anonymousasked:
2situations: maggie saying "I'm yours alex, I'll do anything you want" in a sexual scenario and alex saying "you are mine maggie, do you understand that?" In a non sexual scenario... maybe in a fight? in a "I can't lose you" way.
I took this in a very very angsty – but also deeply loving – direction, so it starts out very violent. Don't worry – our girls will be safe and in love and alright, of course, because I'm not Jason Rothenberg. But, just a heads up.
The latest string of Cadmus kidnappings has been targeting local cops. The ones whose bodies they've found – the ones whose bodies had still been recognizable – had all been shot in the head. Had all been brought back to life in some absurd way before dying again. Had all had "property of Cadmus" tattooed on their dissected chests.
So when they're pinned down in a fire fight and Alex grabs Maggie by the shoulders and looks her fiercely in the eyes, Maggie understands the promise Alex is making her when she says, "You are mine, Maggie, do you understand that?"
Hers. Not Cadmus's. Never Cadmus's. Hers.
Maggie nods and Maggie's body goes through the motions she was trained for as Alex makes good on her promise to keep Maggie safe, to keep Maggie from being branded anyone else's.
Making good on her promise involves Alex knocking Maggie down, knocking Maggie away from a bullet that whistles right past her head, missing her temple by mere centimeters; making good on her promise involves Alex putting two bullets in the brain of the man who'd fired the shot; making good on her promise means Alex fighting hand-to-hand, back-to-back with Maggie, burying a knife into someone's stomach and ignoring her own bruised ribs to shatter to ulna of the soldier who'd slashed a gaping wound into Maggie's side.
Making good on her promise leaves a wake of broken Cadmus bodies; making good on her promise reminds Alex just how ruthless she is when someone threatens the people she loves, just how much blood she has on her hands; just how much blood she will track out of there with her boots.
But the only thing concerning her now is that none of that blood is Maggie's.
She's quiet as they patch each other up, quiet as she keeps hearing that bullet whizzing past Maggie's temple.
She's quiet as they crack open two bottles of beer and collapse on the couch after two very long, very separate showers.
She sits right outside the bathroom door while Maggie steams up the bathroom. She can't shake the feeling that she's guarding her. Because she is.
During her own shower, she barely notices her own body, barely notices the swirls of metallic red coursing off her arms, off her face, out of her hair, down her legs, down the drain. Barely notices her stiffness or the spots that sting harshly on contact with soap, on contact with water, on contact with air.
She rushes. She needs to have her eyes on Maggie. She needs to have her hands on Maggie.
She rushes, but it still takes a long time to make the water run clear, not red.
She rushes, because she needs to touch Maggie, needs to see Maggie.
Because a bullet almost opened Maggie's skull, and Alex can't breathe.
Maggie passes a beer to her silently as Alex pads out of the bedroom in Kara's old National City University tee and her old Stanford sweats. Maggie is wrapped in Alex's softest button down and a pair of basketball shorts and a cloud of lavender incense.
Alex looks at her and Alex puts down her beer without drinking it and Alex can't tolerate one more moment of not touching her, not feeling her, not hearing her.
"Maggie," she says, and her voice is raw, ragged, wrecked.
Maggie looks up and Maggie immediately understands, setting aside her own drink and standing, letting her body melt into Alex's, letting every one of her curves, every one of her lacerations, every one of her bruises, match up with every one of Alex's.
"Alex." She reaches her hands up to touch Alex's still terrified face, still wet hair, but Alex hisses and Alex backs away and Maggie drops her hands and Maggie blinks.
"Babe, what – "
"Maggie, I…" You almost died. You almost died and I need you, I need to consume you so you can stay safe inside my body, as my body, but I swear if I touch you as deeply as I need to I will break you with the force of it, so I can't bare to touch you at all, can't bare to breathe, can't bare to not touch you, because what if you disappear?
"Maggie, I… I need…" Her eyes are a raging storm and her eyes are feasting on Maggie's damp hair and soft body like she's been tortured and starved her entire life until this very moment.
"Take it, Alex," Maggie tells her, her voice low, her voice soft, her voice nectar, her voice knowing. "Take what you need."
If I do, you'll break; and if I don't, I'll explode and the force of that will break you, too.
"I'm yours, Alex. I'll do anything you want."
Alex's pupils expand to fill her eyes, and she fights to remember what it is to breathe, what it is to do anything but use all her strength to hold back from violently, gently, tenderly, ravishing the wide-eyed, open-lipped woman staring steadily up at her.
"I need to see your body," she finds herself rasping, and Maggie inhales silently, sharply. "Undress for me."
Because god knows if Alex even lays of a finger on her, she will have control over nothing – nothing – except, of course, Maggie's body.
And with the ferocity she needs to touch her right now? She doesn't trust herself with that, no matter how trusting, no matter how open, no matter how willing, Maggie's words and eyes are.
So Maggie swallows and Maggie obeys, her eyes never leaving Alex's face as she slowly, laboriously undoes each button; as she shrugs out of Alex's flannel, braless and exposing her breasts along with her stitched up side, fully to Alex. She swallows and licks her lips and keeps her eyes locked in Alex's as she hooks her thumbs into her basketball shorts, into her boy shorts, tugging them both down in one motion, letting them drop and pool around her ankles with the shirt.
Maggie takes a long breath as Alex's barely controlled eyes rake every inch of her naked body, cataloguing every bruise, every scratch.
Every place where bullets almost pulverized her organs and left her at the mercy of Cadmus.
"What else do you need, Alex?" Maggie asks, because Maggie knows.
"Bedroom," she says, and Maggie leads the way, stopping and turning when she reaches the bed.
"I'm yours, Alex," she reminds her.
"Lay down," Alex worships, and Maggie provides.
But Alex shakes her head.
"On your stomach," she corrects, and Maggie barely holds in a gasp, barely bites down the heat Alex's need is shooting through her core. She shifts, crawling higher up onto the bed. Shifts, so she's resting on her stomach, grateful that most of her stitches wrap around her side. She looks over her shoulder so she can see Alex, still standing, still staring like she can't quite believe Maggie is real, alive, here, still so carefully restraining herself.
With other women, Maggie has always been resistant to lay on her stomach, naked. Resistant to being this exposed, this open, this vulnerable.
But she knows – she knows, because she understands – that Alex needs her exposed, needs her open, needs her vulnerable.
So that she can feel Maggie's pulse leaping underneath her, safe and unharmed and alive and protected, by Alex's body covering hers, by Alex's body on top of hers.
She knows Alex needs to feel that, and god, she needs to feel it, too.
"Alex. I'm not gonna break. I'm not gonna disappear. I'm yours, Al. I told you: I'll do anything you want. I want to do anything you want. Anything."
"Stop talking," Alex growls as Alex breaks, completely overcome now, and Maggie obeys, and Maggie's entire body keens as Alex's is suddenly covering hers, suddenly pressed perfectly against her ass, her back, her thighs, Alex's fingers not knowing whether to seal themselves over Maggie's wrists, Maggie's waist, Maggie's ass, so they settle everywhere and nowhere all at once before she braces herself up on one hand and wraps the other under Maggie's body, around her waist, pausing to wait for Maggie's desperate nod before slipping her fingers through her curls, skimming across her clit, moaning and grinding down onto Maggie's ass when her fingers go still lower to find how wet Maggie is for her.
"Take what you need, Alex," Maggie begs, erratically driving her ass back into Alex, her hips down onto Alex's hand, and Alex kisses the back of her neck, and Alex pushes deep inside of her.
Maggie whines and Maggie arches her back and Maggie sighs and Maggie is careful not to scream because that isn't the sound Alex needs to hear from her right now.
Alex groans and Alex fucks her deeper and Alex grinds her teeth to keep from screaming, because that isn't the sound Maggie needs to hear from her right now.
"Mine," Alex husks into Maggie's ear as she curves her fingers just so inside her, as Maggie grinds her clit down onto Alex's palm and grabs desperately for Alex's free hand to link their fingers together.
"Yours," Maggie gasps, and Maggie cums all over Alex's hand, barely noticing how the tightening of every part of her body shoots new aches through her injuries, conscious only of Alex's body on top of hers, Alex's moaning and rocking her way through her own orgasm against Maggie's ass, body simultaneously shuddering with pleasure and wracking with sobs as she presses her lips to the spot on Maggie's temple that a bullet nearly obliterated mere hours before.
"I love you, Alex," Maggie tells her for the first time as Alex smoothes her hair off the side of her face, because she almost died today, and life is too short, and we should be who we are and we should tell the girls we love that we love them.
Alex wracks with one more sob and Alex rolls off of her gingerly. Maggie sighs and shifts to her side, facing Alex and stroking her cheek, brushing her sweaty hair off her forehead.
"I love you too, Maggie," she rasps, because the bullets missed her today, and I love you was her promise that they would always, always miss her; so that Alex would never have to.