hug. You lifted one hand to run through the hair at the back of his head as he held you.

As if they were miles away, you heard passers-by coo. You paid them no mind but the common courtesy to not wrap your legs around Alex’s waist in such a public place, instead dangling from his hold by your arms around his neck. You asked nothing, and he offered nothing. When he put you down, he smiled. It wasn’t his usual mirthful, bright, Alex smile. But it was better.

“Can I stay with you for a couple of days?” he murmured.

“Silly man. Of course you can.” You trailed one hand to his cheek. He leaned in, then turned his head to kiss your palm. Goosebumps broke out over your skin. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

He was quiet for the drive, only clasping your free hand in both of his lightly. At home, you ushered him off to shower while you finished dinner. When he stepped into the kitchen, still damp the way you hated to be, you dropped the spoon in your hand.

“Alex,” you choked out. He had lost a notable amount of weight, but that wasn’t what held your focus. Angry marks ran down his torso, ranging in severity from scrapes and bruises of varying colors to a deep gash across his lower abdomen that wrapped around his side. You stumbled toward him, nearly losing your footing in your rush, and he sprang forward to catch you. Your fingertips ran gently over the gash across in his side and he hissed quietly, muscles tensing. “Sorry,” you whispered, still surveying the damage. He’d been wearing a long-sleeved shirt when you picked him up, but now you could see more cuts and bruises on his arms, even beneath the heavy line work of his tattoos.

Tears filled your eyes as your hands hovered just over his skin, afraid to touch him lest he break.

“I’m okay,” he said. He didn’t reach for you, allowing you to inventory his wounds. “It’ll heal.”

You shook your head, reaching for his hand. “Come on,” you said softly. You led him to the bathroom, sat him down on the toilet, and collected your first aid kit. You perched on his knee, trying to keep the majority of your weight off of him. He chuckled as you wavered, struggling to keep your balance.

“You won’t break me.” He rested a hand on your hip as you relaxed your stance. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, only occasionally flinching as you applied salve and bandages to the worst of the cuts.

After dinner, you turned on reruns of an old sitcom with the volume low and dozed on the couch. At some point, you roused when you felt Alex lift you up.

“You shouldn’t be carrying me,” you said sleepily. Alex made a dismissive noise, nudging open your bedroom door and crawling into your bed with you still in his arms. You fell asleep that night laying on his chest with his heartbeat in your ear.

It was weeks later that you jumped awake when you heard Alex yelling, flying up and down the hall to his room. You could see him thrashing in the moonlight that shone through the window. You called his name, but to no avail- he couldn’t hear you through whatever he heard in his nightmare. You turned on the light and then knelt on the bed to grab his wrist. Instantly, he flew forward. He had you pinned to the foot of the bed before you could blink, one arm holding down your midsection while the other hand wrapped around your throat.

You froze, banishing the fear that pricked the back of your mind. You took a deep breath as the wildess in his eyes faded, making way for horror. He scrambled backward until his back forcibly hit the headboard, eyes fixed on you as he whispered your name.

“Did I hurt you? Oh, God, if I hurt you…” His voice and body shook violently, and he scrabbled at the sheets in a full-blown panic. You’d sprung up as soon as he’d let you go, crawling toward him and reaching out.

“You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay, Alex. You’re okay. Come here.”

“No!” he shouted. He seemed to shrink even further back against the headboard, shaking his head frantically. You paused. “No,” he whispered. “I- I didn’t mean- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-”

You crawled the rest of the way to him, still with one hand outstretched. You laid it on his cheek as you crept toward him until your knees straddled his hips. You pressed as close as you could, wrapping your arms around him. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, desperate to reach up. To take the comfort you offered. To touch you. But he wouldn’t.

“You didn’t hurt me,” you repeated. You took one of his shaking hands in yours, raising it to your throat where it had been a moment before. Alex shuddered violently. “Look.” Gently, you pried open his fingers until they lay flat against your skin, and you dragged them down to rest over your heart. “I’m right here, and I’m okay. Okay? You didn’t hurt me. It’s my own fault, I know better. I shouldn’t have touched you.”

He was shaking his head, nearly incoherent in anguish. “No, no, it’s not your fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault.”

You grasped his head firmly. “Stop,” you whispered. “It’s no one’s fault, then. Okay? Everything is okay.”

Alex sobbed, finally leaning up to tug you closer, tucking his face into your neck. “You would never hurt me,” you repeated. You lifted your hands to his head and scratched lightly at his scalp. “My sweet Alex, you could never hurt me.”

For all the post-assignment nights you’d both had, you’d never seen Alex cry. It was a strange experience, and it broke your heart. He made practically no sound, but the force with which his body shook made the whole bed vibrate. You tightened your grip on him, tilting his head up to yours. He wouldn’t meet your gaze; his eyes were half-lidded, red-rimmed, and fixed on your mouth. You leaned down and he sucked in a breath. Just before your lips touched his, he whispered in a strangled voice. “Don’t.” You froze. “You can’t kiss me.” The roots beneath your skin splintered, breaking apart from each other.

There hadn’t been any more kisses, or discussions of kisses past, since Amsterdam. You’d tried to bury the attraction you felt, the longing to be near him, but you’d come to hope that it was returned. You knew, at least, that your presence was equally wanted. But in this moment, Alex was uncommonly still, eyes closed. Your heart had stopped beating. You leaned back, watching his face for any hint as to what he was feeling. Anything that might lessen the shock. You saw only pain there.

You had horribly misjudged his feelings, horribly misjudged the situation. You wanted to bring him comfort, of course, but you also wanted to show him your heart. To know his heart for you. You’d been selfish. Bile raced up the back of your throat, threatening to come out as you began to raise yourself up on your knees. The moment your hands left his head, though, Alex’s eyes snapped open.

“Wait,” he breathed. He lurched forward, clumsily grabbing at the backs of your thighs.

You could feel tears stinging your eyes. Shame and rejection and despair pumped themselves through your veins with every hard thump of your heart. “I’m sorry-” you began.

Alex had drawn in a deep breath. Now, he cut you off. “You can’t kiss me because I want to kiss you,” he blurted out. That stopped you dead in your tracks. He had looked back to your mouth now. One thumb stroked along your bottom lip as he swallowed, hard. “I want to kiss you so badly it hurts.”

Intentional flashed through your mind in a whole new light, this time.

A breathless laugh escaped you at that. “Well I want to kiss you, too. So why can’t I?”

Alex tore his eyes up with a visible effort. He cleared his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you every day since Amsterdam,” he said solemnly. You felt your heart soar up, up, and away from you. “I didn’t want to stop kissing you in Amsterdam.”

You lowered yourself back to his lap, stroking his hair and the cuts in it. On a balmy night that you’d slept on your balcony, when his head had been in your lap and you’d traced the scars, he’d told you he’d gotten them when he nearly died. “Explosion launched a piece of metal straight at me. Cut right down to the skull. They didn’t think I was going to wake up.” You shook the memory away.

“Then why did you?” you whispered.

Alex was watching your mouth again. “I didn’t want you to think I wanted you just because of the outfit, or that… that I’d kissed you in the club just to kiss you, just because I could.” His voice dropped as his eyes fluttered closed. “But God, did I want to. I didn’t want to stop.” Chills broke out over your skin. His eyes snapped open, blazing with resolve. “I wanted you to want to kiss me. I need you to want me.”

You lowered yourself further, stroking your thumbs up from the tips of his mustache to the tops of his cheekbones. “You didn’t think I wanted to kiss you when I kissed you that night? Didn’t think I’ve wanted you all this time since?”

“I… I thought you just wanted comfort. I didn’t think it had anything to do with me.” The hurt must have flashed across your face, because Alex leaned forward, cupping your cheek and pulling you closer to him by your waist. “I didn’t care. If all you ever wanted from me was comfort, I’d give it gladly without expecting anything in return. And… I had hoped. Since then.” A blush had risen in his cheeks then. “That what I was feeling wasn’t one-sided. I thought maybe, but…”

“I do want to kiss you,” you murmured. “And what you’re feeling is definitely not one-sided.”

He made a pained sound, leaning up seemingly against his own will until his lips barely brushed yours. “Don’t just tell me what you think I want to hear.”

“I’m not.”

There was a beat of stillness before he closed the distance, sealing your mouths together. His tongue seared a trail along the seam of your lips until you parted them for him, and it was like a switch flipped. His body came alive; hands roamed along your back as he alternately gripped your sides and pulled you closer; his chest heaved under your touch. He finally settled on squeezing the tops of your thighs while you tugged at his hair and moved against him, eliciting soft gasps and moans from both of you. The marks across his body had healed, leaving new scars in their places. You danced your fingertips along his bare collarbones, across the Delta team tattoo over his heart, over the scars and down his sculpted pecs and toned abs, drawing out a groan from him when you met the waistband of his pajamas.

“Wait,” he rasped. You waited, stroking the soft trail of hair beneath his belly button. He shuddered under your touch, cursed, and reached down to still your hand as he exerted visible self-control to look up at you. You blinked innocently at him. “You make it so hard to concentrate,” he said mildly, though his pupils were blown wide as his eyes roamed over your face. You giggled at that, which drew out a smile. He met your gaze briefly before looking away and clearing his throat again.

“I love you.” Every root in your body, every space along the stems along your skin and wrapped around your bones, burst forth in uncontrollable buds. You held your breath. “And I don’t expect… nothing has to change. If you don’t, that’s okay. I’ll still give you whatever you want-”

Your heart constricted painfully. You laid a gentle finger against his lips, drawing his attention from the floor. “I would never use you like that,” you said softly. You took in a deep breath. “I’ve loved you for a long time. Since Amsterdam, at least.” Breath had rushed out of him. His face glowed as he looked up at you in adoration.

“At least?” he breathed, teasing even in his disbelief. You shrugged.

“I don’t know. It might have been since you stepped between Kate and I.”

His eyes shone at that. A darkness descended, though, clouding his gaze. “And you’re not… I don’t…” You understood what he couldn’t say. You lifted his chin.

“You do not scare me,” you said firmly. He swallowed, looking away, and you wiggled his chin to get him to look back at you. “You would never, never hurt me, Alex. I’ve never felt as safe as I feel with you.” He nodded slowly. You leaned forward, pressing him back against the headboard to kiss him hard. You took control, and he let you. You poured all of your longing, love, desire, and reassurance into the kiss, leaning heavily against him as your mouths moved. Your hands were all over him, tracing scars and tattoos and patterns only you could see.

His hands crept under your shirt, skimming your sides until they rested between your shoulder blades. He squeezed lightly, leaning forward to deepen the kiss. He tilted his head and you let your hands brush down his ribs to trace the beginnings of the v-cut you’d always wanted to touch. You dipped your fingertips beneath the band of his pajamas and he lurched forward, breath leaving in a rush as though he’d been punched.

“Wait,” he gasped again, hands flying to your hips.

You huffed out an amused sound. “You know, if you keep stopping me like this, I’m going to worry that you don’t actually want me.”

Alex tugged your hips against his, wiping the smirk from your face as he leaned forward. His face had flushed cherry red, and the uncertainty with which he spoke was preciously endearing. “I think that you can feel perfectly well that that’s not true,” he murmured. And oh, goodness, could you.

You hummed in agreement, grinding your hips down on the proof of his desire. Alex groaned, grip tightening and face reddening even further. “I’ll never say no to you,” he ground out. That piqued your interest. You relented, sitting back to look at him curiously. “But I just… I didn’t want our first time to be… I’d never imagined…” His voice softened as he trailed off, eyes flitting to the foot of the bed. He didn’t want it to happen in the wake of his remorse, weighed by his inner turmoil.

You felt your heart melt. You’ve imagined this?

Your hand flew to your mouth when Alex’s darkening gaze told you you’d spoken aloud. His voice was gravel when he spoke. “Yes.” One hand stroked the scars on your arm, the other the side of your throat. “There’s a reason I usually get up before you.”

“Oh,” you said. And you realized, with a start, that he usually did. Ohhh. He was looking down now, shame coloring his cheeks. Anticipation lit beneath your skin, tempered only by the exhaustion evident on his face. You tilted his chin up. “I’ve imagined it, too.” He twitched beneath you, face a display of utter shock. You traced the shadows beneath his eyes tenderly.

“Take me to bed,” you whispered. “We’ll sleep tonight. Our first time can be any time you want, however you’ve imagined it.” A slow smile spread over Alex’s face.

“Yes ma’am,” he said. Then he abruptly stood with you still in his lap, wrapped your legs around him, and carried you shrieking down the hall to your bed.

The first time was the next morning, slow and soft as the sun breaking on the horizon. It was just as gentle, adoring, and attentive as you’d come to expect from Alex. Lush, languid, loving.

“Just like you’ve imagined?”

“Mhmm. And so much better.”

The next time was at Alex’s apartment as you packed his things the morning after that, half on the couch and eventually on the floor. Giggling, silly, and so natural. Just like you’d imagined.

Then there were the gym showers after he’d benched nearly his body weight. You’d teased him for too long, straddling him and giggling as you leaned down to whisper filthy things in his ear. He’d given up halfway through his set after nearly dropping the bar on his face, hauling you furtively to the locker rooms. Neither of you had quite imagined that.

The week Alex let his apartment go, you literally ran into Kate in the Langley halls, nearly spilling both of your coffees and successfully scattering the files she’d been holding.

“Trip,” she greeted warmly. “Living up to your name, I see.” She waved off your profuse apologies, walking with you and asking about how you’d been since you last spoke some weeks ago. “I see Alex changed his mailing address,” she said with a sly smile.

You raised your eyebrows, faux innocence dripping from your voice. “Oh? Was it unexpected?”

“No. In fact, it was quite expected.” She was beyond pleased, barely containing her smile before walking into her briefing. She took your hand just before you turned toward the elevators. “You’re so good for each other.” You’d smiled for the rest of the day, thrilled to have been right about her intentions. You couldn’t wait to tell Alex.

When you got home that afternoon, he wasn’t there, but there was a note on the island. “Gonna be late, dinner at 7?” There was an address for a fancy restaurant just a few blocks away that you’d mentioned wanting to try. You smiled, walked into your bedroom, and smiled even wider when you saw the dress and heels he’d set out for you. The dress was a rich, sapphire blue satin you’d bought some months back for a wedding that was unexpectedly canceled. You’d whined to Alex that you’d have to return it without ever having worn it and he’d insisted you keep it. “I promise you I can find some occasion for you to wear it,” he’d said.

You showered, re-did your makeup, and then slid the dress on. The sleeves fit tightly to your elbows, covering your scars, before flaring into bells that draped past your knees. The back was open all the way down, and a provocative slit up the side showed off most of your thigh. Alex hadn’t seen it on you yet, and you were eager to see his reaction. You’d learned since that first morning that he loved your thighs, something that was particularly delightful to you. You pulled on the silver pumps, considered a wrap, and decided against it. The weather report showed a warm evening with only a slight breeze.

You thought about taking your car, but decided not to when you saw that Alex’s was gone. It wasn’t so warm that you’d be sweaty by the time you got there, and it wasn’t so far that your feet would hurt, even in your heels. You fixed your hair, took one last look in the mirror, and set off.

The streets of D.C. were as lively as ever; people bustled up and down the sidewalk, taxis honked at each other, birds chirped, and you could hear children laughing from the park across the street. You smiled to yourself, grateful that you loved your city. When you reached the restaurant, you paused to admire the plate glass windows and gothic architecture before walking in.

Your eyebrows shot up when a doorman swung the door open, bowing slightly as you walked past. You murmured your thanks before approaching the maître d', an elderly gentleman in a tux who greeted you with a stiff bow and a warm smile.

“Good evening, my dear. Do you have a reservation?”

“I believe so,” you said, sure that Alex had thought this far ahead. “Seven o’clock for Alex Keller?” The maître d's face lit up and he extended his arm to you.

“Ah, yes! Mr. Keller. He asked me to seat you upon arrival and extend his deepest apologies for his tardiness; he shall arrive presently.”

You pursed your lips, trying to hide your smile. “Thank you so much.”

“But of course! May I interest you in anything to drink while you wait? A glass of wine, perhaps?”

“Um,” you began, and it was the maître d's turn to hide a smile at your ineloquence. “Could I just have a glass of water, please?”

You’d reached a table at the far side of the restaurant, just against a wall filled with expensive-looking, tasteful art. The maître d’ pulled out your chair, lowering you into it and nodding emphatically. “One glass of water, in just one moment.”

“Thank you,” you smiled. You took the opportunity to peer around the restaurant, noting the chandeliers and formally dressed staff. You wondered, vaguely, whether Alex had something up his sleeve or whether he’d just picked the place because you’d been interested. Or whether he’d picked it for an excuse to get you into, and later out of, that dress.

A waiter brought your water. You thanked him and, just as you picked it up, you heard Alex.

“She didn’t go falling on you, now did she?”

“No, sir, not at all!” replied the maître d’. You turned, gaping at your- boyfriend? Partner? There didn’t seem to be a good term for you two, and you hadn’t discussed any labels. You settled on person in your mind. And your person was beaming, eyes sparkling in mirth as he walked to the table. He held out a hand to you as he arrived.

“You expect me to kiss you after that?”

The maître d’ laughed sharply, quickly covering his mouth and excusing himself with a bow.

“I do,” said Alex smoothly. You grudgingly rose to your feet for a chaste kiss, eyeing him appreciatively as you did. He’d picked a black suit and tie with a silk shirt that matched your sapphire dress. His hair was, as always, out of place and wild. It just added to his charm. He looked devastatingly handsome. He seemed to think the same as you, holding you out in front of him and whistling low. He spun you around and was shaking his head when you faced him again. His eyes had darkened nearly to match his shirt.

“You look ravishing,” he said solemnly.

You felt a flash of shyness before the lust in his gaze caught up with your own, and then you felt just as ravishing as you were sure he thought you were.

“Business go well?” you asked as you slid back into the chair Alex had pulled out for you.

He unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat. “Extremely.” There was a twinkle in his eye that made you squint at him, but he waved a hand. “Later. Have you looked at the menu yet? Pick something and tell me about your day.”

So you did. Your department had just begun using a new program and the legwork associated with updating all of your files was extensive. You’d been tasked with sorting and fixing error codes, and the list was thousands of lines long. It was tedious work. You paused to order when a waiter arrived, then regaled Alex with overly dramatic tales of your boredom, making him laugh loudly enough to look around the otherwise quiet room sheepishly.

“I think this place is juuust a little too fancy for us.” He’d lifted his fingers, holding them close together as he smiled, and suddenly you were back in the basement where you’d met. Your waiter delivered two plates of delectable looking food, then. You both thanked him, studied your plates, and dug in. Your food tasted even better than it smelled, and you assumed Alex felt the same as he chewed slowly with a blissful glaze over his eyes.

“Did you ever get those guns?” He blinked at you, snapping out of whatever higher plane he’d been transported to, utterly lost. “Right before Amsterdam. You said you were this close to getting those guns.” You mimed his pinched fingers, covering your mouth with your other hand. Alex reached up to cover his mouth, too. His shoulders were shaking and he shook his head, swallowing the food he’d been chewing.

“Where did that come from?” he chuckled. You made a face at him and reached across the table to pinch his nose, which only earned you an undignified snort.

“This!” You tapped your fingers together in a hyperbolic imitation of the gesture. Alex was full-blown laughing now, covering his mouth with a linen napkin and trying to quiet himself. He nodded, snickering into his wrist as he lowered his hand

“Yes, angel, I got the guns.”

You grinned at him. “See? How hard was that? Now your turn, tell me about your day.”

He shook his head, still smiling, and held up a finger for you to wait while he finished the last of his meal. You took advantage of the pause in conversation to finish your own food, leaning slightly back in your chair as you pushed your plate away.

“Good?” He asked. You nodded, patting your belly.

“So good.”

“Dessert?”

“Gosh, no,” you chuckled. “I don’t think I could even split something with you right now.”

“Good, neither could I.” He made a little cutting gesture across his throat to someone over your shoulder, and you turned to see the maître d’ nod in your direction. “Business was good,” Alex began. He’d taken the day off in order to sort through the last of the details of moving in with you. “Got all my paperwork done with my leasing office, got my address changed for all of my bills, canceled the internet, hit the DMV, all of that.” Alex stood as your waiter approached, pulling his wallet and an envelope out of his pocket.

He set the envelope on the table while he fished out his card for the waiter, exchanging it for a bottle of champagne with two flutes.

Your heartbeat sped.

“Are we celebrating something?” you asked, barely concealing the quaver in your voice.

Alex flashed a grin at you as he opened the bottle, pouring you a flute. “Gosh, I hope so,” he mumbled. Before you could question it, he handed you a flute and the envelope. “Open it,” he said softly.

Your heartbeat had slowed considerably. Whatever this was, it wasn’t what you’d expected from that opening. You squashed the pang of disappointment you felt. It’s too early for that you told yourself. You didn’t believe it.

Regardless, this had to be something huge. Alex didn’t make a big deal out of nothing. Whatever was inside, he’d already seen. The envelope had been opened. You pulled out a bundle of papers, unfolded them, and promptly dropped them to cover your mouth with both hands.

“Alex?” you whispered. Tears were already filling your eyes. He nodded.

“Laswell approved it. It’s conditional upon my acceptance, though. I told her I’d have to talk to you first. Comes with a bit of a paycut.”

You were shaking your head violently, already moving toward him with arms outstretched. “Oh, Alex,” you sobbed. “Alex, my Alex, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter, you’re going to be home. Oh, Alex.” You were weeping now, waves of relief and gratitude coursing through your veins.

He chuckled low, pressing his lips to your ear. “You’re saying my name so much it’s almost like we’re in bed,” he whispered. You hit his shoulder, face flushing as you sputtered. He laughed deep in his chest, squeezing you a little tighter.

You hadn’t even known Alex had filed for a departmental transfer. You hadn’t even looked yet at what it was. You let go of him with one hand to scrabble for the paper, lifting it to eye-level.

Language officer, operating out of Langley in Washington D.C.

Alex breathed a laugh as you held onto him for dear life. “You know, I was hoping you’d be a little happier,” he teased. You smacked his shoulder lightly again, laughing a watery laugh and fumbling for a napkin to wipe your face. He let you go and picked one up, turning back to you and suddenly looking quite nervous.

“But,” he said shakily. He wiped his hands down the front of his slacks. “It does make me feel a little more confident doing this.” He reached into his jacket.

And he dropped to one knee, withdrawing a black velvet box.

Your heart stopped.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Alex had squeezed his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath. He opened his eyes and breathed out your name.

“I never imagined myself falling in love. I thought I was going to be on my own for my whole life, and I was okay with that. Until I met you.” He opened the box and you let out a sob, covering your mouth again. The ring was two slim, twined bands- a black gold string of barbed wire and a white gold shoelace- with a sparkling diamond nestled between them. Alex looked down at it. His voice was low, solemn. “You wrapped me around you so fast it made my head spin. Now, I can’t imagine life without you.” He leveled you with an intense look. “I don’t want to imagine life without you.

You were nodding vigorously, and he chuckled softly, eyes shining. “What are you saying yes for? You have no idea what I’m about to ask, I could want you to join a cult. Just calm down.”

You laughed, all progress toward putting yourself together hopelessly lost. You were a blubbering mess; shaky, tear streaked, the whole nine yards.

Alex’s face softened as he looked up at you with such adoration that it might break your heart. The roots beneath your skin had overgrown your whole skeleton, every organ. There were nothing but blooms in your body, now- bright, white, sweet flowers.

“There’s nothing I could ever do to earn your love. But if you let me, I will dedicate my life to just that. Will you make me the absolute happiest, luckiest man in the world and be my wife?” You hadn’t stopped nodding, and you whispered “yesyesyesyesyes” as you launched yourself forward. True to form, you stumbled along the way. Alex, being Alex, was ready for you, anticipating your clumsiness. He laughed, the best laugh you’d ever heard from him and suddenly you realized that the whole restaurant was cheering and clapping and calling out encouragement as he lifted you off the floor and spun you around.

You kissed him, and felt him smile against your lips. He set you down just long enough to pull the ring from the box, sliding it onto your finger with ease.

“How did you know...?”

“I… may have taken the USB ring from Amsterdam.”

You looked at him incredulously. He gave a rueful smile.

“Call me a dreamer,” he murmured. Just a trace of nerves tinging his voice. You took his hand in yours, raising it to your lips.

“I’ll call you anything you want, so long as I can call you mine.”

The grin that split his face was instant and wide. “That was so, so cheesy.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning up toward him. “You love it.”

“I love you,” he whispered. He pulled you close, kissing you breathless, people be damned.

The lilies that had grown to cover your skin all reached up for him as he did.

#nightingale writes #cod #cod mw19 #alex keller #alex keller x reader #alex keller cod

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blackberry-bloody · 5 months

Text

Dayzel's rescue pt.2

Part 1 here

CWs: whumpee thinking caretaker is new whumper

“Mibium huh? So you’re the angel he used to scream for.” Dayzel heard Rupert remark from somewhere behind him. “I’m impressed. It took him almost a year before he bowed like that for me. I wonder-”

“You have the money, can we go now?” Mibium’s voice interrupted. He sounded tense… Frustration clear in his voice. Though Dayzel couldn’t tell if the frustration was directed at Rupert or him. Another wave of shudders wracked through him at the thought.

“He’s all yours.” Rupert called from behind, sounding all too smug.

“Damn right.” Mibium narrowed his eyes at Rupert and made a shoo-ing gesture with his hand. Followed by the sound of a door opening and closing. Leaving Dayzel alone with Mibium for the first time in over two years… But everything was different now. He was different now. A million thoughts and questions swam in his head but he didn’t dare voice any of them. Not before he knew what the consequences would be.

He suddenly flinched hard, earning a pained groan from his strained and tense muscles, feeling Mibium’s soft and warm hand against his freezing cold shoulder. He glanced up briefly at him, wanting to gauge his reaction, but Mibium had an unreadable expression. “I’m sorry.” It was all he could do… Apologize. Apparently he had a lot he would be apologizing for… One way or another.

“It’s ok Dazzle. Let’s get you home, eh?” Mibium’s voice was soft… None of the anger before. But the use of his nickname felt twisted in the moment… A petname. All too fitting for right now. But all he could do was nod in agreement. He started to stand, only to find himself far too wobbly and weak in the knees. He almost went to try again, but Mibium stopped him and expertly scooped him up effortlessly. This was what Dayzel had wanted… What he’d dreamed about. What he’d begged for. For two years. But not like this… Never like this. He couldn’t take comfort in his former boyfriend turned owner’s hold. Not when he knew what kind of damage Mibium could… And probably would… Do to him. If he could pick Dayzel up and carry him down flights of stairs all the way to his big purple pickup truck, all without so much as breaking a sweat, he knew he would be able to effortlessly shatter Dayzel if he wanted. Dayzel was determined not to give him any more reason to…

Mibium finally put him down on the passenger seat of the truck, buckling him up and giving him a soft smile, before closing the door and walking around to the driver’s side. For a split second Dayzel thought about running. About running off and never looking back. But he shook the thought off… If He’d hurt Mibium this badly? Badly enough to buy him back like this for some form of closure or vengeance? Then he deserved to stay and take whatever punishment was coming to him. No more running.

Mibium climbed in the driver’s side, started the truck up, and they were on their way. Dayzel glanced over to the rearview mirror and watched as the place he’d been held for two years finally disappeared beyond the horizon. He only looked away when something was placed in his lap. Well… Three somethings. His favorite sweater and red pair of gloves. He looked up at Mibium who returned his gaze briefly. “Go on. You don’t even have a shirt on, you must be freezing. I held onto them for you.”

Dayzel hesitated, thinking about how the old him would quip back about him being an ice demon so the cold didn’t affect him, but instead all he could muster up was- “Why?” as he carefully pulled the sweater on over his head, his gloves following soon after. They felt good.

He knew asking was risky… But he had to know. And Mibium always had a way of pulling the real Dayzel out… For better or worse. It was one of the things Dayzel had loved- and feared- when they were together. And now was no exception.

“I knew I’d see you again. And I wanted you to have those for when we met again…” Mibium didn’t look over this time. Too focused on the barely lit roads taking them home.

Dayzel wrung his hands in his lap, his tail wrapped around his leg tightly. “I… I don’t understand…” How long has Mibium been planning this revenge?

“That’s ok. We can talk more when we get you home.” Mibium half smiled and reached over to turn on the radio.

Dayzel felt himself flush and shut his mouth, knowing when to take a hint now… Mibium was being kind in how he was telling Dayzel to shut the hell up. And for that he was grateful… He settled in for a long drive home, trying his best not to think about the inevitable.

—

Mibium was kind enough to carry Dayzel inside too. Placing him down on the couch in the living room before going to lock up the truck and front door. Dayzel looked around… It felt familiar. It felt like the closest thing to home since Beth had disowned him. There were a few things Mibium had changed, but it mostly was the same. He felt the tears starting…

He quickly tried to wipe them away before Mibium returned but he was too late. Mibium round the corner and looked at him. He took a step closer, opening his mouth to say something but Dayzel stopped him. There was no going back now… Might as well make the most of it.

“Why?! Why buy me back? What did I do?! What could I possibly have done that warrants this?!” Dayzel sobbed. Mibium, startled, took a step back. “I mean, I know I wasn’t a good boyfriend… But Come on! I- I was trying!”

“You didn’t do anything Dayzel…”

Dayzel burst out into a fit of tearful laughter. “I was that bad huh?” He shook his head… “Please… Just punish me. Or Kill me. Or whatever you’re gonna do to me. But - I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you I SWEAR!” The couch was freezing over along with him. Mibium took the chance to step closer and knelt down to be eye level.

“Dazzle listen to me… Why do you think I’m going to hurt you.”

“WHY?!” he looked at Mibium like he was crazy. “Because you bought me back as a PET!” He sobbed harder. He couldn’t control it now even if he wanted to.

“Is that what he told you?” Mibium’s voice cut through his panic and made him look up. He hesitated before nodding. “Dayzel… He ransomed you to me…”

“Oh…” was all Dayzel could manage before he broke completely and his body crumpled into Mibium in utter exhaustion, still sobbing into the larger man’s shoulder.

#nightingale sings #nightingale writes #my ocs #dayzel oc #mibium oc

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nightingaletrash · 7 months

Text

With a Little Help From My Friends 2/2

aaaaaaand part 2 of the Karlach Fix-It fic!

AO3

There was an acrid stink of sulphur that filled the workshop as Dammon melted down the unfinished infernal armour. The parts had been studiously dismantled, the leather and cloth being set aside should they be needed for another project some day, while the iron was carefully checked for impurities that might meddle with the mechanisms or prove too brittle even for a prototype. And while Nemeia couldn’t boast any real knowledge on the subject, it had evidently passed the test as Thulla had immediately handed roughly two thirds of the iron off to the smiths with the rest being thrown to one side for disposal.

Meanwhile Zanner and Nickles worked on the parts that their people had salvaged from the Steel Watch. Their work was rhythmic in its own way; they would each pick up a piece or part, lift it to their ear, strike it delicately with a hammer and then lifted it to listen again. The difference was indiscernible to Nemeia, but it was enough for them to form a small series of piles - rejects to be discarded of, ones suitable for use in the prototype, ones to be melted down for later, and the ones they intended to save as they were for the final product.

Between the sweltering heat of the forge, the constant bustle, and the stink of rotten eggs, Nemeia and the others decided to wait outside until Dammon and the gnomes were done.

For some, the stink of fish and brine wouldn't be an improvement over the sulphur, and the sun still beat down with its warm summer rays, and while the cool sea breeze more than made up for it, the sudden relative calm left open air to think and the ghost of Karlach began to buzz in her ears once more.

What was the point? I’m still dying. I’m dying. I’m going to die!

The anguish burned in her ears as her chest tightened. She reached over her shoulder to grab her violin, as if tuning it would push the memory away. It was done. Gortash was dead, and now they were going to fix what he had done as best as they could. It wouldn’t be the same as getting her heart back, but it had to be better than dying.

You’ll just keep going, won’t you, Karlach accused. Watching the stars. Warming your hands on the campfire. Dancing, eating, making fucking love all night - all of it, all of it!

Her fingers trembled as she turned the pegs to tighten the strings, and she had to force away the crushing sensation in her chest because this wasn’t about her and her feelings. It was about Karlach. Karlach who had watched as Astarion struck down Cazador, saw Shadowheart reclaim her family from Viconia DeVir, and witnessed Wyll defy Hell itself to rescue his father from the Iron Throne and Mizora both. They all confronted the ones who had controlled and abused them, and they had all emerged from the other side a little less broken, a little more whole, with their lives finally back in their own hands after so many years at their mercy.

And now Karlach had finally faced her monster and had come away with nothing.

She had every right to be furious. They’d taken her heart. Taken everything. And as far as she knew, no one had any idea on how to get even a shred of it back.

What am I supposed to do now?

Live.

If Dammon and the gnomes did their job, all she’d ever have to do was live. Then she could watch the stars, warm her hands on the fire, sing and dance and eat and make love all night - she could do it all. Whatever she wanted, wherever she wanted. Even if she’d never have her heart back, she would have everything else.

The thought was enough to finally give her fingers their steadiness back, and she drew her bow and played a few notes to test her tuning. One string was much too tight, so she loosened it a little, and then began to play in earnest.

It was a tune she only vaguely recalled from her childhood. From a play when her mother took her on a trip to Neverwinter. It had been a story about a hero on a journey to try and stave off a sudden and inevitable death caused by a curse placed on them by a sorcerer. Of course, the hero had succeeded in the end, but had learned that there was much value in living life to the fullest instead of chasing tomorrow’s glory.

What had struck her as odd even then was the lack of a battle between the hero and the villain. Not five minutes after the curse was placed on the hero, their saviour arrived and abruptly killed off the villain altogether.

It had seemed an odd choice at the time. Why not give the hero the chance to be victorious over the one who had doomed them in the first place? Especially when it remained unclear as to how they were going to save themselves. At least, her young mind had thought, if the hero goes down, they know they’re taking their enemy with them.

Well she understood now. There was no satisfaction in destroying someone when you were just as doomed as they were. And that moment of understanding would have been a very hard sell for a show that was meant to be for children.

But the tune of the closing number had lurched into her mind unbidden, so that was what she chose to play. It was simple and catchy, and that was all it needed to be. Anything to stave off the idea that something might still go wrong and bring their plan crashing down around them.

As she played, the others took advantage of the brief chance to rest. In the sudden rush to try and get all the pieces for the new engine, that fight seemed so far away now. Like it had been days ago rather than hours, though the fact that his hand was still whole and intact in her pack rather than wasting away into sludge said otherwise.

Maybe once they’d dealt with this Murder Tribunal business, she’d let Karlach decide what to do with it and all of its gaudy jewellery. A final ‘fuck you’ to the bastard that had ruined her life.

Two hours were whiled away before Barcus emerged from the workshop, covered in soot and grease stains yet beaming broader than Nemeia had ever seen before.

“It’s perfect,” was all he said before beckoning them to come back inside.

They filed back into the workshop where Dammon and the gnomes were all admiring their hard work, and frankly, if Nemeia hadn’t known better, she might have thought that it was the real thing.

It was a contraption unlike any she had ever seen. The infernal casing was opened up to show the inner mechanisms that had been crafted as close to the shape of a real heart as was physically possible, the chambers all contracting and relaxing in rhythm with one another as the mechanisms whirred and the pistons pumped.

Yet as strange as it was, it was beautiful in its own way. Even though it was just a prototype, and even though she was no artificer, she could see the sheer amount of love that had gone into its creation. The perfection in the curves, the polished shine of the steel and iron, even its presentation on the table showed just how proud they all were of their work.

They had made this for Karlach. They did this to save her life. And they’d made it beautiful.

“We altered the design to make use of the existing framework that Karlach’s current engine uses,” Dammon explained. “If we ripped out everything that Zariel put in her, we’d have to rebuild her entire chest cavity, and that would leave her out of commission for months. So these-” He indicated to the pipes that tapered off and connected to nothing. “-will snap into place. It’ll be almost as fast as installing her upgrades, which puts much less stress on her body.”

“Dammon’s been vital to the process,” Barcus said brightly. “His understanding of infernal engineering allows us to account for everything this new engine will need to be capable of to cause as little disruption as possible.”

Dammon chuckled and shook his head. “You say that as if I didn’t nearly throw out all of your hard work for the sake of the infernal casing. If it weren’t for Thulla’s suggestion, it might have come to blows.”

“The heat build-up it could have caused was a very serious issue,” Zanner mused as he poured himself a cup of coffee - when was the last time he’d slept anyway?

“But it’s all been resolved now,” Barcus said reassuringly. “We need to run a couple of stress tests, but more for our own state of mind than anything.”

“Meaning you can go fetch the infernal iron,” Dammon added, “and Karlach. I’m sure she’ll want to see this for herself. Maybe make her own suggestions.” He added the last not with a cheeky grin and Nemeia giggled at the thought.

“I can imagine an engraving that says ‘Property of Karlach Cliffgate - fuck off Zariel’ would be her first thought.”

“If she doesn’t think to ask for that, I’ll definitely suggest it,” he laughed. “Go on now. We’ll get to work on the stress tests. Once we know for sure that it won’t burst into flames, and that Karlach is firmly on board, then we can get to work on putting the real thing together.”

[]

For all their talk of camping, the ‘camp’ that the party had set up in the city was actually just everyone cramming themselves into Nemeia and Kyreth’s family home and making do with the squeeze. But according to the message on the cabinet in the hallway, the others had all decided to clear out so that Karlach could have some space to herself.

It seemed that her dark mood had accompanied her home then.

While the others drifted off to tend to their own devices, Nemeia headed upstairs to her bedroom. Karlach was inside as predicted, sitting on the edge of the bed with a picture held gently by the tips of her fingers.

It was a small charcoal portrait of Nemeia and Kyreth when they were both much younger. Nemeia had been maybe five or six when she saw the artist on the corner of the street, being paid to draw passers-by, and she’d begged her mother for one.

He’d been delighted by her enthusiasm, and it had remained on her bedside table ever since.

Nemeia knocked on the door softly before stepping inside, and Karlach looked up.

“Hey soldier. You’re back.” She smiled though it didn’t quite meet her eyes, and she set the picture to one side.

“Still ‘soldier’ after all this time, huh?” Nemeia asked, only letting a small tease slip into her voice as she shut the door behind her. She noticed that Clive had moved from one end of the bed to the other but said nothing about it.

Karlach just shrugged. “Old habits. Did I miss anything while I was off having a sulk?”

“Oh if only you knew,” Nemeia laughed. “I did miss you though. It’s less fun without you around.”

“I missed you too,” Karlach sighed. She shook her head. “You know, I wouldn’t have bothered falling in love with you if I knew that saying goodbye was going to be so hard.”

Nemeia just smiled and moved to sit beside her.

“But what if you didn’t have to say goodbye? Not now, not tomorrow, not for a long, long time. What then?”

She sighed defeatedly.

“Don’t Nem. I’m trying to stay here, now, alive while I can. But it’s like my mind is being whittled down to the black hole that should’ve been our future.”

She ran a hand through her messy black and red mane, sparks flying off of her fingers as they brushed over the metal clasps in her braids. But Nemeia didn’t even flinch.

“But we have a future. A beautiful one,” she said firmly, unable to hold back her smile. “Maybe a short and violent one depending on how things go, but its there.”

And the smile caught Karlach’s eye. She frowned, her glowing amber eyes narrowing as if she was trying to figure out what the trick was.

“Alright… and why is that? Because if it turns out that you’re just that doppelganger freak Orin here to mess with me, I will literally split you in half with my axe,” she said sternly.

At that, Nemeia had to laugh and she shook her head.

“Karlach. You don’t have to die,” she said, unable to stop the smile spreading over her face at all. “After you left, one of the Gondians found us and said they’d found a way to help. Them, the Iron Hands, and even Dammon - they put their heads together and figured out a way.”

A beat passed as Karlach stared at her, utterly gobsmacked. Her eyes were wide and her jaw had gone slack. And then her engine threw off a telltale blue flare, like a heart skipping a beat. She was dumbstruck, unable to speak. Her mouth flapped a few times with effort, but no words came out. So Nemeia threaded her fingers through her’s and explained it all, from Lowa finding them at the bridge, to the prototype that Dammon and the others had built in just a few hours.

As she finished, there were tears pouring down Karlach’s face. Steam rolled off of the tracks, but the heat of her body couldn’t evaporate them fast enough as they raced down her cheeks and dripped onto their joined hands.

When she finally found her voice, she whispered, “...are you real? Or am I having a really cruel daydream right now?”

“I’m real, darling,” Nemeia pressed. “I’m real, it’s real, it’s happening. The only reason I didn’t come tell you straight away was because I had to be sure that it would work, or I’d never forgive myself for getting your hopes up just for them to get snatched away again. Not after what happened with Gortash.”

She disentangled one of her hands to cup Karlach’s face and thumbed away her tears.

“I know it’s not your real heart. If I could get that back and give it to you so that you’d never need another engine ever again, I would do it in a heartbeat. If I ever got a single Wish, it would be all I could ever wish for. But if I can’t do that, then the least I can do is make sure that you get to live on your terms. Not in Hell, but here, where you belong.”

At that, Karlach laughed wetly and shook her head.

“Are you actually sorry that you can’t just find my heart and put it back? Babe, it probably got eaten and shat out by imps years ago,” she said bluntly. “All I want is to live, and you and everyone else - you’re giving me that! Gods, I could kiss you, but if I do that now, I won’t be able to stop myself, and then what will Dammon and the others use to make my new engine? Besides, there’s gonna be so much time for kissing because… because I’m going to live…!”

And in a stark contrast to the utter despair and fury that had befallen her that afternoon, her face was now brimming with unbridled joy as she leapt to her feet and dragged Nemeia up with her.

“I’m going to live!” she shouted joyfully as she began to bounce and dance around the room. “I’m going to live, darling! We’ll get a house and a goat, and fuck it, you still want kids? I’m fucking down! Fuck yeah! We’ll get to travel! Oh man, we have to go to Athkatla, you missed out on so much when fuckface tried to possess you, and I can show you all the places we went, and hey, do you think Gale would let us stay at his place if we went to Waterdeep? I bet he’d let us stay, and he’d make us dinner and show us all the amazing stuff there is. I’ve always wanted to go to the Yawning Portal, and I’d love to get a proper cuddle with Tara too! And we can go on adventures with Wyll and kick some evil butt, I bet Minsc would love to come along for that! Ooh, and we can go on so many more dates!”

Laughter filled the room as they danced haphazardly together, the unbridled joy exploding out of them as Karlach’s eyes and chest glowed blue with excitement. The tears had all dried up. If there were more today, they would be tears of joy. But for now, there was only laughter and shouting and dancing.

And by the time they were done, Karlach was out of breath from shouting so much. Even as she giggled and spun around, clutching Nemeia to her chest, her voice was hoarse from use. But eventually she slowed down and pulled back, grinning from ear to ear.

“So, when do we get this new doo-hickey in my chest so we can put this Gortash bullshit behind us?”

“As soon as they’re done building it. Which they need infernal iron for.” Nemeia grinned. “So let’s grab what we have and head on down there, shall we?”

[]

As it turned out, the real engine was the ultimate test of patience for everyone involved. After Dammon performed a cursory check of Karlach’s engine, he determined that it would be a while longer before it gave out and recommended that the Gondians get some rest after their long ordeal under Gortash’s thumb - he and the Iron Hands would work together to get the parts and pieces made for assembly, and when everyone was rested and ready and at the peak of their ability, they’d bring it altogether to create the perfect engine for Karlach.

As it turned out, the best way to keep Karlach preoccupied until it was ready was to encourage her to write a list of all the things she would do once the Absolute was defeated.

To no one’s surprise, she wrote ‘Nem’ at the very top in bold letters.

“Do I need to cast Silence on your room tonight?” Gale jabbed when he glanced over at the list.

“Oh mate, every night,” Karlach laughed. “Probably wanna put one on them two as well while you’re at it.” She nodded in Kyreth and Halsin’s direction with a smirk. “I bet they’re just as bad.”

“Worse,” Kyreth said bluntly with a cat-like grin, and Nemeia pulled a face.

“Please do not make me confront the fact that those two have sex,” she groaned as she wrapped her arms around Karlach from behind. “Now what else do you want to do, besides me?”

Karlach tilted her head and made a pensive looking face as she tapped her pen against her chin. “Oi Shadowheart!”

The room burst into laughter as Nemeia slapped Karlach on the bicep playfully.

“Don’t even joke, you!” she said with a grin.

Shadowheart sprawled across her armchair with a dramatic sigh. “Ah, and to think I was this close to finally getting a piece of that big, beefy tiefling.”

“Dream on Princess, I was here first,” Nemeia laughed. “Now come on, seriously. You mentioned Athkatla yesterday. What do you want to do when we go there?”

“Whatever you do, don’t bring Lae’zel. She’ll murder your child before your very eyes,” Shadowheart interjected, earning an angry ‘chk’ from Lae’zel as she dragged a whetstone down her blade.

“The imp was returned to the Hells, not murdered,” she hissed derisively. “If you truly want it back so badly then by all means, delve into Avernus to rescue Bing Bong.”

“You set him on fire and splatted him on cobblestones.”

“He should have tried harder not to hit the cobblestones.”

“You threw him-!”

“Girls.”

Both of their mouths snapped shut as Kyreth eyed them with the imperious gaze of a mother and the argument came to an abrupt end. And just in time too, as there was a sudden rapping on the door. Kyreth stepped out into the hall to answer it.

“Ah, Lowa. This is about the engine?”

“Yes! Dammon’s doing some last stress tests, but its ready to go otherwise. We can do installation whenever Karlach’s ready-”

She barely finished the sentence before Karlach had leapt out of her chair and barged out to the front door with all the energy of an overexcited puppy.

“I’m ready now, let’s go, go, go!”

Everyone was up and moving without any instruction, doing their best to keep Karlach from immediately taking off without them while they locked up the house and shouldered their weapons. It was easier said than done because she just couldn’t seem to stop herself to the point that she started jogging in circles on the spot.

“Come on already, I’ll start carrying you all if it gets us there faster,” she groaned.

“It pays to be cautious when Shapechangers are on the loose, darling,” Astarion sighed. “Don’t want them rooting through our things while we’re gone. Imagine if they took Clive hostage next.”

“He’d fight them off, easy,” Karlach snorted, holding up her fists as if to demonstrate. “Now hurry up, let’s go!”

And they were off, heading down to the Gondian-Iron Hand workshop at the harbour. Karlach kept running ahead and having to wait for the rest to catch up, resulting in her bouncing on the balls of her feet impatiently. At least the passers-by seemed to find it amusing enough, judging from the bemused grins and giggles that followed them as they went.

When they reached the workshop, every last person who had pitched in on the engine was gathered in the main room with the fruit of their labour displayed on the table before them.

If Nemeia had thought the prototype was beautiful, then it was nothing compared to the real thing. It was sleek and compact, with the glowing infernal iron moulded into perfect shape for the casing. Everything was sleek and polished, and practically glowed in the lamp light, and everyone from engineer to alchemist to coffee-runner was beaming with pride as the party filed in.

Karlach was gobsmacked. With a quick glance for permission at Dammon - who nodded in assent - she stepped forwards to pick the engine up and examine it. It glittered from every angle. Everything fit together in a beautiful harmony, with so much love and care that nothing could be a more fitting tribute to its new owner. Then Dammon caught her attention and silently mimed opening it up with his hands. So she did so with an almost uncharacteristic care and gentleness, as if she was terrified to break it.

And there, on the heart inside, was an engraving that read:

Property of Karlach Cliffgate - fuck off Zariel.

“Well… fuck me,” she sniffed as tears welled up in her amber eyes.

“Do you like it?” Barcus asked tentatively, his mouth pressed into a thin line with nervousness.

“Like it? I love it,” she sobbed.

She set it back down tenderly, then strode around the table and scooped him up into her arms in a fierce hug. For a moment he was caught off-guard, but returned the hug with a brisk firmness and a wobbly smile on his face. Then once she released him, she turned to Dammon and pulled him into a hug next.

“Thank you,” she sobbed. “For everything.”

He grinned as he wrapped his arms around her back and squeezed hard.

“Don’t thank me. It was Zanner’s idea in the first place.” He pulled back. “I just chipped in.”

But Karlach just shook her head. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have lived long enough to meet Zanner. Hell, I wouldn’t be able to touch anyone. You gave me so much already, and now you’re giving me the rest.” Her lip wobbled and her voice grew thick as she continued, “you’re giving me my whole life back.”

He squeezed her again and patted her shoulder before pulling away to give her the chance to rub the tears from her eyes. And when that was done, she continued with her hug train, giving a hug to every last person who had worked on her engine. The gnomes all looked a bit flustered at first, but otherwise were glowing with pride as the tiefling thanked each and every one of them.

When she was done, Dammon clapped her on the shoulder.

“Ready to get to work?”

She beamed brighter than the sun.

“So fucking ready, mate.”

[]

The house was packed to bursting that night, and the drinks were flowing. Wyll and Halsin had returned from a trip to the tavern, having procured three whole barrels of ale, and no one wasted any time in cracking them open and pouring out the drinks.

Karlach was the centre of attention with her new engine, despite Dammon’s repeated pleas for her to take it easy for a few hours at least. While no longer aflame with a hot orange flame glowing in her chest, her spirit was by no means reduced. If anything, she was more boisterous than ever. She bounded from room to room, hugging everyone she saw and dragging people out for dances more than once, and it didn’t seem like she was going to be slowing down any time soon.

Right now, Wyll was on the floor with her, both of them smiling and laughing and having the time of their lives as the alcohol flowed. Some of the Iron Hands had broken out into drunken singing, and the Gondians were taking the chance to just relax and enjoy themselves. Meanwhile Gale was in the kitchen, trying to figure out how much food he’d need to make to accommodate for everyone, and it seemed that Astarion had decided to ‘help’ - meaning he was hanging around and drinking wine while offering commentary. Shadowheart was once again in her armchair by the window, though this time with her own glass of wine, and she seemed more content with observing the festivities over joining in. The same could be said for Lae’zel who had slunk off upstairs to engage with martial exercises over chatter, though she appeared soon enough when Gale finally called for dinner to be served.

Halsin and Kyreth busied themselves in helping Gale with serving, doing their best to make sure that everyone got a portion, and soon enough, the noise died down to a general chatter as everyone settled in to eat.

By the time Dammon and the gnomes all departed, it was past midnight and it didn’t take long for everyone to decide that they were ready to retire for the night. There was a queue for the bathroom as usual, and nightly routines were carried out in short order before everyone shuffled off to their bunks for the night. But as Nemeia passed Gale as he stepped out of the bathroom, he winked at her discreetly before disappearing downstairs.

For a moment she was baffled, but upon opening and closing her bedroom door, she suddenly understood. The house outside of the room had suddenly fallen silent. No shuffling footsteps from downstairs or loud coughs from the other rooms. Just Nemeia and Karlach, who was sat on the bed humming to herself.

Clive was perched on a chair in the corner with his back to the bed.

“Thinking of your boy as always,” Nemeia joked as she approached.

“Of course,” Karlach chuckled. “I would never forgive myself if he got scarred for life.”

She sat expectantly on the edge of the bed. Her whole face glowed with boundless delight as her lover cupped her face and tilted it back. Nemeia ran her thumbs along her jaw, taking in the beautiful sight of her love filled with joy and hope, with her whole life ahead of her.

Then, without warning, Karlach wrapped her arms around Nemeia’s waist, tipped back on the bed and pulled her down with her, cackling with glee as her lover squealed in surprise. She pressed her lips to the delicate pink neck, then to her jaw, up her cheek, over her nose, down the other side and finally reached her mouth.

They melted into each other, hands finding purchase on shoulders or in hair, tugging their bodies together into a tangled mess. They rolled over, with Karlach taking her usual place on top of Nemeia where they paused briefly to gaze at one another.

A beat passed before Nemeia broke the silence.

“I love you so much,” she said softly.

“Well that’s good,” Karlach replied cheekily before she leaned in, her lips just barely grazing over Nemeia’s as she added, “because I plan on loving you for the rest of my life.”

The rest of her life… that sounded beautiful indeed.

#nightingale writes #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #karlach cliffgate #nemeia #nemeia/karlach #karlach x tav #dammon #barcus wroot #zanner toobin #fix-it fic

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wordswrittenbynight · 2 years

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Writeblr Intro

Hello friends, I'm NightingaleFlow. Feel free to call me Night, Gale, Flow, or Nightingale, whichever floats your fancy. You might know me from my fandom blog, @nightingaleflow.

About Me: I'm currently in my 30's, bisexual, my pronouns are she/her or they/their, and I'm a cat parent as well as an aspiring author. My degree is in Philosophy & Religion, though originally I studied Film. My favorite color is purple, my favorite food is sushi, and my favorite article of clothing is a pair of black sweatpants.

This Blog: This is my official writeblr for my original writing content. I'll be posting snippets, participating in writing/ask games, reblogging and posting writing advice, and just generally vibing with my original works.

Genres: I tend to prefer either very dark horror or super intense romance for both reading and writing. However, for both, I will gladly explore anything if it catches my interest.

My Current WIPs (as of 10/07/2023):

Main WIP:

Even Death May Die: Death searches for the perfect soul to replace them...and they just might have found them.

Other WIPs:

Mage Princess: A princess, born in a kingdom that forbids magic, may just be the most powerful mage to ever exist.

Eternity: A woman accidentally sends herself to the underworld when trying to bring the person she cared the most about back to life.

Labyrinth: A serial killer puts nine people in a deadly maze that only one can escape alive.

Black Friday: A serial killer takes advantage of Black Friday to trap and kill people in a store.

The Girl in the Mirror: A girl receives a new mirror only to realize there's someone trapped inside.

The Winner: A woman who doesn't want to win the lottery wins the lottery.

I'm interested in making friends with other writers and look forward to being part of the lovely writeblr community. If you're interested in any of the above, drop a like/reblog/hello. I can't wait to meet you all!

#writeblr intro #writeblr #nightingale writes #writing #writer intro #writers on tumblr #wip: Eternity #wip: Labyrinth #wip: Black Friday #wip: The Girl in the Mirror #wip: The Lottery #wip: Even Death May Die #wip: Mage Princess

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blackberry-sour-and-sweet · 1 year

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So @owe-nsft posted this amazing piece the other day! And I decided to write something based off/inspired by it with Present's reaction to seeing Eliza.

Note: This is an entirely consensual piece, but, due to the nature of the relationship itself being very whumpy, I am putting it here just to be safe. But both parties here are consenting adults.

Eliza uses any pronouns, but is using she/her in this piece. Eliza belongs to @owe-nsft

Present uses They/he/she pronouns, but is using he/him for this piece. Present belongs to me

Contains: primal/possessiveness, body worship, over-stimulation, pleasure crying, begging, multiple orgasms, eating out, nonhuman body parts (long tongue, fangs, horns, and wings), marking, light painplay if you squint, manhandling.

"Hey Eliza-" Present entered his bedroom, squinting and looking around through the dim lighting and curtains, "You said you had something to show me?"

"Over here."

Present's gaze turned in the direction Eliza's voice came from. "Oh thank goodness you-" he pulled back the curtain and froze mid-sentence.

Eliza was sitting on his bed, entirely nude, and shooting him a coy smile over her shoulder at him.

His entire face flushed red as his eyes trailed over her, taking in such a beautiful sight. "Gorgeous." The word left him before he could even process his lips moving. This was his. Finally.

He drew closer, climbing onto the bed and paused before reaching out. "May- " he swallowed. "May I touch you?" His hand hovered over her shoulder, waiting for her reply.

She tilted her head and hummed, tapping her finger against her chin. "Beg me for it." The coy grin widened as she watched Present's reaction.

Present pulled his hand away, careful not to bump her, as he nodded with fervor. He knelt down behind her, and kept his hands at his sides, bunching into his pants.

She kept her eyes trained on him and gave a nod for him to proceed.

"Please. Please let me touch you and worship you Eliza. I've waited so, so long. And you are more heavenly than I ever could have imagined. Please, I beg you." The words spilled from his mouth like a waterfall.

Eliza hummed again and looked away for a moment, as though mulling it over. Present waited eagerly for her reply. After another beat, she nodded, "You may".

Present grinned as he uncurled his hands. He placed one on either of her shoulders, and leaned forward to plant a kiss against her neck. "Thank you."

He started small, allowing his hands to glide across her shoulder and her back. Earning a small gasp as he brushed over the nerves between her wings. He trailed down the curves of her spine and lovingly held her waist to plant more kisses down her jawline and her neck. He slipped his hands forward and slid them up and down her thighs. Eventually dipping between them and ever so gently pushing them apart. He could feel her slightly shaking under him.

He drew his hands up her front now, taking his time to admire and praise every inch of her. He ghosted his hands over her chest, and relished in the shudder that ran through Eliza. His Eliza.

He whined against her neck. "Please, I need more."

She gave his hand a soft squeeze. "Then take it." She spoke so confidently, yet gently.

He pulled his hands back for a moment to quickly rid himself of his capelet and shirt, not bothering with his pants quite yet. He then shifted off the bed and stood in front of Eliza. Though only briefly, giving her a moment to back out if needed.

He watched her eyes trail down his chest and waist, then back up to his eyes. He saw her grin, before giving a silent nod.

That was all he needed.

He leaned forward and gently pushed her backwards onto the bed. Next, taking her legs and swinging them up onto it as well. And lastly, he climbed back on, pushing her legs apart, and situating himself between them.

He had a hungry look in his eyes, almost ravenous, as he looked down at his prize. He wasn't going to wait any longer.

He firmly took hold of her wrists and moved them up towards her head, making him look over her. He bared his fangs with a wolfish grin and growled. "Mine."

He heard her squeak in surprise, as her eyes went wide. Instinctively tugging her arms, but they were firmly held in place. She wasn't going anywhere.

He let himself down on her, putting almost all his weight on her. Reveling in the contact. He bucked his hips slightly and started grinding against her with the soft fabric of his pants. He could feel her tug against him in surprise, and her legs jerk at the new sensation. He buried his face against her neck again, fangs brushing against her veins, before starting to suck a hickey on the side of her neck.

He listened as she very quietly whined at the new sensations. A satisfied smirk grew on his lips as he moved spots, sucking hickey mark after hickey mark all the way down to her collarbone. Everyone would know he'd won. Know who she'd belong to.

He could feel her start to tremble under him. He pulled off and looked at her face, she was definitely flushed and had a dazed look. He hummed and met her eyes questioningly.

"Not enough." Was all she could think to say.

Present nodded, that ravenous grin returned, and he chuckled. He stopped moving, enjoying the glorious whine it pulled from her.

He let go of her wrists and sat up, shifting slightly to back up from her.

Confused she shifted to start sitting up as well, "Wha-"

With a hiss, Present shoved her back down against the mattress. "Stay."

Eliza blinked, cheeks heating up again. But made no move to disobey.

Satisfied, he took her legs in his hands and spread them wide, lowering his head down. He kept his grip firm before experimentally flicking his tongue over her clit. She gasped above him, and her legs jerked hard against his hands.

He chuckled for a moment, before pressing his lips to her clit, sucking and swirling his forked tongue around the sensitive nerve. He could hear her fully moaning now, but seemed to be muffling it behind her hand. And he felt her prosthetic reach down and clasp his horn. He showed no mercy as he continued. His claws dug into her legs tight enough to just barely draw blood, as he kept her open to him.

Eventually he heard her pitch change and he felt her spasm and grip him. He felt her twitch hard in his mouth as she finally came.

He briefly pulled back to catch his own breath and admire his work. As Eliza had a blissed grin spread across her face, tears tracked down her cheeks. Oh how he wanted to see more.

He sunk back down and gave another lick at her clit, just to feel her jump.

"Ah- Present!" He heard her whine tiredly. "I-I already… mmmmmm-"

He hummed around her. Pulling back again. "I know." He simpered. "But I'm not done with you yet." He gave no warning before pushing his inhumanly long tongue inside her. Making her moan and twitch around him. Eagerly, he thrusted in and out. Working her up again. Before eventually toppling over the edge again.

He found watching her fall apart utterly intoxicating. As he alternated the process many more times before he'd had his fill. Leaving Eliza thoroughly spent, and a trembling, mumbling mess with a dumbstruck grin on her face.

#nightingale sings #nightingale writes #nsft #my oc #present oc #friend's oc #eliza oc

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ghostbsuter · 8 months

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The house of Nightingale & Constantine ( P. 1 )

> next part

.・゜-: ✧ :-

You know, when Batman reassured him (was it tho? His way of using words is a bit... confusing.) of bringing in a third person for their common problem, Phantom, Danny, didn't press nor worry.

He regrets it now, just a little bit.

—

Dick liked Danny.

The small guy has been an absolute delight!

(He isn't grinning when he and Damian duke it out, doesnt watch fondly when Danny and Jason exchange the most weirdest ways of insulting someone or when He and Steph gossip, Cass sitting behind him with her hands in his hair.)

(He can see from the corner of his eye the way Tim hides a grin behind his hand, texting Danny someone rapidly and their Guest laughing at random times, the way even Duke, despite wearing the sunglasses, seems to warm up pretty quickly to their new brother friend.)

(It's doesn't help that he has black hair and blue eyes either.)

Danny has been living with them for some time now, temporarily as it may be, and grew on them all pretty quickly.

Bruce told them when Constantine arrived at the cave, seemingly irritated for unknown reasons, and they all were ushered to the elevator.

There is no noise as they arrive, Danny few feet off the ground and engaged on a hot topic with Steph as they go down the stairs.

The moment Constantine is in sight however, has their resident ghost snapping out of the conversation and zooming in on the man from afar.

It's kind of funny? The way his black hair fluffs up like in a Ghibli Movie, the way his eyes narrow to slits, glowing a faint green.

Many shout in alarm at the sight of agitation (?), Dick sees Constantines own eyes glow a eery gold??

It's like two cats staring down one another, a showdown.

(Someone should record this.)

The two meet down in the middle of the cave, Danny is bristling and John scowling.

"Really Bats? A Nightingale?" The blond man scoffs, pushing his hands into the pockets of his coat, hands roaming for cigarettes probably.

"Excuse me? I thought the line of Constantine died out back then, with the way you handle your stuff." The teen hisses back, a hand running through his poofed up hair.

"Hah!" The Hellblazer gives a mocking laugh, cigar already in hand and lit. "'With the way we handle our stuff'? Weren't the Nightingales out of commission not so long ago?"

The glow might have died out, but the tension only rose higher.

Danny turns to Batman, glowering.

"Asking for the help of the house of Constantine? Are you crazy? Those nutjobs have no self-preservation!"

John's eye twitches at the remark.

"No self-preservation, my ass. Nightingales do nothing but mess with stuff they shouldn't, talk about self-preservation when you have it yourself, pipsqueak."

And Danny? Danny growls.

"All you do is trick every being to do your bidding! One day all of this will catch up to your house and me? I will watch as it burns."

The blonds cigarette snaps in his grip.

"Burn? Me? Doesn't the house if Nightingales hunt the beings we 'trick'? It seems to me that your lineage is already going down as we speak."

The argument (?) continues and the batclan does nothing but watch as if its a particularly interesting tennis match.

(John looks like he's about 5 seconds away from strangling Danny and the teen about to bite off John's head.)

"What's going on?" Finally, Batman steps in.

"What's going on? What's going on?? You said you'd bring in a third person! Not a constantine!"

The bat shows no signs of anything really, when both teen and man whip around to face him.

"I thought you'd know better than to involve yourself with the house of Nightingales."

"I was here first! No take backs!"

"And yet I know bats longer, don't I, pipsqueak?"

"Foolish trickster!"

"Imprudent necromancer!"

(Apparently, beef between two houses of dark exists and they had the chance to experience it first hand.)

(This is one of the many occurrences.)

#dp x dc crossover #fic prompt #writing prompt #john constantine #danny nightingale #the house of Constanine and the House of Nightingale have infinite beef #constanine can and will punt this literal toddler #steph: fight fihht fight #danny and john have family beef #what if danny meets constantine but i do u one better #its hate at first sight #batman has absolute no idea what happening #hes taking it like a champ tho #its jason btw #the one who records this showdown of two feral cats that are alive (or half) despite the circumstances #dc x dp prompt #dcxdp #dpxdc

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 4 months

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i broke so here's from crowley to his angel

I danced through all the fires, and I was so free

I was so unfettered, I was so unheld

Angel, I only stumble when you look at me

Why won't you touch me with more than eyes

Do more with your lips than just smile

It's only for you that I would ever plead

Angel, don't ask me to follow you to heaven

I don't need your forgiveness, I need your love

I don't need them to save me from damnation

Because when I fell from heaven I fell for you

And if you'll just for once try to understand

You've tempted the tempter and stolen the thief

So when after thousands of years I find the courage

To reach for you, to hold you to my dark heart

Forget the world that came between you and me

Don't choose to save it, choose to save us

The world will end in fire or ice, heaven or hell

But all that will matter is that we could have been us

So when they ask you to leave for heaven

Don't walk away, promise you're staying with me

Angel, tell me you said no

-Asmi

@neil-gaiman expecting that therapy money any day now, sir.

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an-eldritch-peredhel · 1 year

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You are the daughter of an angelic faerie and an elven king. You have grown up inside the only magical safe-haven of an increasingly apocalyptic land outside. You have wanted for nothing, essentially leading the perfect life, suffering and death playing little role beyond the abstract. Your father will never die, and your mother will never leave, but for tradition you are still crown princess and are educated as such. You love to dance and to sing.

You meet some kind of monster inside your mother's borders, a monster not of her or your making. It stumbled across you, dancing in the forest, bloody and travel-worn and weary and wide-eyed as it stares. You are stronger than it, but you run rather than lunge for the kill. You feel pity, more than fear. And something about him makes the part of you that you inherited from your mother sing.

He tries to follow you, for a year and a day. You are stronger, and faster, and stealthier, and you let him see you sometimes anyways. You are not convinced that he is not a monster, but nor are you convinced that he is.

Spring blooms again to the tune of your song, and you let him get closer than before until you run.

But you hear him speak for the first time. He is a speaker, and perhaps to him you are the monster. You do not run, and you do not kill.

He calls you "Tinuviel"

He calls you nightingale- a little songbird, plain and brown, with a lovely voice. They are your mother's creation, but he does not know this.

He calls you daughter of twilight- perhaps for your skin and eyes and hair, but perhaps because that is when he has seen you most.

He calls you singer- creator of the very fabric of the universe, skilled enough to deserve the title.

You are the most beautiful creature the world will ever see, the daughter of an angel and a king. He does not call you beautiful, or angelic, or princess. He calls you a singer, plain and brown, dark and distant as the approaching night.

He is bloody and travel-worn and weary and wide-eyed as you dare to step closer.

He called you nightingale.

You don't know what to call him, but you hope to find out.

#my writing #my headcanons #headcanon #silm fic #lay of leithian #beren and luthien #luthien #luthien tinuviel #beren #eldritch peredhil #second person pov #sorry but the vibes demanded it #big kudos to that one post that went #'luthien probably stopped for beren bc he called her nightingale acknowledging her skill instead of her beauty'#bc that was a big inspiration here #luthien gets a lot of my love but THE RELATIONSHIP IS TWO SIDED #BEREN MAKES HER FEEL LIKE HERSELF AND I WILL NOT STAND FOR SLANDER #also incredible vibes that luthien canonically worries beren is an orc at first afaik #like maybe problematic but. an eldritch demigoddess going 'you look like you're on my parents kill list of monsters. oh well' speaks to me #not pictured is beren trying to pull himself together w/ internal screaming bc 1) that *should not have worked*#he is as smooth as sandpaper. he is a vegan hobo bogman who talks to animals and is traumatized and hasn't showered in months #2) the Creature that is Looking At Him with its head tilted and eyes pinning and stalking closer with fangs and talons out #should be doing much more for his survival instincts and much less for his libido than it is #beren is certifiably Doing His Best and i love him #banged this out in 10 minutes in a daze of blorbo squeezing lets see if people like it lol

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nightingaleflow · 2 years

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Hey! Could you do a Gaara x fem reader where he is in love with her but he is extremely scared about hurting her especially with the way he used to be in the past and midst this turmoil his brother out of anger gives him the push he needs and says to him : ❝ if you keep waiting until you’re done ‘working on yourself’ before you let yourself be with the person you love, you’re never gonna be with them. and they’ll find someone else who is brave enough to give them a chance to love them exactly how they already are. ❞

I saw this on your prompt list😊

Yep, here you go, little nonnie. <3 Hope you like it!

Word Count: 1.1k Warnings: Insecurity, mild language

Working on Yourself

You had crept up on Gaara over time. You were a jonin, so at first you only saw Gaara when receiving or debriefing from missions. You kept things professional, of course, but you always tried to say something nice to Gaara, even if it was just a “I hope you have a wonderful day, Kazekage-sama.” He appreciated your comments, and always reciprocated your kindness by asking after you.

The two of you kept things general at first, but at one point, you mentioned how proud you were of your students for coming so far with their taijutsu, since taijutsu was your speciality.

Gaara looked up at you. “You are a taijutsu specialist?”

You nodded, studying him curiously. “Is that significant?”

“Perhaps,” Gaara said. “I have been looking for a new taijutsu coach since my previous one was stationed in the northern territories. Would you be interested in the opportunity?”

You smiled. “I would be honored.”

Gaara led you down to the bottom floor of the Kazekage Tower, where a private training field was hidden away. Once the doors closed, you engaged him in a spar. You weren’t fighting full force, you just wanted to test and see where his skills were. You could easily see he’d been trained due to his stances and how he reacted to certain moves, but there were still gaps in his stance and reaction times that needed work.

You started meeting three times a week to work on Gaara’s taijutsu. He was the best student you’d ever had. He was very attentive and a fast learner, taking your corrections without an ounce of resentment or disrespect.

Your sessions started to grow slightly longer. First five minutes, then ten minutes, then a half hour. Your conversations shifted from purely professional to more friendly, and when the two of you finally ended things for the day, Gaara always felt gloomy when he had to return to his office.

As the weeks went on, Gaara started to notice more about you. The way your nose crinkled when you laughed. The way your eyebrows pinched when he made a mistake, and the way they relaxed again once he fixed it. The sincerity in your voice when you talked to him, and the way you gave him your full attention while he spoke.

He realized that he valued your company - more than that of a ninja, but as someone precious.

And he didn’t know what to do about that.

The only people who were truly close to him were his siblings and Baki. His friends were far away and busy with their own lives, and his family were, well, family. You were the first in so long he wanted to spend time with. You were the first at all that he wanted to hold close.

But did he really deserve such a thing, he asked himself. He’d spent more than a decade trying to atone for the sins of his past, and still felt like he would never fully cleanse his soul. He’d done so much wrong by so many people. He still had so much more work to do. Things like love were out of his reach.

And yet, it didn’t stop him from cherishing the time he spent with you.

It didn’t stop his face from lighting up whenever you entered his office.

It didn’t stop him from wishing that when you corrected his stance with gentle touches that your hands would linger just a bit longer.

He wanted you so badly it burned, but he didn’t feel like he deserved you. To say he was lost was an understatement.

One day, Kankuro dropped in for a chat. Since it was almost time for you to appear, Gaara barely paid attention to his brother, glancing at the door between sentences.

Kankuro was suspicious of his behavior, but he clearly understood once you walked through the door and Gaara’s whole demeanor changed.

You spent a minute saying hello to Kankuro, catching up from when you’d been paired on a mission a while back. The whole time you talked, Gaara couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

Kankuro watched you two with a fond smile, then asked if he could steal his brother for another minute before you started.

You agreed and told Gaara you’d meet him at the training field when he was ready.

Once you left, Kankuro raised an eyebrow at Gaara. “I see you two are getting along.”

“Of course, we’re friends, and she’s an excellent taijutsu coach.”

Kankuro scoffed. “I’m not blind, Gaara. Friends don’t look at each other like that.”

“Then you’re mistaken.”

Kankuro folded his arms. “Am I? So if I went downstairs right now and asked her on a date, you’d be ok with it?”

White hot rage shot through Gaara as he shot out of his chair.

Kankuro snorted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You can relax, I’m not interested in her like that.”

Gaara bowed his head. “Forgive me, Kankuro. I didn’t mean to act so rashly.”

Kankuro sighed. “I forgive you, but I still don’t see why you’re hemming and hawing about her. Just go ask her out. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“No,” Gaara said. “I have a long way to go before I’m worthy of being anything to her.”

“Gaara, you know that’s bullshit, right?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Look, I know you’re all about working on yourself and atoning for your past and all that, and that’s a noble cause. But if you keep waiting until you’re done ‘working on yourself’ before you let yourself be with the person you love, you’re never gonna be with them. And they’ll find someone else who is brave enough to give them a chance to love them exactly how they already are.”

Gaara closed his eyes. “But…what if I hurt her?”

Kankuro’s gaze softened. “Is that what this is really about?”

Gaara nodded.

“Answer me this, Gaara. Do you respect her?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then you should tell her. Let her decide what she wants to do instead of making the decision for her.”

“…You’re right,” Gaara said. “When did you get so wise, Kankuro?”

Kankuro grinned. “I am your big brother, it comes with the territory.”

Gaara rolled his eyes, then excused himself and descended to the training field. He saw you going through your warmup, stretching your shoulders and legs.

He felt a bead of sweat roll down his face that had nothing to do with the desert heat.

“There you are,” you said, smiling at him. “I was starting to worry.”

“Forgive me,” Gaara said.

You waved your hand. “Are you ready to get started?”

Gaara smiled. “Actually, before we begin, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Tag List: @justmyownreality @therantingfangirl @mrsbakashi @anchy-bananchy @hashira-mal @allyallygator @nnandmm-archived-hard @rayofmirasol @therozpoz @undersero (if you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know)

#nightingale writes #Gaara #Gaara x reader #Gaara x y/n #Gaara x you #Kankuro #Sand Siblings #Gaara imagines #Naruto #Naruto fanfiction #Naruto imagines #fanfiction #writing #my writing #ask nightingale #anon

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nightingale-ghost-writer · 1 year

Text

Your Wildest Dreams [Soap x Fem!Reader]

Summary: In a mission gone wrong, you and Soap have to hole up in a safehouse, trying to stay warm during the cold Russian winter

Author’s Note: Not me thirsting after Soap for 5.1K words instead of finishing the companion piece I started for Maybe… also, my first ever shot at writing reader-insert! Anyway, here’s a really plot-lacking, self-serving piece for anyone interested

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

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence, extremely suggestive, borderline smutty? No actual explicit smut, but let’s call it NSFW to be safe

Shrike /SHrīk/ noun

a songbird with a strong sharply hooked bill, often impaling its prey of small birds, lizards, and insects on thorns

a 10-foot (3-meter), 400-pound (180-kilogram) U.S. air-to-ground missile designed to destroy missile batteries by homing in on their radar emissions

Icy water enveloped you. Pinpricks instantly broke out under your skin, dancing through your blood and your bones. For a blessed moment, your mind went blank. Then, survival instinct kicked in. You kicked your already numbing legs as hard as you could, launching yourself back toward the night sky. Just as you thought your lungs might burst, you broke the surface, gulping in the crisp mountain air. It burned the back of your throat as you bobbed in the current, trying to get your bearings.

What should have been an hour-long intel collection mission had gone to shit in less than a minute.

You and Soap had been dispatched to a safehouse of Makarov’s in the Russian countryside to gather intel. You were anxious- excited to be out with Soap, nervous about the actual infiltration. Soap’s signature flirting melted that anxiety quickly. It was one of the reasons you enjoyed missions with him so much… and one of the reasons you got so flustered around him.

Tensions with Russia were high, so rather than sending a full team, the pair of you had been dropped off by helo three clicks from the site. You’d go in, get the intel, get to the safehouse, and wait for evac. Barring any immediate danger, you’d be holed up there overnight, hiking out early the next morning to be picked up. Price was unhappy about sending you in without comms or backup, but Laswell was concerned with radio traffic and her sources had told her it would be empty.

Laswell’s sources had been wrong.

You’d taken a long, cold hike up the frozen mountainside to a deteriorating stone building that might at one time have been a castle, but was now little more than half-crumbled walls and hastily built wooden shacks. There had been no indicators that anything was amiss- no footprints in the snow, no pings on Soap’s heartbeat sensor, no noise. Laswell’s intel had seemed good.

Then you’d opened the door to one of the shacks and been met with a full squad of soldiers. They clearly hadn’t been expecting you, and you had the distinct advantage. Before they could react, you’d grabbed the nearest soldier, using him as a human shield while you put him in a headlock. Soap had sprung past you, shooting two others before ducking behind a desk. An overeager and overconfident soldier had fired several shots at you, nearly grazing your arm, but killing his teammate in the process. Soap had lunged at him, baring him to the ground and stabbing a combat knife deep into his throat.

The three remaining soldiers raised their weapons, shouting to each other. You’d killed one with a well-placed throwing knife as you threw yourself behind a table and watched in horror as another launched himself at Soap. You raised your gun, but there was no clean shot with them grappling as they were. Then, you were blindsided by the last soldier. He leapt at you as you tried to line up a shot on his teammate, knocking your gun to the ground and grabbing one of your wrists.

Instinct took over as you wrestled, and before you knew what was happening, you and your attacker were flying through the nearby window. You both rolled down a steep, snowy hill toward a frothing river, each trying to get the upper hand. Before either of you could, you went straight into the icy river, sinking instantly. Luckily, you recovered first.

After taking a moment to breathe, you dove back underwater, looking around for your attacker. He was close enough to reach out and touch, back to you as he tried to get to the surface for a breath of air. You swam toward him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders to hoist yourself up, and stabbed him. Once in the neck, once in the ribs, and then once in the chest for good measure. His body had gone limp at the first thrust, but you couldn’t be too safe.

As soon as his body floated out of your arms, you realized the bigger issue- the current, and the cold. You were already being dragged downstream, the tide splashing over your head and threatening to pull you back under. You swam for the bank, but your progress was minimal. Your muscles were already starting to freeze up. You looked around frantically, desperate for something to hold onto. Just as your fingers met with a sharp rock, you heard Soap’s voice calling your name.

You looked up to see him scrambling down the hill, sliding on snow and loose bits of shale. Blood dripped from his temple and he seemed to be cradling his arm to his chest. You tried to pull yourself out of the water to meet him on the banks, but your muscles refused to work. The icy water was doing its work and you could feel your body beginning to shut down.

“Soap,” you called weakly. He had almost reached you. “I can’t move.”

He waded waist deep into the water, reaching out for you with the arm that wasn’t held carefully to his side. “‘S alright, hen, I’ve got you. Take my hand.” You shakily, slowly, tried to reach for him, barely managing to brush the tips of your fingers against his, and he managed to lean just a bit further out to wrap his hand around yours. He tugged you toward him, and after a moment, was pulling you into his side. “You’re freezing, Shrike,” he murmured, rubbing your arm for a moment. You were shivering violently, barely able to move.

“I am,” you said, teeth chattering. “Your head.” Soap waved you off as he looked around, gaze settling in the direction of the town where you were supposed to wait for evac.

“The intel-”

Soap cut you off, shaking his head. “Forget the intel. Price said if anything went wrong, we get to the safehouse.” His eyes scanned your body, looking for any injuries, as his hand rubbed over your arms. “Are you okay? Can you make it back to town?” You nodded, your violent shaking making it nearly impossible to tell. You reached for his wrist, pressing on it gently. You were no medic, but it didn’t feel broken to you.

You held his wrist with one hand as the other reached up to wipe the blood from his temple. “You okay?” you asked. He winced as you wiped at the blood, but nodded. You breathed a sigh of relief when only a shallow cut was visible.

“Just a sprain,” he said. He pulled his wrist carefully from your grip and unzipped his jacket, pulling it off.

“W-what are you-”

“You need it more than me,” he said. He walked around behind you, tucking you into the jacket before zipping you up in it.

“You’ll freeze,” you protested. Soap only shook his head, offering a lopsided smile.

“I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

You were afraid your legs would refuse to move, but were so grateful when they didn’t. The warmth that bloomed in your chest at Soap’s sacrifice warmed you more than the jacket itself, although it did keep out the worst of the biting wind. You both trudged through the snow toward the village, teeth chattering and bone-cold. You walked in relative quiet, broken only by Soap’s soft inquiries.

“How’re you holding up, hen?”

“I can’t feel my toes, Soap.” “Hang in there, Shrike. We’re almost to the safehouse.”

As the town came into view, your vision began to swim. You’d been given the safehouse address. Now you just had to find it so you could lie down and bundle up until Price could send someone to get you.

You breathed a sigh of relief as Soap found the house, prying off one of the address numbers to reveal a key. He opened the door, revealing a tiny studio. It took less than a minute to clear- the only room with a door was the bathroom. While Soap dug out the radio system hidden under the sink, you turned the heater on full blast and looked for blankets. You found a pile in a cupboard, dropped them onto the foot of the bed, and headed toward the kitchen in search of a kettle to heat some water.

You only vaguely heard Soap talking to Price through the fog in your mind, something about getting some rest and pickup in the morning. Then, very suddenly, you found yourself looking up at the ceiling, wondering when you’d stopped shivering.

“Shrike? Shite!” You only realized you’d fallen when Soap pulled you upright. “Shrike?” He raised one hand to your neck, feeling for your pulse. He cursed under his breath, muttering in an unintelligibly thick Scottish accent as he hauled you up against his chest. You were vaguely aware of being carried into the small bathroom and deposited on the countertop there. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting to stay awake. You were suddenly so sleepy.

You opened your eyes when you heard a squelching sound, freezing as you watched Soap strip off his clothes. You’d seen him without a shirt, but only in passing in the halls on base. Never this close, and never with no one around to check your gaze. Nevertheless, you’d memorized his scars the last time you saw his bare chest. He had some new ones since then. You stared at his rippling muscles as he unbuttoned his pants, peeling the wet material off his toned legs, leaving him standing in front of you in nothing but his dog tags and boxers. You tried not to stare at the outline you could see in the fabric as he took one step toward you to stand between your legs. Then his hands were on his jacket, the one you were wearing, pulling the zipper down and your arms out of it.

“Stay with me, Shrike,” he murmured. His hands shook as he unbuckled your tac vest and pulled it off. You raised your arms as he pulled up your hoodie, then your shirt, leaving you i n just a sports bra. You let your own hands rest on his chest as you lowered them.

You giggled, tracing patterns across his pecs and down his ribs. His muscles jumped under your fingertips. “What are you doing, Johnny?”

His cheeks reddened as he glanced up, dutifully keeping his eyes on the task at hand as he hastily pulled off your boots and pants.

“I’m trying to get you warm,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Checking you out,” you said boldly, arching an eyebrow at him and smiling. You weren’t sure where the confidence had come from, but you’d had a crush on him since day one and you’d be damned if you didn’t make the most of this opportunity. He had just reached up to grip your hips and he faltered for a moment before pulling you down off the counter. He turned you around, walking you toward the bed with his hands on your waist until pulling back the covers. Soap sat, pulling you down between his legs and back against his chest. He pulled up the extra blankets, wrapping them around both of your shoulders. You giggled again, wiggling back against him as his arms wound around you. You couldn’t tell whether he shuddered or whether it was just his shivering. You’d started to shiver again, yourself.

“Stay with me,” he repeated. His body trembled around you, proof that he probably should have kept his jacket after all. His hands rubbed your shoulders, occasionally tracing the straps of your sports bra, and he curled his legs up, bringing yours with them. His knees held yours together and he shifted one arm down to circle your waist, keeping your back pressed to his chest and your hips connected. One hand brushed your hip and he tilted his head so that his chin rested in the crook of your shoulder. His hold on you was tight, but reassuring. You savored the way you fit perfectly in his embrace.

Your bare skin felt numb, even under the pile of blankets.

Everywhere Soap’s skin touched felt scalded.

“You’re so hot,” you murmured.

You felt as much as heard when Soap chuckled low in his chest. “I’m actually freezing.” His voice shook when he spoke.

You leaned your head back on his shoulder, turning so that your cheek touched his. “You know that’s not what I meant,” you whispered.

“I know,” he smiled, eyes fixed on some point across the room. “I’m just trying to save you from saying things you don’t mean, so you don’t regret them later.”

When you cocked your head at him, shifting in his arms to better face him, his smile dropped. “C’mon, Shrike, don’t make this any harder than it already is.” Hope flared in your chest like a bonfire. Your mind ran through all the possibilities of that statement, and every one of them suggested attraction to your lovesick mind. You stared blankly at him and he tipped his head back against the headboard, heaving a sigh. “I’m sure Gaz would be none too pleased if I made a move on you when you were only flirting because of hypothermia.”

“Gaz..?” You didn’t understand what Gaz had to do with Soap making a move on you, and you were too confused to focus on either the fact that he said that he might, or that he had just admitted he knew you were flirting with him. Your heart beat wildly in your chest. You barely dared to breathe.

Soap’s face flamed as he looked away. He had stopped shivering so badly, but his voice still shook a bit when he spoke. “You and Gaz. I know you’re… well, something. I’d never-”

You hadn’t imagined it. Your snort cut him off. “Gaz and I are friends, that’s it.” Now it was Soap’s turn to stare blankly. You fought to speak normally, not with the giddy optimism you felt. “Remember the day Price introduced me to you all? Gaz was the first one to shake my hand, and then he showed me around base? I knew right off the bat that Ghost didn’t trust me and I thought you wouldn’t either, since you two were clearly so close.”

That brought a smile out of Soap. As much as Ghost tried to play it off, the two had definitely become good friends over their time working together. Soap loved to flaunt his position as the resident boogeyman’s right hand, to anyone who would listen. But mostly to the boogeyman himself.

You turned again, snuggling closer into his hold. His arms tightened around you, almost imperceptibly. “Anyway, yeah- Gaz was my first friend. But he’s just my friend. Nothing more than that. You and Ghost are Batman and Robin, Gaz and I are Mario and Luigi.” Soap barked a laugh, and you grinned.

When his cold nose nudged behind your ear, you couldn’t even pretend your shudder was from the cold. You gathered the last of your courage, waning with the arctic chill in your bones, but bolstered by his near-confession. “So tell me, Sergeant.” You’d lowered your voice, turning up all the charm you possessed. “What am I making ‘harder than it needs to be’?” Soap froze, and panic washed over you like water as cold as the river you’d come out of. He hadn’t been confessing anything. It had been nothing more than his usual firefight flirting, harmless and silly and just a little cocky and oh-so-hot and why would you ever think he could actually be interested in you and-

Soap flipped you, one arm around your waist as he lay between your legs, propped up by the elbow next to your shoulder. Before your mind could catch up with what was happening, he leaned down, lips a hairs’ breadth from yours, and hesitated. It was the longest and shortest second of your life. You could feel his warm breath on your parted lips as his eyes scanned your face, looking for any sign of hesitation. You half expected him to lean back up, all mischievous smile and twinkling eyes, and tease you. He knew. He knew how you felt and he was going to mock you for it. Then he leaned down, eyes fluttering shut. His lips brushed yours softly, barely touching, and your mind went blessedly quiet. Your body responded of its own accord; your knees came up, framing his waist and squeezing lightly; one hand went to his bicep, lightly grasping there; the other slid to the back of his neck.

You pulled him closer.

The kiss turned feral in a heartbeat.

The arm around your waist tightened, pulling you half up off the bed, as he let more of his body weight rest against you. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, begging for entrance. You happily gave it. Your tongues slid together, fighting for dominance as you each tried to deepen the kiss even more. You raised a leg, wrapping it around his waist, and he groaned your name into your mouth. When you pulled on his mohawk, his head fell to your neck as he sucked softly on your collarbone.

“Johnny,” you breathed. He swore, lifting his head to kiss you again. He pulled his arm out from under you, running a warm hand across your bare skin from your hip to the back of your knee where it wrapped around him, before wrenching you up against him. You gasped at what you felt. If you’d had any doubt before, there was none now- Johnny was packing. You could feel the heat of him through both your underwear and his boxers. Time seemed to slow as he rocked gently against you, pressing his forehead to yours as your hands cradled the back of his head. He was panting, pressing light kisses against your face. He dropped his head to your shoulder, tucking his face into your neck. He seemed to be steeling himself, trying desperately not to move.

“Not kissing you,” he whispered. It took you a moment to think through the haze of lust and realize he was answering your earlier question. “What am I making harder than it needs to be?” “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Some of your earlier boldness had returned, shored up by his clear physical response. “Only that?” you whispered back.

The groan of your name on his lips was the single most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

“What?” you teased. “That’s all you want?”

He tugged at the back of your knee again, pressing you against himself. You both stifled moans. “You know damn well that’s not all I want. I want you. All of you.” He turned his head, ghosting his lips against your cheek. “I’ve wanted all of you from the moment you asked me why a ghost would need soap.”

You started, turning his head with your hands so you could look into his eyes. “That’s the first thing I ever said to you.” He nodded, gaze unflinching. His eyes smoldered, but there was a softness in them you’d only seen a handful of times over the years. When your brother joined the military, following in your footsteps. When your best friend’s husband cheated on her. When your mother died. Any time you’d cried in his arms.

“T-that was the day we first met,” you stuttered out. Again, he nodded solemnly. He turned his head in your hands, kissing your palm.

“I knew right away,” he whispered. Soap had laughed, a fully belly laugh, and clapped you on the back. Ghost had rolled his eyes, and you’d hoped his reservations about you would fade. Not only so you could get closer to the devilishly handsome, charming Sargeant who followed his every step. When you didn’t say anything, he released your leg, mumbling apologies and sitting back on his heels. The loss of his body weight and heat, along with the blankets, made you shiver all over again. Johnny didn’t see it- he was running his hands over his face, head hanging. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I had no right, please forgive me-”

You reached out a hand, grasping his wrist to stop him from retreating any further. “Forgive you for what?” you asked softly. His face was pained as he struggled to hold your stare.

“For taking advantage,” he began. But you shook your head, reaching out your other hand to touch his cheek. You didn’t think he even realized that he leaned into your touch.

“You didn’t take advantage of anything.” You scooted forward on your knees, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. You leaned up, kissing along his jaw, before licking a stripe of skin just behind his ear. He trembled under your touch as you ran a hand down his arm and pressed yourself against him. “I want you, too. So you should take me.”

“Steamin’-,” Soap groaned your name. “You can’t just say that to me,” he whined, breathless. His fists were clenched, eyes squeezed shut as your fingertips skimmed his skin.

“And why’s that?” you teased. You were sure that nothing could ever match the rush you were getting from his reactions to you.

“Because,” he ground out. He’d lost the fight to keep his hands off and they now rested on your hips, intermittently squeezing the flesh and hovering. His pupils were blown, nearly eclipsing his irises. You’d never seen hunger like that in your life and it set you on fire. “If I start with you, I won’t be able to stop.” His voice was lower, hoarse. Desperate.

You scooted forward until your knees touched his, pressing as much of your body against his as you could. His entire body quivered in his struggle not to devour you whole. You dragged your lips up the column of his throat, pausing when they brushed the shell of his ear. “Then I suggest, Sergeant, that you don’t stop.”

Johnny didn’t need to be told twice.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You woke up to a soft thudding sound in your ear. You were so comfortable that you didn’t want to move, but then you remembered you were on the field. Your head snapped up, looking around the tiny room. The thudding had stopped, and when you looked down, you realized why.

You’d been sleeping with your head on Johnny’s chest, his heartbeat in your ear. His arms were still wrapped tightly around you, face turned toward yours. He looked younger asleep. No worry lines creased his handsome face, and his brows were relaxed instead of their usual serious, lowered state. His lips were just slightly parted, breath softly fanning across your shoulder.

The night came back to you in one big wave. Kissing Johnny, straddling him, holding him close between your legs, his mouth on your neck, your mouth on his shoulder, your name on his tongue, being pressed to the wall, the stretch of him, and both of your hands seemingly everywhere at once. You ached everywhere in the most delicious way. Even your throat was sore from moaning his name over and over and over again as he made good on his promise that his mouth was good for more than just talk.

Your cheeks flushed remembering.

As if sensing your racing heart and thoughts, Johnny stirred. His arms tightened around you, pulling you nearly on top of him as his eyes fluttered open. He smiled when his eyes settled on you, slow and lazy.

“I thought I dreamed all of that,” he said softly. His voice was husky with sleep, accent thicker than normal, eyes soft as he stroked your cheek with the back of his hand.

You quickly weighed whether or not you were prepared to deal with the cockiness that would come with your next statement. “Certainly good enough to be a dream,” you whispered. The grin that split Johnny’s face was instant and radiant.

“Oh, aye?” he asked. “Would you say it’s everything you’d dreamed of?”

“I love you,” he’d gasped, holding the back of your head to his shoulder as you fell apart for what must have been the tenth or hundredth time. “I love you,” he’d repeated as he lost control, trembling violently in you and in your arms. “Oh, God, I love you,” he’d whispered as you cried out his name and carried him in a vice grip right over the edge with you. You’d never dared to confront your feelings for him too deeply, refusing to dig beneath the surface of the crush you’d harbored for him. In all your wildest dreams, you’d never begun to imagine him putting to words what you felt- and never in the most intimate moment of your life.

“Better than my dreams,” you mumbled, turning your head away from his and pressing your cheek to his chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a purple bruise you’d sucked into his shoulder. You winced, raising your head to apologize, but before you could even open your mouth, Johnny turned your head and kissed you softly. You kissed him back, and then smirked as a thought crossed your mind. “Dream of me often, then?” you asked.

Johnny’s eyes darkened as he pulled you down for a searing kiss. “Every night,” he whispered. You shuddered. You could already feel his body responding beneath you as you kissed him again, smiling to yourself when he groaned. He reached for the tiny bedside table, muttering about a clock, and found the alarm there.

He turned a wicked grin toward you. “We’ve got time for round two.”

“Round two?” you shrieked. Johnny snickered as he lifted you up, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. Round five was no less impressive than the first four, in no small part due to the added feat of Johnny holding you up against the cold shower wall while the hot water beat down on you both.

“I can’t believe,” he’d panted “That we could have been doing this all this time.”

“You should scold Gaz for getting in your way,” you’d panted back. Johnny had practically growled at that, picking up his pace.

“I’m about to scold you for saying another man’s name while I’m inside you.”

He came undone the moment you moaned his name in his ear, pulling you off the ledge with him.

By the time you’d actually managed to get clean, your clothes had miraculously dried despite laying crumpled on the tile floor all night. You were thankful as you both stepped out into the flurry of wind and snow to trudge up the hillside toward the evac point. You hiked in companionable silence, only breaking it once you could see the ridge where you’d be picked up.

“How’s your wrist?” you asked. You’d been worried about it all night, but Johnny either hadn’t been in pain or hadn’t been in enough pain to pay it any mind.

“It’ll be fine,” he answered, smiling at you over his shoulder. “How’s your… you?” You both snickered at that.

“It’ll be fine,” you parroted. Your Scottish accent was horrible, but Johnny beamed at it all the same. You were about to pull yourself up by a rock when he grabbed your wrist, nudging you until your back touched a tree. He tilted your chin up with his knuckles, lowering his head slowly to kiss you tenderly. You sighed into the kiss, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he held you close by your waist. His lips tugged at yours softly, lightly dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before pulling back to look at you intensely. He seemed to be trying to memorize every inch of your face.

“We can’t tell anyone, can we?” you whispered.

For a long moment, Johnny was silent. When he finally answered, his voice was low. Sorrowful. “I don’t know,” he said.

You nodded, pasting a smile on your face even as your heart throbbed. “That’s okay. We’ll figure something out.”

He smiled back. “Yeah, we will.” Your smile felt a little more genuine after that. You trekked the last bit up the hill, and by the time you reached the top, you could hear the whir of the chopper. You shared one last longing look at each other from a respectable distance before the bird touched down. When the door opened, Ghost’s skull plate greeted you.

“You guys injured?” he shouted. You both shook your heads, clambering in and strapping yourselves into harnesses on opposite sides of the chopper. Ghost slammed the door, strapping himself in again on your side.

He stared at Soap, some look you couldn’t quite read. When you glanced to Johnny, his eyebrow was raised at his partner.

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” Ghost rumbled.

Soap looked to you, then back to his friend. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “We didn’t get much rest- too cold,” he said evenly. If you didn’t know it was a lie, you’d have believed him. But something in the way Ghost held his stare told you that he didn’t. He could read everyone like a book, but especially Johnny. You needn’t have worried, though. Soap started right in on recapping the mission for his friend, chattering away as he always did, and you watched as Ghost’s shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit while he listened. His gaze flicked to you every so often, and you added to the tale where you saw fit. Ghost took your words as truth- he trusted you now, years later, after you’d proven yourself to him and the rest of the team.

You smiled to yourself. It would be good to see the rest of the team, to be back on base, in the comfort of your own bed… and you were sure Soap would find his way there, too.

#john soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap #john soap mactavish x reader #cod mwii #nightingale writes

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