#I spent a whole hour making it and that means I get to inflict it on you

[rumelismorin]

PF2e Bonuses/Penalties by Vibe

- BONUSES - 

+1 Circumstance

Oh, you shouldn’t have! How nice

Kind of like getting $50 in that it’s good news but it won’t pay rent

”Ah but you see my alchemist has Specialty Crafting: Alchemy”

+1 Status

Bards love this one cool trick (monsters HATE him!)

The easiest one to get with a spell so you know it can’t be that good

Still good, tho

Friendship ended with Fireball. Heroism is my best friend now

+1 Item

Cool sword!

Striking runes might be flashier but getting that first +1 potency is great

Maybe these Healer’s Gloves will make me stop critically failing Medicine

(They won’t)

+2 Circumstance

Okay now we’re talking

If you get it on a melee attack you can pretend to be a Fighter

Unless you’re already a Fighter, then you can pretend to be Iomedae and smite someone to dust

Default bonus for any skill feat so situational that you use it once per real-life month

Damn, skill feats just hit different once you hit Master proficiency

+2 Status

Oh hey, the bard took Inspire Heroics

Less common than you’d think given how common +2 circumstance bonuses are

(With the exception of Heroism, the ultimate catch-all buff spell)

Can we have more spells that give +2 status to some weirdly specific thing

Wait nevermind that was why PF1E had so many useless buffs

+2 Item

Whatever is giving you this probably has a weirdly specific once-per-day ability

You will forget this ability exists

+3 Circumstance

High level Aid sure is nice

Gonna be honest I have no idea how you get this bonus other than Aid

+3 Status

Your particularly lucky bard took Inspire Heroics

That or someone has thanklessly prepared castings of Heroism in their 9th(!) level spell slots

They could’ve cast a spell that’s literally called Massacre with that slot

I hope they’re a Warpriest so they can self-buff and cosplay as a fighter

+3 Item

If your weapon has this, you have to give it a cool name. I don't make the rules

The above is mostly so you never need to say +3 Major Striking Vorpal Greater Shock Speed High-Grade Adamantine Greatsword

+4 Circumstance

What if the Fighter had +46 to hit*? Haha, just kidding. Unless…

If your GM gives you this for free they are either A) giving you license to commit ultramurder or B) haven’t gotten the hang of PF2E bonuses yet

Either way it’s gonna be a wild ride

+4 Status

If there’s a way to get this consistently please let me know

+4 Item

Nice artifact! Hope it isn’t secretly cursed or something

If major bestial mutagens give a higher item bonus than any non-Artifact weapon, does that mean each vial is an artifact-tier item?

+5 or higher (Any)

The GM has decided that it’s their game and the bonuses can be as high as they want

*Level 20. Proficiency +28, attribute +7, item +4, status +3, circumstance +4. It’s unlikely you’ll get a +4 weapon, though, so most fighters can only hope to reach a mere +45. I’m sure they’re devastated.

- PENALTIES -

-1 Circumstance

Love to critically fail my Aid action

”The rules say I have to give you this penalty because it’s raining”

-1 Status

Watch as what would normally be a hit melts away to nothing because you were Frightened 1

On the flip side it’s very funny when this happens to enemies

Apply to any monster with the power of foul language and mean looks

-1 Item

Ah yes the mutagen penalty

You probably won’t need to make will saves during this fight, right?

I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you

-2 Circumstance

Everyone’s favorite modifier

Line up everyone, it’s flanking time

-2 Status

Surprisingly easy to inflict even at level 1 (Fear, critical Demoralize)

Gets very stupid when combined with Flat-Footed

Get in the car loser we’re going to crit city

-2 Item

Mutagen penalty, but only if the mutagen tastes spicy

Yes my sniper has 10 strength, yes this is a kickback weapon, no I will not set up my tripod

-3 Circumstance

Weirdly uncommon

Most circumstance modifiers are -2 or -4

I guess the GM wanted to mix it up

-3 Status

The monsters have just about had enough of your “winning” bullshit

Alternatively, somebody critically failed something lmao

You prepared spells or items to counteract this, right?

...right?

-3 Item

Whatever is giving you this, it’s cursed, get rid of that

Or you’re just really weak and wearing heavy armor lmao

-4 Circumstance

They don’t speak your language, maybe get Intimidating Glare

That or you’re shooting way past your weapon range for some reason

Either way good luck you're gonna need it

-4 Status

The good news is whatever condition gave you this probably won't get any worse

The bad news is you're almost certainly fucked

I hope you saved a hero point so that your Dying condition doesn’t also go to 4

-4 Item

Literally how

-5 or higher (Any)

You’ll do anything to attempt that check?

Anything at all?

Then perish

[mournersandfunerals]

The thing is, I can forgive a lot of it. The scene where Kaz tries to help Inej with her wounds? I guess it was a nice nod to the CK scene, if slightly too soon. The "I will have you without Armour?" Fine. We all wanted to see that anyway. Rushing Wesper into a relationship rather than keeping as the slow-burn from the books? Okay. I really loved them on screen despite that. Kaz beating up the dregs? Definitely could have done without it for obvious reasons, but whatever. I can brush it off.

But the two things that are really grating on me are Kaz's face-off with Pekka Rollins and Inej leaving to hunt slavers. Because the POINT of these things happening towards the end of the second book is that there's a build up.

These characters go through so much. We learn everything about them, we see their struggles and we root for them. We spend SO much time learning about Kaz's thirst for revenge. We see moments where he starts to lose it when it comes to Pekka, and slowly start to learn why. And at the climax of Crooked Kingdom, there's so much on the line. We finally see him snap. There's a build up there of something that he's spent his entire life and two whole books working towards.

The first season of Shadow and Bone consisted of 8 episodes. So we can estimate that the crows had probably less than 4 hours of screen time. And we learned nothing about them, really. They were the mysterious trio that were hired to steal something. And then suddenly S2E1's "Brick by brick" turns into the peak of Kaz's character arc. It takes away the impact and the reasoning behind it.

And the same for Inej. Where is the journey? Where's the trauma that was inflicted by a woman who was truly evil? When we see Inej running into Tante Heleen for the first time in the duology, she freezes. She can't do anything. Are you telling me that the same girl who is so terrified of this woman can face her without a problem?

Again, there's so much of a development here as well. Inej has this realisation and this epiphany about what she wants to do. She wants to hunt down these slavers. She wants to make sure that nobody goes through the same stuff that she did. And when she sees Heleen after that, it's when she slowly starts to lose power over Inej. I mean, she steals the necklace straight from her neck, for crying out loud. Erasing Inej's trauma from S1 was a problem but they dug themselves in a deeper hole by killing off Heleen. She can't go through the journey that she's supposed to. Her entire character arc was just completely erased.

And the thing is, in the duology, Inej still goes through even more hell before she can get free from her indenture. The Ice Court Heist, Van Eck's torture, Dunyasha, etc. And yet... she's free before the start of the heist?

The heist is an important job for each crow. They all have a reason for being there, and they all have something on the line. None of them really think they're going to survive it, but they're trying anyway because, at this point, what do they really have to lose? And for Inej, this is her chance to get the money to leave the barrel. So... are you telling me that she's going to willingly come back to help on a life-threatening job for freedom that she no longer needs? What's going to happen with Kaz now that he's already had that stand-off?

Would love to know because right now I'm as lost as the rest of the book fans.

[oxittocin]

I was wondering if you could write

How robin would react to aftercare from a gn reader after first time like a hot bath or a massage just to help her sore body parts if it's not too much to ask of course....

soft (nico robin x reader)

nico robin masterlist

thank you for the request, my friend. here's my take on this - i hope you find it satisfactory. i am just a nico robin simp and i am not a writer by any means so please accept my humble offerings :]

cw: suggestive (mdni!), gn!reader

Love is a funny word that evokes a spectrum of emotions, depending on its adjective. Love can be sweet, secure, overbearing, suffocating, dark, temporal, lasting, kind, chaste, lustful, conflicted, permanent - anything, everything, or nothing at all.

You’ve experienced plenty in this lifetime. Whirlwind romances that make your heart run wild and free, taking risks with a kind of reckless abandon that only youths can afford. Or perhaps even sweet dates under cherry blossom trees and spring, like splitting a banana milkshake and sharing a cone of ice-cream. Maybe you’ve even had a few one-night stands, drunk on the taste of liquor and sin on a faceless stranger’s tongue. One or two committed partnerships, even, months spent mapping out a future, only to see it go down the drain.

You thought you’d seen everything love and life had to offer, until you met her.

How could you even begin to describe her? Words fail you before you could even form a coherent thought. Nothing you say, write or think could ever do her justice.

She, who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. She, who continues to live on resolutely, in spite of the injustice that life had done unto her. She, whose will to survive seems to only grow stronger, in response to the tragedies life inflicts on her. A woman, whose life is shaped by the roughness of destiny and fate. Still, her softness is what shines through.

Soft smile when she says the spookiest thing. Soft gaze that she reserves mostly for Chopper, but you catch her sneaking a couple at you secretly too. Soft skin that you can’t help noticing, whenever she leans against you, head on your shoulder while she’s buried in yet another book. Soft touches that leave a burning and yearning on your skin whenever she brushes past you, or touches your hand.

It makes you want to love her softly. Tenderly, gently, kindly, lovingly, purely, compassionately.

——————————————

Loving her softly.

Bringing her a warm cup of tea before bed every night without fail. Lazy kisses by the deck as the breeze carries with it an air of serenity. Holding her hand under the dining table, rubbing comforting circles around her knuckles absentmindedly, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Loving her softly was the only way you knew how to.

She had asked you once if you were afraid of her, and what being with her entailed.

“The World Government, the organisations I betrayed and the mistakes I’d made. The whole weight of my existence. Are you certain you are fine with me?” She asked, slight desperation in her voice begging you to reconsider your choices. Her typically calm demeanor started to crack as she pushed you for an answer. This must mean a lot to her, you thought.

“It’s never been a problem for me.” You responded simply.

“Why?” She asked, unconvinced that you fully understood the gravity of the situation you were getting yourself into.

“You’re so easy to love.” You say with a shrug, “That alone makes everything else easy, too.”

She tilted her head away from you before you could catch a glimpse of her expression. You waited for a response, but her silence tells you that it was a moot point. You contemplated whether it would be a reassuring gesture to slip your hand into hers, but you decided against it. If she needs time, then you’ll gladly wait. An hour, a week, a month or a year, it doesn’t really matter. Wait you shall.

——————————————

Making love, softly, too.

Brushing your thumb against her cheek as your body coaxes pleased moans out of her lips. Delicate kisses, running your mouth along her curves as you paid attention to every inch of her beautiful skin. Fingers that trace up and down her back, tenderly tingling her senses, reminding her of your presence that has since taken over her life. Slow, steady rocking against her hips as her palm grips tightly around your wrists, as if begging you not to leave her after this was over. You take her hand, gently interlocking your fingers with hers - a silent promise that you wouldn’t leave in the morning.

The pinnacle of love is vulnerability. To bare your soul for another to see, shedding layers of clothes, shame, ego to present yourself in total unadulterated being. It’s scary because it transcends lust, into the dangerous realm of intimacy. It’s the same way she always insists on pulling you into a hot bath after the night’s activities. Burying her face in the crook of your neck, small splashes in the water as she attaches herself closer towards you. With her eyes closed, breathing steadily against your chest, she looked so at peace. It must mean a lot for a Devil’s Fruit user to be in a bath, completely unguarded around you. Reaching out gently to knead the knots in her shoulder, you feel a warm glow on your cheeks and you’re not sure if it’s from the skin-to-skin contact or the steam from the bath. She sighed, breath tickling your neck as she lets out a pleased groan.

“You always insist on taking a bath together after.” You remarked.

“I do.” She responded simply, slightest hint of a grin gracing her features.

“It’s intimate.” You pointed out.

She nodded, planting a tender kiss on your forehead.

The intimacy made you feel alive. Human, even - scared, confused, loved, anxious, grateful - all at the same time. You wonder if it’s the same way for her, but you never dared to speak your thoughts into existence. In case, just in case, she doesn’t feel it like you do.

There is nothing inherently remarkable about being naked or sleeping with someone else. After all, sex can happen between two strangers without even a thread of attachment.

This, though, is nothing ordinary.

You feel it in your gut. The butterflies in your stomach tell you so.

——————————————

With love, comes expectations. Love is ultimately a commitment and there are duties that one cannot run away from. In this case, blow drying her hair after a hot bath.

To be fair, she could probably have it managed herself with a simple flick of her wrists - summoning one arm to get the hairdryer, another to comb through her hair, another to get the towel - you get the gist. She insists you do it for her, and you pretend to complain, scoffing and telling her she’s lucky she’s cute enough to make demands from you. Secretly, it’s one of your favorite parts of the night.

Fingers running through her hair as you meticulously held the hairdryer a safe distance away from her scalp, careful not to accidentally burn her. She sits still and upright, patiently letting you work your magic on her. You lightly drag your fingernails against her scalp and the back of her neck. You feel her body jerk slightly, shiver running down her spine. You bit your tongue to stifle a chuckle, thinking about how cute it was that she’s so sensitive. The scent of her floral shampoo overwhelms the room. Lavender, you think.

It is the small moments like these that make you so painfully aware of how insignificant everything was.

The storms that rage beyond the Thousand Sunny, the seas teeming with unthinkable lifeforms, the skies that hold islands so vast. So tiny and unimportant are our lives in the grand scheme of things.

Still, in the limited time that you have to exist, there is no where else you’d rather be than here with her, hairdryer in your hand.

[extinctspino]

Secret admirer

Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Wednesday x Gorgon!GNreader

Wordcount:

Warnings:

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She held the soaked hat between her delicate fingers and placed it somewhere it could dry up a bit.

She had been getting flowers every single night for 2 weeks without a fail. It was about time she found out who kept delivering her specifically these flowers. 

She considered burning them at first but decided against it. This said person must have a good reason to be dropping them off at the balcony. 

She tried to wait for this mysterious person to appear, but just like elves they never show themselves when you’re watching.

Now that she has some sort of lead she can easily find out about who you are. She inspected the hat closely and discovered 2 things.

One, you were definitely part of the gardening club. On the back in big capital letters is read ‘GARDENING CLUB’. That was obvious.

Two, there’s a high chance you were a Gorgon. Gorgons typically wear hats like that to cover their statue-making snakes. 

This was like a little game for her. It’s as if you were testing her.

Did you finally want to reveal yourself by dropping your hat on purpose? A possibility.

Or were you just not careful enough and dropped your hat by mistake. Another possibility.

Whichever one it was, she was going to find out by paying a little visit to the said club. She laid down in her usual sleeping position - which made her look like she was laying in a coffin - and drifted off to nightmare land.

The next morning she skipped breakfast and immediately went to the gardening area. She had an amazing night, dreaming about torturing the people that deserved it most. 

You on the other hand... You were stoned the most of it. After a couple of hours spent being a literal statue, the stone started to crack. You were finally freed from your temporary self inflicted-prison.

You couldn’t sleep after that. You needed some movement to loosen your muscles a little. Being stoned for so long felt suffocating for you.

You went to your favorite place in school and walked around, watering the plants that needed to be watered, fed the carnivore plants some worms, and made sure everything was how it was supposed to be.

After finishing all your daily tasks you started wondering through all the different kinds of flowers. You were trying to pick out a new flower to drop by tonight. “Hmm, this one’s cool, but just not it.” 

You often talked to yourself. It became a habit after you started your whole flower franchise. 

“That one is perfect.”

“HOLY FLOWER.” Even the snakes on your head hissed at the sudden voice jump scaring you. 

You snapped your neck toward the voice and almost flinched when you saw who it was. “Wha- what are you doing here?” You asked her with wide eyes, she wasn’t supposed to be this close to you!

“Am I not allowed to be here? I was simply helping you pick out a flower for me.” You backed away from her, “Uhh, I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“So this doesn’t belong to you then?” You wished one of the meat-eating plants would just swallow you whole right this moment. 

In her hand was your one and only club member hat. You gulped audibly before reaching out your hand to take it from her.

“I thought you didn’t know what I was talking about? I can’t just let you steal this person’s lost hat.” Her blank face and murderous voice might as well just kill you because you were certainly going to die of embarrassment soon.

“Okay okay! You caught me. There’s a 99.99% chance that that’s my hat.” 

“No, no. Uhm I mean, 100%. Yes 100% sure that’s my hat that you’re holding there... in your hands.”

You were just incoherently blabbering about the stupid hat that literally no one cares about.

Wednesday couldn’t help but feel a little pinch in her heart when she saw you so flustered, so... cute. She deleted that thought from her mind the moment she even thought of that. 

But what she wasn’t able to delete was the feeling that was created by you and only you.

[hopefulgardenshark]

I was destroyed for 24 hours after the finale of Good Omens 2. Then I channelled my internal Crowley and started asking QUESTIONS. And that thought process alone got me in a much, much better state 😊

Rejection… ough, it’s complicated

You can read about my take on the stage of the relationship the angels are here. To be clear, I read them as a long-term, post-pheromones companionship, something waiting to move towards whatever it is after at least ten years of relationship in human terms.

Aziraphale gets his "job offer." I must make a caveat that, as most of us have already deduced, this was the choice between Coffee and Death. What does it mean for the couple? From Aziraphale's point of view, he is in a long-term loving relationship. He has been threatened with the utter obliteration, what means not only that he would have never existed but also that this act would leave a black hole in the life of his precious companion. This fragile demon hates loneliness and craves companionship as much as the angel craves crepes. And he also KNOWS how much the demon loves him, to the point that they can kill anyone who threatens him. And that can turn out very nasty for them.

So we get the whole messy scene that, on the surface, makes no sense. And this is the first time they suck at communicating with each other in all 11.5 episodes.

Aziraphale SAYS  he wants one thing totally out of character, and Crowley KNOWS it is (the series established that he recognized his angel tone of voice). Aziraphale's goal is to save Crowley from himself (see here why the plot analysis tells us so), which I dare to say Crowley suspects. Crowley, on the other hand, wants something totally IN THE CHARACTER (both times he was rejected, he wanted the same thing), and Aziraphale KNOWS it. Crowley's goal is to get into a "we" of a relationship SOMEWHERE, leaving to the stars together. We know that he loves the stars, which was established in S1 and again in S2. He does not say, "I love you"; he says, "I would like to spend my existence with you." He also says "we've spent our entire existence pretending that we aren't". He does not mean it as in "we pretend to each other." Pretending to Heaven and Hell.

This is not a moment of a big confession about love or feelings. This moment is an infliction point, all about what we want from this relationship from now on. And the moment of loss and realization of loss. Crowley got what Aziraphale wanted for five episodes, only to see his angel inexplicably change his desires. The whole mumbling about Heaven and Crowley as an angel doesn't make sense to Crowley because HE KNOWS his angel wanted a nest., It reminds me of all the tropes most recently explored in "Marriage Story." It is not an outcome two loving partners wish for, but sometimes people want different things WHILE STILL LOVING EACH OTHER. The" nothing lasts forever" has many meanings and can be read in different ways. On one level, it is a marker of changing desires and aspirations. On another level, the facial expression of Aziraphale, when looking at Crowley, full of absolute caring love, tells us that Crowley may not last forever, and he is just making sure he does. There is no rage in that scene, only mutual love and hurt. People part ways even if they still have a lot of love for each other. Sometimes, they find each other again.

And then the kiss. The kiss is mutual (you can see it when you play the scene very slowly), not romantic but desperate. They both hurt, but Crowley initiates this absolutely in character: the one who has always initiated a deep dive into the earthly sensations (it is first established in the Petronius oysters' scene). Then, he is forgiven because Aziraphale must say something that hurts (maybe someone is eavesdropping? At the end, the Bentley plays the Song. The way Aziraphale looks at Crowley and Bentley makes me think he asked the car to play it as a coded message.)

Crowley behaves differently from TWO other rejections he experienced in Season 1. The other two were very early on in their courtship. He felt them as personal back then: "I don't even like you, you are the demon" and "It is over." Sort of stuff we yell at our SOs when pheromones are high. Crowley does not take it well; he loves himself enough to know his dignity and has no problem leaving. In Season 2, this is more complicated. The long-term bonds of "precious existence" are stronger because KNOWING THE OTHER is on a deeper level. And he knows something is very, very wrong. Why is he staying there, waiting? He does not feel rejected as himself; he does not feel his love was rejected; he only understood his Alpha Centauri will not happen for reasons he does not truly understand. Right now, he probably thinks precisely what he said: Aziraphale is an idiot talking nonsense. Crowley hopes he will return to his senses. Because deep down, Crowley is an optimist. And he has what other demons do not: imagination. So don't cry for him, he will be OK. And remember the last Jane Austen novel on Aziraphale's shelf: Persuasion. Not to mention the only book Crowley probably has read: "The Crow Road"…

__

I realized I wrote this from the point of view of Crowley. But Aziraphale had also his heart rejected. He cried I NEED YOU and he got silence, because his stubborn husband refused to follow. That rejection also hurts.

---

Another thought: The ending is our human equivalent of one partner deciding to accept that well-paying job half-way across the globe, while the other wants to stay put. The one who leaves, temporarily, thinks about the opportunity: the money earned to finally pay that mortgage, pay student loan... to be finally free and get on with their life. The one who stays does not see it this way. Who is right... we'll see.

[thisbarbieisamirrorball]

thinking about clean

(Originally written Nov 4 2022)

“Clean” changed my perspective in a huge way. I was horribly abused by my parents growing up. I had been told many times that I should cut ties with them after I moved out but it was too difficult for me to do. Despite the abuse, I loved them too much. I also spent quite a bit of time gaslighting myself into believing that the abuse wasn’t that bad and that I was over exaggerating the situation.

I started seeing a therapist in June. It took a couple of weeks to go through my whole history but at the end of it, my therapist said she wanted to work with me on my relationship with my parents. More specifically, she wanted me to go no contact. She said that even in the short time I had been coming to her, she had watched my mental health deteriorate from the emotional abuse that they were still inflicting on me.

I didn’t say much in response but on the drive home I was thinking about what she said and “clean” came on on Spotify. I had never really paid attention to the lyrics but the line that says “you’re still all over me like a wine stained dress I can’t wear anymore” cut through crystal clear. In that moment it hit home that just like a wine stained dress, my relationship with them was doing nothing for me. At that point, it truly had felt like I was losing my war. Because of them I was depressed and suicidal, but for some reason that song gave me the clarity that I could give myself permission to end that relationship.

I listened to that song, I don’t even know how many times. All I know is that I put it on repeat and bawled my eyes out for probably three hours. Sure there were tears of sadness but there were also tears of fucking relief. I didn’t have to deal with them anymore. It’s been about 6 months now. I’m slowly improving and unraveling all of the trauma of what I went through. I still listen to Clean almost everyday. A lot of the time, it still makes me cry.

“Ten months sober, I must admit just because your clean don’t mean you don’t miss it. Ten months sober I won’t give in, now that I’m clean, I’m never gonna risk it.” I don’t know what drove Taylor to write that line but I can’t tell you how many times it’s come to mind. Cutting off my parents, especially my mother, has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. But as difficult as it was and still is, I can’t risk the damage.

To Taylor: Clean has been a song of encouragement and comfort to me. I know you get thousands of messages everyday and you are not even likely to see this, but I have to thank you. From every depth of my heart, thank you so much. Your music literally changed and helped save my life. I can only hope that maybe someday I’ll be able to thank you in person.

Update to this: it’s been a year and a half since I went no contact. Everyday I’m reminded of my decision but it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. Clean was the beginning of my dive into the lyrical genius that is Taylor Swift. I became a fan in the Lover era but it wasn’t until that day that I really understood that this woman is a once in many, many, many lifetimes artist. I’ve now gotten to see her in concert (twice, don’t hate me tho) and it truly was one of the best experiences of my life.

Thank you Taylor 🩵 🩵🩵

Signed,

The Mirrorball Barbie

[love-toxin]

plagas; leon.

a/n: in the midst of some writer’s block i stumbled upon an old concept i never finished. enjoy some good ol’ plaga leon <3

warnings: parasitic possession, yandere leon, female reader, violence, blood, groping, leon’s teasing is just straight up bullying, pet names, almost noncon, slight boot kink, chasing. 

word count: 1.9k

“Leon..?”

The sun had set on your terrifying journey, and cast a shadow over the room you'd found yourself trapped inside. Not by locks this time, or villagers, or Saddler himself...but by the person you had trusted throughout this entire nightmare. The man that had saved your life stood between you and your only way out, and even then, you doubted that you'd be able to escape if you managed to slip past him. The road home was so long and the stifling, smothering Spanish heat had made way for a chilling cold that breezed through your body in the night and froze you to your spot.

And Leon was gone. His mind and body had succumbed to the disease he'd been injected with, the parasite that he'd protected you from...but instead of saving you, now all you felt was panic, fear, and dread when you looked into his eyes. 

“You can’t suck the poison out of this wound, sweetheart...but I won’t stop you if you wanna give it a try.” 

Leon took slow steps around you, his footsteps echoing in the marble hall of the castle as he eyed you up like you were his prey, while his fingers spasmed and twitched at his sides, like they were itching to either grab you or wrap themselves tightly around your throat. So much had happened since he'd rescued you from the farmhouse, and reassured you with infectious confidence that everything would be okay. It felt like a lifetime that you'd known him, even if in reality you'd only spent less than a day together--but running and hiding and waiting for Leon to dispatch any threats made the hours seem so long and torturous. You prayed for his safety at every turn, and felt terror grip your heart as you waited for him to come back and retrieve you from hiding…

And now you were here.

"Saddler wants me to kill you, you're not worth the hassle to him. But to me...you're my treasure. Mine." 

The way that word rolled off his tongue sounded like an echo in your brain. He said it once before, and it stuck with you awhile--but hearing him say it now was like having it permanently seared into your head. 

It wasn’t a secret anymore. You’d fallen in love with Leon, as so many had before. You fell for his confidence, his strength, his effortless teasing and sincere concern for your safety, and maybe it was all just backed by your appreciation for him saving your life and playing the hero so well. But even if it was temporary, you were in love and you wanted him to survive just as much as he wanted to save you, and even if he succeeded and brought you home just for you to never see each other again, there would always be a part of you that loved him, and you had accepted that fact. 

But things had changed. Seeing Leon no longer filled you with relief and happiness, that smug grin on his lips as he greeted you after fighting off monsters you could only imagine in nightmares. He took a step towards you, and this time you took a huge one back--and he chuckled, his tone dark and biting, before continuing on and piercing through you with blood-coloured irises. 

"I found you, I get to keep you. Finders keepers, huh sweetheart? That's fair, isn't it?"

His gaze held nothing less than a deep, ravenous hunger within him, the unsettling smirk on his face in no way easing that tension that weighed heavily on your mind. 

“Maybe I’m just a monster, now...if I am, then so be it. If being a monster means seeing that look on your face forever, then I gotta say, it feels pretty damn good!” 

"Y-You're not Leon!"

His shoulders suddenly tensed like he was about to lunge for you, but letting him have the upper hand would mean the end for you. You knew that fact so well that you acted on instinct, and unsheathed the knife whose handle you'd been stealthily gripping this whole time, to stab it into the eye of the man you wished you could have a life with. And you missed, the realization both relieving and terrifying, as the blade clanged and stuck into the wall behind him and barely clipped a few strands of his light-coloured hair. 

"Is this my knife? Now that's pretty cute,"

A shudder violently wracked your body as Leon's tongue slipped past his lips, and he turned his head to lick a slow stripe up the gleaming, bloodstained blade. He'd ended plenty of lives with that thing, but it seemed as though his own had yet to be one of them. 

"I've played the hero long enough. I want a reward for all my hard work...I want you."

His hand crept up your waist before you could react to it, rough fingers spreading warmth through your stomach as they grazed the exposed skin of your hip. But once you tried to break away from the touch you wished you didn't crave more of, his other hand shot out to grab you by the waist and keep you pressed uncomfortably close to his body, so close that your lips were mere centimeters from his neck and breathing in gave you a good whiff of that faint scent of cologne that still lingered on his skin. 

"Don't fight me, pet. I can already hear you crying for me to use you...you know, you're so cute when you're scared."

You squirmed even still, thrashing and shoving against his chest to try and find some way to twist out of his hold--but moving him was like trying to push a brick wall, and his grip on you got tighter and tighter until you whimpered with pain. The things he was saying just didn't make any sense, and you never wanted the real Leon more than you did in this moment. Knowing what it felt like to have his strength used against you instead of to protect you...it was becoming too much to bear, and in your terror you found comfort in Leon's touch again even if it was brief, his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin and working to relax you enough that you weren't so tense. 

"You're gonna forget all about that fear when I'm balls deep inside you." 

What little comfort you found was gone once he whispered that into your ear. You felt your eyes widen and Leon's fingers worked their way under the waist of your shorts in a moment, the danger so imminent that your reaction ripped itself from your throat in a scream, and you returned to struggling against the unmistakable stiffness that dug into your inner thigh through his tight pants. 

"Leon, stop!"

You wailed, beating your fist against his chest and even catching him in the jaw, not that you really noticed in your frenzy nor did he react save for his brow furrowing in fury. It didn't last forever though, it was easy for him to use his leverage to shove you off, your back hitting the ground hard enough to sting while he loomed over you and watched with sick glee as you trembled too hard to get up. 

"You don't want me to stop. Be honest, doll." 

You weren't expecting this kind of violence from him, especially not when he brought his foot down right between your legs, as was evident by the way you shrieked and tears pricked at your eyes at once. Somehow he managed to aim the heel of his boot right at your clit, and you were certain now that it was by no way an accident by the way he ground into it in slow circles, and watched with a smirk as your hips shakily followed his rhythm of their own volition. 

"You want me to take everything from you, and I swear to you I will. I'll strip you of every inch of your pathetic life and make you mine." 

The pressure was starting to hurt, and your arms shot out to grab his calf and try in vain to wrench him off of your sensitive areas. It seemed to just entertain him, however, and his taunts were starting to sting your broken heart even more than any physical pain he had inflicted. Even worse was watching him lick his lips as he reveled in your suffering, and one of his hands descended beneath the belt of his trousers to stroke himself under the tent that was so clearly obvious. He loved watching you in pain, and nothing but rage bubbled up in your chest from the humiliation of loving somebody so depraved, even if he wasn't really Leon anymore. 

"I hate you,"

You muttered through gritted teeth, trying so hard to hold back your tears that your whole body was shaking. He let slip a soft moan as he twisted his grip on his cock, and didn't stop even as he focused those bloodred eyes on yours and growled in time with an especially rough tug. 

"Liar." 

Leon's grip fastened on your shoulder, but instead of pushing you back down to the filthy ground, he yanked you forwards and crushed your lips against his. Nothing but heat and the scent of blood overwhelmed your senses, your eyes fluttering closed when he started sucking on your lower lip and grazing it with his teeth. You wanted to hate the shivers that snaked up and down your spine from his kiss, but when it was from the man you still loved, it was difficult to brush those feelings aside. It wasn't impossible, however, because when he prodded past your lips with his tongue and moved in close enough for you to feel his cock twitching through his pants, panic flared up in your throat and you bit down on instinct, the coppery tang of his blood flooding your mouth at once. Leon shoved you off him much harder this time, but with the pain causing him to stagger you managed to scramble to your feet and back away a few steps to get some distance. But the fear of turning your back to him kept you frozen in place.

"You wanna be a brat, huh?"

Despite inflicting some much deserved pain, his glare barely wavered as he pulled his hand from his pants and wiped the blood that dribbled from his mouth, eyes gleaming with a lust for violence that you feared right now more than ever. 

"I'll let you have a ten second head start then, sweetheart. Better hurry."

You hesitated, his offer confusing you for a moment, but once the realization dawned on you your feet moved on their own. Sore and stained with tears and blood, you tore off down the castle corridors to search for an escape, and if not, then just a place for you to hide until Leon gave up on you, which would never happen. The thought of monsters barely dwelled in your mind when the most dangerous one was Leon himself, but little did you know that it would only take a short while for you to realize how fragile you really were when he wasn't protecting you, and that escaping without him was just simply not possible. 

"...Cheeky little slut. Let's just see how far you get before you come crawling back to me."

[songmingisthighs]

[9.55] mafia!wooyoung × reader

⇀ good thing you're smart, if not Wooyoung wouldn't have a whole attitude change

⇁ tw : violence, torture, kindapping, mafia life

⇁ part 1 / 2 / 3

⇁ disclaimer : the author does not support any and all criminal/illegal acts. the narrative written in this story is purely fiction out of the author's imagination. the things written here does not portray real mafia life nor is the author aware of how the mafia life is like. the author is a hermit loser.

You don't remember how long it has been since they captured you. Being stuck in a basement would do that apparently.

Whoever was behind your capture had been torturing you beyond your own imagination. They had starved you, hit you, kicked you, attempted to drown you, tied you in an uncomfortable position every night, and sent in someone to make sure you don't get an ounce of sleep.

All that just to get information on Wooyoung.

Currently, you're being tied to a chair, being once again interrogated for informations you had no clue about, "things would be much easier if you'd just give us what we want," the buff man in front of you said, he held a knife to your cheek but at this point you couldn't even flinch, "where is Jung Wooyoung's headquarters?"

Your cold outfit was clinging onto you like second skin, it's uncomfortable and it's dirty, the cold had definitely impacted your health.

Recently all you've been able to feel is just the headache and the burn from inside your body. Not even the abuse given to you was able to inflict you pain.

Everything's just numb.

You look up at the man, almost with a challenging look as you press your face daringly to the blade, "I. Don't. Know." you spat each word like venom.

The man laughed, pretty amused at how daring you are being, "you're his wife, there is no way you wouldn't have known," you rolled your eyes at him, bitter that he used the word 'wife' because you know fully well that Wooyoung would never treat you as such, "then I must've not been his wife now, am I?" You retorted back at him, slightly shocking him because this is the first time within the (apparently) 7 days you've been captured that you had said something else other than 'I don't know' or 'fuck you'.

Everyone was startled at the revelation, they probably hadn't concidered that you might not be Wooyoung's wife. No one really know about Wooyoung's personal life, it seems.

Seeing their hesitance, you take this as your chance of escaping.

The buff man grab your hair harshly, his eyes narrowing at you in suspicion, "don't lie to me, whore, if you're not his wife, then why'd you have a wedding ring on?" "Stole it from my mistress before I ran away, needed the money," you lied easily, surprising yourself.

"And why are you wearing it?" He asked again, "to make it less inconspicuous, people need to believe that this belongs to me or else they'll alert the cops that I'm a thief,"

He seemed to be having an inner turmoil on whether or not he should believe you.

With how you've been acting and the lack of evidence that you are Wooyoung's wife, you could really have been the wrong target.

"That means Handong lied to us," he said as he push your head away, talking to one of the men next to him, "bring him in and get this bitch out," he said simply before turning back to leave.

But before he walked out of the room, he looked back once more at you with a bitter smirk, "make sure to... deal... with her first, insurance for your silence,"

When the doors closed, 5 men approach your figure, still tied on the chair.

One of them crouch down in front of you, he brush your hair out of your face with a sad smile, "I'm sorry that we have to do this, pretty girl," confused at what he said, you just stared at him. But then he suddenly slap you so hard that you fell down along with the chair you're tied to.

And thus began one of the longest night of your life.

Meanwhile Wooyoung was getting antsy. His men couldn't find you anywhere and there isn't a second when he didn't regret turning his abundance of cctv off

He spent his days either in meetings or trying to track your whereabouts. San had to step in and actually force him to eat, going as far as cuffing him to his chair and spoon-fed him, even throwing a cheesy "would (Y/N) be happy to see you in this state?" At him to which he replied, "considering how I treat her, I wouldn't be surprised if she is,"

So far, neither yours nor his parents were aware of your disappearance. His dad only asked about you once to ensure he still has leverage, which of course Wooyoung lied, he's already stressed over your disappearance the last thing he need is for his dad to bit his head off.

Each night he spent sleeping in his bedroom, moping to the fact that he genuinely misses and worried about you. He regret taking you for granted, taking your presence for granted. Now, he could only imagine your sleeping form next to him using the memories of when he actually slept in bed with you. He used to be able to feel your warmth next to him, now it's just cold and he dislike it.

Tonight was no different. Before he got into bed, he went to the walk-in closet and look at all the dresses he had brought you to events that you went to (re : events he was forced brought you because his parents would be there). He remembered every how you looked in every single one of them.

It's pathetic of him, to be pining over the woman he claimed to have no care about.

Just as he turned the walk-in closet's lights off, there were commotions from downstairs, then a huge bang like his front doors had been barged open.

Diving into his instincts, Wooyoung grabbed the nearest gun he had hid all around the room and ran out, thinking that it was a raid by his rivals.

But when he looked down from the second floor to the living room, his heart wrenched and he froze.

San had you in his arms, you looked sickly pale with bruises all over your exposed arms and legs, clothes had chunks of them torn, and you weren't moving. One would assume that you're dead.

Wooyoung dropped his gun and ran to his friend who had just put you on the couch.

The sight of you looking so broken panicked him. He wanted to hold you and be glad that you're home, but he doesn't wanna hurt you. He wanted to tell you how sorry he is and that he'll make up to you but he's not sure whether or not you're still alive.

He snapped his head towards his staff, "call the doctor! Call Kang Yeosang in!" He barked to which his staffs immediately obeyed, scrambling to do as he ordered.

"God, baby, who did this to you?" He muttered to himself, reaching forward to brush your hair out of your face.

You stirred a bit when you heard his voice ans managed to open your eyes despite the splitting headache and the soreness all over your body.

When your eyes met his, you smiled, "hey, what are you doing in my dreams?" You croaked out, throat obviously sore and beyond parched from having been denied fluids for so long. It was your turn to brush his bangs from his eyes, something you've always wanted to do but know never could considering his dislike that turned out to be hatred towards you.

You suddenly frown at him, making his gaze on you softer, "I'm sorry," you muttered, not able to speak louder. At that, he tilted his head, "for what?" "Not being able to stay gone, I had to had the will to live, I should've let them kill me," you said before you slip into unconsciousness, rendering Wooyoung speechless at your words.

Before he was able to retaliate, San had swoop you back into his arms to take you to an empty room so Yeosang could come in and treat you.

"No," Wooyoung called, stopping San in his tracks, "bring her to my- our room, she should feel comfortable," to which San just nodded and obey, knowing how important it is to have you next to him as much as him next to you.

Yeosang came in not long after and spent 3 hours cleaning and stitching your wounds, checking for possible internal injuries, all the while making sure he's handling you with the utmost care as Wooyoung had been glaring daggers at him. Whether it serve to be a warning to not harm you or a sign of jealousy as Yeosang had a perfectly valid reason to cut your shirt and shorts off for handling.

"I can't make a clear diagnosis without checking for internal injuries, we have to take her to the hospital," Yeosang said. But Wooyoung just snap at him, "then freaking bring the machines here! She's not leaving this mansion and she's not leaving my side!"

Both men just stared at each other for a few minutes, Yeosang holding onto his ground on wanting simplicity, and Wooyoung being afraid of losing you from his sight again.

Knowing how stubborn his friend can be, Yeosang was first to crack, sighing and nodding at Wooyoung, "I'll see what I can do," he said simply before going out to talk to San about possibly transporting some of his machines.

The rest of the night, Wooyoung took care of you. He had put you in one of his large, white button up because it's the easiest to put on you. He stayed by your side in a chair, afraid that he might hurt you (than he already necessary does with his words) if he were to slip in bed with you.

As he watch you, his hands moved to held yours in his. His thumbs were rubbing the back of your hand when it suddenly caught on something.

Looking down, he noticed that it's your wedding ring, matching his own which he's wearing.

It brought a smile to his face seeing you're still holding onto it so dearly. You could've left it for him to find and throw away the day you left, but you had decided to take it with you.

Could it be that despite everything he's done to you, you don't want to completely erase him from your mind?

And that's what made Wooyoung broke down and cried.

He didn't deserve you, not one bit. But despite that, he knows that he's the only one capable enough of taking care of you, to provide for whatever it is that you need.

So at that moment, with you back in hia arms, he decided to step up and assume his responsibilities and treat you as how you deserve to be treated.

[footnoteinhistory]

There’s a jumble of words in my head that I maybe can’t sort out into clear sentences at the moment. But I’ll try

I’m back to reading Dara Horn’s People Love Dead Jews and something she writes about the public reception to Anne Frank vs. those who wrote more graphic/angry accounts about their experiences reminded me of Shoah (1985). Frank’s diary was written before her arrest, she doesn’t write about the horrors of the camps, so:

“[Frank’s] words are “inspiring,” by which we mean that they flatter us. They make us feel forgiven for those lapses of our civilization that allow for piles of murdered girls—and if those words came from a murdered girl, well, then, we must be absolved, because they must be true. That gift of grace and absolution from a murdered Jew (exactly the gift that lies at the heart of Christianity) is what millions of people are so eager to find in Frank’s hiding place, in her writings, in her “legacy.” It is far more gratifying to believe that an innocent dead girl has offered us grace than to recognize the obvious: Frank wrote about people being “truly good at heart” before meeting people who weren’t.

Horn then talks about the Jewish writers, like Elie Wiesel (in his original Yiddish book) and Zalmen Gradowski (who wrote secretly and hid his work before his murder in Auschwitz), whose work never found the same “success” as Frank’s diary because they’re angry, they point fingers at the people and societies responsible, they demand vengeance. They don’t have the same “inspirational” message that many readers have found in Frank’s work because they write about the whole story.

Shoah (1985) doesn’t inspire either. Over nine hours — story after story after story of death from the few people who somehow survived with their bodies intact if not their souls. Director Claude Lanzmann was suicidal while editing the film, which took over a decade to complete. Interviewed in the 2010s, he was not optimistic about the world, or anything. Shoah has no clean narrative, no tidy conclusion, no inspirational message, largely because it’s told by those who lived it all, the very worst of it, and haven’t found a meaning in it themselves.

Depressing is too casual a word. Deadening, maybe. In undergrad I spent weeks and months (years for my thesis, really) researching and writing about the Holocaust and I almost forgot how badly it traumatizes your soul. I don’t feel good. It’s like whiplash, studying genocide and living your regular life — A sonderkommando voluntarily entering the gas chamber as a sort of suicide, only to be begged by those inside to stay out, survive, tell their story. What do I need at the grocery store? The babies, the babies. I have to get ready for my little cousin’s graduation. Choking on the heat and ashes, even the Nazis complaining about the stench. It’s warm today. — it’s maddening. There is no meaning. How do we go on, for what? I don’t like to repeat the accounts I’ve heard that stick with me the most because I don’t want to inflict them on anyone else, unless they ask, because it’s too awful. The babies, you understand?

Shoah has no message, it serves as witness. The angry, murdered writers who call for justice have gone unheard, which is as good as having no message at all. History is so, so quiet. There’s no score playing in the background, it’s silent. But if you really think about it at all, if you take a moment to understand it, you want to scream and never stop. I don’t know how or why we’re not all screaming nonstop at all times, the horror of it all

[delimeful]

Helpless (2)

the next chapter in the drider virgil fic!

warnings: spiders, slight dehumanizing language, assumptions/jumping to conclusions

-

Logan was certain that he’d tracked down his quarry.

Of course, he’d also been certain the last two times he’d found promising evidence around a swath of woods, but this time was different.

He had learned plenty while traversing through the varied lands of his kingdom, and while physical evidence was ideal, word of mouth was one of the most useful tools a researcher could use to find leads.

That was part of the reason why he’d been so careful to observe typical travelers for weeks before his departure, the reason he was wearing worn, cheap fabric and staying at the second-cheapest room at this town’s inn, despite having plenty of money still hidden on his person. He didn’t want a single rumor about a suspiciously rich noble traveling alone.

The last thing he needed was for his investigative journey to be interrupted by bandits, or worse, would-be do-gooders attempting to return the missing prince to his place in line for the throne.

Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the very thought, putting aside the last half of his travel rations and stopping at the edge of town to stare into the woods beyond. He checked his compass habitually, and he was pointed firmly westward, exactly towards the point of the woods that were occupied by a dangerous monster, according to the barkeep that Logan had plied for information last night at supper.

The whole town knew of it, even the younger residents, which was a point in favor of the creature really existing rather than just being another folk tale.

There was one other potential source on the creature, a town outcast going by the way others’ noses wrinkled at the mention of him, but Logan was more than ready to begin investigating for himself, and the odds that the outcast actually knew anything were low, anyhow.

Decided, he headed into the forest, prepared for the day-long trek that was sure to follow. If he was prone to less scientific notations, he might have jotted down that he had a good feeling about this particular town.

Exactly an hour and a half later, Logan had found himself almost entirely immobilized by layers and layers of gossamer threads strewn about the trees.

Needless to say, he was ecstatic.

Even the foolish manner in which he’d landed himself stuck in such an obvious trap couldn’t dampen his spirits, not when faced with undeniable proof that there was in fact a drider in these woods. He’d been too hasty in his attempt to collect some of the biological material, and by yanking too hard, had ended up pulled forwards into the thick of the intricate spider web.

His immobility was a bit concerning, but mostly frustrating, since he couldn’t reach for his journal to note down the surprising level of the webbing’s tensile strength. Still, proper scientists had to be prepared to hold onto their observations for as long as it took for them to be able to write them down.

Besides, he could hardly complain. His current predicament practically guaranteed that he would actually get to see the creature!

-

There was a person stuck in his webs, and Virgil was freaking out about it.

It had never happened before. Virgil very specifically made the webs closer to town thick and opaque so that any passerby would see them and avoid this exact situation.

Virgil peered around the cluster of bushes he had half-flattened himself behind. The stranger didn’t seem too panicked, at least, going by the way that the web barely swayed with his presence. He didn’t even seem to be breathing hard, which was… admittedly sort of strange.

Skies above, what if this was a trap? Virgil turned his head sharply to scan his surroundings, wary of human hunters suddenly popping out of the undergrowth.

Several moments of silence, and even with all his senses pushed to their farthest, he couldn’t detect anything. It seemed the only one trapped here was the human.

A pang of guilt curled unpleasantly in his first stomach. He grimaced, wishing desperately that Patton was here to mitigate the utter terror Virgil was surely about to inflict on this guy.

No point in drawing it out. He rose up to his full height, grateful that the human had gotten stuck facing the opposite direction, and quietly crept up behind him. All he needed to do was announce his presence and let the human know he wasn’t going to hurt them, but he was immediately distracted at the sight of just how tangled his webs had grown.

“How does one human manage to touch every single support thread at the same time?” he asked, voice incredulous.

The human stiffened, and he couldn’t help but tense in response, cursing his big mouth.

… Really though, he spent hours crafting these, and now this one would have to be completely reconstructed!

“Are you the monster spoken of in town?”

The measured voice snapped Virgil out of his thoughts as easy as a clap of thunder, and he shuffled a bit from side to side nervously. His many steps must have been louder than he’d thought, because the human immediately attempted to twist around and see him.

He failed, naturally, because Virgil’s threads weren’t exactly easy to wriggle free of, but Virgil’s nerves only grew. “I… why do you ask?”

There was a short silence, and then, “Considering my current situation, it’s only natural I would want to know, isn’t it?”

Virgil resisted the urge to wince at his own dumbassery. “Right. Well. Yeah,” he confirmed, already bracing for the fear that nearly every human bore when confronted with him. Even Patton had been afraid at first, though Virgil really thought him braver than any other human, to be so terrified of even normal spiders and befriend a Drider of all creatures.

“Oh, excellent,” the human said with clear excitement. “Would you mind coming around so that I can see you?”

Virgil blinked, befuddled. The last thing most humans wanted was for him to come closer. Maybe it was the natural fear of him being in their blind spot? The guy certainly didn’t sound very afraid, even with Virgil’s less-than-stellar first impression.

“Do you have a weapon?” he asked warily.

“I have a knife,” the stranger offered, “but I can’t exactly reach it at the moment.”

Virgil could see the glint of it, caught bladefirst at the very edge of a web as though it had been used on the threads themselves. He slowly circled around the clearing, watching the stranger closely for any sudden movements, until he stood before him, all eight legs and thorax visible.

“Fascinating,” he breathed, eyes blown wide as they skittered from point to point as though noticing every little detail. Virgil would have thought him afraid had it not been for the prideful little grin that sat on his face. “I thought maybe you were lying to me-- I hadn’t expected you to be so fluent in the common language, living in the woods and all-- but wow!”

Virgil felt his front legs rising up a little bit in an automatic defense against the unexpected reaction. He ran his tongue over his fangs nervously, trying to figure out whether or not he should be insulted about the language thing. And what exactly did this guy mean by ‘expected’?

The stranger’s hands twitched slightly, still stuck firmly in place, and irritation briefly flitted across his face as though he’d forgotten his position. He blinked, as though remembering something.

“Oh, right. Are you planning on trying to consume me, then?” he asked, the question as politely curious as an inquiry about the weather.

Virgil recoiled physically at the idea, skittering back a few strides and baring his fangs despite the difference in size and strength and trapped-ness between the two of them. “What? No!”

The stranger managed to drag his intrigued gaze away from Virgil’s fangs, his hands twitching again almost subconsciously. “In that case, would you mind helping me down? My leg has begun to go numb, and I really would like access to my journal.”

“I-- I mean, yeah, if you aren’t-- I can--,” Virgil stumbled over his words, drawing closer with his body lowered non-threateningly and waiting for the inevitable flinch or shiver of disgust.

It never came. The stranger continued to stare at him with no trace of terror in his eyes, even as Virgil grew close enough to reach out and touch him.

“Take your time,” he offered, despite being the one trapped in a monster’s web. Virgil abruptly felt a bit silly about his obvious wariness, and lifted his front legs to rub them together at the ankles. The stranger’s head tilted to the side slightly, watching the gesture intently.

“... It’s the oils that make the webs not stick,” Virgil explained. “I produce it naturally on my feet so I don’t get, y’know, stuck. I’ll have to touch the webs that are attached to you. With my feet. The spider ones.”

Virgil didn’t have any other kinds of feet, but the stranger graciously didn’t nitpick.

“A built-in solvent… I wonder if natural spiders have similar traits,” he mused instead, and then, “Do whatever you need, I don’t mind. The opposite, really, I appreciate the assistance.”

Sure enough, he didn’t shy away when Virgil began carefully plucking at the threads entangling him, sliding the sides of his legs along them to coat them in the anti-stick oils. Bit by bit, the entanglement loosened, and Virgil had just freed both arms when the human abruptly twisted around to reach for something on his person.

Of course, now that much of the webbing holding him in midair had been removed, his weight was significantly less supported. A few threads snapped, and he dropped a few inches with a startled yelp. If he continued, he’d be in for either a rough fall or getting caught in a whole new layer of webbing, and Virgil wanted neither of those things.

He quickly reached forwards with his human arms and lifted the stranger up and away from further entanglement, batting away any stray threads with his front legs. Belatedly, he realized he had forgotten to check if it was a weapon that the human had reached for. Even more belatedly, he realized that this was the second human he’d picked up in this impromptu carry.

Weird that it had happened twice.

“Perfect, thank you,” the guy said, and then he started writing furiously in a little book, occasionally glancing up at Virgil and locking onto a feature before returning to writing. It was as though he didn’t mind at all being held aloft like a human might lift up a misbehaving cat.

Virgil took the opportunity to continue cleaning any web remnants off the guy while he was distracted, his mind whirring. A stranger who had clearly never done a day of hard labor in his life, who didn’t seem at all afraid of him, and was taking notes.

... Oh, shit.

Virgil set him carefully on the ground while he was still preoccupied with scrawling out a label for a diagram of Virgil’s teeth. He backed up, softening his steps, and by the time the stranger pulled his attention away from his book, Virgil was already well out of sight and planned to keep it that way, regardless of the confused little call the stranger made.

He was not messing with what was clearly a mage out for his parts.

[mrs-hollandstan]

More Than Perfect || Sam Holland

Warnings: mentions of nudity, mentions of childbirth and the complications afterwards, self-doubt, language?, babiessss, Sam just being a supportive cutie

Word Count: 1,720

Author’s Note: Hopefully you guys enjoy a little bit of dad!Sam. Lemme know :) Also, huge credit to @/marsbudge on Instagram for the picture on the right. She’s amazing in expressing her beauty and is the whole reason I created this piece. Moms/ women in general are fucking superheroes. 

My Masterlist || Add yourself to one of my taglists

There was nothing like having a baby. You were told that once you had a little one, your life would change and you would never understand the absolute love you have for this tiny human you'd made. When you and Sam got pregnant with your daughter, he was infatuated with your naked body. The tummy and the thick thighs and the ever growing breasts. Not that you yourself particularly minded being nude around your fiancè or just in general, especially when it just so happened that in the worst weeks of your pregnancy you'd be in the middle of summer. 

When your belly popped towards the bottom, blossoming up the further you got in your pregnancy, Sam lost his mind. He loved the bump and when his hands wandered, it's often where they ended up. More than anything, Sam appreciated the changes your body went through, especially the stretch marks around your thighs, hips, and belly. The boy was obsessed. That's why his Instagram blew up with pictures of your belly, pictures from the baby shower, of the nursery, of her closet, her name board above the crib, and eventually her when she arrived in the beginning of August. 

Virginia Elizabeth was what you named her and Sam, just as much as when she was in your belly, was obsessed with her. She was constantly in his arms and he admired each one of her little features on the daily, dressing her, feeding her (if you couldn't of course), changing her, rocking her to sleep. He was an all around great father. 

Especially because of the pain and exhaustion he inevitably and guiltily felt he inflicted on you. Your bump remained for a few weeks, but what it left, Sam saw, made you slightly depressed. Your feet were still swollen, your breasts were huge but your belly was starting to sag, and the bleeding was ridiculous. You slept most of the time because of the constant milk production and late nights, but Sam didn't mind taking Virginia out into the living room and kitchen, especially if his brothers were over to see their baby girl. 

However, after about a month you'd gotten somewhat used to being a mom and feeding her late at night with Sam right there at your side, giddy smile on his face the entire time at the look of his girls. He loved introducing you as his girls and going to see family and friends with your bubbly little girl in his arms. But something that seemed to remain after all of it was the nudity in your house. 

Sam found that most times he came to find you napping, you were nude beneath the blanket. Not that he minded. Easy access to the skin of your back and belly and thighs. He actually loved the sight and hoped that when he went back to culinary school and eventually went to work as a chef in one of your local restaurants, you'd still be like that, something to look forward to when he climbed into bed with you. 

With a day off from work but not from school, Sam was off in the afternoon and back before the sun started to set, walking up the stoop with a smile on his face. Even a few hours spent away from his girls was torturous. Shouldering the door open, he drops his bag just inside, kicking his shoes off just beside it, 

"Babe?" He calls. There's no reply, a frown covering Sam's face as he walks towards the nursery. He pauses in the doorway of your bedroom when he sees you, smiling to himself. You stand just before your bed, nude with your little girl, only clad in a diaper, in your arms. Your eyes are closed as you sway from side to side, the little one whimpering softly. Walking into the room, Sam stands with his hands on his hips, 

"Look at you two." He says softly. You open your eyes slowly, glancing at him. His smile is so wide you don't know how it fits on his face. He takes a deep, breathless like breath, looking you over, "You two are so perfect." He mumbles before he walks forward again, coming to stand behind you. His hands rest over your hips, lips pressed to your temple, 

"You smell like biscuits." You murmur softly, not faltering in the swaying, even as you lean back against his chest. He chuckles softly, 

"Orange cardamom biscuits. They'd go good with your tea, I'll have to make them sometime for you." He explains softly. You nod, lips pressing against Virginia's cheek. Her little face is turned up towards the ceiling, mouth hanging open as she fights sleep. You sigh, 

"I uhh, I took a shower, put her in that little bouncy thing just outside the shower and she got fussy cause it was hot in the bathroom. So I took her out of her onesie and was holding her and I just... her skin on mine felt amazing. Like yours does. And I miss her. I miss..." Sam can see the tears in your eyes now, "I miss my baby bump and being in the hospital smelling that newborn smell and all that." You tell him. He nods, 

"Its the postpartum peach. You know it'll pass and you'll have so much fun with her when she's older. Plus... the older she gets, the closer we are to havin another one. More of that newborn smell." He reasons. The look you throw him over your shoulder makes him swallow, 

"Alright... yeah, still traumatized from her birth, got it but... you don't have to be so upset. She's still little and perfect... both my girls are, and for the next... what, year, that won't change. She'll get nice and chunky and when she changes, we'll so be ready for it. She'll get giggly and fun and you'll love it. I know you will babe." He reassures. You nod, 

"I know I just can't help it. It feels like someone else is controlling my life, my emotions. I'm sorry." 

"You don't have to apologize Y/N. Your body, your mind are going through a lot of changes. You're maturing and all that. I'm not upset about it. The crying, from you or her doesn't bother me. At least there's some need for me." He half jokes. You smile, looking down at your baby girl. He sighs, 

"I'm really likin this naked thing with you though." He mutters, kissing your shoulder as he molds your hips in his hands. You hum, 

"Sometimes I'm just too lazy to get dressed, other times it's just too hot." You reason. Sam nods, 

"I like it." 

"Oh yeah?" He nods when you glance up at him, "Maybe you should join the party then. I wanna stare at her and she likes daddy's chest." He doesn't even need you to finish the before he's stripping from the grease and oil stained shirt and pants, leaving them in a pile on the floor as you sit at the edge of the bed. You scoot to your side, letting Sam lay down before you before you lay Virginia over his chest. He mumbles incoherently down at her, kissing the top of her head as he strokes down her back. He purrs which makes her whimper, the motion further lulling her to sleep. He glances over at you when you prop your head up on your hand, 

"You're a great father Sam. You've always been an awkward little bean but... when it comes to V, you do amazing." He chuckles softly, 

"Thanks Y/N/N. You two... mean the world." He admits, rubbing up and down your baby's back softly. You sigh, brushing his unruly curls aside, 

"I'm just glad that I don't have to cook. The food you make is excellent and you like doing it and baby loves it too." He laughs again, 

"And that's all that matters is making you both happy." He murmurs. There's a silence that permeates between you for a moment before you stand, finding the thin robe you wear all the time if it genuinely is too hot to wear anything else, 

"What was this... thing you were saying about orange cardamom biscuits?" You ask with a cock of your eyebrow. He smiles wide, tip of his tongue caught between his teeth, 

"I'm starting to think ALL you use me for is food." 

"I feed your little girl from my own body like eight times a day. The LEAST you could do is make bomb fucking food Holland." He hums after a moment, eyes averted from yours and to the little girl laid across his chest. He glances back up, 

"Can we just... have a little longer of this moment? Just a pretty little family before I'm whisked away to slave over a stove." He jokes. After a moment of staring at each other, you sigh, trying to fight your smile before you near the bed again, sitting at his side, 

"Fine Samuel. But only because you're pretty." You lean in to kiss his nose, kissing your baby girl's head just below his chin, "And you too little miss. I just hope you at least get something from me for all the pain and suffering I went through getting you here." Sam reaches up to tuck hair behind your ear, 

"You're a great mumma already. I have no doubt that she'll be witty and perfectly perfect. With a mum like you she'll always know she can never disappoint us with whatever decision or life choice she makes. You'll make sure of it and that's what matters. Raising a decent fucking human being." He says with such passion in his eyes you think you'll faint. You stare at him for another moment before sighing, 

"I love you more than anything on this earth Samuel Holland. Our little family is just perfect right now." You tell him. Leaning up to kiss you, he sighs, 

"Love my girls in all of their beautiful nudity. Love skin to skin." He murmurs. You lay your head against his shoulder, watching your girl sleep. Of course pregnancy and motherhood was difficult, but your fiancè made it so much better and your baby girl was everything and more for the both of you.

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[peterrparrkerr]

Dom drop - read on ao3

Tagging: @lokitonypeter @just-things-things @thegreenmetblue @someonepostedart @andacheesyoneliner @bluestarker @lilcoffeecup @useless-fanfictions-for-mcu @tnpt

*-*

Peter's never been fucked harder in his life. Its rough and dirty, hips snapping, skin slapping, nails digging in.

His ass is red from Tony hitting him, cock swollen from being denied an orgasm too many times. His cheeks are wet from tears, body sore and bruised.

Tony doesn't stop though. Not when Peter's moans turn into mewls, when he's too exhausted to hold up his own hips, when the tears turn to sobs.

He keeps thrusting, keeping hitting, keeps pinching at the head of Peter's cock to keep him from cumming.

Peter can't describe the feeling. Hes exhausted, but so energized. A mix of pain and pleasure, to the point where he doesn't know what he's begging for anymore.

And the way Tony's thick cockhead catches on his sore and abused hole, only to slam into his prostate at a dizzying, brutal pace doesn't help Peter in climbing out of the mindset Tony's currently got him in.

Peter doesn't know where one moan ends and another one starts, only that its cut up with each thrust.

Tony's loud too, grunting and growling and huffing for breath. Peter's surprised the older has been able to last this long. He's not cum once in the couple hours since they've started.

It's not long though before Tony's moans turn gruff, his hips faltering in their rhythm. Peter doesn't know if he cries harder because he's relieved or upset.

"Please, please, please -ah!- oh, please-" Peter wept, struggling to catch his breath.

Tony shoves him face first into the mattress as he cums inside, rolling his hips. Peter scrambles, hand reaching down to his cock.

Tony -even in the middle of his own orgasm- swats his hands away, only making Peter cry harder, body trembling.

Tony stays deep inside him as he rolls them onto their sides. Peter presses into his chest, one of Tony's arms pinning his own to his chest.

"Shh, baby, I've got you," Tony murmured into Peter's ear. Peter's chest heaves as Tony curls his fingers around his cock.

"Please-" Peter's breath hitches. Tony kisses at his neck, soft and loving -a contrast to the bruising bites he had inflicted on the same spot moments before.

He cums hard. Its painful and his body tenses and quivers. He can't help but thrash in Tony's arms as the older continues to stroke him through it.

When he's finally finished, he sags into the bed, leaning back against Tony and so tired.

He doesn't mean to fall asleep, but he can't help it. Once he closes his eyes he can't open then again, and its a fast fall into unconsciousness.

When he wakes up a few hours later, its dark, and the other side of the bed is empty. Peter scowls, still sleepy and sore and confused. Tony never left Peter alone afterwards.

He slowly climbs out of bed, wincing at the pain in his muscles. It felt like he spent the whole day at the gym and then ran a marathon.

Bruises litter his skin from his neck down to his ankles, and Peter presses his finger tips into the ones on his hips, matching his fingers up with the bruises left by Tony.

He shuffles his way to the front door, fully naked, and slipped out into the hall.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y?" Peter asked softly in the dark. "Where's Tony?"

It takes only a second for the AI to respond. "He's in the lab."

Peter nods, using the wall to balance as he makes his way to the spiral staircase that leads to Tony's work area.

He squints as he steps closer to the light. He sees Tony at one of his stations, naked as well, fiddling with a new piece of tech for the ironman suit.

Peter frowns. Tony's usually gentle hand is rough, jerky. His shoulders are tense, high up near his ears and as Peter steps down the stairs, he notices tears in his eyes. Glistening against his cheeks.

"Tony?" Peter called out softly, watching Tony jump and curse. He spins around on his stool, wiping his cheeks.

"Peter, what are you doing up?" Tony asked, standing up and making his way over.

"You weren't in bed," Peter said, reaching out for him when he got close enough. "Whats wrong?"

Tony wraps his arms around Peter, burying his face in Peter's shoulder. Peter's worry increases when he feels tears hit his shoulder.

"Tony, what is it?" Peter asked, wrapping his arms around Tony's shoulders.

The man lets out a shaky breath, but doesn't say anything. Peter runs his fingers through his hair, trying to sooth the man.

"Come on," Peter urged. "Lets go to bed."

He doesn't let Tony go. The two make their way back up the stairs, Peter still sore. Tony sniffles beside him.

They get back to the bed, and it takes Peter a little while longer to settle, body stiff.

It just makes Tony cry all over again, and he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"Tony, please," Peter said softly, reaching for him. "Talk to me."

Tony's inhale is choppy and wet. It worries Peter. Tony's usually not like this -not without reason at least.

"I'm sorry," Tony exhaled, voice wavering. Peter's frown deepens and he scoots over to him, tugging at his elbow until Tony uncovers his face.

"Why are you sorry?" Peter asked softly, kissing at Tony's shoulder, leaning up against his side.

Tony wipes at his eyes again, regulating his breathing in the darkness of their bedroom.

"I went too far," Tony breathed, looking over at Peter. "I took it too far, I'm so sorry, Peter."

Peter shook his head, quickly reaching for Tony and pulling at him until Tony was rolled over, half on his stomach, half on Peter.

"You didn't go too far," Peter assured, wrapping one arm around Tony's shoulders while he used the other to pet at Tony's hair.

The older man buried his nose in Peter's neck, breathing shakily against him.

"I hurt you," Tony whined.

"I wanted you to," Peter murmured, kissing at Tony's forehead. "I concented, okay? You did nothing wrong."

Tony doesn't say anything, just continues to cry silently against him. Peter rubs at his back, planting kisses where he can reach.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Its okay," Peter promised. "You didn't go too far. You did exactly what I wanted. What I asked for."

Peter continued talking to Tony, whispering to him, petting him, kissing him, until the tears had all dried up, and his breathing had evened out.

Peter blinks heavy lids, yawning before setting against Tony as well and falling asleep.

[rapsgoddess]

Washing Machine Heart Part 1. (Erik Killmonger x OC)

This is unedited so please have mercy on me in the notes 😭

Nahla knew she didn’t mean a thing to him. Next to being a mercenary, Erik was a player. He came and went as he pleased, spent his nights with more than one woman, and didn’t feel a single shred of regret whenever his girls would pour out their hearts to him. 

Nahla knew she didn’t mean a single thing to him, yet she still somehow fell in love. 

It was a painful realization. One that she came to during one of Erik’s many long term absences. It was another sleepless night for her and she was sitting in bed with her laptop open to her right and her keyboard directly in front of her. For the past week, the same melody had been on loop inside her head. A broken tune that conveyed so much sorrow that it nearly brought her to tears whenever she hummed it. Each day after she got home from work, she would add onto the melody bit by bit, putting in different instruments and sounds to create a beautiful symphony. 

When it came time to write lyrics for the song, all she could envision was a tune about unrequited love. The same unrequited love that she had been feeling for a while. 

It wasn’t until she put a name to that feeling when she finally realized how she truly felt about Erik. 

She decided to try and keep things suppressed for a while, hoping that her childish feelings of romance would disappear after a few days. 

They didn’t. 

When Erik returned a few weeks later, she didn’t, know how to act. The man made it known that he was not committed to anybody, and Nahla was no exception. On the rare occasion Nahla would catch a glimpse of him on social media, she would see him surrounded by women who looked as if they could be models. Women who were leagues ahead of her. The photos never failed to resurrect her insecurities. They made her question why Erik even bothered to give her the time of day. Yet those insecurities melted away whenever he came to visit her. 

Flash forward to the present, and Nahla found herself laying next to Erik’s naked frame in her bed. The faint sound of her washing machine echoed throughout the house, giving a sort of rhythmic banging as her shoes tussled around inside. The night was still fairly young, having only been a few minutes past seven, but all of the plans that Nahla had for that evening were discarded the moment Erik showed up on her doorstep. 

It didn’t take much for his words to lull her into bed and for his lips on hers to enrapture her. His low, smooth voice was like music to her ears, and her moans being music to his. Each praise that left his lips was like a toxic lullaby. Nahla knew that he had repeated the same words to dozens of women in the past, yet in the moment, they made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. 

“You feel so good around me baby…”

“You don’t know how much I missed this pussy.”

“Say my name so everybody know who’s fuckin’ you right.” 

Thinking back to his words sent shivers down her spine. She was wide awake, restless and too excited to fall asleep. It was rare for Erik to stay after having sex, let alone fall asleep before her, but her inner turmoil prevented her from falling asleep. 

She turned back to look over at Erik, taking in every aspect of his being as if it were the last time she would see him again. No matter how many times she laid eyes on him, she would never be able to find the words to describe how beautiful he was. He had a smile that could light up a room and warm eyes that made her heart flutter each time she looked into them. It often left her wondering why exactly he even entertained the thought of her when he was way out of her league. 

A heavy sigh left Nahla’s lips and she threw the covers off the lower half of her body. She looked back at Erik one last time while putting on her robe, making sure that he stayed asleep. Slowly and quietly, she crept out of the room and down the hall to her makeshift studio, closing the door behind her and turning on the lights. She used her studio as an escape from both the real world and her own mind, and right then she needed an escape from both. Turning on her equipment and opening up her laptop, she opened up the file that held her latest project. The one that helped her come to her realization in the first place. She made sure the speakers were low as to not wake Erik up and pressed play, listening to her voice blend with the gentle melody. 

She had only written a few lines so far and could feel the next verse just on the tip of her tongue, but lyricism had never really been her strong suit. Muttering random words under her breath, she opened up the notes section on GarageBand and began writing down whatever sounded nice, replacing and adding words where she deemed fit. 

“Might as well give it a go,” she sighed, getting up from her chair and walking over to the small corner where her mic and the rest of her recording equipment was set up. She pressed record on an empty track and began singing the second verse, her voice coming out soft and almost broken in contrast to her usual strong, belty tone. She was tired, both physically and emotionally, but she couldn’t walk back to that room. Not with him still laying asleep in her bed as if the two of them were a couple. 

After a few more takes, she had finally gotten her voice warmed up enough to where it didn’t sound completely like shit and she walked over to her work station to edit the track on top the music. 

With her mind now completely engulfed in her music, she didn’t noticed the sound of her toilet flushing or her bathroom sink running down the hall. She didn’t notice the sound of footsteps leading to her studio and her door opening slightly. 

It wasn’t until the feeling of a hand snaking its way around her neck drew her from her work as she jumped in her seat while clutching her chest in panic.

“Whatchu scared for? It’s just me,” Erik muttered, his voice still laced with drowsiness. “What are you doing up? Any other day you’d be knocked out.” His fingers gently squeezed at her neck and he leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of her head. It was weirdly intimate of him.

“I couldn’t sleep so I decided to work on something.” Nahla spun her seat around to face him. He had on a pair of low hanging shorts. She recognized them as being one of the pairs she bought for him whenever he decided to stay over. She mentally scoffed at the thought; buying clothes for a man who she wasn’t even in a relationship with. 

“You’re not leaving?” She asked. It had just dawned on her that, miraculously, Erik was still there. 

“Nah. I haven’t seen you in a while so I figured I’d stay for a little bit.” 

The sentiment made her heart flutter but she quickly grounded herself back to reality. She couldn’t afford to get her hopes up. 

“So, what are you working on?” He asked, his arms folded across his chest as he looked past her and at the open editing software on her computer. 

“Oh. Well I had a melody that was stuck in my head for a while so I put it down and write lyrics. I lowkey wanna find a mini orchestra to record it though.” 

“Well can I hear it?” He suggested. 

Nahla’s eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. Despite knowing each other for the better part of two years now, this was the most he had ever expressed genuine interest in her music. 

“U-Uhh, I’m not sure… I get really sensitive about my stuff. Plus it’s not what you’d expect it to be,” she said, swirling her chair back around to face her work station as she hesitantly placed her hand on the mouse  and moved the cursor over the “play” button. After taking a deep breath, she played the song and closed her eyes as she waited for it to be over. Throughout the entirety of what little she had to play, Erik was silent, giving no response, comment, or critiques. When it was over, she reluctantly turned around to face him. 

“So? What do you think?”

“Yeah, I can definitely hear an orchestra going behind that. Maybe start off with piano first, then bring in strings or some shit during the hook,” he suggested, walking over to the other chair in the corner of her studio and sitting down. 

“Okay. Thanks.”

For about an hour or two, the two of them stayed up in her studio talking about random things while sharing a blunt together. They eventually migrated back to the bedroom and made their way beneath the covers together, Nahla’s body molding perfectly into Erik’s as they cuddled. 

“Nah, I’m deadass. I thought I had locked his cage, but he always finds a way to get out,” Nahla giggled, referring to her pet chameleon who always managed to get out of his cage. “I remember a few day ago I had just woken up and went into the kitchen to get some juice and I see him inside the sink just sitting there. Then he have the nerve to look up at me like ‘what are you doing here?’ No sir, what are you doing here.” 

Erik laughed softly while shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t think I could handle an animal just freely roaming my shit like that.”

“You get used to it after a while. I was low-key thinking about getting a snake too, but I gotta figure out where to put the tank.”

“Oh hell nah. If you get a snake, I’m not coming by anymore.”

“What?! You used to be a whole Navy Seal and you’re scared of snakes, E?” She asked, a bit surprised that he even shared that information with her. 

“Girl, I don’t know how you can even stand them things,” he mumbled, “slithering around and shit. What if it gets out when you’re sleep and starts choking you?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” she giggled, earning an eye roll from Erik. 

Though it didn’t seem possible, she pressed herself against Erik even harder, somehow managing to get even closer to him. Resting her head in the crook of his neck, she had a perfect view of the many scars and keloids that littered his body. She could tell some of them are new. Whether or not they were accidental or self inflicted, she didn’t want to know. 

It was times like these where Nahla wished that her outlandish fantasies of romance weren’t fantasies at all. Having never been in a real relationship before, she constantly longed to be loved by someone in a romantic sense. Though she knew that Erik probably never thought of her as more than a fuck buddy, it was nice to feel his warmth underneath her. Even if it was an illusion, it was nice to imagine him as her lover while he was holding her close. 

“What’s on your mind?” He pried, letting out a deep sigh before closing his eyes and relaxing his muscles. 

“Where do you go when you disappear?” She partially lied. Even though that wasn’t what truly was on her mind, it was still a question that lingered over her head for a while. 

“That, I can’t tell you ma. At least not right now.” 

She wasn’t satisfied with how curt his reply was. Sitting up, she supported her head with her hand, her elbow buried into the pillow beside his head as she peered down at him. 

“You can tell me,” she pried. A childish grin spread across her face. “If it’s something illegal I promise I won’t tell.”

Erik peaked one up up at her, a smile of his own taking over his featured. He pushed his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “Mm… Maybe I could tell you a little bit. I don’t even know where to begin though without you thinkin’ I’m crazy.”

“I won’t think you’re crazy.”

“You say that now.” There was a pregnant pause, and then, in the most serious tone ever, he said, “I’m apart of African royalty.”

“So there’s this country in Africa called Wakanda. At first glance, it seems like a small lil third world country, but in reality, they’re the most advanced civilization on the planet. They got this metal called Vibranium that allows them to all sorts of things, but they keep it hidden from the rest of the world.”

“How? And if they kept it hidden from the world, then how do you know about it?”

“They have a dome that surrounds the entire country. It’s practically impenetrable. And the only reason I know is because my father was the prince. He was sent here on an undercover mission in America but quickly saw how shitty thing were here, so he wanted to change it. “

“Wait, your father is the prince of an African country?” Nahla couldn’t believe her ears. Despite being secretive and mysterious, she knew that Erik wasn’t one to lie. After all, what could he possibly gain from lying about something as far fetched as this?  

“Was. He was killed before he could enact any change; by his own brother no less.”

She could hear a pain and vulnerability in his voice that she’d never heard before. Now she definitely knew that he wasn’t lying. 

Erik’s face had turned to the side in a fruitless attempt to hide the tears that welled up in his eyes. He’d never brought up his family or much of his life before he met her in a conversation, and now she could see why. 

Hesitantly, Nahla reached up to wipe away the tears that left his eyes. “So you plan on going back and getting revenge?” She pondered. It would make sense why he’d want to stay under the radar,  having no social media accounts, no permanent phone number, and constantly disappearing for months at a time. If he wanted to infiltrate an entire hidden country, then he’d have to be the closest thing to a ghost a person could be. 

“It’s on the list,” he replied, sitting up in bed while resting back against the headboard. “But, my main goal is to change the world. Wakanda has technology and weapons that people can’t even begin fathom. If our people were able to get their hands on that kind of fire power, we wouldn’t have to worry about the White man oppressing us any longer.” 

The sadness that was once present in his eyes had long disappeared, instead being replaced with a burning passion. It filled her with joy to see him get passionate about something, but it also put her on edge. Nahla knew what his plan implied, and she didn’t put it past him to sacrifice countless lives in order to see his vision come to life.

Staying silent, she simply nodded, too afraid that she’d say the wrong thing if she opened her mouth. Tearing her gaze away from the man, she began contemplating on everything she had been thinking about prior to his arrival. Her feelings for him were still unwavering, but now she was starting to ponder on whether or not being with him was a wise decision. It didn’t take being a genius to know that Erik’s path was a set one. He was a determined, goal-driven man, and when his mind was made up, there was no convincing him to go back on his decision. 

If she followed him down that path, she wouldn’t be able to turn back. 

“Do I scare you?” 

Nahla looked back up only to be met with obsidian eyes boring straight into her deep brown ones. His question threw her for a loop, no doubt, considering how Erik was never one to be considerate of other people’s feelings. 

“H-Huh? What do you mean?” She knew exactly what he meant. 

“That look in your eyes… You’re scared of something. What is it?” He demanded in an eerily calm manner. 

Attempting to spare his feelings would be a futile decision; Erik read people like his favorite novel. Yet, for some reason, Nahla had no control over the words that left her mouth. 

She almost never did when she was around him. 

“Nothing. I just get a bit spooked in the dark,” she chuckled. 

Erik simply blinked at her, a look of uncertainty and doubt dancing around in his eye before he shrugged it off and laid back down in the bed, facing her completely. 

“You should get some rest. Goodnight,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving her. 

Upon hearing his words, Nahla felt an immense tiredness wash over her as if he casted a sleeping spell over her. She glanced over at the clock and noticed how it was nearly 4 AM. She had only three hours before she needed to get up and get ready for work. 

She was tired, but fear kept plaguing her mind. A fear that he wouldn’t be there when she woke up. Or, even worse, a fear that she had dreamt the entire night. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you wake up,” he whispered. 

Nahla wanted to believe him, so she did, closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep. 

[thornedrose44]

It's Funny Right Up Until It's Not

Read on AO3

It's funny because it's harmless…

It's funny because it's never a big deal…

It's funny because it's forgotten by the next day…

It's funny because she's fine.

She's always fine…

Until… she’s not...

It's funny right up until there's a growing pool of blood.

It's funny right up until Kara's hands just can't seem to stem the flow.

It's funny right up until Kara can't get her to open her eyes no matter how much she screams.

It's funny right up until the moment Kara realises Lena might actually die this time…

*****

Lena always said she would start to worry if she didn't have an assassination attempt at least once a week, claiming she would phone her enemies to check that they were all still kicking - concerned they might have passed away or even worse… lost interest.

Lena was the one that joked about it from the start, her dark-edged humour and flair for the dramatic finding their niche with the topic of the failed attempts on her life.

Alex jumped in next - her humour similar to the youngest Luthor and her affection for Lena not high enough for her to find the subject of Lena’s death off putting like she would with anyone else. Her amusement at the failed attempts taking a harsher edge towards Lena than necessary. "You know why they keep missing you? You run so stupidly that logical aiming no longer applies."

Kara could chart Alex and Lena’s friendship by how the jokes changed. How Lena was no longer the punchline but the assassins, how they were idiotic for daring to take on Lena, "I mean seriously! What sane being in the known universe would think: 'I know that Lena Luthor stopped an alien invasion, is probably the smartest person on the planet and is practically a sharpshooter but me and my crappy store bought pistol will be more than enough to take her on'."

Alex's shift into more positive banter led the way for the rest of the Superfriends to get in on the action. They placed bets on when the next attempt would come. They would reminisce about the most ridiculous attempts so far - the spiderman impersonator that had used suction cup gloves to slowly climb the side of L-Corp was a particular favourite, exhausting themselves halfway up and crying for Supergirl to save him.

It became one of the most regular jokes amongst them, an old and familiar friend that they could fall back on and break the ice with when the need arrived.

Kara had hated it to start with. Had hated Lena's nonchalance and the twinkle of mirth in her eyes after her latest would-be assassin was carted away in handcuffs. Had hated Lena’s morbid humour. Had hated the bullying disguised as playful banter that Alex had inflicted on her best friend who always shook it off far too lightly. Had hated how it became a comfortable staple amongst her friends.

But… with every failed attempt that Lena walked away from without a scratch… Kara's hatred reduced. She started to laugh at the jokes and appreciate the compliments that Alex now tucked into her banter (each one an apology for those that had cruelly come before). She started to engage in the bets and fondly roll her eyes in faux exasperation when she would find Lena working away even as they swept up the glass from the latest attacker.

And once the Supergirl secret was out, their friendship more solid than ever, Kara finally poked fun as well.

It was funny because Lena was never hurt.

It was funny because Supergirl would always, always, always be there to save her in the nick of time.

It was funny right up until Supergirl was too late.

*****

Kara had been in the training room at the time, her powers dampened by the green suffused walls. She hadn’t heard the ringing from the watch calling - screaming out - for help. She hadn’t heard the gunshots. The skyrocketing heartbeat.

She hadn’t heard any of it.

Alex had insisted, after assessing Kara’s technique to be a little lazy in a fight the day prior, that they re-sharpen her skills in the training room. The sisters had spent the morning laughing between thrown punches; exhausting themselves and bickering good-naturedly. Kara had made Alex swear that they would be finished before eleven, not wanting to be late to her standing brunch with Lena that she always looked forward to.

It should be noted that it takes Kara a minute to somewhat recharge in the morning light streaming through the DEO’s windows on the mezzanine balcony after her training sessions. It was something Alex and Lena had spent a significant amount of time working out, taking into consideration the kryptonite strength in the training room and Kara’s typical sunlight absorption rate - neither liking the idea of Kara powerless for an extended amount of time.

So... it took a minute.

A full minute spent talking to Alex about… Kara wouldn’t even remember after everything that happened next.

She would, however, remember the moment when her super-hearing kicked back in and she was overwhelmed by the high pitched warble from Lena’s watch, followed by the sound of Lena’s barely there breath and thready heartbeat.

Kara won’t remember taking off so violently that Alex was thrown back several feet. She won’t remember smashing through the DEO’s ceiling nor the sonic boom that accompanied her flight and shattered hundreds of windows.

She won’t remember landing with such ferocity the entirety of L-Corp shook, matching the tremble running through her body.

She will, however, always remember the growing pool of blood and how she dissociated at the sight of it. Some strange voice in her head whispering that it must simply be red wine that had slipped through Lena’s fingers. She’d always liked wine, the voice would soothe, a particular cabernet with a price tag that would make Kara’s eyes water, that’s all it was.

She needed it to be wine.

It didn’t matter that the puddle - lake, ocean - was more than a single bottle’s worth.

It didn’t matter that Lena only drank wine with others, her solitary drink of preference being whiskey.

It didn’t matter that Kara had never seen Lena’s elegant fingers ever let a single drop fall from her glass, let alone an entire bottle.

It didn’t matter because it could not be blood.

Lena doesn’t bleed, not that much, not ever.

Because Lena was always fine. Kara was always there on time.

Always.

The next thing that would be forever ingrained in Kara’s memory, seared into her mind’s eye like burnt pixels exposed to the same image endlessly - a ghost overlapping everything else - was Lena’s body taking centre stage on the red carpet of her own creation.

Lena, pale beyond comparison, curled into a small ball, single arm stretched out and stained crimson. She was wearing Kara’s favourite dress - green with a white printed flower design - she had worn it to their first brunch after they had reconciled. It was associated with hope, reunion and new starts. It complemented Lena’s green eyes making them sparkle and twinkle even more when the light streaming through the little restaurant’s window had hit them at just the right angle.

Lena’s cheeks had flushed a pleased pink, ears burning a warm red when Kara had stuttered out a compliment that day. That brunch had settled something between them, ensured they walked with linked hands towards their new future rather than struggling on different paths that occasionally converged.

Now it was stained red. Splattered almost beyond recognition.

Kara won’t remember crying or screaming for Lena to wake up. She only knows she must have done it when she looked in the mirror hours later to find her cheeks marked with semi-permanent tear tracks whilst her throat ached from overuse.

She won’t remember flying Lena so carefully and tenderly to the DEO.

She won’t remember landing.

She won’t remember the expressions of utter devastation on Alex, Brainy, Nia and J’onn’s faces.

She won’t remember Alex having to shove her away so that she and the medical team can get to Lena.

She won’t remember Brainy and J’onn forcibly restraining her.

She will remember the sound of Lena’s heart stopping for thirty seconds and feeling like the whole world had ended.

*****

The space was filled to the brim with loved ones that couldn’t bear the idea of leaving whilst the medical staff fought to save Lena’s life

Brainy and Nia were sat huddled together against one wall, Nia running a calm hand down Brainy’s ramrod straight back. J'onn stood in the corner, observant gaze sweeping protectively over everyone, ready to swing into action at the slightest indication someone required him. Sam and Ruby - who had flown over using the L-Corp jet the second they had heard - were curled up on one of the two benches, Ruby’s soft cries muffled against Sam’s curled shoulder. Kelly, meanwhile, was hovering nearby, flitting between people, providing endless comfort and support.

It was Kelly that had gently tugged Kara to the bathroom and washed away the crimson marking her skin and brought her a change of clothes, telling her in gentle tones that she didn’t need to be Supergirl in this situation.

It was permission to fall apart, to just be the best friend and not the hero.

Kara didn’t know she needed that until she finally realised no one had touched her since she had brought Lena in, that she hadn’t sat down or rested either. Her stiff posture and clenched jaw warding off all those that wished to provide comfort.

The second permission was granted to her, Kara immediately sought out her adoptive mother, who had just arrived, and collapsed into her arms, willingly breaking down and begging between sobs for Lena to be okay.

Kara and Eliza took up the other bench - mirror images of Sam and Ruby - Eliza, intermittently, pressing reassuring kisses to Kara’s head as they waited and waited and waited.

“She’s stable.” Alex announced with little ceremony as she stepped into the room, cutting right to the chase knowing a delay of any kind would not be appreciated by those sitting in the makeshift waiting room/DEO hallway. There was an instant audible expulsion of air that accompanied the sheer relief of the room's occupants.

Kara, however, didn’t sigh in relief, didn’t whisper a thank you to any deity listening, instead she got to her feet and approached Alex, desperation clear in her eyes and in the shake of her hands. “Can I see her?”

Alex blinked taken aback by the suddenness of the request but not the request itself, “Kara, she’s-”

“Please.” Kara begged, blue eyes pleading, legs shaking, ready to drop to her knees in supplication if need be.

“Kara, I don’t-” Alex murmured, looking quickly over at Eliza for support.

“Take her.” Eliza interrupted, tone serious and grave after spending hours holding her daughter who hadn't cried this much since the destruction of her entire planet. “Take her to Lena.”

“Okay, come on…”, Alex shook her head in wary acceptance, moving to hold open the door to Lena’s room.

*****

“She’s in a medically induced coma.” Alex explained quietly, her voice only just audible over all the whirring machines that Lena was hooked up to.

“Will she...” Kara asked, trailing off unable to finish the question.

Unable to imagine the still, pale mannequin laid out on the bed before her being all that Lena will ever be.

“Her body needs time to heal.” Alex explained carefully, not directly answering Kara’s question, “Once we’re more confident that she…” Alex cleared her throat, trying for tact and simplicity, “That she’s improved, we’ll back off the medication and gradually encourage her out of the coma.”

“Okay.” Kara accepted, sliding into the seat beside the bed, fingers reaching out tentatively to wrap around Lena’s limp ones.

“Okay?” Alex repeated, confused by Kara’s lack of pressing questions.

“She’ll wake up.” Kara murmured, bending down to press a kiss to Lena’s knuckles. “She’ll be fine. She’s always fine, isn’t she?”

“Uh…” Alex mumbled, uncertainty twisting her insides as she approached her sister who seemed so… lost.

“How many attempts has she survived now, huh?” Kara asked, her tone light but so dreadfully wrong and out of place like an easy-going dinner with friends jarred from its natural rhythm by the sharp squeak of a fork against a plate.

“Kara?” Alex whispered, stepping towards her sister like she would a wounded animal. "She's really hurt and I don't-"

"She’ll be fine, Alex. She’s always fine!" Kara hissed, blue eyes turning fierce with an ethereal red glow that had Alex stopping dead in her tracks. "It happens every week like clockwork and Lena is always fine!"

"This… this isn't like those other times…" Alex said slowly.

"YES, IT IS!" Kara screeched, the embers in her eyes sparking dangerously.

Alex swallowed thickly, a genuine trickle of fear running down her spine at the disturbing mish-mash of emotions flickering across Kara’s shadowed face. The only thing that made Alex see her sister in the dark swirl of emotions was the tender way she continued to cradle Lena’s hand as she ranted so loudly it shook the walls, every word undoubtedly audible to those seated just outside.

"They're all the same, Alex. It doesn't matter if they are professional or amateurs.” Kara snarled. “It doesn't matter if the plan is simple or complex. They've all tried to kill her and failed! It’s the same fucking thing as all the others! It’s not different."

"I-" Alex began in a futile attempt to soothe her sister’s heartbreak and loathing, but she might as well have tried to turn the tide.

"It's a joke, right?!” Kara laughed darkly, “That's how certain we are that they will always fail. That she will always be okay! We wouldn't joke about it if there was any actual risk, right?!” Kara asked, not waiting to hear the answer as the question itself was enough to punch a hole in Alex’s chest and leave her gasping for breath. “Because how fucked up would that be? That I laugh about my best friend… the woman I… my Lena, dying nearly every week." Kara’s voice cracked with true despair.

"Kara, you didn't-"

"Yes, I did and so did you. So did everyone.” Kara accused, laying out their crimes that they were all undeniably guilty of. “We laughed. We placed bets. We minimised it but didn't actually do anything. There is an assassination attempt on her life every week and yes, we stop it when it happens. But have we ever actually done anything to prevent it in the first place? Or did we just like the joke too fucking much?" Kara sobbed, finally turning away from her sister to gently lay her head atop of Lena’s frail hand.

"Kara…" Alex croaked; hot tears spilling from her own eyes at the sight of her sister becoming undone and knowing that any comfort she could offer was limited.

Lena’s state was precarious, her life still in the balance.

And with regards to the source of Kara’s anguish and the failings she had thrown at all of their doorsteps… well, Alex couldn't refute them especially knowing she had been the worst of them. The guilt was like that of a thousand blades slicing her up from the inside out, and she barely staggered to the door where Kelly was waiting with sympathy and love that Alex had never felt so unworthy of.

"She's going to be okay." Alex called out over her shoulder as she fell into Kelly’s arms, knowing Kara couldn’t hear her over the sounds of her grief and pain… but needing to say it nonetheless. Needing the words to be out there in the universe.

Needing them to be true.

*****

Kara stayed by Lena’s bedside for the entire week that Lena remained unconscious - an ever present sentinel that barely slept and only ate when Eliza forced the food onto her. The tumultuous swirl of fear and guilt that had become her constant companion, weighing heavier than the two worlds she already carried on her shoulders, kept her ever-vigilant and on a hair-trigger for even the smallest of threats to the young Luthor’s life.

Alex stopped by once a day to check in but she kept her distance, neither sister ready to address the crimes Kara held them both accountable for. The older Danvers looked almost as wrecked as Kara, dark circles under her eyes revealing deep-levels of exhaustion and stress - Kara wanted to ask how she was and check that she was looking after herself but the words just wouldn’t come. When Alex stopped by, Kara huddled even closer to Lena’s bedside and kept her gaze fixed and purposefully away from her sister’s.

Brainy and Nia, on the other hand, more than made up for Alex’s short visitations, setting up shop in Lena’s room whenever they could free themselves from the responsibilities Kara had unwittingly dumped on them - Brainy had stepped up to cover for Supergirl’s sudden disappearance in much the same way Nia was covering for Kara at work. Both had heard Kara’s distraught cries when she had seen Lena in the hospital bed and both were shouldering their own fair share of blame and guilt.

Brainy wasn’t very good at showing how distraught Lena’s near death had made him, hiding behind a tablet screen as he sat in the corner of Lena’s hospital room, but Kara was more than aware of the grief-stricken glances Brainy would send to his intellectual equal when he believed no one was looking. Kara didn’t call him out on it, merely gave his shoulder a squeeze every now and again before giving the Coluan some privacy - trusting Brainy above everyone to not let anything happen to Lena.

Whilst Nia hadn’t known Lena as long as everyone else, she was a gentle soul with the kindest heart that Kara had ever seen, her loyalty and love was firm and sincere regardless of how short a time she had known someone as was the case with the CEO. Lena was the person that Nia went to for support about sibling drama because Lena, unlike Kara, knew what it was like to truly doubt family love and how to cope when that support which everyone expects to be unconditional vanishes without a trace. Lena was the person that Nia had started to go shopping with, their appreciation for designer and statement fashion providing them bonding time that no one else could easily (or willingly) provide.

Eliza stuck around, the temporary dissolution of the sisterly bond that the two sisters’ typically depended on forcing the Danvers matriarch to step in and pick up the disjointed pieces of her family. She was the one that compelled Kara to shower, eat and nap. She was the one that dragged Alex by her ear into Lena’s room for her flying visits. She was the one that took point on Lena’s care, Alex too emotionally spent and frazzled to lead, and Kara untrusting of anyone else when it came to treating her best friend.

The medication was steadily backed off on the fifth day, Lena’s tests showing promise that she was improving. Lena groaned intermittently on the sixth day, groggy and confused - utterly unaware of Kara who flitted constantly over her with every sound like a worried mother hen. It was the seventh day - Kara’s mind fleetingly linking it with something holy and divine - when Lena awoke.

“Lena?” Kara whispered as Lena’s eyes fluttered open, green eyes slowly focusing and showing awareness that had been lacking whenever they flashed open a day prior.

“Kar-” Lena began, her voice fading out after the first syllable, her mouth so dry that her tongue barely managed to apply any moisture to her cracked lips. Kara responded immediately to her needs, her every nerve tuned in exclusively to Lena after days at her side.

“Here, small sips…” Kara encouraged, holding out a cup of water and straw which she pressed gently against the other woman’s lips.

After Lena had drunk her fill, Kara placed the cup back on the side before retaking Lena’s hand tenderly in her own.

“Better?” Kara checked.

“Hmm…” Lena hummed affirmatively, green eyes greedily moving over Kara’s face causing the blonde to flush and wish for the first time in the last few days that she had spent a bit more time on her appearance.

“I-” Kara began, her voice cracking with emotion as her lower lip trembled with barely suppressed sobs.

Kara had so much to say. So much.

The words had come endlessly whilst Lena had been asleep, thousands upon thousands of conversations she was desperate to have with her best friend playing on endless repeat in her mind’s eye scripted to perfection. She had promised herself she would have them all, would say them all the second Lena was awake and listening. She had memorised them and mouthed them to herself as she sat by the bedside, pressing kisses to Lena’s knuckles to mark the end of each sentence.

But now… her signature ramble had deserted her. There was so much to say and Kara was already overwhelmed at simply being able to stare into intelligent green that she so adored.

“Kara?” Lena called out soothingly.

And much to Kara’s embarrassment, the kryptonian promptly burst into tears upon hearing her name.

“Kara, it’s okay…” Lena rushed to reassure, squeezing Kara’s hand and tugging her closer so that Kara could bury her face into the pillow Lena was resting her head on - even in her broken down state Kara was so careful of Lena’s injured body. “I’m okay.” Lena repeated until Kara’s cries began to quieten and her shoulders stopped shaking, reducing down to a mere tremble.

“No, you’re not…” Kara hiccupped, turning her head to peer into concerned green eyes.

“Of course I am.” Lena reassured with a light, dismissive chuckle that made Kara tense up and her jaw clench. “That idiot couldn’t aim for shit.” Lena scoffed with an amused roll of her eyes that meant she was blind to the rage visibly brewing in her best friend’s countenance. “I’m thinking of turning the corridor leading into my office into a target range. Only those that can hit three out of five targets can gain access. That should stop like eighty percent of the assassins and then those that do make it through will at least be worthy of-”

“SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Kara demanded, throwing herself from the bed, hands clamped tight over her ears as she paced the room with such heavy footsteps that visible cracks in the tiles marked her every move.

The sudden silence that followed would have been suffocating if it were not for the familiar beeps of the machines that monitored Lena’s precious heartbeat. Slowly, Kara pulled her shaky hands away from her ears and glanced at her best friend with her peripheral vision, not ready to face those green eyes after her outburst. Lena was watching her curiously, no hint of fear in her expression or body language, eyebrow raised and lips pursed.

“Kara?” Lena encouraged, inviting an explanation with that single word.

Kara inhaled roughly, rubbing at her creased forehead with tightly wound fists. “It’s not funny, Lena…”

Lena cleared her throat and began with a tone that always accompanied her dry, snarky wit, “Well, maybe not right now but by the third attempt after this one-”

“NO!” Kara bellowed in total disbelief that Lena completely failed to get it. “YOU NEARLY FUCKING DIED.”

Lena yet again rolled her eyes and waved a hand as if to sweep it aside like it was a meaningless report that she had made a minor grammatical error in. “Kara, you’re over-reacting.”

“I AM REACTING THE RIGHT FUCKING AMOUNT TO SOMEONE TRYING TO KILL THE WOMAN I-” Kara’s voice cut out sudden and sharp.

Finally, Lena’s mask of nonchalance and indifference cracked. Round green eyes, slack jaw and hands tightly fisted in the bed’s blanket. A deer in the headlight that had never believed a car would ever come and had just been forced to watch it swerve erratically by, missing her by an inch.

Kara sucked in her lips, holding in the single word with all of her mighty strength before deflating and stating for the record, “It’s not funny. It was never funny. Never.”

*****

Kara didn’t keep her distance after that but that didn’t prevent a sizable chasm from opening up between them. It was nowhere near as bad as the fallout from Supergirl-gate, but it was ten times more awkward. The confession that almost happened, the assassination attempt and Lena’s near-death were swept momentarily under a rug but they loomed over them both regardless.

The Superfriends served as a suitable buffer, all of them (except for Alex) coming in on rotation to catch up with Lena throughout the day, keeping her occupied (though, Kara’s stony silence and brooding glare was definitely the elephant in the room) until exhaustion pushed Lena into a deep slumber.

It lasted two days which is more than Kara thought Lena would let her get away with but she hadn’t taken into consideration how fragile Lena was from her injuries. Kara hated herself just that little bit more for always assuming everything was fine, that Lena was unbreakable and failing to see what was really going on below the surface.

“How long are you going to give me the silent treatment for?” Lena questioned, peering over at the blonde who was sat in the corner of the room typing up a fluff piece article to keep Andrea’s wrath at bay as she kept herself sequestered in Lena’s hospital room. Kara pointedly ignored the question, shoulders curving forward to keep her tightly locked towards her laptop screen.

“Come on Kara, talk to me, please?” Lena whined, sounding like a child denied her favourite toy and not someone that had gone through an incredibly traumatic event.

Kara’s jaw clenched, self-awareness making her realise that if she hadn’t of been the one to find Lena, hadn’t watched the grim bruises littered across pale skin lighten to murky blues and greens… she wouldn’t be able to tell that Lena had only just escaped the sweep of death’s scythe.

“I hate it when we are not talking.” Lena declared soft and earnest, finally pulling the kryptonian’s gaze away from her computer screen to the woman that Kara knew with absolute certainty would always make her breath catch no matter how much time passed. “I know my humour is a bit insensitive but I genuinely didn’t mean to upset you. Kara, just-”

“I’m in love with you.” Kara interrupted, the words slipping out easily after being held onto so tightly for years.

She was so drained of emotion, of thought, of strength, her heart battered and bruised by everything she had gone through, but the core of her loved Lena without end. With nothing else in her, there was nothing to hold back that limitless source which had been begging to be released.

“I have been for a long time,” Kara admitted gently, fingers shifting away from her keyboard to gently interlace - her gaze dropping down to focus on their interaction, “so much so that I don’t even really remember a time where I wasn’t in love with you.” Kara shook her head ruefully. “I should have told you earlier but I just… I was so scared of losing you, in even a small way… What if I told you and we hung out a little less? What if I told you and you stopped hugging me as hard as you do? I know I should have… I know it's the exact same reason - excuse - as why I kept Supergirl a secret and I know how…” Kara swallowed thickly, the crinkle between her brow deepening even further. “I should have learnt but you mean so much to me. I didn’t know… I’ve never loved like this before. When I heard… your heart stop. It was Krypton all over again and I just…”

“Kara.” Lena breathed in awe.

“I am so in love with you,” Kara repeated, practically begging for Lena to accept it as the truth; she didn’t care in that moment if Lena returned her feelings, it wasn’t about that, it was about Lena knowing she was loved. Truly and deeply loved. “Please believe me.”

“I believe you.” Lena whispered causing Kara’s head to jerk upwards to find Lena looking so small and vulnerable. The youngest Luthor timidly tapped the empty space next to her, “Come here.”

“I…” Kara hesitated, afraid of getting close again - so utterly afraid of destroying this beautiful moment between them.

“Come here.” Lena beseeched and Kara was on her feet and settling next to her best friend in an instant unable to deny her anything. Immediately, Lena reached out for her, directing Kara to lie down and rest her head on the uninjured side of her chest. “Just listen.” Lena requested; Kara did as she was told - though her super hearing and the beeping of the monitor in the corner told Kara that Lena’s heart was beating strong and steady, it was nothing compared to feeling it hum under her cheek. “It’s beating for you,” Lena revealed, her voice little more than a whisper muffled by how she pressed her lips to Kara’s forehead, “it's always been beating for you.”

*****

Lena fell asleep not long after but Kara stayed awake until the early hours of the morning… just listening to Lena’s heart and experiencing the regular rise and fall of Lena’s chest with every breath. She slipped out of Lena’s room before dawn, going to shower in the changing rooms before the early morning shift change.

Freshly clean and dressed in clothes that Eliza had brought by, Kara watched the sunrise from the balcony that she had initially heard Lena’s watch calling to her for help. She had returned to the spot whenever she had managed to pull herself away from Lena’s room - her self-flagellation tendency making itself apparent.

“She uses humour to cope.” Alex muttered, moving to stand by Kara’s side as they watched the first peeks of orange appear on the horizon, both blatantly ignoring how the glass was new and that there was a patched up hole in the ceiling above them.

“I know that.” Kara replied.

Alex sighed, resting her forearms on the balcony guard, “There are worse coping methods.”

“I know that too.” Kara acknowledged, pursing her lips and shaking her head. “It’s not about that… not really anyway…”

“Then what’s it about?” Alex inquired.

Kara loved Alex best when she was like this. Encouraging but not overbearing. Guiding but not directing. When she was just her big sister and not her over-burdened protector. She was easy to talk to like this and this version of her had been coming to the forefront more and more with Kelly’s gentle love and care.

“She’s laughing to deal with incredible trauma.” Kara summarised before turning to look at her sister and asking the question that had been plaguing her the most, “But why are we laughing?”

“Because she wanted us to.” Alex answered simply.

“Yeah,” Kara agreed, mouth twisting into a bitter smile, “she wanted us to but she needed us not to more… she needed us to help her… and we just laughed.” Alex cringed at that but she fully flinched at the question that came next. “If it was me that was getting assassination attempts every week… what would you have done?”

Alex closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, fortifying herself for the truth she was about to announce, “I would have taken the world apart to find and stop whoever was doing it.”

“Yeah…” Kara said quietly, there wasn’t much else to say. “I’m not going to apologise for yelling.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“We need to do something.”

“I know…” Alex agreed, turning her back to the sun that was halfway to fully risen, “whilst you were watching over Lena, I may have started on something that might help.”

“So that’s where you’ve been,” Kara hummed thoughtfully, “I figured you were avoiding me.”

“I was.” Alex admitted readily, much to Kara’s surprise. “Well, not you. Lena.” Alex corrected, “I couldn’t face her until I had something… done something.”

“She misses you.” Kara revealed.

“Why?” Alex murmured sadly, “I was a terrible friend.”

“You’ve made up for it.” Kara refuted, nudging her sister’s side comfortingly.

“Have I?” Alex scoffed, unconvinced but happily leaning into her sister now that the gap between them had been bridged.

“That’s not for me or you to decide. It’s for Lena. And she misses you.” Kara asserted, giving Alex a moment to consider what she had said before dropping her own truth-bomb, “I told her I was in love with her.”

Alex whirled round to face her, loudly and joyfully exclaiming, “You did?”

“Yeah.” Kara winced, shyly rubbing the back of her neck, “You knew?”

“Not until recently.” Alex tutting at her own blindness, “I should have seen it earlier.”

“I didn’t want you to. I wasn’t ready to deal with it yet and you’ve always made me brave.”

Alex smiled at that, “How did it go?”

“Good.” Kare coughed, blushing profusely, “She… uh… loves me too.”

“That I’d known for a while.” Alex chuckled. “Are you two-”

“Uh… kind of? We’re acknowledging it but not acting on it.”

Alex’s brow creased at the lack of certainty to her answer, “What? Why?”

“Lena needs time to recover. And after everything,” Kara frowned, “I don’t think a little time to do that is too much to ask.”

“Responsible decision.” Alex complimented.

“Kelly’s advice.” Kara divulged.

Alex’s smile expanded to a proud grin. “Unsurprising.”

“Come on,” Kara ordered, clapping her hands together before slinging an arm around her sister’s shoulders, “show me what you’ve been working on, then you better go see Lena.”

*****

Two gunshot wounds, one to the torso and one to the right thigh, as well as two broken ribs, a black eye, stitches to her lip and her skin turned into an homage to Jackson Pollock by different shaded bruising. Lena catalogued the injury rundown given to her by the doctor with little interest; she paid even less attention to her treatment plan, the medication schedule and the intensive physiotherapy her leg would require.

All she really wanted was to get back to work; if Kara wasn’t there shooting her stern glares everytime Lena’s gaze wandered, the CEO would have happily been replying to emails on her phone as the Doctor lectured away.

“Did you even listen to any of that?” Kara asked once the doctor had taken his leave.

“I heard his name…” Lena grumbled, phone already in hand and frown settling in as she reviewed the most recent email from her marketing head who still hadn’t quite got it through their thick skull that weapons were no longer their main focus.

“And what was it?” Kara questioned, her phone vanishing from her hands with a flash of superspeed.

Lena huffed out a disgruntled breath. “It was...”

“It was?” Kara prompted, arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping the floor angrily whilst her nostrils flared.

Lena pursed her lips, schooling her expression to hide just how attractive she found a stern Kara to be. “It’s on the tip of my tongue.” Lena said slowly, playing desperately for time. “Doctor…” Kara merely arched an eyebrow at her. “Smith?”

“Not even close.”

“Damn…” Lena muttered with a pout.

“Lena,” Kara began with a sad shake of her head as she moved to sit on the edge of Lena’s bed.

“Ugh, you’re about to lecture me too, aren’t you?” Lena groaned.

“Lena, this is important.” Kara stressed. “Your treatment is important. Your health is important.” Kara’s blue eyes shone with love and Lena couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “You are important.”

Their confession of love still hung heavy between them despite Lena not explicitly saying the words in return. It should have marked a huge change in their relationship but it was lost amongst the tidal wave that had come before it, put on pause until the wake from the assassination attempt had dissipated enough for Lena to catch her breath.

“Fine…” Lena relented, reaching out to take Kara’s hand, gaze still shy and ducked. “I assume you were listening then?”

“Of course, I was. It was about you.” Kara replied so honest and sincere that Lena’s heart audibly fluttered on the heart monitor producing a smug smirk on the blonde’s face.

“Go on then, tell me.”

“Will you actually listen to me?” Kara checked, tilting her head to the side.

Lena lifted her head and met Kara’s eyes with a steady gaze of her own, “Of course, I will. It’s you talking.”

*****

The strangest thing about it all was the attention.

And for once it wasn’t negative media attention.

It was Kara and the Superfriends, they were being attentive. Lena hadn’t spent a single minute alone since she had woken up in the DEO hospital bed. Kara had been there the most to start with, her time in Lena’s room decreasing significantly a couple of days after the kind-of-confession (Lena assumed Kara was giving her some breathing room) but she was always present for any appointments and back for dinner, sleeping by her side in the decent-sized hospital bed. As Kara’s time decreased, the other Superfriends tagged in to fill the gap.

Brainy joined her most mornings for games of chess and to talk through some of the sticking points in Lena’s inventions. Nia covered the afternoons, filling the room with light and happy conversation, regaling her with stories of silly work disputes and helping her with her hair and make-up, teasing her like a little sister would when she mentioned wanting to look nicer for Kara.

Kelly would slot in every now and again but she made Lena uneasy, she looked at Lena like she could see right through her armour and it unsettled her. Her usual attempts to crack through awkwardness with a dry comment didn’t seem to faze Kelly and Lena’s obvious discomfort resulted in Kelly staying away for the most part; whenever, she did leave though she always made it clear that Lena could call her if she ever wanted to talk.

Lena pretended she didn’t know what Kelly was hinting at.

Eliza was the biggest surprise. Ever since Lena failed to listen to any of her doctors, Kara had clearly ratted her out to the oldest Danvers prompting the Doctor to personally take over Lena’s care, somehow innately knowing that Lena wouldn’t be able to ignore her like she did all the others. Eliza was a near constant presence in Lena’s room, reading through a pile of medical journals and historical romance fiction that Lena was slowly becoming tempted to borrow as time passed.

Alex was still a complete no-show.

Lena tried not to let it bother her.

Her and Alex had always had a tumultuous relationship - built on distrust and dislike at first sight. Kara had been their bridge and mediator. They had grown past it, grown to trust and like one another as time passed. It had been hard-fought compared to the easiness (Supergirl secret fallout notwithstanding) of their individual relationships with Kara. It was precious because of that.

Alex coming to see her with a bottle of whiskey, after defeating Leviathan and Lex being thrown back in jail, ready to fight to rebuild their friendship all over again was one of Lena’s dearest memories. Alex was the only one to reach out to her first after everything. Lena had to make the first move with Kara, Brainy and Nia. She had been too afraid of Alex to reach out, thinking their friendship would never recover… Alex had proved her wrong.

But now… Alex was avoiding her.

And Lena didn’t really know why, though a small voice in her head told her that Alex just simply didn’t care about her enough to visit…

“Did you have a good day?” Kara asked, stepping out of the ensuite bathroom dressed in cosy pyjamas, shuffling over to the side of Lena’s bed that had become her own.

“You don’t already know with your litany of spies?” Lena remarked, turning the page of her book with a single accusing finger.

“What-” Kara began, brow creased with confusion.

“I don’t think there is a single minute of my day that is not covered by one of your friends.” Lena revealed, snapping her book shut and shooting the blonde an arched eyebrow. “I can’t sneeze without someone already on hand holding out a handkerchief.”

“They’re worried about you.” Kara reminded her softly as she settled next to Lena, arm immediately finding its place around Lena’s waist and gently encouraging her to lie down beside her. “And they’re your friends, Lena.”

“Sure.” Lena tutted unconvinced.

Kara’s pliant body that Lena had become used to snuggling into became stiff and tense. “Do you think they are only here because I asked them to be?”

Lena rolled her eyes, perking her head up to look into sharp, unamused blue eyes, “Are you seriously telling me they’re not?”

“Lena,” Kara said, slow and serious, “they’re here because they care about you. Because they nearly lost you and they… they don’t want to be away from you.”

Lena stared into the deep blue eyes she adored and saw only earnestness reflected in them.

“Oh…” Lena breathed, her heart squeezing tight in her chest desperately trying to contain the swell of emotion that had just flooded it. “I didn’t realise...”

“We love you, Lena.” Kara whispered, her free hand reaching out to tuck stray locks of raven hair behind Lena’s ear. “You’re going to have to get used to us being around.”

“Hmm…” Lena hummed, cheeks blushing a pretty pink at Kara’s tender touch and the realisation that came with finding you have family. Lena buried her face in Kara’s shoulder, suddenly shy and embarrassed - Kara didn’t tease her for it, simply gave Lena the comfort and sanctity she craved.

They were quiet for a long time, the hum of the machines and welcome darkness of the room lulling them both to sleep. It wasn’t until Kara’s breath had started to deepen that Lena found the courage to ask about what had been weighing heavy on her.

“And Alex?” Lena murmured, breaking the silence and calm with those two words.

Kara’s deep, even breaths faltered. “She’s still not been by?” Kara asked carefully; Lena shook her head slightly, not trusting her voice to remain steady. “Well… ummm… she’s busy…”

“Yeah… of course…” Lena replied, letting out a sad sigh before falling into another troubled sleep.

*****

“You look like shit.”

Not exactly the first words she was expecting to hear from the older Danvers after a three week absence but Lena had known it would be something along those lines.

It was Lena’s last day in the DEO hospital room that had been her resting place since she woke up from the attempt on her life. Kara and Eliza were taking her back to her apartment that afternoon - both of whom were going to be taking up residence in Lena’s apartment alongside Sam and Ruby who were already staying there to support Lena’s long-term recovery.

Lena folded her hands carefully in her lap as she studied the redhead leaning against the doorway. “You don’t look much better.” Lena said after a long pause, arching a curious eyebrow at the dark shadows beneath Alex’s eyes.

“Touche.” Alex acknowledged with a dip of her head that gave her an excuse to keep her gaze directed to the floor when she asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Alex, you…” Lena stopped, grinding her teeth together in frustration before shaking her head, “You really don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend.” Lena answered simply, shooting the hesitant agent a melancholic smile. “Force yourself to be here. I assume Kara guilt-tripped you into being here.”

“Kara didn’t-” Alex began only to stop abruptly at the sight of the unimpressed glare directed her way. “Okay, she might have encouraged me.” Alex admitted, scuffing her toes against the floor in the exact same way Kara did whenever she was guilty of eating the last bit of Lena’s ice cream. “She can be pretty intimidating when it comes to you.” Alex’s eyes twinkled in a blatant attempt to get them to bond, to seal over the cracks between them with cellophane.

Normally, Lena would accept it. Would laugh and blush knowingly, giving Alex the free pass she was angling for.

That was before she nearly died and her second closest friend after Kara couldn’t be bothered to stop by for five minutes until the day she would be allowed to leave the only place they shared.

“Well, I’ll tell her you came by, so don’t worry.” Lena replied politely with a single nod of her head.

Alex flinched at the coolness of Lena’s response, “Lena… I…”

“Alex, I nearly died.” Lena stated bluntly, the truth of it like the swing of a reaper’s blade between them. “If what I overheard from some of the agents is true… I did die.” Lena chuckled darkly to herself at the sheer absurdity of it all, “I nearly die once a week, sometimes more. My life expectancy is incredibly short - don’t tell Kara that, though.” Lena quickly requested, she’d seen how much all of this had affected the blonde and she didn’t want to pile onto her pain. “I don’t think about it because if I do…” Lena trailed off, her gaze turning distant as she whispered, “I don’t think about it. What I’m trying to say is…” Lena exhaled deeply, letting go of her charged emotions and in a far more real way letting go of all expectations of friendship when it came to the older Danvers. “I don’t need to be around people that don’t want to be around me.”

“Lena.” Alex croaked from the door.

Lena didn’t look at her. Didn’t want to see the effect of her honesty.

So, instead, Lena reached out for the book on the bedside table, flipped it open and promised with a brusque business tone, “I’ll tell Kara you stopped by.”

*****

The return back to her apartment was a welcome shift, having grown sick of the sight of her hospital room’s four walls after the first day of waking up there. Lena was happy to be back in her own space but after a day that’s where the joy ended.

Being back in her apartment acutely reminded her of her current lack of independence.

She was no longer awake at six for work like she used to be, her injuries and medication making her sleep long and late into the day. Then when she was awake she found herself groggy and fatigued.

She couldn’t get up and make breakfast for herself, she couldn’t shower without support, she couldn’t focus for long without her attention drifting. Her penthouse was abuzz with life and activity in a way that it had never been before but she found she couldn’t quite enjoy it to its fullest with how she jumped at every loud sound and struggled to keep herself awake for the length of a film.

That wasn’t the worst part though...

There had been a certain safety and security that had come with being at the DEO: surrounded by armed agents that were there to keep her safe, her super-powered friends just a couple of corridors away at all times.

That’s not to say her apartment wasn’t secure.

It was probably more secure than the DEO with biometric locks, bulletproof glass and a panic room that could probably survive armageddon. And if that wasn’t enough, she currently went to sleep with one of the most highly regarded Doctors in the country as well as one of her best friends who would fight tooth and nail for her staying in her guest rooms and to top it off, she had Supergirl curled up around her every night.

The panic attacks started when she had returned to the apartment and her medication dosage had been decreased enough to lift the fog on her mind and allow the dark thoughts and fears to seep in under the cover of darkness.

She managed to hide it, mostly due to luck more than anything else.

Kara was out for most of the day still, off doing who knew what - the kryptonian had been particularly secretive about her recent activities - and Lena had managed to request privacy when she felt an attack starting that Sam and Ruby were always quick to acquiesce to.

She just needed to get past this, she just needed to push the fear, that she had kept tightly sealed in a little box in some far-flung corner of her mind, back into the abyss it belonged in.

If she could do that…

She just didn’t want to be afraid anymore, not when she had so many good things in her life, like her new bedtime routine...

“And anyway long story short…” Kara grinned, as she lifted Lena gently into the bed, tucking the sheets lovingly around her, “he gave me a camel.”

Lena chuckled, pressing a quick appreciative kiss to Kara’s cheek that had the blonde ducking her head bashfully. “I’m assuming you didn’t keep it.”

Kara winced, admitting weakly, “I kept it for like a week. It destroyed my apartment. Destroyed.” Kara stressed with a horror-struck expression.

“Really?” Lena prompted as Kara supersped to turn out the lights, change into her pyjamas and get into bed by Lena’s side.

“You remember when you popped round to my apartment for lunch one day and you thought there was a gas leak because of the smell?” Kara asked, holding out an arm for Lena to curl herself up under.

“Yeah?”

“Camel.”

“Huh.” Lena muttered thoughtfully, “I thought you were just having really bad flatulence.”

Kara gasped in shock and disbelief, “And you still wanted to hang out with me?”

Lena shrugged, licking her lips before declaring simply, “I’m in love with you.”

It was the first time she had properly said the words.

“I… umm… I…” Kara stammered incoherently, her entire face turning a lovely shade of tomato. “You like making me all flustered, don’t you?” Kara groaned.

“Yes.” Lena answered honestly, “Until I can…” Lena’s smile dimmed momentarily at the reminder that she was still not quite ready for that next step, “it’s the only thing I can do right now.”

“There’s no rush.” Kara assured, even as Lena heard a small clock ticking in her mind, counting down to the next inevitable bullet she would have to dodge.

*****

Lena had learned to be quiet from a young age.

She was told firmly that screams and cries and whimpers were not acceptable. That her nightmares did not warrant waking the house, did not warrant shaming the Luthor name with her tears and her petty fears.

Lena taught herself to wake with a mere sigh whilst her throat clenched tightly to hold in the shout of desperation that wished to escape.

Lena taught herself to sleep motionlessly, to not toss and turn as her dreamed body clawed and swam through a syrupy atmosphere whilst shadowy figures relentlessly hunted her down.

Lena taught herself to hide her nightmares from a young age - it was easy enough to do, she got a lot of practice in the Luthor Mansion and she had regularly brushed up on these skills since she started dodging bullets every other day.

No one would ever know the horrors that plagued her at night as long as Lena had her way.

What she didn’t count on was that the horrors could grow and mutate into terrors far worse than anything she had ever experienced.

For the first time since she was child, Lena awoke with a blood-curdling scream, her entire body trembling and skin clammy with cold sweat.

“Lena, you’re okay. You’re okay.” A soft voice soothed, warm arms wrapping gently around Lena to prevent her from causing harm to herself with her frantic movements. “Shh… you’re okay.”

“I… I…” Lena cried, shaking her head to clear the nightmare veil still shrouding her mind.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” Kara repeated endlessly, each utterance just as soft and gentle as all the others.

“Kara…” Lena croaked, burying herself in Kara’s warmth and forcing the kryptonian’s arms to wrap even more around her. It was the fear that made her honest whilst the pain of her constantly aching body made the words tumble out even easier, “I’m… scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t…”

The pliable cocoon made of Kryptonian muscle hardened to steel in an instant at the confession. The murmured words of comfort ceased and Kara’s breath went from light and even to deep and irregular.

“Lena, you’re not going to die.” Kara whispered harshly, the words cold and vicious - but not towards Lena, never towards Lena - as if she could intimidate away any and all threats just by speaking it into existence. “You’re not.”

“This time.” Lena muttered, timidly reaching out to hold Kara with her own hands as she ducked her head under Kara’s chin.

“Lena?”

“I’m not going to die this time.” Lena breathed, “What about the next one? And the one after that and after that and… It never stops. And I don’t- I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be scared all the time. I want to be excited and happy because you love me.” Lena’s hands clutch handfuls of Kara’s pyjama shirt with white knuckles. “But all I’m thinking about is: how little time we have. How stupid it is to get into a relationship when I know the odds - because they offer them on a number of mainstream betting sites - of me making it to the next year is slim to none.”

Silence followed Lena’s speech, heavy and suffocating. Lena held her breath waiting for the kryptonian to reply.

The lightest touch of lips to Lena’s forehead allowed her to breathe out slow and steady.

“You are not dying.” Kara declared sternly.

“I’m just scared…” Lena sighed, snuggling closer to the blonde encouraging the lips to press repeatedly against her brow until the lines creasing it eased away, “all the time, Kara. All the time.”

They fell asleep entangled together - if Lena had been more with it she would have tried to get Kara to re-position herself into a more comfortable position, not that Kara would have been persuaded, unwilling to move an inch if it distanced her in any way from the youngest Luthor.

Lena awoke the next day to gentle fingers brushing through her hair, enticing her back to the real world that was illuminated by the bright morning sun. Kara was up and dressed, sat on the edge of the bed, running one hand through Lena’s hair and intermittently stroking her cheek whilst her other hand balanced a tray loaded up with pancakes, strawberries and orange juice.

“Mmmm…” Lena hummed happily, turning her head to press a quick kiss to Kara’s palm.

“Breakfast.” Kara announced cheerily, helping Lena sit up before placing the tray carefully on her lap and pressing a kiss to Lena’s blushing cheek.

Lena took a deep breath, taking time to appreciate the sheer beauty of this singular moment: the woman she loved sat next to her with an adoring look having made her favourite for breakfast. She wanted to be able to enjoy this without feeling like damocles’ sword was looming above her at all times.

“Kara?” Lena murmured, reaching out to interlace their fingers, seeking support.

“Yeah?”

Lena swallowed thickly, squeezed Kara’s hand once, and asked, “Can you ask Kelly to pop by? When she has a chance that is.”

“Of course.” Kara beamed, lifting their joined hands to kiss the back of Lena’s hand, her blue eyes shining with pride.

“I want to be excited. I don’t want to live in fear.”

*****

It was a few days later when Lena found herself alone for the first time in over a month. Kara was out during the day as usual, Sam and Ruby were out at the cinema enjoying some mother-daughter time whilst Eliza had left for a walk five minutes ago. Lena was working through some calculations at the dining room table - Eliza had positioned her wheelchair at the table and left her a warm cup of coffee to tide her over until she got back.

Admittedly, Lena probably should’ve realised that it was all a ploy because barely ten minutes had passed before the front door swung open and in strode one Agent Danvers.

Lena placed her pen back onto the table and quirked a perplexed eyebrow at the redhead, “Alex? What are you doing here?”

“I’m kidnapping you.” Alex declared with a smirk and cocked hip.

Lena pursed her lips, musing thoughtfully, “And here I thought if you ever did kidnap me, you wouldn’t be so open about it…”

Alex frowned, “You’ve thought about me kidnapping you?”

“Not you per se.” Lena explained with a wave of her hand before rolling her temporary wheelchair out from the table and over to her intruder, “The DEO or some other covert government agency grabbing me and hiding me away in some dark cell.”

“That…” Alex began, her intent to deny the possibility of such a scenario occurring dying after a single moment’s consideration. Lena chuckled sadly at the guilty brown eyes that dipped away from her gaze. “Nevermind.” Alex murmured, shaking her head and forcing back her usual confident swagger. “There’s something you need to see.”

“Alex-” Lena sighed, not really in the mood for whatever Alex had planned.

Suddenly Alex was in front of her, knelt down - not to patronise but to easily reach out for Lena’s hands.

“You’re probably my best friend,” Alex announced, firm and beautifully honest (a signature Danvers trait), “not counting Kara or Kelly. But Kara loves me as a sister above everything else. Kelly loves me as a romantic partner above everything else. You are my friend with no other requirements, no other levels… nothing else.”

“Alex, I…” Lena blinked, utterly taken aback.

“You are my friend and I love you.” Alex assured, her expression turning pained and remorseful, “You are my best friend and you nearly died and I realised that I… I haven’t been a very good friend. I was so mean to you to start with. For no fair reason.” Lena bit her lip and stared down at their joined hands, unable to hide how the constant hatred for crimes she did not commit (actively stopped) had left deep and everlasting wounds that she would probably never recover from. “And then when I finally started to pull my head out of my ass… I never apologised, I never… I just smoothed over it.”

Alex cringed with the memories but pushed onwards regardless - admirably brave and stubborn to a fault.

“When the Supergirl fallout happened, I knew you were suffering.” Alex admitted causing Lena to flinch in surprise and nearly pull away but Alex’s hold gently followed after her. “If it was me in your position, I would have… I would have destroyed so much and I was raised in a family filled with support and love and… I knew you were suffering but I… I just didn’t think. You’re always so strong and unbreakable that I just didn’t think. You’re my best friend and I have not treated you like that.”

“Alex,” Lena swallowed thickly, hanging her head in shame, “what I did during that time… I’m so ashamed.”

“You’re missing the point, Lena.” Alex murmured, “I didn’t mean to-” Alex exhaled shakily, rapidly blinking away tears on the cusp of falling. “You’ve made up for it. Now it's my turn.”

“You have nothing to make up for.” Lena rushed to reassure as Alex stood back up, chin held high and determined.

“Yes, I do.” Alex insisted. “Assassination attempts every week, Lena. That is not okay. A short life expectancy for my best friend is not okay.” Alex’s hands clenched into tight fists by her sides. “I should have done something.”

“It’s not your responsibility.”

Alex grinned bright and defiant, “It is now.”

*****

“Alex, what’s going on?” Lena said slowly, not really sure what she was watching play out on the screens in the DEO command centre.

Alex merely winked at the CEO as she stepped up to the console and called out, “Supergirl, how are things going?”

“Good.” Kara replied, her voice coming through loud and clear through the speakers. Lena watched in awe - as always - of Kara flying through the air, swerving around traffic like it was nothing. “Rounding up the last few stragglers; they thought they could outrun me in a van which has a max speed of like sixty.” Lena laughed at the stupidity of the escape attempt which immediately alerted the superhero to her presence. “Is Lena there?”

“Yep,” Alex replied with a broad grin, wiggling her eyebrows at the youngest Luthor making her blush a bright red, “so you better put on a good show for your girl.”

“Will do.” Kara promised instantly, accelerating and performing aerial aerobatic maneuvers with the sole purpose of impressing only one person.

Lena shook her head, her heart swelling with affection, as she rolled her eyes at Alex’s smug smile. “What’s the mission?” Lena asked, trying to regain some of her composure.

Alex’s smugness faded to be replaced with something far softer at the question.

“Shutting down the final CADMUS outpost.” Alex answered, crossing her arms and nodding over to Brainy who brought a map of the world covered in hundreds of red dots. “We took down any and all remaining Leviathan supporters last week. Lex supporters the week before that.” The red dots flashed to highlight the different groupings as Alex listed them off. “We’ve also finished gathering evidence on Edge, he’s going to be arrested alongside his allies first thing in the morning.”

Lena’s mouth had dropped open at some point and there was a light buzzing in her ears as stared blankly at the crossed off red dots. “I don’t understand.”

“CADMUS took a little longer just because of the sheer number of bases and how they decentralised after Lex was taken down, each working independently.” Alex continued unperturbed.

“Then how-”

“Lillian. She told us where all the bases are.” Alex answered without needing to hear the whole question.

That cut through Lena’s stupor in an instant and wrenched an almighty gasp from her. “What? Why?”

Alex’s expression turned melancholic yet again, clearly upset that the answer wasn’t obvious to Lena, that there had to be a more-than-love-reason. “Because you’re her daughter and you nearly died.”

“I don’t…”

Alex turned so her back was to the wall of red dots, hands on hips and unfaltering in the face of adversity. “No more assassination attempts. No more short life expectancy.” Alex asserted, waving a hand towards the screen. “This. All of this. You deserve this. You deserve to grow old. You deserve to not live in a constant state of fear. You deserve to be happy in love.” Alex’s jaw clenched noticeably as brown eyes shone with a watery film, “We should have done this years ago. We should have protected you years ago. We should never have laughed, Lena.”

“Alex…” Lena exhaled roughly, her bottom lip trembling as she tried to keep in the sobs, feeling so overwhelmed with love and gratitude. “Thank you.”

Alex didn’t acknowledge the words, she merely walked over to Lena and pulled her into a tight hug, providing her a much needed shoulder to cry on.

*****

“Did I mention how much I hate physical therapy?” Lena huffed through gritted teeth.

“Oh you know…” Alex replied with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, “just about every minute or so.”

Lena hummed, somewhat pleased at the answer, “I thought it was more than that.”

“Suck it up, Luthor.” Alex teased even as she got a bottle of water ready for Lena once she’d finished the exercises.

“Remind me again-...” Lena panted, “why I agreed that you could accompany me to PT instead of Kara?”

“You need tough love.” Alex answered, repeating the words Lena had used a week prior when she had requested Alex’s help. “You’d never finish a single exercise if Kara was helping you.”

Lena pursed her lips but didn’t argue.

Kara was loving, affectionate and probably the best support system Lena had ever had. She cared for Lena in a thousand and one ways that Lena had never believed she was worthy of. Unfortunately, all this made Kara the absolutely worst person to accompany her to physical therapy. At the first wince or sign of discomfort, Kara insisted Lena rest and take it easy. She barely made it five minutes through the session before Kara was escorting her back to the apartment to give her a bath and massage - Lena loved every second of it but accepted Kara would not be going with her to the next appointment.

“Not really seeing that as a downside at present.” Lena admitted, her muscles burning as they were steadily rebuilt and restrengthened.

“The sooner you finish PT, the sooner you can get around by yourself.” Alex reminded her knowing it was the single best incentive to get the CEO through this.

“Good point.” Lena acknowledged groaning as she pushed herself through the last rep. As soon as she finished, Alex talked her through recovery, handing her water to sip slowly from before checking her recovered injuries and scars.

“Hey Alex…” Lena began, shifting nervously as her breathing returned to normal.

“Yeah?” Alex prompted, arching an eyebrow having picked up on Lena’s odd tone.

Lena opened her mouth to speak before snapping it decisively shut, “Nevermind.”

“Don’t go shy on me now, Luthor.” Alex remarked, helping Lena unsteadily to her feet and guiding her over to a bench in the DEO training hall where they had been working out.

Lena nibbled on her bottom lip, and glanced at Alex’s profile. “I want to ask Kara out on a date.”

“That’s great.” Alex cheered immediately before quirking her head to the side, “What’s the problem?”

“I know I’ve been…” Lena winced, “hesitant.”

“Lena,” Alex said softly, “you’re recovering from serious physical, emotional and mental trauma.”

“But-”

“And despite all that…” Alex continued, settling into her role as cheerleader and confidant with ease, “you’re still taking Kara’s feelings into consideration. Despite everything you’ve been through you’re still being sensible and thoughtful. You’re not kickstarting a relationship until you’re sure you can give it the best chance.”

“You and Kelly have been talking about this.” Lena guessed.

“A little.” Alex answered only slightly rueful, “You’re my best friend and Kara’s my sister. It comes up in conversation.”

Lena chuckled at that, nudging Alex’s side playfully before announcing, “I think I’m ready.”

“That’s great.” Alex said just as enthusiastically as before, “So I’ll repeat, what’s the problem?”

“I don’t…” Lena sighed before confessing “I don’t know where to take her. I want to do something special.”

“Are you seriously asking for dating advice with my sister?” Alex questioned.

“You’re my best friend,” Lena shot back, “who else am I going to ask? You saw how Brainy handled dating Nia and well… Nia is dating Brainy...”

“Okay, I see your point.” Alex relented, “Though, when we talk about your dating life, Kara is not my sister.” Alex requested, “Just some random person called Kara.”

“Deal.” Lena accepted. “So…?”

“You don’t need to do anything special, she already loves you.”

“That’s exactly why I want to do something special.” Lena whined, “But I’m kind of limited by the aforementioned trauma…”

“Let’s get a coffee and strategise.” Alex declared, patting Lena’s back supportively. “Come on, you’re buying.”

*****

Lena adjusted the green dress that Nia had taken her shopping for earlier that afternoon, hating how it clashed with the cane she was using to move around with. A small candle lit table was set up on the balcony - Sam and Ruby having kindly moved it earlier - with one of Kara’s favourite homemade dinners, courtesy of Eliza, steaming in the early evening light.

Lena paced, awkwardly awaiting the blonde’s arrival; Alex’s words of advice and support on repeat in her mind to drown out her anxieties.

Kara, for all her patented Kara Danvers clumsiness, was the epitome of gracefulness when it came to flying allowing her to land almost inaudibly on the balcony by Lena’s side taking her by surprise. Lena jerked back at the sudden appearance but a familiar gentle touch to her elbow settled her in an instant.

“Lena? What’s all this?” Kara breathed, eyes darting from Lena’s green dress to the set table as her super suit vanished to be replaced by her standard shirt and chinos,

“Dinner.” Lena replied, swallowing thickly as she reached for Kara’s hand and mumbled shyly. “I mean a… date-dinner-thing. If you want, that is?”

Kara inhaled sharply, blue eyes wide with shock and barely restrained excitement. “I want. I really, really want.” The blonde dashed to the table, pulling out a chair for Lena clearly not keen for any kind of delay.

“Alright then.” Lena chuckled, walking towards Kara’s dazzling smile and everything it offered.

*****

“An hour.” Brainy said, laying down his opening gambit.

“Pfft… an hour, are you serious?” Nia scoffed, “Thirty minutes max.”

“Twenty.” Alex shot back with a challenging lift of her chin.

Nia pursed her lips as she considered Alex’s suggestion. “You’re on.”

The two women shook firmly on it, much to Kelly and Briany’s amusement, just as Kara and Lena walked back from the kitchen loaded up with snacks and drinks.

“What are you guys talking about?” Kara inquired, narrowing her gaze accusingly at her gathered group of friends who had set up shop in her and Lena’s joint apartment for their weekly games night.

Kara had moved in formally two weeks ago following six months of dating during which they had practically lived together for the entirety of it but had been wise enough to keep themselves places that could be just theirs until they were officially ready.

“Nothing.” Nia and Alex answered quickly and in-sync.

“We’re gambling.” Brainy answered guilelessly at the same time.

“On?” Kara asked, dumping the load of snacks in her arms onto the coffee table before crossing her arms whilst Lena laughed lightly as she settled on the couch next to Alex.

“Leave them be, darling.” Lena soothed, tugging gently on Kara’s pocket encouraging her to sit down and lean against Lena’s legs.

“Okay.” The kryptonian muttered, immediately acquiescing to the suggestion, all the fight going out of her as soon as Lena tenderly ran her fingers through blonde locks.

“Whipped.” Alex instantly coughed.

“And proud.” Kara accepted with a shrug, tilting her head to look up at Lena with adoring blue eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Lena replied without hesitation.

“Ugh.” Nia groaned, throwing her head back in exasperation.

Alex held out a hand to the youngest reporter, wiggling her fingers in demand, “Pay up.”

“She didn’t even make it a minute.” Nia exclaimed in disbelief.

Kara’s brow creased in a cross of confusion and outrage, “You were betting on me?”

“Yep.” Alex answered without the slightest sign of guilt. “On how long it takes for you to say ‘I love you’ to Lena.”

“That’s… I…” Kara squawked, mouth flapping open and closed before snapping shut in defeat. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s because Lena removes you of all verbal reasoning skills.” Brainy remarked drily.

All eyes swiveled to look at the genius in surprise.

“Did Brainy just make a joke?” Lena asked quietly to no one in particular.

“I think he did.” Nia said slowly.

“Nice one, Brainy.” Alex laughed, lifting her beer bottle up in respect and effectively setting everyone else in the room off with their own chuckles and giggles.

“Laugh as much as you like.” Kara rolled her eyes in amusement, “Doesn’t bother me.”

“Are you sure?” Lena checked, bending down to whisper privately into Kara’s ear, “I can ask them to stop.”

Kara turned to look up at the love of her life, reaching out to tenderly stroke her cheek and ease away the flicker of unnecessary concern.

“I’m sure.” Kara asserted honestly, her smile widening as she leaned up to kiss Lena slow and deep. When they pulled back, foreheads resting against one another, Kara whispered into the shared space between them. “It is kind of funny.”

It’s funny because Kara loves Lena.

It’s funny because Kara will always, always, always love Lena.

[sherlockfanficwriting]

Sherlock BBC "Moriarty's Games" (x reader)

A/N - Hello everybody. It’s been a while! Here is a very angsty x-reader story to get you all welcomed back! If you like angsty Moriarty and Sherlock problems, then this story is for you!

Summary - Being Sherlock's sister doesn't usually cost you deathly problems. But one day, when you receive a suspicious text, your whole life changes. Will your brother notice its hints? Or will you fall prey to his worst enemy?

-----------------------------

You tossed in your bed, relishing the last moments of peaceful slumber. Before your alarm even rang, you had silenced it. On the lock screen of your phone was a message. You squinted your eyes a few times, readjusting to the bright day.

Unknown number

Shrugging it off for later, you walked yourself out of bed and into the bathroom. As you brushed your teeth you swirled the loose strands of your hair into a messy ponytail - multitasking at its finest. After you washed up, you grazed through the closet. A row of plain and simple colored clothes stared back at you. You decided on a loose mini black skirt paired with a tighter cream colored shirt that had sleeves up to your elbow. It was spring and you would certainly not be seen with pants everyday.

Ring

Your phone let out a text notification. You sighed, already knowing it was from the unknown number. After you dressed yourself and put on a pair of canvas shoes, you finally unlocked your phone to view the message.

Unknown number

Today’s going to be a good day, isn’t it?

Your stomach dropped. The words. The length. The question. It wasn’t just any unknown number. You quickly gathered your purse and walked out of your apartment. Stepping to the edge of the curb, you frantically waved for a taxi. One came veering off the road and you hopped inside.

“Baker Street, please.”

----------------

You threw the driver a five and ran up to the apartment door, swiftly unlocking it. You skipped up the steps and knocked on Sherlock’s flat door. A few moments later, someone came and opened it.

John, seeing that it was you, gratefully smiled. “(Y/N)! How are you? You look lovely.”

You nodded at him with a small smile. “Is Sherlock here?”

John noticed your urgency and led you inside. Sitting on the couch reading a newspaper was your brother. Without looking up he said, “Good morning, (Y/N).”

You walked besides him and said, “We have a problem.”

His eyes shot to you. He read everything about you and said, “Show me your phone.”

You handed Sherlock the phone and showed him the text. “I’m certain it’s Moriarty. The words and everything about it. It fits his tone. He’s up to no good.”

John sat in front of Sherlock, a worried look plagued on his face. “Why don’t we text back?”

“No,” Sherlock said, “That’s what he wants. I’ll tell Mycroft. I know he’s not afraid of anything. This text means certain things.”

You brushed a strand of hair behind your ear and looked down at the floor. Your mind raced through possible scenarios and situations. Moriarty had a plan. He was just watching it fall into action.

“Sherlock, don’t call Mycroft yet. Moriarty knows you would do that. I think we should text back.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “(Y/N), you know better than this. That’s a bad decision you’re making.”

You walked over and grabbed your phone out of his hands. “We have a couple of options. Call Mycroft and he’ll do something stupid and panic or just text him back and play it out. There's no harm in doing that. This doesn’t require much thinking, yes?”

He shook his head. Your brother was angry. On more complex issues, you two would thrive. But on a simpler decision, all hell breaks loose.

“Fine. You-,” Sherlock started saying, but was interrupted by his phone ringing.

“Mycroft,” he said.

You and John looked at each other. You knew what this meant. Sherlock picked up the phone, silent. You could hear Mycroft’s voice booming through it.

“As did we,” Sherlock said, hanging up the phone.

You pondered on the situation quickly. Your brothers were known to quarrel over small things. You couldn’t risk them doing something stupid.

“I’ll be back later,” you said, walking to the door.

“(Y/N)? Where are you-?” John started asking.

“Let her,” Sherlock interrupted, angrily.

You walked out of the flat without even bothering to wave for a taxi. You needed time to think. You walked a few blocks and sat down on a concrete railing, overlooking the pier. You held the phone arms length from your face, inspecting the text.

It has to be Moriarty

You texted back with shaky hands.

You’ve got the wrong number

You swallowed, not believing that was the right thing to say. Did you act on impulse? All you could think about was how annoying your brothers got during a situation like this.

Beep

You caught your breath. They texted back. You unlocked your phone and stared at the text.

See you soon

Immediately, without having time to process the text, a pair of arms forcefully wrapped around you and pulled you back. You fell from your seat and strongly picked up by someone. Having no chance to scream, someone placed tape over your mouth, rolling it three times around your face. A large dark mask was placed over your head, blocking you from any sight. Another pair of hands grabbed you, manhandling you, as you were roughly thrown into a car. You could feel the leather seats and hear the men’s rushed words. A fury rose deep inside you. How couldn’t you see Moriarty’s plan? All the time you’ve spent against him and you couldn’t forsee his tricks? You fell right into his trap.

Your arms were tightly bound together. You started to move your legs around, but quickly stopped. Having them tied together would inhibit any plans you would need to escape. You were surprised they didn’t tie them, but decided to act calmly instead. You breathed calmly as the car drove off. Sherlock would notice in a few hours at most, you hoped.

----------------

Sherlock

“No. John I’ve just told you this! Moriarty’s waiting for us,” Sherlock said. He ran his hands through his curly hair in distress. He didn’t know what to do or how to act.

John stood up and paced around the living room. “We need to get Mycroft. It’s better if we stay together. I know you don’t know Moriarty’s specific ideas.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. John was right. He didn’t know his plans, and he didn't like that. “Fine, we’ll go to Mycroft," he said, giving up.

John stopped walking and asked, “Where’s (Y/N)?” His eyebrows furrowed inwards and an expression of concern glazed over his face.

Sherlock looked up at him, suddenly remembering your absence. 

“She said she’ll be back later.”

“Why don’t you call her. I don’t think it’s best she’s alone now,” John said.

Sherlock pulled out his phone. As he clicked on your number, a cold iciness ran through his body. How did he just let you leave? He held the phone against his ear, intensely waiting for you to pick up, but you didn't. Sherlock’s heart slightly dropped. He knew something was off and started to feel guilty.

“She didn’t pick up?” John asked, concerned.

Sherlock shook his head as he stared at John. He abruptly stood up and walked to the kitchen. He paced to and from and opened a cabinet just to slam it shut. Anger filled throughout him as guilt clouded his mind. John put an arm on his back, offering comfort, but Sherlock moved him out of the way.

He knew what they had to do next.

----------------

Your POV

You tried to stay calm, but you couldn’t help the tears coming from your eyes. Who knew what could happen to you? Moriarty was ruthless. The car slowed to a stop and the doors immediately opened. The man sitting next to you grabbed you and dragged you out of the car. You couldn’t regain your balance and fell on rugged hard concrete since you were subjected to an entirely black vision. You winced in pain, already feeling the blood oozing from your knee. The man stood you up and aggressively walked you inside somewhere. You were terrified. You couldn’t see and you were restrained.

“Over here,” a man said in the distance. His voice was strong but monotone. It wasn’t Moriarty’s.

You were walked another way and violently thrown on the ground. You tried getting up, but were forcefully shoved back down again. The floor was cold and you can already feel the bruises appearing on your hands. There was no luck.

“Don’t move!” A loud voice boomed.

You shuddered and stayed still. Someone removed the mask from your head. Your eyes darted everywhere, inspecting your surroundings. You were in a warehouse, but you couldn’t locate which one. A man stood in front of you to your right, looking you down. Another man stood by the door. His arms crossed on top of his chest. You didn’t recognize them.

“Well, look who we have here!” A voice defiantly said.

Suddenly, Moriarty appeared from the corner. He wore a dark suit paired with a large smile - a sadistic smile. Your heart dropped. You knew it was Moriarty but actually seeing him scared you even more. Part of you was hoping you were wrong.

Moriarty walked closer to you. He bent down to your level.

"I didn't think you would be this easy. You believe you're so smart, don't you?"

You tried hard not to spit in his face. Making a move on him would only dig you in a deeper hole.

"You think you're smart? You had to get me because you can't even get Sherlock. That definitely sounds like a smart person to me."

Moriarty's face turned angry and he slapped your neck, not hard enough to inflict pure pain. His smile returned and your heart sank even deeper. Suddenly, he grabbed you and forced you to stand up, his hands painfully clenching your arms. You struggled and tried to stand away from him, but he was too strong.

"Bring the chair," Moriarty said.

His guards brought a chair and placed it in the corner of the room. Tears escaped your eyes and you were absolutely out of luck. All of the men here outnumbered you. If it wasn't Moriarty, you could outsmart them and escape, but that wasn't the case.

Moriarty sat you down on the chair and stepped away. You tried kicking him, but to no avail. His guards tightly wrapped your hands and legs together and to the chair.

"I plan on leaving Sherlock a little surprise when I'm done," he said, laughing.

Moriarty signaled to the guards. They walked out of the room. As soon as the door shut, he focused his glare on you.

"We're going to have a lot of fun."

He walked up to you and ripped your necklace, that Sherlock gifted you, off. You tried to keep an expressionless face. You didn't want to show any sign of weakness. Moriarty softly ran his hand along your collarbones only to tear your blouse off. You were terrified and saw a completely different side of him. Your skin felt cold and you couldn't help but feel vulnerable. Searching the room for an escape, you focused your eyes away from him. You couldn't concentrate.

"Such perfect skin......it would be a shame if something happened," Moriarty said.

He pulled out a gun from his pocket and threw it on the floor. He held a sharp knife and stared down at you.

"Just tell me what you want," you sobbed, pleading.

Moriarty chuckled.

"It's you."

The blade pierced your skin and you winced and shrieked in pain. You could feel the blood drip from your chest to your lap. Your eyes focused on your legs which were decorated with bruises and scratches. You wondered if this was it for you. It very well might be.

You forcefully spit on Moriarty. You didn't care anymore. He angrily slapped your face.

"You're going to regret doing that!"

Moriarty went in to kiss you, but as he got closer to your face, you bit his neck. He yelped and stabbed the knife in your skin. All you felt was pain, but you were satisfied with inflicting pain on him. Your perception of time began to distort. Your vision changed and your heart beat slower. You knew what was happening. Part of you wanted to hold on, a moment you never knew you would be experiencing so soon. The other part of you wanted to let go - become released from all this pain. Your eyes closed and you felt yourself on the ground, in and out of consciousness.

------------------

A door was suddenly shot down and you opened your eyes. You were conscious, but asleep, and the noise awoke you. The pain was constant, but you felt it even more now. Your vision adjusted to the sight in front of you. It was a wall. You wanted to speak, but you couldn't. A chill ran up through your body, and you felt your skirt folded up lifted higher than it was before. You whimpered and felt as if your heart was crying.

"(Y/N)!" A voice cried.

You couldn't move, but someone ran up to you and turned your shoulder slightly over. It was Sherlock. His eyes were full of tears and he wrapped his arm around you tight. He looked at you with pleading eyes. You sensed his guilt and pure sadness. But, he masked another emotion. Sherlock saw your skirt and unfolded it. Suddenly, time moved at a different pace. Sherlock carried you off the ground and quickly ran out. You tried to keep your eyes open. You noticed Moriarty on the ground and a load of policemen and paramedics nearby. Commotion and noise filled the room. You felt a hand caress your head and you knew it was John's. Lestrade spoke to you and squeezed your hand. You couldn't talk. You felt your body being transferred to someone else. They walked away quickly, your head bobbed slightly.

You heard an incredibly loud thud and scream.

"How could you do this to my sister?" Sherlock screamed. His voice faded away as you were rushed out. You didn't know what was happening, but you maintained a certain calamity that you didn't know you possessed. Nonetheless, you were scared. You tried to navigate the possibilities of your situation. All of a sudden, someone gripped your hand.

"(Y/N), I couldn't save you. I'm so sorry. How could I?" Sherlock cried. He buried his head on your side. John's voice echoed around you. He demanded the paramedics to work quickly and for everyone to move. You felt something on your chest and knew it was John, trying to stop your bleeding.

You used all the effort you had left in you to stroke Sherlock's head.

He didn't know that he had saved you.

Until next time..............

[wiypt-writes]

Rock ‘N’ Roll People In A Disco World

Part 4- Your Disco Needs You. 

Intro: Paul adjusts to life at home post the shooting.

Pairing: Paul Diskant x Reader

Warnings: Bad language, Smut (NSFW, 18+) A heap of angst and feelings. He’s a soft, lil bean…

Word Count: 8k

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader and any other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Rock ‘n’ Roll People Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Part 3

Three weeks. He'd been home three weeks and with each hour that passed Paul felt less like himself. He was frustrated, angry, irritated and irritable. Upon his discharge from the hospital, his attending physician explained that the road ahead wasn't going to be easy and so far that had proved correct. He'd spent eight days in ICU, not to mention the few after in the recovery ward, and according to the medical team at his disposal, each day spent there in ICU was a full week of added recovery at home. Eight fucking weeks. He wasn’t even half way through. Physically, bar his vocal chords, there had been little lasting damage. Something he should be grateful for, apparently. The wound in his neck had healed well so far, leaving an angry raised pink scar behind, but other than that, to look at, there was no physical signs he’d been moments from death at all. Emotionally, however, well, he was a wreck. If it weren't the continued nightmares as his mind rehashed the horror inflicted in the line of duty, it was the constant desperation to be himself inside and out, to feel like he was HER Disco.  For the first two weeks post the shooting, he'd been reduced to writing things on a notepad for Y/N and others as he couldn't speak more than a word or two and at a faint whisper or angry rasp. Over the last week, it had improved a little but still, holding a prolonged conversation was painful and he often as a result found himself reaching for that fucking notepad as a means to an end when it simply became too damned much to bear. 

He hated it.

Not only was socialising his forte, but his and Y/N’s relationship usually operated with a lot of conversation as they would talk over dinner, joke when watching TV, chat or whisper to each other when laying in bed at night. And not being able to indulge in those simple things properly with his fiancée was killing him. And don't even get him going on his thoughts and anguish over the way they'd not been their usual intimate selves. From touches and sweet kisses, to sex and general intimacy, there had been none, not due to anything she'd done, but all down to him, and how he viewed himself, felt about himself.  He pulled open the fridge, reaching in for the eggs and bacon before he moved to the stove, coffee brewing in the pot to the side. As he set about making them breakfast, he lost himself momentarily, concentrating on whisking the eggs ready to scramble before he heard the bedroom door click open as Y/N shuffled out into the bathroom. A few minutes later he heard her footsteps hit that squeaky board in the small hallway as she headed down to their kitchen. Soon he felt her arms around his waist, hands hooking over his chest and shoulders. Her lips pressed to the back of his shoulder. "I can take over." Quickly, Paul twisted out of her hold and raspilly said, "I can manage." She stepped back from him, and he was immediately crushed with guilt as he took in the look on her face. The way her eyes were downcast and how hard she swallowed. He watched as she blinked hard, moved her lips to say something and then she simply sighed, her shoulders dropping as she turned and left, back the way she came, down the hall and back into the bathroom. When he heard the slam of the door echo across their small apartment, Diskant threw the wooden spoon across the counter and leaned against its edge, a silent curse across his lips as let out a deep sigh.

For the last three weeks, this was how their days had started and ultimately set the tone for the hours to follow. He didn't know where to begin to try and as for Y/N, well, she couldn't try any harder. 

**** The door shut behind you with a little more force than you’d meant, having slammed it by accident in your haste to escape quickly before the tears of frustration and hurt spilt from your eyes. You were trying to rationalise his behaviour, you knew he was frustrated at how his recovery was progressing, more so because physically he looked okay. But he wasn’t. He was weak, sleeping a lot. He struggled to talk for more than a few minutes at a time and the simplest of tasks seemed to leave him drained. But you could cope with that, hell, you expected it. What you hadn’t expected however, was what hurt you the most- the fact he seemed to be shutting you out. Your relationship had always thrived on the fact you had no secrets, there wasn’t a thing the pair of you couldn’t talk about but now, it was like he’d put up a wall to keep you out. And it hurt.

You turned on the shower and whilst you waited for the water to warm, you stripped off your pyjamas and made sure to pile your hair out of the way to avoid it getting wet. Once it was at the right temperature you stepped into the cubicle, closing the glass screen door behind you and tipped your face up to greet the warm spray as the water washed away your silent tears… The day had finally come and he was going home. Things were set and the car was running and waiting. He'd been able to dress in a pair of sweats, his trainers and a button down shirt, sighing as he couldn't just walk out but had to be rolled out. Words were few, and very soft, a stark difference to his typical boisterous laugh and toothy grin. But you were all thankful, thankful he was alive, thankful he was okay and healing. His parents offered to take you both home, yours and Barnes waiting for you to arrive back at the apartment. Your parents had worked diligently at deep cleaning for you, taking one less thing off your list to do, knowing the first few days home would been an adjustment period, learning how to move with one another and go about a new routine from at home therapy to outside appointments, no doubt eventually a steady stream of visitors. You honestly were fine with whatever Paul had wanted. In reality, he hadn't said much or written much on his pad of paper all morning. But you went along with it anyway. The nurse wheeled him out and you walked along his side, the feeling of relief washing over you as you stepped over the threshold of the hospital entrance and watched him breathe in his first breath of fresh air in ten days. You held back tears, thankful for your Wayfarers covering your eyes. But you didn't miss his, the way he was desperately trying to keep himself together around everyone else. He gave a nod in thanks to the nurse and slowly sat down in the back seat of his parents' SUV whilst you moved around to the other side to settle yourself in. Nothing was said, it didn't need to be, but you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as Big Jim pulled away from the curb and headed towards home. When you went to move your hand away, he gripped it tightly, looking at you with those deep pools of blue.. You wanted to reach out to him, touch him on the one place you knew comforted him, made him melt, tell him he'd be okay, reassure him, but he was to your right, therefore his sutures and bandages were along the left of his neck and you couldn't touch him there, it was still painful, raw and frail. So you let him grip your hand the whole way home, the top of it reaching his lips a few times, just so, you thought at least, that he knew you were there, reminding him he was going to be okay. That he had you. As the four of you made your way into the apartment, you remembered that Barnes, your parents and by now no doubt Sam were there waiting for you all. Sure as you'd guessed, a thundering cheer and smiles came from the living room and filtered into your kitchen. The one bedroom, small space at capacity with guests. It was not the time for a 'Welcome Home' party. As Paul gathered a moment to himself, he looked to you and signalled he needed to write something down, so you grabbed the nearest note pad and a pen, the items you always had on the coffee table that collected your lists for groceries and to do items. His 'Honey Do' list as he liked to call it. He scribbled hastily and practically shoved the pad back at you. 'Can't do this. Need time.' "Okay," you looked at him after reading, "okay." You ushered over to Big Jim and Dotty, gently telling them that he was asking for some space, and they quickly understood, saying their goodbyes as you made the rounds, hoping neither of you looked like assholes in asking everyone to leave. With deep understanding, everyone left, allowing the two of you time together. You went to the kitchen to get water for you both, sighing as you saw the fridge stocked full and a freezer full of meals. Dotty and your mother, no doubt having done all that. When you returned to the living room, just a dozen steps away, Paul was sitting on the couch, hands on his thighs, his eyes closed. "I'm sorry, I should have stepped in and said it was better to have people see you when you were ready. I didn't think...." A deep sigh interrupted you and what was an empty hand was now jotting a note again. He turned the notepad in his lap. 'I just need you.' Your lip quickly quivered and you gently leaned in to kiss his lips softly. "I'm right here." He gave you a small smile as you sat beside him. 

“Do you want to shower? Eat? Sleep?" Paul frowned deeply at each of your asks. He shook his hands at you, trying to tell you to slow down. Then, you sat in silence. He slowly stood after a long stretch of nothing between you and headed down the hall to the bathroom, albeit a bit wobbly at first and when you rose to help steady him, he shrugged you off. You gave him his space, but worried about him on his own. Then you heard the click of the door and the shower running… A knock on the bathroom door dragged you from your thoughts and knowing it could only be Paul, you turned the shower off for a moment so he didn’t have to shout. “Yeah?” You cleared your throat and listened carefully. “Breakfast is waiting when you’re done.” His voice was croaky, but you picked up his words easily enough through the thin door. “Okay, give me a moment. Be right out.” You called back, no longer wondering why he didn't open the door anymore or why he locked it when he was inside.  You turned the shower back on, quickly lathered up your gel before washing and stepping out, towelling down before you slipped on a lightweight robe and opened the door.

*****

He waited for her at their small kitchenette, their places set, food already plated. He admired her, how she was dressed in her robe but as his eyes moved to hers, he noticed those beautiful orbs that he loved waking up to each and every day were red and puffy, despite her shower. He watched as she moved her food around her plate, eyes cast downward at the yellow scrambled eggs, slightly runny just the way she liked them. He tried to clear his throat but it stung so he reached over the tiny table-top and touched her hand. When her eyes met his, he spoke, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” The words died in his throat as his voice gave out and he gave an exasperated gesture mouth, a frustrated noise escaping from his nose. "It's okay," she replied, her own words catching in her throat. His chest heaved with a heavy breath and his hand flexed into a fist, redirecting his frustration to have more control of his feelings, a shake of his head. It wasn't okay. None of this was okay. 

She didn't speak, she just slowly popped a shoulder with a shrug and tilted her head to the right to meet it. He could tell she was grinding her teeth, that flex in her jaw evident. She cleared her throat and shook her head, "I can't eat right now." She scooted away from the table and took her plate with her, setting it in the fridge and escaping to their room. When that door shut, Diskant rubbed his hands over his face. Things weren't going to improve between them if he didn't try to get his words out but it was fucking near impossible. And God damn it he was downright exhausted at writing it all down. He had so much to say, so much he wanted to be able to tell her but he didn't want to waste the ink. He wanted his life back. The dishes were done before they'd sat down to eat, so, wanting to give himself time and continue to give Y/N her space, he slipped into the bathroom for his own shower.

Taking a moment to figure out what exactly he was doing, Paul sighed. Shower, then figure it out with Y/N. They needed to talk, properly, even if it made him hoarse. Three weeks of struggling to just.... live and move on were enough. He brought his eyes to the mirror as his stood with his palms flat against the basin, his scar peeking out the top collar of his white tee. 

He'd grown to looking in the mirror more often than when he'd first come home. His reflection made him feel somewhat of a beast, a man no longer what he once was but something of fright. The scar by no means was earth shatteringly grotesque, and Paul wasn't naturally a man of conceitedness, however, it was still a shock to see. 

Not for the first him he'd wondered how it looked to Y/N. It was hideous in his mind, and he was afraid she was grossed out because of it too. The bullet had pierced through one of the places on his body where he simply relished her touch. From the friendly and tender tickle on the couch as they watched TV to the desperate way she would cling to it as she lay under him, it was just something they had shared since the start and now he held a million worries. It might hurt, maybe her touch would have lost the ability to drag the reactions it normally did, that he would have lost that special place that she only she knew about and could use to make him melt.

He was scared of his own girl’s touch, and while it was an absolute ridiculous notion, it flat out petrified him. It petrified him for the very fact that he couldn't feel ANYTHING there. Not the water that touched it, the feel of his own fingers ghosting over it or the bite of a pinch he'd given himself just to test the nerves.

He felt nothing. 

He stared at his reflection, running a hand over the month long beard that had grown as of late. He wasn't supposed to shave, having been on blood thinners since his surgery, but those ran out a few days ago. Turning his head to the right, and then to the left, he sighed. Maybe he'd feel a bit better if he did…more like himself. 

With a sigh he pulled the trimmers from under the sink and plugged them into the outlet. Then he started filling the sink with lukewarm water, preparing a fresh razor for use. Stripping down to his boxer briefs, he took a good look at himself, eyes burning into the mirror as he took in his pale colour, his sad eyes, the dark circles under them, no doubt result of the nightmares waking both he and Y/N in the night, and then that ugly line. He sighed as his mind travelled back to their first night home from the hospital… He hadn’t meant to push everyone away but it was overwhelming. He just wanted her. His second chance at life was handed to him and all he wanted was her, time with her. Everyone and everything else could wait. He was a little unsteady on his feet, a weak wobble really that would surely pass the more he moved but he wasn't his entirely strong self either. He felt weak, looked pale and was sporting a near two week stubble that was itchy, but there was nothing he could do about it. More pressing than the ever increasing facial hair, however, was the fact he was craving a shower. Having suffered the indignity of nothing but sponge baths and body washes in the hospital, he simply wanted nothing more than to stand under the steam of their surprisingly powerful shower, in their little bathroom and clean himself off, wash away the clinical smell of the hospital that seemed to cling to his skin.

He turned the water on first, the sound of it spraying from the shower head a joyful sound. He knew he'd have to go slow, take it easy and be gentle on himself. Paul slipped his sweats down over his narrow hips, the material pooling at his feet and he kicked them away to the corner of the space. Then, with trembling fingers, he started on his button down, swallowing back a nervous knot painfully in his throat. 

By the time he was stripped down to his boxer briefs, there was a covering of steam on the mirror and he swiped at it with his hand. Then gently, ever so gently, he began to peel back the medical tape holding the gauze to his neck, knowing he’d have to replace the dressing once he’d showered. Not that it mattered, he’d been sent home with what felt like enough gauze, dressings and surgical tape to patch up a fucking army.

What he saw was not his own skin. Gone was his St. Christopher medallion on his favourite chain, one his parents had gotten him when he graduated from the Police Academy, and near where the chain would lay against his collarbone and neck was the repair hours of surgery and a week and a half in the hospital had caused him. Still, he was alive. When all was said and done, a chain could be replaced and his wound would heal.

With a final glance at his wound he carefully stepped into the hot water, and a soft moan escaped his mouth as he relished the way it felt on his skin, searing the back of his legs, his ass and lower back. He took a half step back and the water moved up to just under his shoulder blades. As the water beat down on him, he grabbed a bottle of his favoured shower gel and lathered a good amount all over himself, before rinsing and repeating the motion several times. Then, with a movement that was more reflex than conscious, he picked up Y/N's gel and turned the cap, taking a long inhale of the scent that comforted him. He felt his throat tighten and he started to panic, but quickly realized he was swallowing down a cry rather than there being a problem with his wound. He placed the gel back and turned his face into the stream of water, blinking fiercely as the tears welled and bled from his screwed up eyes, mingling with the steady droplets that hit his cheeks from the shower.

He leaned into the stream farther, allowing it to wash over his head, literally drowning out the sound of everything around him. His palms rested flat against the tile, a stretch and pull from his muscles that had atrophied during his stay. Awakening muscles and tendons that were mangled and manipulated to heal.

How long he was in there, he had no idea, but eventually, he felt the temperature starting to drop a little, signalling he'd been in there far longer than he'd intended. Reaching out, he turned the shower off and then stepped out, grabbing a towel which he ran over his head, almost snorting when he remembered his hair was no longer as short as it had been, realising that Y/N had never really seen him with hair as such before.

Because yeah, that’s what she was going to be looking at. His hair, not the huge three inch gash on his neck that made him look like some kind of fucking Frankenstein monster. 

With a roll of his eyes, Paul wrapped his lower half in a towel and opened the door to the bathroom, stepping across the hall. When he entered the bedroom, he found Y/N sitting in the edge of their bed, a familiar necklace in her hands like a rosary, her knees bouncing up and down. He noted how cautiously she lifted her eyes to look at his, and didn't miss the way they quickly flicked to his wound and back to his. He felt that painful lump in his throat for again. She rose to her feet and took a step toward him. 

“The chain, well... they had to cut it.” She said quietly, holding out her hand where the necklace sat. “So I got you a new one.” She held it out to him and he paused, his hand reaching towards the chain “The pendant was fine so...”

He reached out to take it, his fingers softly brushing her palm as he clasped the metal in his hands. He turned the small, silver disk over and gave her a small smile before he placed it on his nightstand.

“Do you want me to put it on?” She asked, moving to pick it up. “I can-"

With a movement that was a little harsher than he’d meant he reached out and grabbed her wrist, holding it still a few inches away from the chain. She turned to look at him, a combination of shock and puzzlement on her face as he hastily shook his head.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

Taking a deep breath, Paul ran his hand over his face and shook his head at her. “S’okay.” Were the only words he could manage to rasp out. His eyes bored into her as he desperately tried to make her understand he wasn’t angry at her.

"I'll uh... You start getting dressed and I'll grab the bag from the hospital."

“Bag?” He half spoke, half mouthed at her, his brow creasing in puzzlement. 

"The one with the bandages."

He shook his head, waving his hands. “I can-“ his voice broke and she smiled.

“Paul, it’s fine, let me...”

He once more shook his head. 

“Baby...”

At that his fist slammed on the nightstand and making her jump.

Her breath was shaky and her lip quivered, her eyes instantly watering. He knew for a fact he'd scared Y/N for he'd never reacted like that in any situation with her.

Backing away from him, she held her hands up defensively and shrugged, "Okay, I'll just go get it for you."

As he recalled the memory, his head hung in disgrace, much the same as it had that evening when she’d left the room, tears in her eyes. He hadn’t meant to push her away like he had, but since that first time he’d continued to do so. And the more he did, the harder it was to stop. And she took it, never biting back or losing her patience. She accepted the fact that he showed her less affection, took everything he threw at her and then some, because she loved him. And damned it, he loved her, he loved her so fucking much it truly, physically hurt. And the thought that he was hurting her because of his inability to sort the jumbled mess in his head was killing him.

Taking a deep breath, he set out on the task he'd started. A shave and a shower. The vibration of the trimmers hummed against his cheeks and neck, trimming away the longer hairs, creating a stubble he then fully removed with his cream and razor. Then, he showered, taking his time, losing himself in his thoughts and playing back the last month in his mind. It was no walk in the park and a frustration and anger bubbled just beneath the surface, it was like he'd recognized he wasn't the same. And was fighting a never ending battle with himself to pull out of the darkness that had overcome him so he could let her light shine in. Fuck it, he needed to do it. He needed to rip the proverbial fucking band aid off and own up to his shit. Because losing her, that was absolutely not an option. 

But how? Would she be willing? After all he'd put her through. He was still scared, and he knew his own limits were still there. But they had to start connecting or he was going to lose her. He felt it. 

Towelling off, he disposed of his laundry in the dirty hamper and wrapped his towel around him. He looked in the mirror and again wiped off the condensation. He nodded at his reflection. Now he looked like Diskant. HER Disco. He smiled a little to himself and left the bathroom, feeling a lot different than when he'd entered. 

When she wasn't in their room, he dressed in jeans and a tee, flip flops on his feet and headed down their small hall. He saw her tucked into the couch, a slouched long sleeve over her taught frame, denim shorts on those hips and legs that made his mouth dry. He could see the smoothness of them and his fingers tingle to touch them. Deep red painted toes balanced on the edge of the coffee table as she read the book she'd started recently. 

He sat down next to her, garnering her attention. She looked at him with those beautiful eyes of hers. Those eyes that make him weak. Make him purr and melt and feel like he can conquer the world all at once. Those eyes that make him feel like a man above himself. 

At the risk of losing his voice entirely, he began with, "I feel cooped up and it's driving me crazy. Can we go somewhere?" 

A smile so genuine spread across her lips that it twisted his gut and sped up his heart. "Yeah, okay. Any idea where?" 

He shook his head, "I just want to go. I want us to get out of here." He made sure emphasize the us in that reply, even if it didn't sound as so. 

"Okay, let's go," she tossed her book on the coffee table and stood, grabbing her bag by the door and slipping into flip flops of her own.

****

You humoured his request, just to go for a drive. And you drove for hours, all over the place. But little did you realize where you'd end up eventually.

It was late in the day and the parking lot was emptying out. You'd pulled into a spot and turned to him, the Ferris wheel and various stands along the pier behind you. His eyes were covered by his own Wayfarers but his smile was soft and sweet.

"I'm kinda hungry, are you hungry?" You said to him, a humorous tone to your voice. Your words echoing ones he'd spoken to you so long ago, words that had become an inside joke between you. 

He chuckled lightly, softly and replied with a nod as the two of you exited the car. You waited for him to meet you on your side. The second he joined you, he took your hand in his and together you walked the bike path until the steps up to the pier were accessible.

He stood at the railing, about halfway down, as you ordered two beers, two hot dogs and fries to share. The sun was just at the horizon, painting the sky in watercolour sherbet, and Paul's silhouette stood out against it. He saw you approach and grabbed his dog and beer from you, lightening your load. The two of you shacked up at a table near the games, almost the same table the two of you sat at on your first date.

“You know, I was suckered into a first date here? Guy was a total swindler, stalker too."

He swallowed his bite of food and washed it down with beer before he smiled and rasply said, "you were willing to go with me. I didn't sucker you."

“You totally trapped me.”

"You needed help, I offered," he pointed to himself, then to you and smiled, "willing participant."

"However you spin it so you can sleep at night," you sighed. "I'm just glad I fell for it."

Paul nodded, "me too." He perched his sunglasses on top of his head. "I love you, so much." He took your beer from your hand and set it on the table top, whilst pulling both of your hands into his. 

You couldn't hide the obvious hitch in your chest at the outward affection. The lump in your throat hurt to swallow as your eyes welled up. "I know, I love you, too. More than anything." You fought the emotion in your words, the way they were starting to make your voice quiver.

He sighed at your emotion and shook a deep breath. “This isn't easy." He stalled, allowing his voice rest a second in order to keep trying to get his words out. "I'm not easy." He paused again. "I’m sorry.”

"It's okay," you shook your head.

"It's not." His voice was starting to give way again and you saw the frustration on his face.

“Hey...” you squeezed his hand, “I’d rather you did take it out in me than bottle it all up. I don’t like it when you don’t tell me how you’re feeling.” It broke you to watch him struggle, each and every day it broke you. And you were at the end of your rope, frayed and tired of keeping it together. You sighed. “Just take your time. I’m not going anywhere. Text me for Christ's sake!”

He chortled a bit and shook his head, "it's not the same." He brought your hands to his lips and you closed your eyes at the feeling it gave you.

You shook your head, if he wasn't going to make the first move then you needed to try. "Do you trust me?"

He frowned and nodded. “Always.”

Without words, you leaned forward, scooting yourself onto the edge of his seat bench and leaned the forearm to your left arm against his right shoulder. Your fingers scratching behind his ear. Gently you brought your right hand up his chest, slowly, delicately, over his shoulder and he flinched away from you. "Paul, please," you whispered. You could see the way his body started to shake, his breathing laboured. "It's just me, baby."

The closer your fingers got, the more his hands twitched to pull you away. You didn't know for certain what was going on on the inside, but you had a pretty good idea. On the outside, his eyes shone back at you with fear as he tried to just breathe. Then your fingertips brushed the raised pink skin that just peeked over the edge of his tee…

The pads of her fingers felt like red, hot needles the way his skin was reacting. But that was nothing compared to what was firing in his brain.

He clenched his teeth together, tried to keep his breathing calm and regular as those gentle fingers that could make him purr and sing moved delicately over the raised edges of his scar, her eyes never once leaving his. Quickly, the feeling of red hot needles dissipated and he felt nothing but a relief that washed over him from his scar to his toes. He could just feel her and that was monumental. 

A deep, shaky breath rumbled his chest as he painfully swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing it all twitched under her touch. It felt the same. Nothing had changed, that familiar tingle he usually felt at her touch sparked something deep inside. The involuntary little shudder he always emitted when she hit that little sweet spot, shot up and down his spine and he felt his lips curl up on a smile as his girl beamed at him. 

“See.” She whispered.

“How...” his voice croaked and the words died as he took a deep breath, giving himself a moment. “How did you know that was...” another pause before he shook his head, gesturing to his mouth.

“Because, Paul Christopher Diskant, I know you inside out.” She delicately touched him still, her nails just at that spot that made him quiver. "This doesn't change anything. Not now, not ever."

He let out a strained sob, pulling her close, his lips harshly on hers.

“Tell me about it, Stud.” She smiled against his lips. 

"Let's go home," he managed before his voice cut out again.

“Is that an order or a request?” She teased.

He grinned and popped a shoulder in response. 

The drive from Santa Monica to home was the most comfortable you'd been in weeks, and you could tell Paul was too. As you drove, he couldn't stop smiling, like this weight had been lifted and the fog between you cleared. His eyes didn't leave your profile, his fingers entwined between yours, never letting go.

****

His hand never left yours as you walked the short path from the garage to your little one bedroom shack, even single-handed unlocking and opening the door. You couldn't even step through the threshold before his lips were on yours, soft and slow, gentle, his tongue gliding through the opening you gave him. A kiss so deep you were sure the two of you were ethereally floating. You tossed your bag on the couch as you passed it by, toeing off your sandals as Paul gently tugged on your hand, an instruction to follow him.

Down the narrow hall you went, directly to your bedroom tucked off in the right corner at the end of it. Again, his lips are on yours and if you didn't know any better, you'd detected a slight tremble in his touch as his hands came to hold your face close to his. Your hands rested against his chest as he kissed you breathless. There was no rush or desperation behind his kiss, if anything a wanton need crept through the both of you but you weren't going to push him, no. You knew Paul needed to set the pace, for whilst you could read him like a book, this terrain was new and navigating his new emotions and fears needed to be on his time and terms.

You were just happy he was touching you again, allowing you to touch him. You missed him, missed the way the two of you were. This had by far been the longest the two of you had been intimately separated since your beginning. 

His hands left your cheeks and gently gripped at the bottom of your top. You stepped back a little, raising your arms so he could pull it straight over your head. You watched his eyes soften as he looked at you, almost like he was seeing you for the first time again. You reached for the hem of his own shirt, but he took a half step back, freezing you.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, “if you’re not ready, leave it on or... it can wait, we can wait.”

He swallowed hard and quickly his hand gripped the back of his collar, pulling the tee over his head. You took care to keep your eyes locked on his, knowing exactly what was making him nervous- his scars. As his eyes searched yours, your face broke into a smile and then he was back on you, his hands on your hips, pulling you close as his mouth claimed yours. His hands felt warm on your skin as they travelled up your sides, only letting go to move to your jaw and neck. His thumbs across your cheek, his fingers splayed around your neck and into your hair. 

He kissed you with all tongue, his lips massaging against yours as he changed the position of his head, tilting it the opposite way. And for a moment he pulled away, his hands still on you, the burn of his eyes lustfully blown as they bore into yours. Then, he moved in on you again, his nose bumping against yours as his thick, flat tongue filled your mouth fully, yours submitting against it, allowing him to devour you. It was as if he was opening up your soul, tasting feeling and seeing every colour of the rainbow. You felt as if your body was going to explode with the feeling sheer desire and love flooding hours state, but above it all, happiness that he was kissing you like this again. 

It left you breathless and wanting more. You actively fought the urge to rip his belt buckle open and shove his jeans down, trying hard to leave him to set the pace. But, as always, he could read you like the pages of a well-worn novel and that maddeningly smug, cheeky school-boy grin crossed his face. It twisted your insides and made your skin tingle.

His fingers wound through your hair as he backed you towards the mattress. As the crook of your knees hit the side of the bed, he kissed you again, his fingers moving to the button of your denim shorts. Your mind was excited, your body fully responding to his touch, his movements. You’d missed this. His fingertips touched your tummy and you shivered, the denim quickly falling away as you fell onto the mattress.

You watched as he undid his button and flies, the zipper echoing in the stillness of your room, bouncing off the exposed brick and vibrating in your ears. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his denims, strong thighs, arms and taught abs flexing as he crawled over you, his hands planting either side of your head. The muscles of his shoulders twitched as he lowered himself over you, his lips claiming yours in a slow dance, his tongue leisurely tangling with yours, a soft sigh escaping him.

You continued to resist the urge to touch him where you have always shown him you're there with him, that part of him that makes him sing and shiver. That spot that only you know of that makes him melt against you, submit to his lust and desires for you. Instead, as his tongue felt every part of yours, his hands caging himself over you, you tilted your hips, your hands grazing the underside of his biceps, curling around the raised skin of his tattoos. At the feel of your pelvis bumping his, he gave a little grunt, breaking the kiss, his forehead pressing to yours as he returned the gesture, his own grinding into yours, the hardness of his arousal unmistakable through his boxer briefs as it brushed against the thin cotton and lace of your panties.  His words hit your ears, "need you, Sugar, so bad." You practically purred as you heard your nickname clearly and for the first time in weeks, not strangled by pain, or muted by frustration. His voice was his own once again and it caused a sting in your eyes. Your hands moved along his torso, from his ribs down to his hips, the waistband of his boxers bent by your fingertips. All whilst his lips moved over your jaw, behind your ear where you gasped before he moved down your neck, nestling soft kisses against the tops of your breasts. “You got me, Stud. Always.” At that, he crashed his lips to yours in an attempt to hide the sob you could faintly feel against your own lips.

Your hands gently cupped his jaw, holding his face to yours as the kiss grew desperate, his hips rolling into yours again. Suddenly, he moved back, kneeling between your legs as his hands hooked into the waistband of your panties. “Off.” His voice was raspy once more as he issued the instruction, yet the undercurrent of desire was unmistakable. Obliging to his instruction, you raised your hips off the bed and allowed him to pull them down, his body shuffling along the bed as he glided the garment down over your legs. His heavy hands caressed up your thighs, his thumbs drawing circles over your skin. God, did your skin burn in delight at his touch, you had to wonder and think if he felt the same. There was no denying he did, or you wouldn't be here, you'd still be at the pier, figuring out how to navigate his feelings, his fears. His body led over you, your sex and his barely touching, but yet twitching and pulsing with deep desires of need. His hand pulled down the cup of your bra, his mouth taking gentle nips against your breast as his mouth moved to your nipple, where he gently rolled it between his lips before his tongue swirled the sensitive nub. Your back arched in pleasure, one hand twisting in his hair, the other fisting in the sheets besides you. His free hand slipping behind your back to expertly unclasp your bra, allowing it to loosen around your arms.  "Paul...." you moaned. His free hand reached for yours that was fisted in the sheets, pulling your fingers apart and taking your palm against his, entwining your fingers. You were more than ready for him. Like he needed you, you just needed him too. It took one rock, one hip thrust and he slid right inside. "Oh fuck," you both let out, his a good rasp and yours a whimper. It felt so good, beyond good, the way he filled you, stretched you. You wasted no time in flicking your hips up towards his as he thrust down. Your insides fluttered as you joined together each time. God, did it feel... so... fucking... good. Again and again he rocked into you, his movements needy but not harsh, as a desperate need filled you both. You lightly nudged him with a knee and together you rolled, him to his back and you over his hips, still with him settled inside you. Tossing your bra to the floor with the rest of your clothes, you rocked against him whilst he reached up and held your bouncing breasts in his hands, a gentle tweak of each nipple. The sensation sent ripples to your middle, warmth pooling at your core and you gave a soft moan of delight before you bent forward, your lips on his. The kiss was sloppy, his hips still rocking up into you as your pelvis rolled against his. You were close, you knew he could feel you twitching around him. Your lips were covering his as you slowly bounced and rocked on top of him, a pressure to your clit that was blissfully crippling.

In a sudden exertion of strength, Paul sat up and his arms wrapped around your back, holding you close to his chest, his lips moving over your collar bone and down your sternum. He was as deep inside you as he could go, bottoming out as the angle changed and he was clearly hitting a new spot that erupted your insides like a volcano. Your body shook as your orgasm boiled at its peak, with each jut of his hips against you. With one hand around you, the other moving hair away from your eyes and keeping it back by his fingers, his nose rubbed against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he brought your lips to his. You were going to come and it was going to be absolutely amazing. Deepening your kiss, your fingers scratched at the back of his neck, just at the nape of his hairline and you started to feel him quiver. There he was, right there, like always. Your lips broke free from his and nipped at his strong jaw before kissing at the joint where it met his ear. You were careful now, despite the throws of your own orgasm starting to crash around you, to weigh your moves with precise care as you gently, delicately kissed down his neck. Your lips hit that pinkish-red raised mark and your world exploded. The blood surged to your ears, deafening you as you came, hard. Your eyes fluttered closed but the noise he made broke through clear as day, and they flew open again. Those beautiful blues were locked into your gaze as his broken whimper of your name blew into a loud groan as he clung to you, his hips stilling, his eyes fluttering shut. His noise died down, catching in his throat, his chest heaving as you felt him twitch inside of you, the after-throws of both your orgasms pulsing together. Tenderly, your hands slid up to cup his face as you kissed him softly, feeling him sag a little, and you gently pushed on his chest. You didn’t want him to release his hold but you knew he was going to be exhausted. He didn’t take much persuasion, his body boneless as he sank onto the soft mattress behind him. You went with him, your head tucking under his chin as the pair of you recovered, the only sound in the room the dying pants as you both eagerly drew breath.

His hand slipped into your hair, cradling the back of your head as you shifted and pressed your lips to his jaw.

“You okay?” You asked. 

He nodded, swallowing hard as his other arm ran up and down your spine, fingers gently tracing a path along your still touch sensitive body. His lips pressed to the crown of your head. 

When you'd regained the feeling of life back into to your body, you sat up, rolling off of Paul's hips, garnering a look of confusion from him. He loved when you would keep him inside you, and continue to feel the warmth of one another's bodies. You smiled softly at him, sleepily. You saw the look on his face, the look of contentment but of need and seeking comfort. It was a look you'd come to memorize as his 'I'm tired' look. Soft features, heavy eyes. Blissed out from love making or not, Paul was exhausted and you read every hint of it you memorized over the years. 

"C'mere," you now rasped, your voice rattled by emotion and dry from moaning. 

His lazy smirk crossed his lips and he knew that tone. He knew what was coming next. He rolled to his left and pressed his lips to yours gently before laying his head on your chest. You traced your first two fingers gently up and down his neck, along his shoulder and back up, a repeated pattern you only you had the map to. 

A combination of a contented sigh with a little hum left his throat as his weight over you grew heavier, like the comfort of a weighted blanket. You blinked back the tears, because although you'd heard it time and time again, right then, it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever made. 

**** Part 5