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shortstoriesmk · 4 years ago

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Who Called The Uber?

by Massi Kabir

Of course, I could tell you now, that my natural curiosity for everything outside the walls of everyday dullness brought me here. That I love flirting with one of my many fears, seducing her, just to slit her throat during one of our first dates.

I could tell you that I think of my comfort zone as a purple ugly pajama, which, whenever my courage lets me, I happily trade for nudity.

There is certainly truth to these points, and yet, they all would undermine the immense irrational power of a man's lust in his early 30's.

So, if you are really wondering who called that Uber last night, let me tell you:

My dick did.

So this is how it went:

One last check in front of the mirror. I like what I see and tell myself silently, "You look fresh, brother".

It's probably mostly my nerves talking, but yes, I did somehow find that sweet spot between under- and overdressed. I can tell that my white button-up shirt and black leather shoes are happy to know that funerals are not their only reason to exist. I promise them something special for tonight. The casual green jeans and a black blazer add to my contentment and make me put my shoulders back. I do that because I recently read that we, humans, derive from the lobsters. Apparently, their postures tell a lot about their ranking within their dominance hierarchy. Low posture, low rank. A balanced upright posture is supposed to increase serotonin levels, which ultimately results, along with other benefits, in better mating opportunities. I believe that, and hence, push my chest out, eager to kiss the world with my nipples.

Lastly, I grab my deo roller. I tell it that I need some more tonight and that armpits ain't enough. It knows I quit perfume a long time ago and hence, complies loyally doing the extra shift while I take it on an extended trip over my body's skin.

Finally, in the Uber, I count my breaths like a Zen Buddhist despite knowing I'll never be one. I admit to myself that I'm a nervous bloke under the leadership of his lust and throw the driver a grin through his stained rear-view mirror. With every inhale, there is a hail of bravery echoing inside of me. ‘14 minutes till arrival’, says the app that managed to erase my interest in public transport forever. Enough time for me to consider changing the number of open shirt buttons from two to three.

It's a gamble, I know. But, it could pay off. I mean, they will see that my chest has not given birth to much hair yet, but, on the other hand, 3 open buttons demonstrate a sense of willingness and availability. And, in a place like the one I am about to enter, these two attributes are dominating currencies.

So, three it is.

The Uber drops me in front of number 73.

I ring the bell. 80 seconds later, a shrill tone cuts off my stream of doubts, whether this is the right address or not, and lets me open the gate. My balls are hoping it's the gate to heaven. Everything is possible right now. I feel it. I head towards the house.

A plum, too dry to open doors like that, welcomes me while I gaze at her face. The sperms I brought, that a minute ago were still arguing about who would be the first in line, suddenly start to sympathize with the idea of retreat. Within seconds, the old lady's hands swallow my €80 while her noisy décolleté goes fishing for my eyeballs. My deep Zen breathing turns all the sudden shallow and, my pulse climbs a little mountain, while my face tries its best to not give it away. Then, I stare through the second entrance door, which is out of glass. I already get the feeling that it probably does a better job of serving as an exit.

Whatever. It's too late to get my bucks back and too early to decide to remain clothed, so vamos.

I'm somewhere in the outskirts of Lisbon inside a villa that will probably never live up to that title.

The smoke in the air forms a maze for my vision. But, it's ok. It doesn't take much vision anyway to understand that pants are outnumbering skirts in this cave that smells like filth. During its amateur application process for this event, I raised the question on WhatsApp of how many people would attend.

‘100’ was the answer. Now, finding myself looking at an empty dance floor, I feel this strong urge to sue the former math teacher of whoever typed that ridiculously inaccurate reply.

The plum, sensing the swelling of my disappointment, urges me to come with her for a little house viewing before I start mingling. If her whole outfit wouldn't scream so loud, "Please, fuck me!" I might have understood her real name when she mentioned it earlier on my arrival. The syllables of her name, however, got swallowed instantly by the kanon that her different overexposed body parts sing tonight. Off-key, sadly.

I follow her walking up the stairs. Her moment to wave her ass cheeks right in my face. She knows what she is doing and does so in pride, reminding me of a patriot waving his country's flag. It has to be a patriot from somewhere within the European Union, though, ‘cause, something is telling me that the borders of her ass must be equally open. The upper floor is dark and arranged with cold walls that shape rooms that are meant to host strangers engaging in the warmest act that God has ever invented for us.

In the aisle, we pass a closed wooden door. "We can't go in here, right now," she informs me, "there are people inside, fucking!" She says that in a fashion more causal than a 'Fruit of the Loom' shirt. In particular, the word "fucking" and the way it sounds trespassing her slightly chapped lips has me irritated immensely. I mean sure, there is not much romance to the word by default anyway, never was. But her tonality and the way she lets the word roll over her tongue makes me somehow want to commit to vanilla sex for the rest of a monogamous life.

The tour through the upper floor continues. She calls it her 'dream villa'. I get introduced to Dark room, glory whole wall, various single rooms, two open fucking spaces, and a little cage. Except for the one room that was closed, it is all still empty here; no sweat yet, no moans, no ripped condom packages. She goes on about how she built it all on her own, how this is all a product of her imagination, and how it took her 6 years to bring this place to where it is right now.

I pretend caring while she keeps massaging her ego. I am too caught up to be real with her. I am still disturbed. I mean, why would she treat the word "fucking" like that? It was this cold aggression in her voice that bugged me. As if she had stored it inside the bottom freezer box of her vocabulary's fridge and made it a habit to bend for it whenever she felt like rebelling onto the world. The hobby psychologist inside me senses that trauma made her a rebel – a rebel that fights with the weapons of vulgarity, just to cover up scars of a past encounter with a cheap replica of love. We all have been there, some way or another, so I try my best not to judge her. And still, I hate her.

The f word always was something holy for me, especially out of a woman's mouth. A real lady chooses to use it scarcely, and that's where the magic lingers. Only when a man has already done the necessary, to own the right to hear her language go south, will she choose to dip her words in dirt. Nothing is sweeter for a man than having a well-spoken lady using the f word for the first time while whispering in his ear the request to penetrate her so she can lose her brain. Needless to say, this plum seems to have lost its sweetness a very long time ago.

We go downstairs again, and I drop my blazer at the cloakroom. Her "see you later" is featured by a gaze of her eyes that tells me that she has plans to liberate me from more than just my blazer at a later point this night.

With her leaving my side, I have finally arrived at my first swinging party. Officially. I welcome myself with a beer that I order from the bar. I speak from my balls while I do so, oiling my vocal cords with some fabricated confidence. The truth, however, is I am nervous.

I came alone tonight in order to not to be alone tonight. I came to let my lust off its leash. Yes. Nobody can see it, but I wear a mask at this moment, one of my favorite ones; it's called anonymity. I am leaning at the bar facing the dance floor and nervously swim in this sensation this mask provides me with, all while sipping on this lukewarm beer. Being anonymous means being a nobody to everybody. It's a chance to flip your skin and dance life with a different set of steps for a little while. You can be a dervish under the disco ball of life, at least temporarily.

But here is the downside: anonymity is a very fragile phenomenon, it cracks the longer you stick around. People get to know you, open their boxes and throw you inside one of them, without caring if you break or not. This makes life easier for them and harder for you.

Right now, however, leaning on this bar, sipping on this bottle, I can feel that I am box-free. I can be whoever I want to be, or better, whoever I am.

This sense of freedom, mixed with the alcohol that starts curving through my veins, calms me down, and I decide to make my way to the other end of the room. My chest stays out, of course, it's mingling time.

I scanned the room already for all its potential and could only find one young lady that I really desire to undress instantly. I am heading towards her, and position myself next to her, and her male companion, who could be her husband, it's hard to tell. Sure is, they are close to each other and seem to have found a nice way of throwing and catching each other’s smiles. I can tell by the way they treat each other. It looks like love that already ripened for some years. 'Their sex must be good', I am thinking. At the same time, I wonder, 'Why are they here then? Why are they not at home with some candles and a record player spinning a Marvin Gay vinyl?’ They are in their early 40's, I am guessing, which makes me wonder if they have children. If so, what did they tell them where they are going tonight? Theater? Cinema? Dinner with friends? And did they hire a babysitter? The nerd in me wants to know now how many millions have been spent in the history of the world on babysitters so parents can go and exchange body fluids with strangers in a place where glory holes adorn walls. 'The world is sick,' I am thinking, 'in a sweet way. And so am I.'

I heard once that one should always stick to the '3-second rule' when planning to approach his object of desire. That means it should be avoided at all cost to spend more than three-seconds contemplating on the execution of the approach. Now all this thinking got me already to second 42 and I am feeling how hesitation gets the better of me. What if they reject me? What if they don't speak English? What if I am not their type? What will the others think of me when they see how I am getting rejected? All these amateur questions start to vomit over my mind and leave me crippled in the corner, three meters away from the couple my dick would like to have a threesome with.

I tell myself, 'there will be another, better chance later' and shift my focus back to the poorest dance floor I have seen in years.

There is some movement happening. The light is getting dimmed and the plum tells people to make some space for what is about to come. Then she starts speaking with a man whose size reminds me of a vintage wardrobe. His arms are filled with ink and his veins tell an ugly story about steroids. All of a sudden, mid through the conversation, she starts pointing at me and explains to him eagerly something which clearly involves me and my presence. After her briefing, he promptly makes his way towards me. While he does so, he reminds me of a big dog who is going for his bone, which Mama just threw for him. His eyes are getting bigger and there is a rising amount of saliva flowing in his mouth. I dislike the fact that she chose me to be the bone in this scenario, but I guess our brief sighting-seeing tour made her believe that we have a special connection or something. My fault, I should stop being nice to people I hate.

I'll never know his name, but there is a 99% chance that his name is Joao, Pedro, or Miguel. The Portuguese are special people, very sensitive and creative. I love them. But when it comes to naming their children, it seems like creativity and originality are two players they constantly put on the bench.

The walking wardrobe, who looks like a 'Pedro' to me, reaches me and screams in my ear:

"Come! She wants you to come."

Maybe he even said:

"Come! She wants you to cum."

Not sure about it, but honestly, in this place, these two sentences point in the very same direction. His right palm eats my left arm as he tries to pull me closer towards his plum, who is waiting on the edge of her small yet still under-crowded dance floor. I brush his hand off my limb and tell him to chill, asking what he wants from me. Pedro repeats his sentence in his broken English and lets eventually go off me. There is some tension between us, I can tell, and so can the few people around us. I'm not a short bloke, but Pedro's height exceeds mine by minimum seven centimetres and he is certainly physically stronger than me. Now that he is so close, I can witness the distinctive features in his face and start reading a bit of the story that is written inside his mime. It's a story of pain, I can tell by the tension of the muscular tissue in his face and the corners of his mouth, which seem to travel more often south rather than north.

I always thought of pain as a huge house, something like a villa. And if sadness is the main hall inside that villa, then aggression is something like the entrance hall or lobby. Behind aggression always lives sadness. Behind every fist always hides a tear. Looking at Pedro now makes me believe that he somehow got stuck in that lobby of pain and that for every tear he swallowed, one of his enemies had to swallow one of his jewelry-adorned fists. I don't want to swallow his fist. Not now, not here, not in this filthy cave that he calls his kingdom.

So, I walk up to the plum with him and ask her, “What's the matter?” She tells me: "You are way too sexy to be standing there all on your own, honey. Sit down here next to my friend". She points at the small sofa next to her, right on the dance floor. Her friend is a lady in her late 30's, a couple of years older than me, who refuses to hide her crooked, brownish teeth, while she grins at me. A small wave of disgust breaks inside me. I usually feel great sympathy for people who carry their imperfections with dignity and some sort of pride because it can show confidence, and confidence has always been a sexy thing to me. But like with everything, there is a line. And unfortunately, her set of teeth is crossing that line by miles.

Despite the lack of resonance I'm feeling, I decide to sit down next to her. I guess Pedro and the plum left some sort of intimidating impression on me, otherwise, I can't tell why I would ever sit on this couch. On her right sits another man, roughly my age, who seems, besides me, to be the only man that picked a white button-up shirt as his attire for this night, which was supposed to be a glorious one. He looks happier and way more at ease compared to me. 'Why am I sitting here? What the fuck am I doing here?' I'm asking myself, while I feel this pressure inside my body. In my mind, I'm comparing this pressure, with how a woman must feel when she is pregnant. I came here, being impregnated by lust, trying to give birth to one of my shadows that lingers in a room inside of me, where society and all its conventions have no access to. But now, sitting on this damn couch, getting my thigh stroked by a woman that never believed in dentistry, I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that tonight, this pregnancy is about to end in a miscarriage. ‘What the fuck am I doing here?’

My pulse climbs again this mountain as I'm starting to understand what is about to happen here. The light is being dimmed, even more, a new song, even worse than the one before, is being played and the plum approaches the pole, which is decorating the center of the dance floor. Her time has come. The plum strip show is about to happen. Finally or, sadly. Depending on whom you ask in here. I stay with my opinion that she is way too old for these type of things. There should be a universal pole dance law in place, forbidding women with a certain amount of wrinkles in her face to ever touch a pole and charge money for it, I'm thinking. I reminisce about my €80 entry fee and what else I could have done with it. There was a commercial by a charity, which I spotted the other day, claiming it would cost only €40 to save a life in Africa. And here I am now, watching these two old white breasts stroking a pole in an unpopular swinging club, somewhere in Portugal, all while I could have saved two beautiful black twins, somewhere in Africa. Bravo!

The strip show continues, and I'm carefully watching her movement and the way she carries herself, sliding around this pole with her 10 cm high heels on. I need to give her some credit even though I struggle somehow finding the right words for it. Maybe for the effort. Or maybe, for the past potential that used to be there. I can imagine how, at a time, when her body didn't show any plum resemblance yet, this pole and these heels used to be her key into a world full of decadence and successful businessmen, who liked to spoil her with material things, after they got their naked part of the deal. Time took this key from her one day like it does to all pretty ladies. Time threw that key overboard into the inevitable ocean of evanescence, and she jumped right after it trying to catch it again and again, without notable success to this day. No anti-aging cream, no surgeon, and no dance pole can prevent that key from hitting the ocean bed. Thinking about this, I almost feel sorry for her. Maybe, it was not her fault. Maybe, we are to blame; we men, by tricking pretty ladies into betting all their chips on their beauty, and making them believe this winning streak will last forever. Sadly, it doesn't.

Physical beauty serves the eyes. And the eyes of humans are little hungry monsters. Monsters that like to eat only one thing and one thing only: Symmetry. Like a dog loves to chew on a bone, our eyes enjoy chewing on symmetry; the more, the better. We simply can't get enough of it. Take the face of Kate Moss, for instance. It's like a five-star dish for these two monsters inside our face, especially for the heterosexual men among us. Scientists discovered that the length and width of a face, as well as the distance between and women's mouth and her eyes, determines how attractive she is to men. Ms. Moss apparently got extremely lucky the day that God handed out facial length and width measures because the distance between the middle of her eyes and her mouth is about 46% of the width of her face, which is supposed to be the "golden ratio". The face of this pole dancing plum in front of me, however, has, apart from those oval over-sized earrings hanging from her lobes, literally nothing golden to offer any more. Time has eaten her symmetry.

As she continues to chase her younger self on this pole, with movements that were not invented for a body aged like hers, she starts looking in our direction. We, the three people on this purple couch, are having the courtside seats in this arena of filth. No one is closer to the action. I'm feeling a bit like Jack Nicholson in the Staples Center or Spike Lee in the Madison Square Garden. Probably more like Mr. Lee, to be honest, since the Knicks seem to have performed equally bad in recent years, just like the plum is now. She starts walking up to us. I'm surprised how stable her walk is, considering her age in combination with those stupidly long heels she is wearing. Personally, I never had a thing for heels; it never did much to me, seeing a girl walking around all stiff and unnatural like that. Marilyn Monroe supposedly said once, "We owe the man who invented high heels so much." I never had a clue what she was talking about until I read again about some scientists that claimed high heels make women's feet look more petite and therefore overall, more attractive to men. Well, I'm a man, and one of the coolest girls I ever dated, came in flip flops to our first date, and instantly gave birth to a butterfly in my belly. But that's maybe for another story. Sure is, I would have made Marilyn wear some Birkenstock's before starting to penetrate her.

So, as the plum arrives at the sofa, she grabs the hand of the other guy and pulls him towards a chair that Pedro, in the meantime, has put right next to the pole. A new song is being played, and she starts lap dancing on the guy who might share with me the affinity for white button-up shirts but certainly not the taste in women. Some people start whistling and yelling little sounds of excitement while her ass takes a hike up his lap, planting a little lump between his legs. I stare at the grin he parked in his face and discover, to my surprise, that it's really a genuine one. The muscles in our face have always fascinated me; they are like a lie detector. I can always tell by someone's facial expressions how close they live to authenticity in a given moment. A fake smile relaxes fast, too fast. On a genuine smile, the corners of the mouth go back calmly and smoothly, to its neutral position, it relaxes slowly. As I keep witnessing this, for me, rather tragic performance, I can clearly see that the guy is genuinely happy and pleased. Pleased by a woman that I named plum the first minute I caught sight of her; a dry plum to be exact.

I feel like an alien that is stranded on a planet that is illiterate to the language of sex and erotic. Where lust is a hyper-inflated currency, making anyone a millionaire, whipping his ass with bills whenever his hormones hand him a dose of horniness. An alien always feels lonely. A feeling of loneliness can only flourish when there is, for whatever reason, no ground or space for sharing. We share by communicating, mostly through language, which is mostly transmitted spoken or through our bodies. My genitals clearly speaks Suaheli compared to the others in here, so how on earth would I ever be able to communicate and share anything in this cave?

Next to me, still sits the lady with the crooked smile, still rubbing my thigh, still refusing to see a dentist. Just like the interior design of her mouth lacks order and alignment, I am starting to lack some patience. Nothing of what my five senses have been absorbing in the last 70 minutes has been really to my liking, and something is telling me that the worst is yet to come if I don't take immediate action. The little mathematician inside my currently confused brain starts doing his job and calculates the probability of me being next in line for a lap dance, like the one I am forced to watch right now. Considering the fact that I'm the only remaining male on this couch, which feels like a substitute bench, the chance of me being the next player on the lap dance field seems alarmingly high. So high that my heartbeat starts mimicking some dub step rhythm and I actually start feeling a bit scared. "I need to get the fuck out of here" is what my inner voice starts shouting. The thought of me sitting in the middle of this dance floor, being watched by all these horny eyeballs while a dry plum slides down my crotch, lets my heartbeat go even higher, approaching more and more the tempo territory of some ‘drum n bass’ track. This cocktail of emotions my spirit is sipping on right now doesn't taste well- I feel scared, disgusted, and ashamed all at the same time. Not good. I need to leave. Now!

I stand up, fast and assertive. In doing so, I brush off the lady's hand of my thigh, who then tries to stop me by reaching for my wrist, while mumbling some, for me, indigestible syllable salad. She is obviously trying to convince me that I should be staying. That I should be patiently waiting for this present they got prepared for me. I quickly look back at her and can tell by her surprised look that she has no clue of how I'm feeling. She must really be thinking that I'm letting go of some sort of once in a lifetime chance here.

I rush to the cloakroom, just to find out that it's locked. Fuck. I just want my blazer and escape this place. I look around, trying to find someone who could help me with my dilemma, and see Pedro approaching me. He must have seen how I rushed off the couch and also seems surprised about my sudden change of plans. "What's wrong, my friend?" he asks. For a split second, I'm considering to tell him, that we are further away from being friends than the pope from ever using a pack of condoms in his life, but then, discard that idea quickly and just reply: "I need to leave. Can you open the door? I need my blazer." He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and opens the door, visibly disturbed by my ambition to leave his cave. He almost seems to take it personally and wants to know, "Why do you want to leave? You don't like it here? What's your problem, my friend?" As I take my blazer off the hanger, I tell him that he doesn't have to worry about my problem and that all he needs to know right now is that I need to leave. He senses that I'm serious and decides not to continue his Q&A session with me. He assists me to the exit, where I decide to turn around for one last time and give this place a final look. One last observation that shall be burned into my memory forever, reminding me what I don't want in my still young, erotic life.

I look at the men in here, who are all still excitingly following the narrative of the plum's strip show. She seems to have found another victim that she is now arousing with her clumsy movements. It's a man in green shorts and a blue tank top, who reminds me again of the fact that I'm embarrassingly overdressed tonight. He also seems to have the time of his life, receiving what is, in my view, still Portugal's poorest pole dance performance. I stare at his happy face one last time, observing this sincere, lustful joy that is being displayed in there.

A line from my favorite rapper comes to mind and I whisper it to myself while I finally walked out of my

first swinging party:

"One man's pain is another man's pleasure.

One man's trash is another man's treasure."

Outside, I button my shirt all the way up to the collar button, grab my phone, and open the Uber app.

This time, it's me who orders the Uber,

not my dick.

#shortstory #intrigue #literature

1 note · View note

gmxrk · 6 years ago

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Can I ask for a hc? What ticks/quirk would V have if s/o would live together with him? Any special daily rituals? Also how would he cheer s/o up after a hard day? Xoxo

Salutations, Anon!Tysm for your ask and pardon me for keeping you waiting. It’s my firstheadcanon (and it turned out very fluffy), so I’m a little nervous aboutposting it.

Ticks/quirks while living together with his s/o

I have to confess the first point was really a challenge. Ticks/quirksare not that easy to write (at least for me) so I decided to write about V’s“normal” habits which his s/o notices during their life together. Ihope you’re okay with that :3

Living together with V is quite easy. He’s is a very straightforward personwho likes to spend time with his s/o and still allows them enough space for themselves.And ofc, after living together for some time, his s/o will notice some thingsthat are at least funny and a bit … confusing?

V enjoys - not surprisingly - books. If he’s not spending time on amission or with his s/o, he’s almost invariably hiding his nose between thepages of a novel. He reads at every possible time, at every impossible place. Mostlyit doesn’t remain with just one book at the same time. It’s not unusual thathis books lie around in every corner of the apartment: On the corridor’ssideboard, on top of the couch, of course next to his bedside, on thewindowsill at the kitchen - even on the edge of the bathtub. They are read stepby step depending on his current mood and the book pages are full of post-it’son which he notes his favourite passages, perhaps he saves them for later so hecan to read them to his s/o.

Sometimes he is so deeply sunk into the books plot that he pronouncesrandom passages out loud without even realizing it. It happened several timesthat his s/o raised their head in irritation and didn’t get an answer when theyrespond to his unconscious quoting - besides a happy smile, so endearing itwarms their heart.

V loves the food of his s/o. Every dish is a delight and because theyare usually too exhausted at the end of the day, he appreciates these rarecooking evenings even more.

Sure, at first his s/o was a bit confused about V insisting on puttinghis food on the plate by himself, but soon they realized that V particularlyenjoys his food when it is eaten in a particular order. The differentcomponents must not touch or get mixed. He eats everything separately, neverjumbled up. In the ideal case the food is also divided into symmetrical oraesthetically looking sections on the plate. Nowadays his s/o knows hispreferences by heart, and yet V is still surprised about getting his mealserved in a perfect arrangement. But he will appreciate it with his dazzlingsmile, making them feel dizzy by just facing it, and his foot under the tablewill softly brush over theirs, with the promise of a very special dessert.

Apart from several books he left everywhere, V is a very neat and cleanperson. Stacking crockery is the very worst, so of course the dishes must bedone on the same day, even if he hates it. But knowing things are done makeshim sleep calmer.

Besides, he would never go to bed without a shower. He places greatvalue on personal hygiene and will continue to shower until he feels absolutelyclean. (Finger- and toenails must be always accurately cut and filed too.) Hedoesn’t even mind asking his s/o to scrub his back. Of course, he just wants tohave them in the shower just for that. :^)

V is also very sensitive to smells. If his s/o changes their perfume/deo/whatever,he will notice it immediately. Once he has found a good scent for him, he willuse one and the same bodywash/shampoo/perfume for years and would never thinkof buying something else. At one day when his shampoo was out of stock and hiss/o had to bring him another one, he was a little irritated and uncomfortableabout using it. At the very next day he went instant to the supermarket andbought his regular shampoo, very glad it was available again.

Anyspecial daily rituals?

When an exhausting day finally comes to an end; when the apartment istidy and he took his shower, he really looks forward to bedtime. Letting theday end with his s/o and being able to catch up on some tenderness is veryimportant to him, because there wasn’t time for it the whole day. He is desperatelyin need of love and he always pulls his s/o into a gentle embrace from behind,burying his nose deep in their hair.

(He prefers to sleep cold, only with a thin blanket and a windowconstantly open. If he hadn’t such a lot body warmth his s/o would freezemiserably during some seasons.)

V usually wakes up very early inthe morning and mostly he doesn’t need to set an alarm. His inner clock and hisfamiliars wake him up all by themselves. Even though he is rested enough to getup, he always stays lying there as long as possible to enjoy the warmth of hiss/o and to recharge his batteries for the day. Getting up without snuggling isnot an option, even if they have argued the day before. (which is fortunatelyvery rare) So this can be considered as his first daily ritual.

After getting up he makes himself a strong coffee or tea, depending onhis mood. He prefers Earl Grey or Ginger and enjoys drinking it while standingon the balcony and watching griffon on his first morning flight. He alwaysmakes enough so that there is something left for his s/o.

Although he loves music, he prefers the morning silence at the beginningof the day.

Before he leaves the flat, he writes his s/o a little note, which heleaves in a place where they will find it for sure. Most of the time it’s aquote from his novels or poems to give them a nice start into the day. If hiss/o leaves the house earlier than he does, he would write something to sweeten theirevening when they come back. Just a little attention to show that all histhoughts are with them. It’s very important to him and he would never skip it,even if he is running late to his job or mission.

How would he cheer s/o up after ahard day?

Similar to scents, V is very sensitive when it comes to emotions.Already when his s/o enters the door, he can feel exactly if they had a good orbad day. Then he always welcomes them by putting his arms around their hips andgiving them a fleeting kiss on the forehead.

His question is always the same: »Do you want to talk about it?«

If yes, he leads them to the living room and sits with them on thecouch, patiently waiting for his s/o to start talking. He listens to themwithout a single interrupting and when they are done, he pulls them into aloving embrace and cheers them up with encouraging words, quietly and close totheir ear. He will speak to them until their shoulders relax and he feels thattheir worries are a little diminished.

If they don’t want to talk about it, he will ask no more questions.Depending on how down his s/o is, he may try to encourage them to take anocturnal walk. Fresh air is always a good idea and a little activity can helpto ease some stress. It doesn’t have to be a long walk, a few minutes aroundthe house or through the park is enough. Afterwards, they make themselves cozyin front of the TV, V hands them a cup of warm cocoa and wraps them in ablanket, while they watch their favourite movie - even if it’s a film hedoesn’t really like. Sometimes their tongue loosens on its own and they startto talk - and sometimes not. V agrees with both as long as he feels his s/o isa doing a little better.

In the absolute worst case, when his s/o indicates that they want to beon their own, he will leave them alone and, if necessary, even leave theapartment. V knows this feeling all too well and will absolutely understand. Nevertheless,he will bring them a warm drink (and even alcohol if necessary), gently brushover their shoulder and quietly promise that they can always call him when theyin need. Of course he would be worried, but he respects their wish to be alone.But mostly that’s not the case. Most of the timehis s/o gets weak in his embrace and talks all by themselves.

Thank you for reading. May I write something for you? Then feel free to visit my askbox! It would be most appreciated, bc it’s a lot of fun! ♥

#dmc5 #dmcv #dmc5v #v #fluff #dmc headcanons #headcanons #devil may cry v headcanon #ask #anon #ticks #quirks #daily rituals #books #v headcanon

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marcolinia · 3 years ago

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What is the distinction among a fragranceand a deodorant?

Scents and deo’s are significant as they give an aroma which certain individuals who disdain to smell terrible love to have. Nobody likes to smell horrible particularly when they are in broad daylight, hence, scents are vital. You might have known about various kinds of scents, similar to fragrances, body splashes, and antiperspirants. You might feel that these are on the whole comparable, yet the truth is told, there are contrasts present between these. Everybody likes to look delightful alongside smell awesome. In this way, antiperspirants and aromas are really fundamental spaces of the corrective business. Certain individuals appreciate choosing from an assortment of these. There might be common that we have bought these and not actually viewed as the real contrast among them.

How are they made?

Deodorants cover up and decrease bodily odour. Perspiration causes the odours to emerge. When it comes to sweat produced by sweating, it is odourless. It combines with germs, resulting in the dreadful body odour you may be familiar with. You should be aware that deodorants do not prevent perspiration; however, they do reduce the odour of perspiration. This is accomplished by removing your body odour. As a result, a deodorant is a substance that is used to disguise, suppress, and neutralize scents. It is critical to understand that most deodorants contain alcohol.

The expense of each

There is a distinction present between the expense of aroma and antiperspirant. Antiperspirant is a less expensive variant, especially of the eau de toilette. It is normally substantially less costly than this. In this way assuming you are searching for a scent that isn't over the top expensive, you might be drawn in towards an antiperspirant. A distinction is available inside the cost between the aroma materials utilized in "fine" scent (for example scent) in contrast with those utilized in different applications, for example, antiperspirant showers, family cleaners, cleanser, clothing cleanser, alongside body washes, and so on .Aroma is viewed similar to an extravagance item. It will regularly be considerably more costly than an antiperspirant shower. Certain individuals might put together their choice with respect to which kind of scent to get checking out the cost of each. The cost is a significant point, however you likewise need to perceive what fixings are available in the scent. You would prefer not to wind up getting one that has hurtful fixings that can represent a danger to you. It is smarter to put resources into something that won't adversely affect your wellbeing.

How much of it is sprawled?

Another point to be made between perfume and deodorants. Deodorant sprays are often delivered in aerosol cans. So much comes out when you press the button, as opposed to the “natural spray” that you will find on a bottle of eau de toilette, which distributes only a small amount. As a result, you will only require a small amount of perfume.

Marcolinia, an online fragrance retailer in Dubai, UAE, offering some of the finest deals on perfumes for men and women’s perfume online in Dubai.

#womensperfumeonlineinsharjah #womensperfumeonlineindubai #buy perfumes online in uae unisex perfumes in uae perfumes for men in uae perfumes for woman in uae buy branded perfumes online designer pe #marcolinia uae dubai unisexperfume fragrance mensperfume womanperfume

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queen-ofnewyork · 4 years ago

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Review of fradore’s Body Primer Cream in DIRTY SALTY PASSION

fradore is an all-new Deo and Perfume brand, designed especially for your body. They combine body fragrance and deodorant to suit your everyday activities while keeping you fresh. Their Body Primer Cream comes in 4 different varieties including this one, #2 DIRTY SALTY PASSION (wild floral & mild citrus), #1 DIRTY SALTY PASSION (herbal & musky; review), #3 THIS IS HOW YOU FEEL INSIDE (citrus & floral & fine woody; review) and #4 THIS IS HOW YOU FEEL INSIDE (spicy & floral; review). The Body Primer Creams are designed to deodorize the body before and after a workout leaving the body with an enticing scent. Key ingredients include algae extract (hydrating, skin conditioning, moisturizing, protects from bacteria that causes odor), oat kernel extract (soothing, assists in preventing irritation, helps skin maintain it's equilibrium, naturally cleansing and removes dirt and oil), tocopherol (vitamin E; moisturizing, antioxidant, nourishing), beta-glucan (soothing, calming, antibacterial, breaks down sweat molecules and prevents odor) and fructooligosaccharide (healthy bacteria, protects the skin from environmental factors, improves skin health). This product retails for between $20-28 USD, you can get it here for $25.87 + shipping.

Ingredients

Water, Cyclopentasilxane, Glycerin, Alcohol, Dimethicone, Dimethicone/Vinyl Dimethicone Crosspolymer, Hydrogenated Lecithin, Hydroxypropyl Cyclodextrin, Algae Extract, Eclipta Prostrata (False Daisy) Leaf Extract, Avena Sativa (Oat) Kernel Extract, Pteris Multifida (Spider Brake) Extract, Sodium Polyacrylate, Cynara Scolymus (Artichoke) Leaf Extract, Amaranthus Caudatus (Love-Lies-Bleeding) Seed Extract, Ulmus Davidiana Root Extract, Ammonium Acryloyldimethyltaurate/VP Copolymer, Tocopherol, Hydroxyethyl Acrylate/Sodium Acryloyldimethyl Taurate Copolymer, Squalane, Methylpropanediol, PEG-10 Dimethicone, Acrylates/C10-30 Alkyl Acrylate Crosspolymer, Tromethamine, Dipropylene Glycol, Sorbitan Isostearate, Lecithin, Beta-Glucan, Polyquaternium-51, Betaine, Fructooligosaccharide, Hydrolyzed Hyaluronic Acid, Butylene Glycol, FD&C Blue No.1, Polysorbate 60, Fragrance, !,2-Hexanediol, Phenoxyethanol, Ethylhexylglycerin

To quickly note, I received this for a small fee from 0.8 Liter for my honest review, this post is not sponsored.

The product contains 150 ml (5.07 oz) and the scent notes are, base: top, mid: jasmine & green and base: amber & musk. As such it really has an almost powdery, slightly floral, slightly sweet scent.

It comes in a squeeze tube with a metal lid.

The cream is white in color and lightweight. It feels cooling on top of the skin.

The cream is really smooth and as it blends out it becomes clear.

The cream is matte and has a refreshing feeling on the skin. It absorbs quickly and is not tacky at all.

Recommended use is to gently apply onto the parts where your pulses beat every morning and evening and before working out. You can also apply it liberally onto the areas where you are most likely to perspire. After using, I'm always looking for something more gentle on the skin than regular deodorant and without any residue left over. This is very lightweight and absorbs in quickly. It's refreshing and hydrating and not at all drying like most deodorants are. The scent is powdery and feels like a much fancier deodorant than I normally use. I used this alone with nothing over it and this product really does what it says. All underarm odor is eliminated for up to 40 hours and my underarms felt moisturized and there was no irritation. The ingredients are really helpful to care for perspiration and bacteria that causes odor. I'd recommend this to anyone who wants to find an alternative to regular deodorant or natural deodorants that have lots of residue left over.

What I like: this product is surprisingly long-lasting, much more than I expected. Over 40 hours and I didn't notice any odor or issues and I also exercised while using this and it's really held up. I like the scent, though I expected something a little less powdery of a scent, it's a really beautiful smelling cream. The ingredients are nice and this product isn't drying or irritating. Also not much is needed depending on where you put it so it should last a while. What I don't like: nothing really, it's a good product.

Pros:

Hydrating

Soothing

Refreshing

Long-lasting effects

Nice quality

Nice fragrance

Dries down matte

Cons:

None

Would I buy again?

Yes

Rating: 8/10

#fradore #Body Primer Cream #Korean bodycare #review #deodorant #0.8L review

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nocteverbascio · 7 years ago

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what are your intentions (9/10) - rated m

Pairing: Alex Danvers/Lucy Lane Summary: It was a fun to push each other’s buttons because it not only brought out the best in one another. Both women met their match in one another. Only now, things have changed. And Alex is pissed. A/N: yall wanted to see lucy’s reaction right? okay.

ao3 link

Alex practically counts the seconds the minute she is back at the DEO. She’d already got a minor scolding from J’onn but it was in the heat of the fight, so it was cut relatively short (no doubt, midyear reviews should be fun). The mission went as well as any mission could have gone with the band of robbers trying to do their worst. With only a few hiccups and cuts and bruises, they managed to apprehend all but one.

For Alex, that was more of a success than she had expected. Kara’s waiting for her to go home and Alex actually can’t wait to go home. And while her mind drifts to the thoughts of what tomorrow is going to bring, there’s a nagging source of anxiety that floods the forefront of her mind.

After coming out to Kara about the whole thing between her and Lucy, Alex knew she had to do something about it. Kara wouldn’t let it drop and she stuck by Alex to make sure that Alex could just stop suffering from not being with Lucy. Her sister had made it sound so easy and simple. Alex didn’t come around until Kara practically forced a pros and cons list.

Every time she thinks of Lucy now, it’s not this constant war inside of her. She wants Lucy. She wants to be with Lucy. And even as she trembles inside, absolutely mortified of being with Lucy like she’s standing at the edge of a cliff, there’s a thrill in the idea of just falling.

She presses her head against the cool metal locker and hisses from the cut above her eyebrow. She’d just finish putting the stitches on those too. She huffs and opens her locker to throw her thigh holster and heels in.

When Lucy stepped onto the floor in her charcoal suit that hugs every slim, finely worked curves of her hips and pants that make her legs go on for days, touching just above her high heels, Alex felt like she was getting nudged closer to the edge of the cliff. Her thoughts were full of Lucy’s presence. Lucy is here. Lucy is here! Now that Lucy is back, she really has to think about what she’s going to say to her. How was she going tell Lucy that she wants more?

God, she really wished that she remembered they were on an open comm. That Lucy had came back early from her mission to hop onto controls at base. And god, she knew she fucked up the minute she turned off her comm.

This wasn’t how she was expecting things to turn out. She didn’t know that Lucy would be back so soon. When she left, Alex didn’t expect her to come back so soon, or at least without notice from J’onn. She was hoping for more time to solidify her plan to lay it all out for Lucy, what to say and how she was going to do it.

Suddenly, there’s a slam of the locker room door opening and clicking of heels. Alex turns her attention to the all too familiar sounds of Lucy’s heels against the floors. She curses to herself because Lucy is standing before her, looking absolutely furious.

And beautiful.

Alex knows it’s an inappropriate time to take in Lucy’s gorgeous sunkissed skin under the white lights, but she feels like she’s actually seeing Lucy for the first time again. The way Lucy’s lips thin and jaw clenches and her eyes darken with gravity. Lucy stares at Alex with a furious intent.

Alex opens her mouth to say something when Lucy huffs angrily and crosses to Alex. She shoves the locker shut with a loud slam that it startles Alex.

Before Alex realizes it, she’s being pushed back against the lockers with Lucy’s lips on hers in a bruising kiss. She unconsciously moans because it reminds her of how good it feels. All of the times they’ve argued and bickered that led to passionate fucking. It definitely feels like the first time all over again.

Alex kisses back as she crumbles back against the lockers, knees giving out on her with how Lucy kisses her. Angrily. Hungrily.

“Lucy--this isn’t--” Alex breathes heavily through the kisses. She can’t keep her focus as Lucy kisses her; she can only focus on how much she wants to kiss Lucy back.

Lucy’s hands roam her sides, gripping her firmly before sliding down her body. “What do you want Alex?” Lucy demands. “Tell me now.”

Alex’s heart stops briefly at how serious Lucy sounds. She can feel the way Lucy’s fingers tense at her waist, exercising restraint until Alex responds. It affects her to the core, the wetness floods between her legs.

She lets out a moan out her approval and guide’s Lucy’s hands to the edge of her dress that’s already high up her thigh. “Lucy....” she sighs out as she throws her head back. “Fuck me.”

Lucy moans against her skin and pushes the dress up to Alex’s hips. She keeps kissing Alex fiercely, trailing her lips down the column of her neck, across her clavicle, to the nape of her neck. She sucks hard without any precedent. Alex shivers and clutches at the lapels of Lucy’s blazer to anchor herself. Lucy lets out a low hiss as Alex grips her tightly but she doesn’t stop.

It feels like Lucy’s hands are all over her body, trying to map out every inch of her body. Alex whimpers at all the places Lucy touches her. Just under her breast. Her waist. The crease at the apex of her thighs. A single hand trails down the back of her thigh and Alex struggles to stand up.

Lucy grabs the back of her knee and hikes her leg up around her waist. Alex groans, falling back hard against the lockers. She shifts and feels Lucy press into her core.

Alex holds Lucy’s head in place as she grinds into Alex slowly and continues to suck at the nape of her neck. She slams her eyes shut as a guttural moan rips from the back of her throat. The thought of Lucy leaving a mark leaves her drenched, rolling her hips against Lucy’s for more delicious friction. Lucy’s left marks on her before, but now Alex desperately wants Lucy to.

Lucy’s hand comes up between them and tugs at Alex’s panties. Alex gasps at way the fabric tightens and rubs against her folds. Lucy grasps at them like she wants to tear them off of Alex. She can hear the material rip.

Lucy lets out a low growl that vibrates against Alex. She doesn’t tear off the panties completely. Instead, she shoves them aside to cup Alex’s mound.

“You like being wet for me?” Lucy rasps out as her fingers press hard between Alex’s folds.

Alex fists Lucy’s dark brown locks tightly. “Uh huh,” she whimpers out weakly.

“You like my fingers fucking you?” Lucy pushes two digits in firmly. She doesn’t move them.

Alex whines, shifting her hips.

“Answer me,” Lucy demands.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Alex answers quickly and Lucy responds by pushing them until she’s knuckles deep inside of her. Alex cries out.

“Fuck,” Lucy curses as she drops her head against Alex’s clavicle to thrust her fingers in and out of Alex’s sopping core. “You’re so drenched. I miss fucking you. Do you miss me too?”

Alex nods, feeling the dampness dripping from her core.

“Do you get this wet for anyone else?” Lucy snarls.

Alex shudders because she can hear it in the woman’s voice. The jealousy. The possessiveness.

“Answer me.”

Alex shakes her head. “Just you,” she breathes out as she clutches Lucy even harder as if Lucy could disappear.

“Who else fucks you like this?” Lucy groans out. She curls her fingers and presses her thumb against Alex’s clit. She rubs back and forth quickly that Alex’s eyes roll back.

Alex curses. “No one--just you,” she gasps, remembering to answer. She rolls her hips for Lucy’s fingers to go deeper, leg hiking higher around Lucy’s slim waist.

Lucy’s fingers card through her hair before gripping them to force Alex to face her. “Open your eyes.” Alex opens her eyes to meet Lucy’s and she gasps. The intensity of Lucy’s eyes, pupils blown, staring into hers sends gooseflesh rising across her skin. The green practically shines like emerald as she maintains eye contact with Alex. Lucy wants her to know that she's the only one that can fuck her like this.

Alex feels her stomach shudder and walls quiver. “Lucy, I’m close,” she whines. “Please, please, ple--"

Lucy tips her head just enough to kiss Alex. Her kiss is so gentle that Alex inhales sharply. The sensation is starkly different from the way Lucy’s fingers mercilessly fuck her. Alex tugs Lucy’s blazer to pull her in and kiss her fully and deeply. Lucy mewls loudly, almost painfully, into her mouth before deepening the kiss. Their lips slide against one another in a slow dance and explore one another, trying to commit how they kiss to memory.

Lucy breaks the kiss first, breath hot against her face. “Come for me, Alex,” she whispers.

The words echo in Alex’s mind. For me. For me. For me. Alex feels her whole body tense up, the orgasm crashing into her as she obeys Lucy’s quiet demand. She wraps her arms around Lucy’s body to pull her in close and feels Lucy jerk in her arms.

Just like that, Alex feels like she’s falling. The ground beneath her ceases to exist and Alex feels her heart drop to her stomach as she free falls. But she isn’t alone. Her senses are full of Lucy. From the sweet floral scent of her shampoo, to the natural shea butter and coconut body wash, to the rich perfume underneath the stale air from the plane cabin. It’s all Lucy. The Lucy that she’d been fucking for months that she’s already commit to memory.

Alex breathes in deeply and it smells like home.

Lucy kisses her and Alex melts, sighing into the kiss like her body is finally landing on a soft cloud.

Alex opens her eyes and stares at Lucy. She doesn’t look angry anymore. The frustration and jealousy is cast aside and all Alex sees is the uncertainty in Lucy’s eyes as she stares carefully at Alex. There are so many things Lucy wants to say and she opens her mouth to speak, but shuts it to just stare at Alex.

Alex takes in Lucy through her daze. Her heart pounds inside of her because there aren’t too many words that can describe how light and free she feels. A smile crosses her lips. Without even thinking, Alex sighs out, “I love you.”

#luclex #the directorship #alex x lucy #LOLOLOLOLOL #you're in for a trip #good luck my readers #fwb to lovers #what are your intentions #we might as well be together #locker room sex

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hedeoseo-blog · 6 years ago

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Get Your Layering Game On!

Image Source: thetrendspotter.net

People basically fall in two camps, one who simply love throwing on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and those who pretty much get giddy when it comes to layering and taking the stylish high road to spend their summers or actually any season for that matter.

For those who love layering, we have an array of essential layering pieces at your disposal regardless of the season. A variety that will entice the minimalist of the dressers to embrace the onion-like look and the layers that come with it.

The Shacket

Image Source: koovs.com

While it may sound like an awful name, but it is definitely an excellent layering piece that is a part way between a shirt and a jacket. It is quite an example of an impartial style choice when faced with a fashion dilemma.

Many are confused over the exact meaning of a shacket as to what separates it from an overshirt but the best iterations show that it is made with heavier materials and still retain long-sleeved shirt's slimline cut. One can even say that it is essentially two items of clothing for the price of one. Also, the shacket is a malleable piece of apparel in a way that it is warm enough to be worn on its own or simply wear it under a coat. Ultimately, it comes down to the weather and the way you style it in your look. Moreover, you can keep your daily toiletries kit ready with the HE deo while you are preparing for the day

The Cardigan

Image Source: thetrendspotter.net

Kind of a grandad chic thing, the cardigan has no reason to force its way in too early. However, the design can be the layering ace up your sleeve-pun intended- very easily.

One of the most lauded materials for a cardigan is the merino wool which basically regulates itself according to the temperature and hence is a far more versatile choice for many people. Merino is an active fibre that reacts to changes in the body temperature and keeps you warm on the crisp autumnal days and cool is it's too warm. However, your knitwear should be light enough so that you can pull it on over a T-shirt or just layer it under a coat when you feel cold.

With the versatility comes an array of things you can do with a cardigan to style your different looks according to your mood and of course the weather. Before you hit the road do use the best perfumes for men and be ready for the day.

The Gilet

Image Source: erieairfair.com

It is something sleeveless, padded, intended for things like country pursuits or sports and somewhat awry when it comes to layering. Still, the gilet has wormed its way in the men's autumn/winter wardrobes.

Fit and weight are important in playing around with this piece of fashion, as this could very easily make you look like the Michelin Man if not worn properly. The best kind of gilets have got the midweight construction and aesthetics down to the T. This makes it ideal to wear underneath a suit jacket or removable when wearing a jumper. To look perfect in a gilet, one can try using some texture with contrast and add some flair to stand out. So, basically, if everything you are wearing is cotton or some other such material, opt for nylon in case of gilets. Moreover, don't be shy of using some bold colours or colours that compliment your existing wardrobe. This could be anything from bright orange to a pink which will only add more pomp and flair to your look. Opt for HE Deo and be on point!

The Hoodie

Image Souce: coolmenstyle.com

Everyone and anyone loves a good hoodie! Basically, it is the go-to staple layering piece for going anywhere. While it was earlier seen as teen fashion but has now bled its way into the wardrobes of literally everyone regardless of their age or gender. One should remember to keep the colour mid-to-light grey or somewhat a simpler solid colour like black, blue or the likes. Also, if you want to nail the hoodie period, you should mostly use it as a layer and pull it on with a leather jacket, or wool overcoat or even get creative by putting it on beneath your suit. It is best to keep your hoodie minimal and not with statement prints or slogans or any other dramatic design which will put you at risk of looking like a kid. Do use the best perfumes for men and show off the perfect look.

#best perfume for men; he deo

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narrymusings · 8 years ago

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Day 10: Choice (AKA Just A Little Thing I Wrote Because Sometimes Things Don’t Leave Me Alone)

In which This Town isn’t about anyone -- except that it sort of is...

Stream This Town on Spotify / Buy or Gift

‘Waking up to kiss you and nobody’s there, the smell of your perfume still stuck in the air’

He knows, before he opens his eyes – before he’s even fully awake, at that – that he’s waking up alone. He knows, because his side of the bed is empty, knows it’s been for a while based on how it no longer feels warm enough.

It’s definitely not the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last, he reckons. Not just because it’s his tendency to wake and leave before the sun rises, but because it’s Niall’s tendency to…well, let him.

It’s like clockwork. They have a few good months, and countless great fucks, and then he gets scared and he leaves in the middle of the night and Niall wakes up alone and pretends not to be upset – pretends like the bed isn’t too cold and empty, pretends like he wasn’t going to kiss him good morning, pretends like the smell of his cologne lingering on the sheets and in the air doesn’t make his heart feel a bit ill. Usually they still talk, mostly because they had to, what with being on tour and all, but they never talked about it, always steered clear of it. It was easier that way; it was easier to pretend like he wasn’t bothered, than admit to himself, let alone to him, that he was. And then, like clockwork, it would start all over again. Sometimes it was just because Niall was drunk, he swears, and he just wasn’t of a rational mind, and sometimes it was just because Niall was in love with him. Sometimes it was one in the same.

In a couple of weeks, months at most, it’ll start all over again, and Niall will let himself be happy, if only for a little while – and then he’ll get scared that it’s getting too serious, like always, and Niall will be left alone, again, wishing he’d done something differently while trying (and failing) to ignore his lingering presence in his house, as well as inside the confines of his heart.

‘I want to tell you everything, the words I never got to say the first time around’

“You know what- Fine,” Niall half mutters, half yells through the phone he’s holding to his ear. “Be a prick, and be a fucking coward.”

“Niall, I just-“

“You just what?” Niall hisses. “You just don’t want to be tied down? You just want to see other people? You just don’t think it’ll work between us in the long run? What excuse would you like to use? Or have you got a new one for me this time?” He’s angry, and he’s hurt, and maybe he’s a little bit irrational at the moment – which he’ll probably regret in a couple of hours, not that they’d ever talk about it anyway. He just…hurts, and he doesn’t know if he hurts to, but he wants him to.

“We’re going to be apart for a long time anyway. You’ll be travelling for a couple of months, and I’m-“

“I’m aware of what the both of us are doing.”

They both go silent, and if it weren’t for the fact that he can hear him breathing through the line, he’d think that he’d hung up on him.

“I just think it’s easier to do this now,” he whispers.

“Say it,” Niall wills him. “Call it what it is.”

A break-up. It’s a break-up, they both know it, they’ve both always known it, but they’ve never acknowledged it. He has never been able to say it, which Niall reckons is because he’s never been able to call them what they really were either.

“Niall…”

“Goodbye, Harry.”

He hangs up quickly, before he can change his mind. Before he starts begging and pleading and saying everything he’s always wanted to say but has never had the guts to.

‘I saw that you moved on with someone new’

He sees the first picture on his timeline.

The second picture he sees is because he’s an idiot, and he clicks on the account that tweeted the first picture.

Every picture he sees after that is because he’s a glutton for punishment. He’s a masochist, of sorts, when it comes to Harry Styles; always has been. Perhaps he always will be/

He isn’t sure what hurts the most, though. Seeing Harry with someone else – with Kendall, of all people, or seeing how…happy he looks. It’s only been a couple of weeks since they fought over the phone – since Harry apologized a few hours later, only for Niall to ignore it – and it seems that Harry has already moved on. Or, at the very least, is actively trying to.

Everything hurts. His heart feels heavy and achy, and his stomach churns like he’s going to be sick, and everything just…hurts. He knows he should back out now, before it has the chance to get progressively worse – knows he should log off, maybe put his phone away, but he can’t bring himself to look away. He’s always hated that train analogy – ‘It’s like watching a train wreck. You’re uncomfortable, but you can’t help yourself.’ – except this time it’s true, and that’s exactly how it feels because his heart is breaking with every photograph, and with the knowledge that Anne is there with them, and yet…he can’t look away.

The worst part is that, in a way, Niall is just as much to blame as Harry is.

It also isn’t the first time something like this has happened, either. In fact, it’s happened nearly every time. Harry runs away because he’s scared, Niall lets him (because he’s scared too, he’ll admit it now, has nothing left to lose), Harry has a quick fling with some model type – and then wash, rinse, and repeat. And it’s because of that that Niall thinks he should be used to it, but while that harsh, sinking feeling in his chest and the heaviness in the pit of his stomach are familiar now, he’s still not used to it. At all. It makes him wonder if he ever will be. (Makes him question if, should he get used to it, it would be a good thing or a bad thing.)

Only after he’s seen every painful photo, does Niall finally log out. After which he opens up his messages, finds Willie’s name, and sends off a text quicker than he even really consciously thinks it.

Lets leave tomorrow instead of next week, yeah?

‘You still make me nervous when you walk in the room’

Niall’s stomach flips over, and he swears his heart skips several beats when he sees him – all short, poorly styled hair, sunglasses pushed up on top of his head to keep the fringe out of his bright green eyes, and dimples in his cheeks as he laughs at something Deo has said. He blinks, taken aback by his presence, and struck dumb as he thinks about what he’s supposed to say, when given the opportunity.

The opportunity, in the form of Deo telling him that he invited Harry to the BBQ himself since he was in town before slipping out through the back patio door, comes far too quickly – and Niall feels like he’s 16 again, trying to find his voice in the face of the most beautiful lad he’s ever seen. “Hi,” he utters, the potato salad in front of him completely forgotten. His mouth feels like sandpaper.

“I can- I can leave, if you’d rather,” Harry murmurs. “I thought he’d told you.”

“N-No, you can stay,” Niall says, all too quickly. He curses himself inwardly for sounding like some sort of pining, lovesick fool. (He wonders if Harry has noticed.)

Harry smiles softly. “Thanks.”

Silence falls between them, and Niall distracts himself by tending once more to the salad whilst his mind races just about as quickly as his heart is racing in his chest. Harry’s here. Harry’s here. They’ve only spoken a handful of times since the start of year – since #yachtgate happened, and Niall used his pre-planned traveling excursion as a distraction; good timing on his part, he must admit – but never like this, never face-to-face. This is the first time they’ve seen each other since before Christmas.

And, Jesus, Harry looks really good.

“You look good,” Harry murmurs.

Niall’s gaze flickers up, meets Harry’s, and his breath gets caught in his throat. “Thanks,” he whispers back, whilst the heat rises in his cheeks.

The brunet smiles. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can finish mixing this while I get a proper serving bowl,” Niall says, handing Harry the spoon in his hand. Harry falls into place next to him as he takes the spoon, and the blond finds himself staring. “You look good too, by the way.”

Harry turns slightly to look at him. “Thanks. ‘m still getting used to the hair.”

“Well, it looks good,” the blond repeats.

“You like it?” Harry asks, a smirk tugging at his lips as he raises his eyebrows. And thus the flirting begins.

Niall licks own lips as he tears his gaze away from Harry’s, only to catch Harry’s gaze instead. He swallows hard around the lump in his throat as he shrugs. “It’s different, but yeah- I like it.”

And then Niall turns away in search of that bowl, and that’s how easy it is to fall back into it. That’s how easy it’s always been.

‘And I know that it’s wrong, that I can’t move on, but there’s something about you’

He tries to move on. He does.

There’s this bloke. He looks a bit like Harry (only not as painfully beautiful), and his hair is long the way Harry’s used to (even if Niall doesn’t get it), and he dresses a bit like Harry, and he has tattoos – and Niall thinks (desperately and naively, probably), at first, that maybe someone who looks like Harry will help him get over Harry, except that it doesn’t. In fact, the only thing it does do is the complete opposite.

The worst part is that in general and as his own person, Conor is sort of…really great. He’s nice, and he’s funny, and he gets Niall in a way that nobody has in ages – not even Harry – and Niall likes him, he does, he just knows it isn’t going to work.

And Niall could be selfish. He could hold on to Conor, and he could ‘try to make it work’, but he knows he’d just be wasting Conor’s time – time in which Conor could find someone that could actually make it work – and if anyone knows what it’s like to waste time and have nothing to show for it in the end, it’s Niall.

And then there’s this girl, and she’s pretty fucking perfect. She’s smart, and she’s beautiful, and she’s down-to-earth, and she’s everything Niall could ever want – if only Niall wanted it. He wants to want it, he does, he just doesn’t feel it.

Deep down, he knows why. And he thinks she knows why too, which is why she cries but doesn’t beg for him to stay, even if she doesn’t know who he can’t move past.

‘Them butterflies they come alive when I’m next to you’

A glance across the room, a shoulder bump, a hand on the small of his back as he passes by, an arm around his shoulder as everyone sings him Happy Birthday, a graze of knuckles against the back of his hand – and the butterflies come to life in his stomach. They’ve been skirting around each other all night; lingering, sharing quiet glances and exchanging subtle touches for hours. (Like clockwork, Niall thinks. Like it’s never going to change.)

And now here they are, hours after the party began and mere minutes after the last of Niall’s friends have all gone home, and they’re alone, standing quietly in the otherwise empty kitchen. The air feels different now. It’s a little more tense – or at least the tension is a lot more obvious. The butterflies in the pit of his stomach are more intense than before, and he reckons it’s because he’s less distracted now. His full attention is on Harry, and the way his hair is styled, fringe falling over his forehead. He’s focused completely on Harry, and the way his shirt defines the lines in his shoulders perfectly, and the way his arse looks in his jeans.

It seems to happen in slow motion. It’s like one minute, Harry’s talking about leaving and letting ‘the birthday boy get some sleep’ – and the next minute, Niall’s kissing him, begging him silently and passionately and desperately to stay.

They trip and stumble over their own four feet towards the staircase, and that’s when Harry stops. He stops kissing Niall, stops touching Niall, and there’s this brief moment where the butterflies in his stomach make him feel ill because he thinks that this is the moment Harry is going to leave, that Harry isn’t even going to stay – and then Harry raises his hands, and cradles Niall’s face in his palms, and he presses their foreheads together before asking Niall if he’s sure.

Niall wants to say that he’s always been sure. He wants to say that even if he weren’t sure, he’s a grown ass man and he’s allowed to make his own mistakes. Instead, he places on hand over one of Harry’s and intertwines their fingers. And only when Harry’s fingers squeezes Niall’s, do the butterflies settle back down until it feels like nothing more than a subtle, steady hum.

Harry undresses him slowly, leaves a trail of kisses in the wake of his fingers as he goes. He undresses himself even slower – torturously slow, in Niall’s opinion – but Niall can’t bring himself to complain, not when Harry looks at him the way he does, the whole way through. It also gives Niall a perfect opportunity to breathe him properly. Every line, every curve; the way the moonlight seeping into the room shines against his skin; the way his hair falls into his face; the way his briefs hang off his hipbones, just below his little love handles, and how snug the fabric fits around his thighs; the way the muscles in his arms flex as he crawls back over Niall’s body.

Sometimes he thinks he could paint Harry even with his eyes closed; thinks he could master every line, every curve, every detail and every texture in his sleep. Other times he thinks he could write sonnets about the colour of Harry’s eyes, and short stories about the way his body feels – over him, under him, next to him, all around him. He’s spent the better part of the last six years, so many seconds and minutes and hours, committing this body – this man – to memory, just in case he’d need it.

Often times, he wishes he could write a song as beautiful and vibrant as the man before him; he thinks that maybe one day, with enough inspiration, he could.

“Where are you right now?”

Niall blinks his eyes open, and his gaze collides with Harry’s. Harry, who brushes a hand through Niall’s hair and grazes his nose against Niall’s jaw as he waits for Niall’s response. “’m here,” he whispers. “I’m right here, with you.”

“Good,” Harry whispers back.

And- Yeah. Yeah, it’s good. For now. And, for now, it’s all that he wants.

‘Everything comes back to you’

Ten minutes before his first interview is when he gets the call, and his breath catches in his throat as he stares at the name glaring back at him. He licks his lips and runs a hand through his hair as he answers, “Hello?”

“I love it,” Harry murmurs.

“Thank you,” Niall breathes. He finds himself picking nervously at a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt.

“It’s very you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm. It’s beautiful.”

Not quite as beautiful as you, Niall thinks. “I have an interview soon.”

“You nervous?”

“Little bit.”

“Don’t be,” Harry says softly. “There’s no reason to be. The song is great, you’re great- You’ve got this.”

“Thanks, Haz.”

Silence falls between them, and Niall uses it to listen to Harry’s breathing until his own falls into sync. He wonders, briefly, it’s a little bit ironic to be talking to Harry right now, let alone about this.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry asks softly.

“Just did, didn’t you?” Niall teases. He can hear Harry’s smirk through the phone.

“Is it about me?”

Niall draws in a sharp breath, blinks, hesitates as he bites the inside of his cheek – knows that his hesitation is probably a dead giveaway anyway. “It might be,” he murmurs, a moment later. “A little bit.” He’s met with more silence and he isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But he doesn’t really want to sit around and find out either. “Listen- I have to go, but I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah- Okay,” Harry says. “Good luck. Not that you’ll even need it.”

“Thanks.”

Hours later, after all his interviews are done and the questions are answered, Niall finally sees Harry’s response, in the form of a text message, received less than a minute after they’d ended their phone call before all hell broke loose:

Everything might come back to you too.

#10daysofthistown #solo!Niall #This Town #Niall #Narry #babers #monkeys #this is wayyyyy late but oh well #oops

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inspectorboxer · 8 years ago

Text

What Could Have Been

by Inspector Boxer

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairings: Alex Danvers/Lucy Lane, Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer

Rating: T

Author’s Notes: This is a prompt fill for @loumauve who wanted prompt #16, "You have no idea, do you?" Hope you don't mind some Lucy angst...

Thanks as always to zennie for the beta!

****

There was nothing quite like being hugged by a Kryptonian.

Lucy grinned, savoring the heat and strength of the arms around her as Kara gave her a little squeeze and released her. “You’re looking good, Ms. Junior Reporter.”

“Why thank you, Major Lane,” Kara answered readily, equally and playfully formal. They both grinned and settled on their respective sides of their favorite booth at Noonan’s.

The waitress arrived and took their orders, both so familiar with the menu they didn’t have to look it over. When she left, Lucy leaned in, eager to catch up.

“So what is up with you? I feel like we haven’t talked in forever.” Lucy took a sip of her water as rain pattered gently on the windows behind them.

Kara sighed. “Where do I even start?”

“Having that much fun lately, huh?”

Shaking her head, Kara absently twirled her water glass. “I’ve just never done well with change, and it feels like every day there is a more of it. Like Cat set off some sort of chain reaction when she left.” She offered Lucy a faint smile. “It really is good to see you. We’ve missed you around the DEO.”

“I’ve missed you, too. This is the rare business trip I jumped on with both feet.”

“How’s Washington?”

“Bureaucratic.” Lucy chuckled. “But that’s what I’m good at.”

“Well, J’onn told me to tell you to come back anytime. You’re always welcome.”

“Thanks. We’ll see if he still feels that way after the review.”

Kara grinned.

“So how is Alex?” Lucy asked, hoping she sounded casual. “I’ve heard some interesting rumors.”

Lucy’s interest in Kara’s sister had never been strictly platonic. Alex had a different kind of strength than her super-powered sibling that Lucy had always been secretly attracted to. Once or twice, she suspected Alex might have felt the same pull toward her, but nothing had ever come of it. It was a shame, really. Lucy was sure they would have been blisteringly hot together.

Kara straightened, some of her humor vanishing. “That’s… not really my place to tell.”

“Oh come on, Kara. She’s your sister. She starts seeing someone and nobody tells me? I’m offended.” Lucy smiled, propping her elbow on the table and her chin on her fist. “Spill.”

“It’s still early in the relationship. They’re not really public yet. Alex is still adjusting to her new normal, you know?”

“That’s not what I heard,” Lucy drawled. “Although I must admit, I never would have pictured the two of them together.”

Kara’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You know Maggie?”

“Maggie who?” Lucy asked.

“Who are you talking about?” Kara frowned as she took a sip of her water.

“Winn. Who else would I be talking about?”

Nearly spraying water all over the table, Kara actually coughed as it went down the wrong way, her eyes watering.

Lucy stared at her blankly. “Wait. That’s not who Alex is dating? Everyone I’ve spoken to says she’s constantly messing with him.”

“Because he’s Winn,” Kara answered in disbelief. “He’s like a little brother to Alex.”

“Then who were you talking about?” Lucy blinked, replaying their conversation in her head, her stomach plunging slightly. “You said Maggie. Who is Maggie? Is Alex dating… Is Alex dating a woman?” she whispered the last word in disbelief.

Kara shook her head. “No. I’ve already said too much.”

“I’ve got a name now, Kara. Don’t think I won’t use every tactic I learned in law school to suss out who we’re talking about.”

Sighing, Kara rolled her eyes. “Her name is Maggie Sawyer. She’s a detective with the science division of the NCPD.”

“She,” Lucy enunciated.

“Yes. And I will likely never know how happy they’re going to be together because Alex is going to kill me when she finds out I told you.”

Lucy gave the younger woman a look, trying to keep her features neutral about the news. “I… I had no idea Alex was gay.”

“Neither did she until she met Maggie,” Kara admitted coughing again and wiping at her eyes.

Lucy felt simultaneously crushed and oddly hopeful. “You have a picture?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to see the woman who had turned Alex’s head, but curiosity got the better of her.

Kara fished her phone out of her purse, bringing up her photos and sorting through them for a moment until she found the one she was looking for and handed it over. “Alex has no idea I took that.”

Lucy accepted the phone, her eyebrows elevating in appreciation when she saw the object of Alex Danvers’ affection. She whistled low. “Your sister has good taste. And apparently serious game.”

“Alex has no game where Maggie is concerned. And no chill either for that matter.” Kara smiled, her gaze affectionate.

Lucy stared at the pair. They looked disgustingly cute and happy. Alex had her head on Maggie’s shoulder as they sat on Kara’s couch watching television. Lucy wasn’t sure if Alex was asleep or merely resting in the photo, but there was something about her posture, something soft in the way she molded against her girlfriend where Alex was usually stiff and uptight. Maggie was grinning knowingly at Kara as she took the picture, her dark eyes sparkling. She was gorgeous.

Damn her.

“I’m coming by tomorrow. I have to see this for myself,” Lucy announced, deciding she was a glutton for punishment. If Alex and Maggie were just as adorable in person, she might not be able to stand it.

“Lucy…”

“Come on, Kara. You’re telling me your sister, who was as cool as a cucumber under interrogation when her very existence hinged on the outcome, is going gaga for a girl. There is no way in hell I am going to miss out on seeing this for myself.”

“You’re truly going to get me killed,” Kara told her.

“I’ll say nice things at your funeral.”

****

Feeling jealous and petty, Lucy stepped into the DEO. It had been months since she’d last seen Alex. She had no idea why the news the agent had a girlfriend was bothering her so damn much, but Lucy could barely sleep, obsessing over the fact. Tossing and turning most of the night, she’d finally climbed out of bed, dressed in her uniform, and walked the few blocks to the facility. According to Kara, Maggie had a habit of bringing coffee to Alex at work on her way to the precinct. Lucy was starting to kind of hate the woman, and she hadn’t even met her yet.

“Hold the elevator?”

Lucy pushed the button, hesitating in surprise as one of the women on her mind rushed in beside her. Maggie gave her a grin, and Lucy wanted to scowl when she got a glimpse of the most devastating pair of dimples she’d ever seen. No wonder Danvers had gotten all infatuated. Lucy suspected enough time in Maggie’s company might have the same effect on her.

The doors shut and silence descended on them as the elevator rose. Lucy breathed in the scent of coffee and pastries and a hint of pleasant perfume, casting a sidelong glance at the other woman. “So you’re Maggie, huh?”

Maggie looked at her in surprise, her keen eyes sweeping curiously over Lucy’s uniform. “That’d be me. Have we met?”

“Major Lucy Lane. I’m the DEO’s liaison in Washington.” Because she was an adult, Lucy held out her hand, and Maggie shook it, her grip warm and firm. Lucy tried not to imagine that same hand touching Alex’s body.

“Nice to meet you, Major. I’ve heard Kara and Alex mention you several times.” The doors parted, and Maggie stepped out, holding them open for Lucy.

Lucy smiled a little more genuinely, pleased to know even if she was gone, she hadn’t been forgotten. “I’ve heard a little bit about you as well.” They walked side by side toward the command center.

Maggie’s eyebrows elevated slightly. Lucy really, really wanted to hate her, but all her research the night before told her the woman was a hell of a cop and possibly a hell of a catch.

“Uh… yeah. Alex and I…”

Lucy managed a faint grin as she stopped walking, turning to face Maggie, and Maggie did the same. “Some of my colleagues at the desert bunker will be heartbroken to hear Alex is off the market. You landed quite the prize.”

“Alex is… special,” Maggie admitted after a moment. “Not sure why she picked me,” she murmured, “but… I’m glad she did.”

Swallowing, Lucy hoped her poker face wasn’t betraying the unsettled emotions roiling beneath the surface. Maggie’s soft, smitten smile, the way she glowed talking about Alex… Lucy wondered if that would have been her had she taken a chance.

“Please tell me there is a quad shot in there.” Alex’s voice rolled over them, and Maggie turned to meet her. “We were chasing that Aldorian all night and I’m about to drop.” She ducked her head and kissed Maggie, the contact lingering. Lucy had to look away.

“Of course.” Maggie handed Alex her cup and a small bag. “And crullers. Keep them away from Kara.”

“She’s at work, thank God.” Alex glanced at Lucy then and did a double take. “Lucy?”

“Hey, Alex,” Lucy greeted with a weak smile. This had been a bad idea. A very bad idea. Alex looked amazing, and regret settled like a thick and heavy blanket over Lucy’s shoulders.

Alex stepped forward, giving her a one-armed hug. She smelled as good as Lucy remembered, her body firm and warm. Lucy wasn’t sure if the contact was a reward for braving this moment or punishment.

“Like the hair,” Lucy managed as they stepped back, and Alex blushed. She always had at Lucy’s compliments. It was nice to see that hadn’t changed.

“Thanks. What brings you by?”

“Quarterly review. I head out to the desert in thirty. My hotel was close so I thought I’d pop in and say hello. Had the pleasure of running into your girlfriend in the elevator.”

Alex straightened slightly, glancing back at Maggie. “Oh. Right. You… This…” She gestured between her and Maggie, looking apologetic. “We’re…”

Maggie snorted out a laugh as Alex fumbled for the right term.

“You can’t be an idiot and get to the rank of major, babe.” Maggie hooked her fingers on Alex’s belt buckle and tugged her closer. “Enjoy the sugar and caffeine rush, nerd. I’ll see you tonight.” She kissed Alex gently. “I’m running late. I’ve got a briefing in ten.”

Smiling, Alex kissed her quickly again. “Text me when you can.”

Maggie dipped her head in a wordless promise. “It was nice to meet you, Major Lane.”

“Likewise.” Lucy watched her go, hating to admit the other woman looked hot in her jeans and leather jacket. Maggie had a swagger to her walk that was hard to look away from. Once the detective stepped into the elevator and waved goodbye at them as the doors closed, Lucy turned to face Alex again.

“Kara told you,” Alex muttered, taking an eager sip of her coffee.

“Accidentally. Don’t kill her. Pretty sure the paperwork would kill me.”

Alex grinned, looking more relaxed than Lucy had ever seen her. “So, how are you?” She sounded genuinely interested.

“I’m good,” Lucy admitted. “You look… you look happy, Alex.”

Swallowing, Alex ducked her head. “Yeah. I… I’ve figured myself out a little… a lot, actually. I… finally get me, if that makes any sense.”

“It does. I was in your shoes not so long ago.”

Alex frowned in confusion.

“I’m bisexual.”

Alex stared at her, and Lucy’s stomach quivered nervously.

“I… had no idea,” Alex said softly, her features contemplative.

“Well, it’s not like I walk around carrying a pride flag and shouting it to the rooftops.” Lucy gave her a smile. “Wish I’d known you swung that way.”

Alex’s eyebrows shot upward.

“So that I could have been there for you,” Lucy added quickly, wincing a little at her slip. “I told your girlfriend that she’d broken a bunch of hearts at the desert facility.”

“Pfft.” Alex laughed that off. “Who? No one… there wasn’t… I would have noticed…”

Lucy shook her head. “You’re clueless, Alex.” She couldn’t help but grin as Alex continued to be flustered, but the taller woman was looking at her a little differently now. Lucy didn’t quite know what to make of her expression.

“Name one,” Alex challenged.

“Vasquez.”

“Vasquez was crushing on you.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t,” Lucy admitted, having enjoyed a round or two of flirting with the other agent. “But she sure liked watching you coming or going.”

Alex flushed, and Lucy fought a smile.

“Dr. Hamilton often commented on how sexy you looked in that thigh holster.” Lucy playfully tapped the butt of Alex’s gun. “Jordan in security often lamented that she’d give up a week’s pay for one night with you. She was pretty certain of her abilities to turn you, for what it’s worth, although apparently no ‘turning’ was required.”

By now, Alex was flaming red, but she was staring at Lucy curiously. She took a step closer, and Lucy’s breath caught.

“And what about you, Major?” Alex teased, but there was a tone to her voice Lucy couldn’t identify. “You apparently were in some of these discussions.”

Lucy prepared a deflection, to brush the whole thing off, but Alex looked like she needed the truth, and Lucy suddenly found she no longer wanted to carry the secret. There was no point in hiding it anymore. “You have no idea, do you?” she asked softly.

Alex frowned, confused. “About what?”

Staring at her, Lucy ached for all they could have been if she had dared to take a chance on what had been growing between them. That chance was gone now, having slipped through Lucy’s fingers because she’d never thought to hold tight to it.

Forcing a smile to her lips, Lucy stepped closer, leaning up on tiptoe and kissing Alex softly on the cheek, as close to the corner of her lips as she dared. “I’m happy for you,” she breathed before stepping back.

Alex’s eyes searched her face, her gaze abruptly gentling when she realized what Lucy meant. Her mouth opened but no words escaped.

“It’s okay,” Lucy promised her. She swallowed. “I should go. I’m going to be late.” They stared at each other for a charged moment. “See you around, Agent Danvers.”

“Lucy,” Alex breathed, clearly affected by the revelation, and Lucy sternly warned herself not to feel hope. Alex was happy. That’s all that mattered.

“I should go,” Lucy said again with a trembling smile. “Goodbye, Alex.” She pivoted on her heel and walked away, a tear for what could have been sliding unchecked down her cheek.

#the directorship #sanvers #alex x lucy #alex x maggie #supergirl fic #prompt fill #alex danvers #lucy lane #maggie sawyer #have a little friday angst

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superkaralovesfanfiction · 8 years ago

Text

A FRESH KIND OF LOVE

A Fresh Kind Of Love By superkara- for supercatslam fresh Kara becomes a reporter. Cat leaves Catco Worldwide Media. Cadmus get's broken by the DEO. Jeremiah comes home. So much has changed, so many have dove into new waters, and for Kara, everything is suddenly, perfectly, blindingly clear. It's time to begin afresh, and Kara learns that this time, she can't be shy about what she wants. It's time to put on her cape, to be brave, and to dive, because it's time for Kara to own her power, and get what she wants... ------ "Do you have any idea how exciting it is, not to know what I'm going to do tomorrow?" Cat asked, positively thrilled, tapping her fingers on her palm as she spoke. "It's exhilarating." Kara smiled, walking up to her boss. "Yeah, I wish I could do that sometimes, start something new, be someone new." "Well, life is long, and you will be many different people before the end. And knowing you, every one of them will be extraordinary." Cat paused for a second, then shook her head lightly. "Well, not as extraordinary as me." "Mmm, no, of course not. That's very true, Cat." Kara said with a smile, turning to settle over the railing, staring out at the glittering city the same as Cat did. "Have I ever told you my name is Catherine?" Cat asked, leaning in. "I'm not telling you my real name." Kara said instantly, shaking her head as she spoke. "I had to try." Cat said resolutely, lowering her gaze. "I know." "It's the reporter in me." Kara laughed, smiling as she watched the city. "Be safe, Supergirl." Cat said after a minute, not entirely looking at Kara as she spoke. "You too." Kara said, meeting Cat's gaze. Then she stepped back and laughed, getting some distance she desperately needed. "And come back." She dared herself to say. "I know we all need change, but we need friends too." "Oh, I'll be back." Cat whispered, watching Supergirl laugh and fly away. "I will." ----------- One week later ----------- Kara flew past the Catco building and didn't stop. She didn't stop to hover, to check on Cat, to make sure she was safe. Because Cat was gone. And that was making Kara so so sad. Cat had left Catco, left her, and Kara missed her now more than she had ever thought possible. Kara made a wide ark between some high rises, startling a few late workers still in their offices or on balconies, and swept back to Catco, truly unable to patrol this city without stopping as she usually did. Even if only for herself now. After coming to Catco for a few weeks on a regular, almost nightly, visit, whether it was to talk with Cat, to check on her silently, or to simply be near her, Kara felt empty not doing it now. So she still did it. But this time, nobody was sitting there with a wine glass, smiling at her. Waiting for her. Cat had been gone for nearly a week, and Kara felt entirely empty, like her heart was missing. And maybe it was. Because Cat was gone. And Cat was Kara's heart. Kara knew now, that Cat was her one. Her only. And Kara could only berate herself for not seeing it sooner. For stopping Cat from leaving. From telling her everything. That Cat had been right. That she was Supergirl, and that she was in love with Cat. But Kara knew, that despite being Supergirl, despite being the girl of steel, she didn't have that kind of bravery in her bones. Kara landed on the balcony softly, barely making a sound, and looked around, missing the moments she'd recently begun spending with Cat, here on this very balcony. Talking to Cat, laughing with Cat, just being with Cat. Nothing had mattered more to Kara right then than being with Cat. The world could have burned, the world could be disintegrating, and Kara would stay, because everything she needed would have been right there beside her. Kara would have sold her superpowers if it had meant she'd end up with Cat. Or so Kara had thought, until Cat had left. Now Kara swept her fingertips over the armrest of Cat's favourite black leather chair, her happy spot on this lonely balcony, and took a tentative seat, sighing as she looked around. Kara remembered the first time she'd found Cat sitting out here in her chair, watching the city. And Cat had told her she'd picked this building for the balcony, for the view. Ever since then, kara had joined Cat up here, whether as Kara or as Supergirl. This place was, Kara sniffled and fought the tears threatening to slip down her cheeks. Cat... Kara smiled at the bright memories, and at how naive she'd been, back then and even so recently as two weeks prior, so shy and young. In two weeks she'd grown so much, flanked by heartache and such loss it hurt her indestructible heart. Kara had never known pain, she's never felt pain, but my god, now Kara felt like she couldn't breathe. Like pain was crawling up her spine, threatening her. And it hurt more than Kara ever thought it could. Two long years Kara had spent as Cat's perfect assistant, being everything Cat required of her, and she hadn't even considered something such as flirting, because Cat was her boss. Simple. Simple and plain. Because why should she even dare to assume that the Queen Of All Media should be interested in her? Not that there wasn't hope. Cat was bisexual, Kara knew. Kara knew this, because she organized everything from Cat's dates to her phone calls to flowers to mail packs. But even so, why should Kara even consider the idea? And so she didn't. Kara pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind, because that was where those thoughts belonged. In the back of her head, where the fantasies of Cat, even the erotic ones, lived and thrived. ------- The next night, Kara came back to that leather chair, back to her memories, back to Cat's remaining perfume, and to Cat. Because this chair, to Kara's alien senses, still smelled like Cat, very faintly, but it did. It smelled like Cat. And Kara really missed Cat. This night it was James who came to visit her, finally, after having seen her the previous night, having worked late and noticed Kara in the chair, trying not to cry. "You're back. Is this your new patrol spot?" James joked, taking up the other seat and looking out over the city. "It should be, maybe. It's beautiful." Kara laughed lightly." But I don't think snapper would like that a lot." "You'd win him over, just like you did with Cat. Speaking of Cat, that's why you're here in her favourite chair, sighing like a lovesick teenager, isn't it?" Kara dropped her head into her hands and groaned, laughing lightly. "Is it that obvious?" "Only to the people who really know you." James reassured, placing a hand over her cape, on her back, rubbing gently to comfort her. "So, how long?" "How long what?" "How long have you known? That you like Cat? I mean that you like like Cat. Like that." "I've known, even if only subconsciously, since the beginning." "Since the beginning. Damn." "Cat... caught me from the first day I was here for my interview. She had me even then, talking about the effects of bad parenting and millennials. She still has me now." "Even after all the yelling and secret keeping and apparent firing?" "Yeah. Maybe it's my lust addled mind, or the fact that I've never actually... you know, done it, or maybe it's my Kryptonian instincts telling me she's a strong, powerful woman and I should ''mate'' with her, but fuck me, I can't get the woman out of my system." "Maybe you should, you know, get her into your system?" Kara stared at him for a minute, furrowing her brows, and then whispered. "That's a really lame pick up line, James." James broke into a laugh, settling back into his chair as he did. "But," he whispered, wiping away a happy tear. "I'm being serious." "So, what?" Kara asked, staring at him. "You're telling me to listen to my alien instincts and go bang Cat Grant? She's my boss." "Correction. She was your boss. Technically you have no current connection to the woman beyond the fact that she was your former employer. Nobody can say a thing, because you are, currently, unbound to her. You could be with her." "But she's... she's Cat freaking Grant!" "And you're Super freaking Girl." James countered, mimicking her. "What was it she told you the other day? I saw you hugging her." "She told me to rise to the occasion. To pull up my big girl pants and own my power." "Well then, listen to your boss, and own your power." "James..." Kara groaned. "Talk to her, Kara. Call her. At least, god forbid, if she rejects you, you will know and you'll be able to move on. If she doesn't feel for you, then at least you'll know the truth, instead of sitting here in heartbreak every night, keeping me from actually working." For a long moment Kara was quiet, and James did retreat back into the office to actually work. "I'll consider it." Kara whispered softly to herself as she left. --------- 3 days later after a lot of considering --------- Kara walked into the office, checking things out sadly, running her manicured fingertips over Cat's favourite fountain pen, over her perfect glass desk, and, her heart beating a mile a minute, settled herself into Cat's chair, smiling at the memories. The last time she'd sat in this very chair, Cat had accused her of being Supergirl. Kara sighed at the memory. Of course she'd denied it then, too much on the line to even consider admitting it, or saying anything, but now, Kara wished to relive that moment. To do things differently. Back then Kara had been naive and shy, afraid, and nowhere nearly as aroused as she was now, simply by being in Cat's personal space. In her chair. In her place. Because James was right. Nothing was stopping her now except her own fearful heart, and her body knew that, even if her mind didn't want to accept it. Kara noticed the phone then, and the small white post it note stuck to the edge, with the italic words of James's handwriting. "Own your powers." "Oh James..." For a long moment, Kara at there, chewing at her red glossed lip, and then picked up the sleek white phone, her hands honest to god shaking. She was going to have a freaking heart attack like this. Kara closed her eyes with her fingers over the buttons, and punched the numbers in lightly while holding her breath, knowing Cat's cell number better than she knew her own. When Cat picked up, instantly asking if it was James, Kara froze, her breath caught in her throat an her heart beating out of her chest, everything south of her navel clenching deliciously at the tone of Cat's dark voice. "James? Is that you? Is something up at Catco that I need to assist with?" Kara couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, frozen to her seat with the phone to her ear, her free hand on her lap, teasing the hem of her supergirl skirt. Holy fuck, how she'd missed the dark baritone in Cat's voice. "James?" "No. Um, it's... not James." "Kara? Is that you?" "Uh, yeah. I... I'm sorry if I woke you, it's kind of late." "I'm a night owl now." Cat purred, and Kara heard the rustle of sheets and cushions through the phone. "Now that I can sleep in, I stay up late. I think a lot. Is there any reason you called? Anything important?" "Well..." Kara felt faint, unable to say anything past a stutter. How could she? "Kara, I know you don't call me up unless it's important. You always have a reason. And, I hope you know you can talk to me. I might not be your boss anymore, I may not be a CEO anymore, but Kara, I will listen to you. You can come to me with your problems, whatever they may be. Just because I employed you doesn't mean we can't be friends above having been working together. You can tell me anything..." "I'm Supergirl!" Kara blurted into the phone before she could stop herself, before she could lose the courage, and then stopped, blushing furiously as she heard Cat gasp softly on the other end of the line. For a long moment, Cat said nothing, and Kara didn't dare to breathe, and stayed entirely silent, hoping to Rao that Cat would at least say something in response. Anything. Even criticism. It would be better than stark silence. "Well,'' Cat whispered after a long moment, and Kara let out a long breath she'd been holding at hearing Cat's usual sassy 'I know you' voice over the other end of the line. "I guess I should have expected you to tell me that, now that I can no longer officially out you to the world." "I... Ms. Grant, no. I..." "I know, Kara. I know you're Supergirl. I've known for a while, since the start, really. Do you really think I couldn't see past the cardigans and the glasses and the simply ponytails? And you leaving your desk at random times of the day for stuff that clearly wasn't work... Kara, honestly..." "I'm also in love with you." Kara was going to die. Right here. James would find her in the morning and have a story to tell, because Kara was kicking herself for just saying that so damn quickly, before she could lose her courage. Own your powers... Kara didn't feel like she was owning her powers. She felt like she was drowning. "Kara." Kara couldn't say anything, so she sat back in the chair, keeping the phone to her ear, and tugged at the hem of her skirt as she shook her head in annoyance. How could she have done that? "Kara. Talk to me." "Ms, Grant... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." "I've been waiting for you to say that. You were at Catco for me, weren't you. You miss me. Can you tell me something?" "Y... yes." "Are you wearing your suit?" "I am." Kara heard Cat's low hum over the phone, and her heart skipped at the voice, at the low hum that sounded almost, appreciative? "I was on patrol, I had to... I-" "Do you want me, Kara?" Cat interjected, stopping Kara's ramble. "Do I... Cat..." "Kara, answer me. Do you want me? Is that why you went to my office so late at night, as Supergirl?" "Yes." "Are you in my chair?" "Cat..." "You are, aren't you? You little rule breaker, taking up my seat when I'm not there. You're probably so hot right now, aren't you, stuttering as you speak to me. Are you touching yourself?" "No." Kara whispered into the phone silence, biting her lip as she did, blushing furiously. This was not how she had expected the conversation to go. "Would you if I asked you to?" "Cat..." "Do it, Kara. I can hear it in your voice, and if your in my office, in my chair, telling me you love me while your in your suit, you must be aroused and missing me. I might not be your boss anymore, but I know you'll still follow my orders. So do it. Touch yourself. Imagine it's me that's doing that to you, that I'm right there with you." "Cat..." "I want you so badly Kara, I didn't say anything because if it ever got out that I want Supergirl, I can imagine the headlines. I've been waiting for you to make this call, hoping you would, because a week without you has been very painful.'' Kara practically moaned, slipping her fingertips beneath her own dark red thong, pressing two against her clit as Cat continued to talk to her, pressing her onward, pushing her to touch herself, to feel Cat inside her. "Cat... I, I've needed you for... since I came here." "Then stop being so fucking noble and take what you want. Stop being a sweetheart and be a hero that knows what she wants, and who she wants, because fuck, Kara, that suit is hot. That cape, it keeps me up at night. Thinking. Wanting. Wishing." "I, Cat. Catherine..." Kara moaned her full name as she slipped two fingers deep inside herself, her hips coming off the chair as she felt everything clench tightly. Kara fell back against the chair with a groan escaping her lips, her fingers barely keeping from crushing the phone in her hand. "Feel me, Kara. Feel what it would be like. Make yourself believe it. Make yourself come for me, Kara. Right there in that chair, in my chair, because you should know how kinky that is to me. I've wanted to bend you over that desk for months. Years." ''Cat...'' "Are you not my assistant anymore? Do you not want to do as I say?" "God yes, Cat. I... I'll always do what you say." "Then make yourself come for me. Right there in my chair." Cat whispered into the phone even as Kara pushed two fingers back into herself, stretching herself open even as every muscle clenched. Kara touched her thumb to her clit and pushed, whimpering and arching her back at the strike of arousal that shot through her centre. "Make yourself come as if I was right there in your arms, doing that for you. Have you ever? Because of me? On a lonely night with no duties, with your suit, in your apartment?" "Holy Rao yes. I have, Cat. So often." "Then show me." Cat kept speaking, asking, demanding, and Kara did exactly as she said, running her own hands over her body, bringing herself to that point where she felt as if she was flying and actually wasn't. At one point Cat asked her to use her cape, because Cat had way too many fantasies about it, and Kara did as asked, using her cape over her fingers as she touched herself, not caring about what the local laundromat owner who knew she was supergirl would think about her messed up, streaked, wet cape when she went in to wash laundry tomorrow. Kara kept pushing, and no more than 5 minutes later, at Cat's insistent, ever harsh but undeniably erotic voice, Kara practically screamed into the phone, her old stars exploding behind her eyes as everything went white, her hand still shaking against her core, Kara shouting all sorts of Kryptonian curses as her body convulsed in the chair, her booted foot denting the carpeted floor beneath her, wooden floor audibly cracking in Kara's ears. "Yeah," Cat laughed after a minute of whispering, happily praising Kara. "Explain that to James in the morning." Cat joked, having heard the loud crack as well. Kara blushed red, the phone barely having stayed whole in her fingers after that, and Kara ran fingertips over her hips, her cape lying wet and slick in her hips after a very wet orgasm even Kara didn't know she was capable of. "Do I need a new chair, Kara?" "Yes." "You didn't hear me." "I did." "Did you? Did you really? I asked if I need a new chair... did you blow your brain away too with that one?" "I..." Kara said... failing to understand, until she did. Kara shot forward in the chair, the dented floor forgotten, the broken armrest of the chair forgotten, and dared not smile. "You're coming home?" "I think I have unfinished business in that office." "Cat..." Kara didn't want to believe it. "One question?" "Anything, Ms. Grant." Kara said, still panting from that incredible orgasm. "Can you give as good as you get? Because I am still sitting here, wanting and waiting, and my fingers are nowhere near as powerful as yours." "Cat... okay." Kara whispered, her fingers once again sliding to the hem of her skirt, which was still bunched around her hips, soaking wet. Kara didn't know where to begin, but after a few poor choice words, said something that Cat rather enjoyed and heard a long moan over the line, and he sound of rushing sheets and silk, and the sound of nails raking over soft skin, and Kara broke the phone in her hands without even a thought, damn near close to coming again herself from the sheer sound of Cat's voice through that moan. Kara stared at the crumbled mess of plastic and wiring in her hand for a few seconds, not quite believing it, and then her cellphone lit up, Cat's number flashing on the screen. Kara smiled and picked up the tiny machine, smiling as she answered. "If you don't want to ruin my office, then stop using my technology, supergirl. How fast can you fly to the Bahamas?" Kara smiled, worrying her lip as she did, her hands still roaming beneath her skirt. "I'll be there in a nanosecond."

#supercatslamfresh #Supergirl #supercat

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gethealthy18-blog · 5 years ago

Text

10 Best Unscented Deodorants To Try in 2019

New Post has been published on http://healingawerness.com/getting-healthy/getting-healthy-women/10-best-unscented-deodorants-to-try-in-2019/

10 Best Unscented Deodorants To Try in 2019

10 Best Unscented Deodorants To Try in 2019 Harini Natarajan Hyderabd040-395603080 October 30, 2019

Does your deodorant give you a headache? Or, do you prefer to smell like your perfume rather than your deodorant? No matter what your issue, it’s time you got your hands on an unscented deodorant.

People with sensitive skin often stay away from deodorants with fragrances as they tend to irritate your skin. These fragrances may also cause severe headache or clash with your perfume.

Unscented deodorants solve all these problems while working effectively to fight odor-causing bacteria and prevent body odor. In this article, we have listed the 10 best unscented deodorants you can lay your hands on. Take a peek!

You may think that fragrance-free deodorants and unscented deodorants are the same, but that is not true. Here’s what you need to know about the difference between these two types of deodorants.

Fragrance-Free Deodorants Vs. Unscented Deodorants

A fragrance-free deodorant does not contain any fragrance or odor-masking scent. On the contrary, an unscented deodorant may contain chemicals that mask or neutralize the smell of other ingredients in the deodorant. One thing you need to remember is that it is not the fragrance that masks the smell of sweat but the chemical compounds that fight with odor-causing bacteria.

There are numerous benefits of unscented deodorants. They are a boon for people who are sensitive or allergic to fragrances. Check out these benefits below!

What Are The Benefits Of Unscented Deodorants?

Unscented deodorants do not run the risk of causing redness in the armpits or itching in your nose, eyes, and throat the way scented deodorants do.

They do not clash with the smell of your perfume.

Unscented deodorants are unisex, so both men and women can use them.

Do you want to grab an unscented deodorant right away? Then, check out our list of the 10 best-selling unscented deodorants available right now!

Top 10 Unscented Deodorants For Women

1. Sure Invisible Solid Anti-Perspirant And Deodorant

Sure Invisible Deodorant is sure to impress! Sure Invisible Solid Anti-Perspirant and Deodorant helps control underarm wetness and imparts a refreshing feeling throughout the day. It is an unscented deodorant that does not feel sticky or greasy on your skin. It does not leave stains on your clothes. It is best suited for people with allergies, dermatitis, or olfactory sensitivity.

Pros

Stain-free formula

Suitable for people with allergies

Non-greasy formula

Cons

None

Rating

4.4/5

Buy it here!

2. Speed Stick Power Ani-Perspirant Unscented Deodorant

Speed Stick Power Anti-Perspirant Unscented Deodorant offers powerful 24-hour odor protection. It provides extreme wetness control as it contains aluminum zirconium tetrachlorohydrex gly (16%). It is a clean, non-greasy, and light formula that does not feel sticky on your skin. It makes you feel fresh at all times. It is one of the best non-scented deodorants you can apply without worrying about staining your clothes.

Pros

Does not contain harmful chemicals

Lightweight formula

Does not stain clothes

Cons

None

Rating

4.3/5

Buy it here!

3. Ban Roll-On Unscented Antiperspirant Deodorant

Ban Roll-On Unscented Antiperspirant Deodorant is a savior if you do not want to apply sticky gel or cream deodorants. This roll-on deodorant provides 24-hour odor and wetness protection. You will not regret buying this unscented roll-on deo as it contains odor-fighting ingredients like Kihada extract, which targets the bacteria that break down sweat on your skin surface. It also helps reduce sweat and glides smoothly on your skin.

Pros

24-hour odor protection

Controls wetness on underarms

Fights odor-causing bacteria

Suitable for sensitive skin

Cons

None

Rating

4.3/5

Buy it here!

4. Arrid Extra Extra Dry XX Antiperspirant Deodorant – Unscented

Both men and women can use Arrid Anti-Perspirant XX Unscented Deodorant. This scent-free deodorant controls wetness and odor for up to 48 hours after application. Now that’s a real blessing!

It also keeps you cool, dry, and fresh for a long time. Its non-sticky and non-greasy formula is super comfortable to wear. Its high-end protection keeps up even if you have the most active lifestyle, making it the most sought-after unscented deodorant.

Pros

Suitable for men and women

48-hour protection

Non-sticky formula

Cons

None

Rating

4.3/5

Buy it here!

5. Almay Sensitive Skin Anti-perspirant & Deodorant

Do you experience rashes or itching caused by harsh deodorants? Almay Sensitive Skin Anti-perspirant Deodorant is a hypoallergenic deodorant that does not cause any irritation. It does not make your armpits burn even when applied after waxing. Its lightweight formula does not feel sticky or greasy on your skin. Its protective ingredients make you feel fresh all day long and keep you dry at all times.

Pros

Hypoallergenic formula

Lightweight formula

No burning sensation

Suitable for sensitive skin

Non-sticky and non-greasy

Cons

None

Rating

4.3/5

Buy it here!

6. Arm & Hammer Essentials Solid Deodorant

Arm & Hammer Essentials Solid Deodorant contains natural citrus deodorizers that keep you feeling fresh all day long. It fights odor-causing bacteria to relieve foul smell for a long time. This is the best unscented deodorant available in the affordable range.

Pros

Fights odor-causing bacteria

Affordable

Cons

None

Rating

4.2/5

Buy it here!

7. Secret Outlast Unscented Antiperspirant Deodorant

Secret Outlast Unscented Antiperspirant Deodorant offers 48-hour protection from sweat. Its clear gel formula does not stain your clothes. This lightweight deodorant keeps your skin dry and does not feel sticky. The sweat- and odor-control of the deodorant are commendable.

Pros

48-hour protection

Clear-gel formula

Does not stain clothes

Fights odor-causing bacteria

Cons

None

Rating

4.2/5

Buy it here!

8. Primal Pit Paste All-Natural Deodorant

Primal Pit Paste All-Natural Deodorant neutralizes body odor instead of just covering it up. It contains organic arrowroot powder that absorbs moisture instead of blocking the sweat glands with heavy metals. It does not contain aluminum. It uses baking soda and other organic ingredients to eliminate odor from your skin.

Pros

Aluminum-free

Contains natural ingredients

Absorbs moisture

Cons

None

Rating

4/5

Buy it here!

9. Tom’s Of Maine Natural Unscented Deodorant Stick

Tom’s Of Maine Natural Unscented Deodorant Stick gives 24-hour odor protection. It does not contain any artificial ingredients that could cause rashes or burns on your skin. This deodorant is best suited for people with sensitive skin as it does not contain any allergens. It provides long-lasting effects as it fights odor-causing bacteria. The natural ingredients used in this deodorant stick take good care of your skin.

Pros

Environment-friendly product

24-hour odor protection

Hypoallergenic

Long-lasting effects

Fights odor-causing bacteria

Cons

None

Rating

4/5

Buy it here!

10. Dove Invisible Solid Sensitive Skin Anti-perspirant Deodorant Stick

Dove Invisible Solid Sensitive Skin Anti-perspirant Deodorant Stick provides 24-hour protection from sweat, and its 0% alcohol content prevents skin irritation. The natural ingredients and moisturizers in this deodorant provide extra care to your armpits and make application a soothing experience. Switch to Dove if you have dry skin!

Pros

24-hour protection

No alcohol

Moisturizes skin

Easy to apply

Suitable for sensitive skin

Cons

None

Rating

4/5

Buy it here!

Say ‘goodbye’ to headache and skin irritation caused by scented deos, and get your hands on one of these unscented deodorants! What kind of deodorant do you prefer – scented or unscented? Let us know in the comments section below!

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Harini Natarajan

Harini has over 12 years of experience in content writing and editing for online media. She specializes in the areas of business, health and wellness, and lifestyle and is proficient in Medical Sciences (Biology, Human Anatomy and Physiology, and Biochemistry). As the Chief Editor, Harini ensures that her team delivers interesting, engaging, and authentic content. Her background in Biomedical Engineering helps her decode and interpret the finer nuances of scientific research for her team. Harini is a certified bibliophile and a closet poet. She also loves dancing and traveling to offbeat destinations.

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c-optimistic · 5 years ago

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fall

Supergirl dies on a Wednesday.

Sometimes, when she’s alone in her office in the wee hours of the morning, still in yesterday’s clothing and unsure when she’d last eaten, she thinks about that, the utter normalcyof losing National City’s hero on a Wednesday. Somehow, the death on such a boring day of the week provides a sort of stark contrast that Lena has trouble wrapping her head around. After all, surely the hero and pride of National City would fall in a blaze of glory on a Friday night, a Sunday afternoon, even a Monday morning during rush hour.

But a Wednesday? Some time between mid-morning and noon? When nothing was happening except for the drudge of the week, the tireless churning of society?

She doesn’t understand it—has tried to come to terms with it with very little success. In her weakest moments, when she’s staring down the end of a bottle of whiskey or wine (before Jess or Maggie or even James Olsen pry the bottle from her fingertips and help her get home), she thinks the very banality of Supergirl’s death is evidence of its unnecessary nature, its needless, pointless, meaningless, asinine—

Supergirl dies on a Wednesday.

By Friday, the President herself comes to National City to mourn the fallen hero. She talks about the few short conversations she’s had with Supergirl, how everyone should be inspired and follow Supergirl’s wonderful example. A true hero, an exemplary citizen.

(Lena doesn’t go to the ceremony. She and Alex spend that afternoon in Kara’s apartment, sitting on Kara’s couch, Alex stoically staring at the television screen with silent tears running down her cheeks and Lena gripping her hand so tightly she thinks she’ll break fingers.

After that, Lena doesn’t see much of Alex at all.)

The President dedicates a memorial to Supergirl, and donations come pouring in—people wanting to make it larger than life, much like the hero it’s meant to honor. People from across the country pour into National City in order to discuss how to best go about building the memorial, debating what Supergirl would’ve liked or wanted.

(Lena sits it all out though L-Corp is asked for the perspective, for their idea of what should be built—especially seeing as though the memorial would be so close to their building.

Lena has Jess allocate a sizable donation to the effort to build the memorial, claiming she only does it to get the pestering swarms off her back. She pretends not to hear Jess’s soft sigh, not to see the pitying expression.)

Supergirl dies on a Wednesday.

Not many know how. The secret is limited to a select few: Alex, who was her everything; J’onn, who was like a father; Winn, who was her best friend; James, who was her first love; and Lena—Lena who somehow stumbled into her life and never stumbled back out, now left alone and bearing more scars on her heart than she had any right to.

(Superman is there the day it happens, he is there on that dismal, ordinary, normal, Wednesday. He’s there when Supergirl gets hit, he’s there when she falls, he’s there when she doesn’t get back up. And in the cellphone footage that plays nonstop on every news outlet, Superman lifts her, tears in his eyes, and with a great heave, he shoots off into the air with Supergirl still in his arms.

What no one sees is Superman returning to the DEO. What no one hears is Superman’s toneless voice as he informs the five of them of his cousin’s death, catching Alex before she falls to her knees. What no one knows is that Lena thinks she dies that day too—that Superman meets her eyes as if he hearsthe sound of her breaking heart as it happens, that he watches her become a shell after losing yet another person she loves.)

Supergirl dies on a Wednesday, and it’s on a Wednesday two weeks later that the plans for the memorial is finally revealed. It’s to be a life-sized statue of Supergirl, the artist sketching Supergirl with her hands on her hips, smile on her lips, and it’s on a Wednesday that Lena stares at the drawing and wonders just how many people would recognize that if they placed a pair of glasses on the statue and hid the emblem on her chest with a pastel sweater that Supergirl would strongly resemble someone else.

Supergirl dies on a Wednesday, and in the days that follow the world mourns: the House of El coat of arms is everywhere, people begin quoting Supergirl left and right, and when they see Superman they avert their eyes so as to avoid the sorrow swimming in the depths of his gaze.

It makes Lena so angry.

Because Supergirl dies on a Wednesday, but more importantly, so does Kara.

“I hear you don’t leave the office,” Alex says without prompting as she walks into Lena’s office without any warning. Lena smiles weakly, motioning to Jess that the interruption is fine, and offers Alex a drink. (Water only. After an incident several weeks earlier, the two of them have sworn off alcohol, have been attempting to get their lives back in order—as impossible as that seems.)

“I hear you’ve been reckless.”

“Who snitched?” Alex asks, waving off the water and sitting down across from Lena, slouched heavily in the chair that Kara—

No. No. Lena isn’t about to go there.

“You tell me first,” she replies easily, shutting her laptop and giving Alex her full attention. “It was either Maggie or James. No one else comes to L-Corp late at night.”

“Winn’s been hacking into your security system,” Alex admits, shrugging when Lena’s mouth falls open in offense. “What? He’s used to keeping tabs on you. Has been since Kara—” Her mouth snaps shut, something steely appears in her gaze, and she becomes hard, her jaw clenched tight.

“Maggie told me about the alien you apprehended without backup,” Lena says, pretending as if she didn’t hear Alex’s slip, as if she didn’t witness the way Alex clammed up.

“I had it under control.”

“He was apparently three times bigger than you.” Lena eyes Alex’s leg pointedly, the ginger way Alex stretches it. “And how is nearly getting your leg torn off having anything ‘under control?’”

“He got a lucky shot in, that’s all. Also, I don’t know how I feel about my girlfriend telling you all this stuff.”

“Well I don’t know how I feel about Winn hackinginto my security system.”

“Fair enough, I’ll get him to back off if youpromise to go home and get a good’s night sleep as least twice a week.”

“I like that you know better than to ask for more than two nights a week,” Lena chuckles. When Alex merely raises an eyebrow, clearly in no mood for jokes (though none of them ever really are anymore), Lena deflates. “It still smells like her, the couch, my favorite throw. I just can’t, Alex. I can’t.”

(She doesn’t say that when she goes too long without sleep or if she forgets to eat once too often she sees Kara’s phantom presence—can see her curled up on the couch with a book, can hear her giggling over something she reads on her phone, can feel her warmth while mindlessly watching the news, can smell her perfume lingering in the air and her shampoo and something vaguely sunnyon the clothes she once borrowed when she claimed she was too tired to fly home.

Lena doesn’t say that in her darkest moments, when she’s alone and weak and feeling oh so vulnerable, she thinks that she’ll see Kara emerging from the guest bedroom, yawning even as she worriedly asks why Lena is sobbing. She doesn’t say that watching that door never open is tearing her apart.)

“It’s been a month, there’s no way—”

“So you don’t wear her favorite sweater anymore?”

Alex looks stricken at the accusation, clearly upset that Maggie would confide even this to Lena. The truth, however, is that as worried as everyone has been about Lena, they are all well aware that it’s Alex who’s lost the most—Alex who’s bearing the most pain, Alex who lost her entire world. Lena isn’t stupid; she knows Maggie and James don’t only check up on her out of some vague sense of lingering loyalty to Kara (the one person who had faith in Lena, who believed inLena, who once swore she’d always stand up for Lena).

After all, who better to understand losing a sibling than Lena Luthor?

“That’s different,” Alex says fiercely after she manages to get her shock under control.

“Alex—”

“She’s not gone. I know it, I can feel it. My sister is still out there and she’s coming back.”

Lena sighs and Alex’s shoulders stiffen.

(It’s practically a play they enact by memory at this point. It’d started a week after Clark left. Alex had stated it as a fact, had talked about how Clark hadn’t let anyone see Kara’s body, how he was keeping his distance, how there were unexplainable reports from the south about random surges and strange miracles, how she sworeshe heard Kara’s voice one night, just outside her window.

And Lena—heartbroken, terrified, emptyLena—refutes each of Alex’s claims one by one, keeping her voice steady and calm, trying to prevent the swell of hope in her own chest. Because she wantsit to be true, she so wants it to be true, but that damn door never opens and experience is a hard teacher and Lena’s had plenty of lessons—enough that while she’s brave enough to admit what she wants she doesn’t dare give in to hope.

Lena isn’t strong enough to hope only for it all to be proved false, so she prays that Alex is strong enough for the both of them.

She wonders how long she can continue to be so unfair.)

“So it can’t be true that I still smell Kara on my things, but she’s definitely alive just because you feel it?”

“You don’t understand, I know my sister. I’ve always had a sixth sense when it came to her, when she was in trouble and needed me. And she needsme now. Lena, you have to believe me.”

(I want to, Lena doesn’t say. Show me how to hope, she doesn’t say.)

“Just like you knew Mon-El was trouble and told her to stay away from him?” Lena says instead, her voice becoming cold. (This too is a conversation she’s had many times with Alex, and every time, it’s ended the same way.)

“Fuck you, Luthor,” Alex hisses. She gets to her feet, only favoring her left leg slightly, all her pain forgotten in her anger, and she stalks out of Lena’s office without another word or a look back.

And Lena wearily reaches for her phone, dialing Maggie’s number.

“She’ll be coming to you now,” she says in lieu of a hello. “Let her know somehow that I’m sorry, okay? And thank her for looking out for me.”

“You could tell her yourself. You could tell her you don’t actually think she’s crazy,” Maggie says, her voice almost completely drowned out by some sort of commotion in the background. Lena idly wonders how the NCPD is faring without one of their greatest assets.

“I actually don’t think she wants to hear anything from me right now,” Lena says, swallowing hard. “And I never called her crazy.”

“Look, Lena. I get it, okay? People process grief differently.” She lets out a sigh when Lena doesn’t respond. “I don’t know how little Danvers got stuck with two of the most stubborn women in the world.”

“The issue is she’s not processing her grief at all, Maggie,” Lena says, closing her eyes and ignoring the latter part of Maggie’s comment. She doesn’t wait for Maggie to convince her otherwise—she hangs up and tosses her phone aside.

After a long pause, she opens her eyes and swivels her chair around, staring out her window, somehow momentarily sure that she’ll see a flash of red and hear the light thud of boots against the balcony. But the moment is gone in a heartbeat, and Lena hurriedly wipes away the single tear that’s rolled down her cheek and returns to her work as if there’d never been an interruption in the first place.

(She doesn’t go home that night either.)

On the second month anniversary of Supergirl’s (and Kara’s) death, Lena decides she’ll take a lunch break and go for a walk. She tells Jess to take care of all her calls, to email her anything that’s urgent, then walks to the nearest café—barely a block away—buys Kara’s favorite sandwich and heads to memorial that’s still under construction, tentatively named Hero’s Park.

She sits on one of the wooden benches away from the bustling and the work, the sandwich going untouched as she stares at the one thing that’s already been completed: a life-size statue of Supergirl. The artist is talented, she thinks for the umpteenth time. They’d somehow captured Kara’s strength in the curve of her spine, her optimism in the uptick of her lips, her courage in the clench of her hands. Supergirl’s very essence had been distilled into stone, each inch exemplifying everything that made Kara great.

(Or perhaps that’s just what Lena sees when she looks at the statue because that was what she saw when she looked at Kara.)

“You didn’t come to game night,” she hears a deep voice rumble, and though she smiles she doesn’t turn to look at the man who’s joined her at her bench. “We all missed you.”

“Alex is upset with me, I didn’t think she’d want me there.”

“She’s sad, Lena. But she always wants you around.”

Lena sighs, turning to face James, studying his expression and his loose-fitting clothing before offering him another smile, this one self-deprecating, mirthless…broken.

“Why?”

“Because you’re something she has left of Kara. You and Winn.”

“Not you?”

“I came into Kara’s life thanks to Clark. You came into her life because she brought you into it.” He doesn’t seem sad or resentful and Lena knows why: it doesn’t matter how they came into Kara’s life, they were both just grateful that they’d ever been in her orbit at all. She stares at him a little longer then hands over the sandwich, actually letting out a laugh when he halves it and raises an eyebrow, waiting till she accepts her half and takes a bite before he begins to eat as well.

“So you tracked me down to tell me to come to the next game night?”

“Track down?” James huffs, shaking his head. “Lena, there’s no tracking with you. You’re either here or at the office.”

“But you were looking for me.”

“Yeah, but not about game night. Fair warning, though, Alex will probably call you sometime today about that.” He polishes off the last of his sandwich and leans back, his eyes on the memorial, something sad passing over his face. “Cat Grant is back,” he explains without preamble. “She feels…well, I think she’s guilty. She seems to think Kara’s—” He stops, clears his throat, and shakes his head. “She thinks it’s her fault somehow. So she wants to honor Supergirl her own way. She wants to coincide the opening of the memorial with a special issue of CatCo magazine.”

“And how does that involve me?”

“Apparently it’s ‘common knowledge’ that you and Supergirl were close. I don’t think Cat knows just how close you were, but she suspects enough. She wants to interview you, add the viewpoint of someone who knew Supergirl well.”

“And she didn’t ask you?”

“She did. But the truth is I don’t think I knew Kara in the end. We’d become so distant and I…” He stops and hangs his head, hurriedly wiping at his eyes. Lena tactfully looks away, remembering all the nights he helped her off the floor of her office and took her home, never once mentioning her weakness, never once taking advantage of the information he held over her. To see someone at their very worst and still think them strong…that was something Lena hadn’t had with anyone before James. And she likes it. She likes it enough that she surprises herself by reaching out and taking James’s hand, not looking over at him even when he squeezes back gratefully.

“I don’t know if I can survive an interview with Cat Grant,” Lena tells James softly, pulling her hand away and turning to him. To her shock, he’s grinning.

“I thought you’d say that,” he says, knocking shoulders with her. “That’s why I told Cat I’d interview you. As my last hurrah I guess before I move back to Metropolis.”

Lena frowns, filled with confusion and a terrible sense of sorrow that she’s losing someone she just found.

“You’re moving away? But—”

“I don’t belong here anymore, Lena,” he interrupts, and Lena doesn’t understand why he looks so carefree, why he’s so cheerful about that fact. “I came here to get out from under Clark’s shadow and I think somewhere along the way I lost myself. I wanted to be a hero like Kara, a hero like Clark, and I forgot that there’s more to being a hero than punching a few bad guys.” He tilts his head towards her, actually winking. “You showed me that, you know. You’re more of a hero than you know, and it’s just because you choose to do the right thing over what might be easy.”

“I think you’re giving me too much credit, James.”

“I think you give yourself too little credit,” he shoots back with good humor. “National City has been good for you. For me…well, for me I don’t think it was.”

“You met Kara here,” Lena reminds him softly, but rather than recant, James tilts his head back, staring up at the sky with a wide smile on his face, his eyes closing. She can almost see what Kara saw in him—he’s obviously conventionally attractive, but he’s also soft and gentle, kind, and patient. There’s a warmth to him that Lena appreciates, something she finds herself basking in because at times—when he’s chuckling or when he’s passionate about something—it reminds Lena so much of Kara. The very thought of losing him hurts more than she thought it would, especially now that they’ve become tentative friends, one of the many things Lena has because of Kara. “National City gave you that.”

“National City also took her away,” he says, his smile not fading and his eyes still closed. “I like to think that there’s an alternate world, another timeline that Kara is alive and happy. And maybe I met her and maybe I didn’t, but I think just knowing she’s somewhere in the world would be enough for me.”

“Yes,” Lena says without thinking, “I agree.”

“So.” James claps his hands together and sits up, finally opening his eyes and facing her. “Will you do the interview? Send me off in style?”

Lena looks over at the statue, eyes roving the intricate lines of Kara’s face. She stares into the lifeless eyes of the statue and for a moment they flash, looking blue and bright and vibrant.

Kara gave her friends, gave her a sense that she mattered, but most of all, Kara reminded her what it meant to be a hero: to do the best you could, with whatever you had. So Lena’s answer is a no-brainer.

“Of course, James. Whatever you need.”

And James’s answering grin reminds her so much of Kara that the ache in her chest—the one she hasn’t been able to escape since that Wednesday two months ago—twinges painfully, and Lena realizes that, with or without James, losing Kara is something she’ll never be able to get over.

Cat Grant actually cries (it’s caught on camera, a single tear rolling down her cheeks, and the photograph is tucked into the corner of the article about Supergirl and her wider influence—forever immortalizing herself as not only the person who named Supergirl, but also the person who said goodbye.)

Lena’s interview with James is everywhere the day the memorial opens. Quotes are read on news programs, social media blows up with it, shared again and again with varying opinions.

(“She’s a fake,” some say.

“She’s not like her family,” others write.

“Can you imagine, a Super and a Luthor?” some question.

“No, no, no,” many claim, “she’s in love.”)

Lena doesn’t pay attention to any of it. She goes to work, meets with her board members and investors, speaks to R&D, takes conference calls from foreign businesses, forgets to eat until Jess strongholds her into it, only going home when Winn or Maggie (or sometimes Alex, when she’s not surly, when she’s not still spouting her mad claims about Kara) drag her away from the office.

And time drags on.

They have a going away celebration for James, playing board games in Kara’s honor and eating so many potstickers that Alex feels sick. They tell stories, Winn gets drunk, and James hugs both Alex and Lena tightly, promising to stay in touch—promising to be around the second they ever need him. He tells Winn that being his partner was one of the greatest things he’s ever done in his life.

Alex stops mentioning her certainty that Kara is still alive, but bags appear beneath her eyes, Maggie claims that she doesn’t know where Alex is most times, J’onn tells Lena he’s worried and he wants her help in finally putting this all to rest.

Maggie gets a promotion and the night they celebrate almost feels normal, even if there’s a wide gaping wound, a space that they attempt to fill with music and laughter, an emptiness that is palpable and harsh.

Lena invites Alex and Winn to a symposium for technological innovations, and the three of dork out. Maggie fondly calls them her favorite nerds, and even James calls from Metropolis to tease them about it.

Before Lena knows it, another month has passed, and she wonders when it became so easy to pretend she’s just fine.

She dreams of Kara often.

In many respects, that statement isn’t altogether strange. She’s dreamt of Kara since the day she met the bumbling reporter. She’s dreamt of them being friends, dreamt of Kara’s laugh, dreamt of the day that Kara would trust her enough to unbutton her shirt and reveal her family’s crest.

(And these dreams weren’t just dreams—eventually they became grounded in reality.

Perhaps she should have known then, perhaps she should have realized a Luthor never would have a happy ending.)

She dreams of Kara often, that isn’t what strikes her. It’s the fact that this dream feels so real.

Kara sits on her couch, laughing as she pulls takeout containers out from a bag she’s set on the table, mumbling on about something and adjusting her glasses. And Lena can’t help it, she steps away from her desk—abandoning the work she just said she was almost done with—and approaches Kara, dropping to her knees in front of her.

“Lena?” Kara asks, looking worried, a crease appearing between her eyebrows, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. She ignores it and Lena’s met with a breathtaking view of Kara’s blue eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I think I’m dreaming,” she says softly. Rather than frown or laugh like Kara usually would, Lena just gets a soft look. The crease between Kara’s eyes disappears and she tilts her head slightly to the side, actually reaching out and cupping Lena’s cheeks with her hands.

“Would it matter if it’s a dream?”

“But then you wouldn’t be real.”

Kara’s thumbs wipe at Lena’s cheeks, and it takes a moment for Lena to realize she’s dabbing away the evidence of Lena’s tears.

“I’m real, Lena,” she says, and Lena can feel Kara’s warm breath fanning over her face as she leans in closer. “I’m real and I’m here.”

(Dream-Kara smells like the Kara Lena knew. She smells vaguely sweet with a certain undertone that Lena doesn’t know how to describe other than bright. Dream-Kara is soft and warm. Dream-Kara is leaning dangerously close and Lena wonders if it would be wrong to give in, to close the last of that distance between them and find out what Kara tastes like—even if it’s a dream, even if it’s not real.)

“I miss you,” Lena finds herself mumbling, eyes fluttering shut, and she doesn’t have to wonder about the morals of kissing the dream-version of the woman she’s in love with because Kara takes the decision out of her hands entirely.

She kisses Lena hungrily, fingers threading into Lena’s hair and tugging her closer, and Lena isn’t quite sure if it’s her heart that’s hammering away or if it’s Kara’s. And when Kara releases her hair, when her teeth drag over Lena’s lips and her hands trace the contours of Lena’s body, Lena stops thinking about hearts. She accepts what Kara gives her, her own hands trembling as she desperately holds Kara to her, worried that if she releases her hold even for a moment the dream will dematerialize and she’ll be left alone again.

It’s a dream (and Lena dreams of Kara often) but damn it if it didn’t feel real.

“I’m here,” Kara tells her in between kisses—head spinning, heart pounding, world upturning, kisses. “I’m here and you’re gonna find me.”

“You were right!” Lena shouts, banging on the door with no thought at all to the time or how it must look. “You were right!” she shouts again, shocked when the door flies open before she can knock again.

“You better have a damn good reason for this racket, Luthor,” Alex hisses, putting her gun away and dragging Lena inside her apartment. She looks disheveled, a little more than half-asleep, and Lena considers for one moment that maybe she could’ve waited until the morning for this.

“You were right,” she says again, deciding this was urgent enough to justify pulling Alex out of bed. From the other side of the apartment, Maggie comes shuffling over, scratching at her cheek, squinting at the kitchen lights and Lena’s exuberance.

“What’s going on?” the detective asks.

“I don’t know, ask Lena, she’s the one who tried to ram her way in.”

“You were right,” Lena says again, not understanding how Alex still hasn’t caught on.

“I get it, I was right, but about what?”

“Kara.”

That’s it, that’s all it takes, that single word, uttered as barely a breath, barely a whisper, nothing more than a prayer. It’s one word and Alex’s eyes fill with tears, and before Lena knows it, the elder Danvers has rammed into her, engulfing her in a tight embrace, practically sobbing with relief.

“She’s alive,” Alex says, “she’s alive.”

“You were right, I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you before, I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you.” She wants to say more but Alex has pulled away and is looking at Lena like she singlehandedly saved Kara herself, while Maggie looks vaguely suspicious.

“What brought this on, Luthor?” Maggie asks, ever the detective. “What changed your mind?”

Alex steps further away from Lena, both of them turning to look at Maggie in unison, frowning at her tone. Maggie doesn’t shy away from their stares; instead, her back straightens and her arms cross her chest defensively.

“What?” she asks when Lena and Alex merely continue to stare at her. “It’s a legitimate question.”

“Except it’s not the one you’re really asking, detective,” Lena says, eyes narrowed. “Say what you mean.” She hopes Maggie will drop it, she hopes that Maggie will raise her hands in surrender and back off.

Maggie doesn’t.

“Fine. You were supposed to help Alex accept what happened, not make all this worse.” Maggie’s tone is cold and hard, slipping into the part she plays when she’s at work, and Lena thinks she can actually spot the moment that Alex’s faith in her girlfriend slips away. Because Maggie’s tone, stance, and stubborn gaze makes one thing abundantly clear: she does not believe them.

“She’s alive,” Lena insists, looking from Maggie to Alex, noticing the elder Danvers seems distracted, her eyes now on the ground, her hands shaking. “She didn’t die.”

“For fuck’s—we all saw what happened, Lena! We all saw the attack and the fall.”

“No, we only saw what they wantedus to see,” Lena says, ignoring Maggie’s scoff and focusing on Alex. “We were convinced Kara died, but what if someone wanted it that way?”

“The entire world thinks Kara’s dead, Lena!” Maggie says, her eyes on Alex as well though she steps between the two of them, as if blocking Alex from Lena’s line of sight would somehow protect her girlfriend from what Lena is saying. “You can’t tell me that there’s someone out there that can make the entire world hallucinate something simultaneously.”

“Not the entire world, actually. Just us. We were the ones that told the world she was gone.”

“That still doesn’t explain how we were tricked—”

“—that Martians can plant images or thoughts in people’s mind with their telepathy—”

“—unless you’re accusing J’onn there aren’t any other Martians to plant anything—”

“—and Martians aren’t the only alien species who have telepathic powers!” Lena finishes, throwing her hands up in the air. She knows her cheeks are likely covered in red splotches, a flush appearing on her neck and ears thanks to the combination of frustration and pale skin, and her chest is heaving, but she doesn’t back down. She can’t.

Kara is alive, and they had to find her.

“Alex,” Lena says, looking past Maggie’s disapproving face and staring at the elder Danvers who’s remained uncharacteristically silent on the matter. “I wouldn’t be standing here if I wasn’t sure. I looked into those reports—the surges and miracles you talked about. Kara’s out there, and she’s trying to get home.”

Alex looks up and Maggie’s shoulders deflate at the fire in Alex’s eyes—the determination, the vindication, the hope,shining brightly. “Finally,” she says, squaring her shoulders and nodding. “You finally believe me.

“Alex—” Lena begins, but Alex waves her off.

“Better late than never, Luthor. But we have a lot of work to do.”

“Where do we start?”

“With Clark. If anyone knows what really happened, it’s him. I’m just going to need your help.” She grins broadly and rushes off, heading towards her bedroom—to dress, to gather her things, to call Clark, Lena doesn’t know. She just wishes that Alex hadn’t left her alone with Maggie Sawyer.

“If you’re wrong, it’ll break her. If you’re wrong, I’m coming after you,” she threatens lowly, stepping into Lena’s space.

“Don’t worry, detective. If I’m wrong, it’ll be punishment enough.”

Maggie softens at the admission—said softly and reluctantly—and she takes a step back, letting out a loud sigh and rolling her eyes. “Falling for a Danvers sister. I guess you and I have more in common than I thought.” She studies Lena’s face for a moment, likely detecting something Lena has no desire to have anyone detect or understand, and without warning she steps into Lena’s space again, this time pulling her into a hug. She holds on tightly, apparently not bothered that Lena doesn’t hug her back, not bothered that Lena’s just a little stiff and more than a little awkward. “If you and Alex believe, it’s enough for me. Let’s go get our Supergirl back, shall we?”

“What changed your mind?” Alex asks as the elevator stops, smiling awkwardly at a frazzled looking reporter with a stack of papers in his hands, mumbling under his breath as he gets off on his floor. When the elevator doors slide shut and they’re alone, Lena leans her head back against the wall, watching the numbers light up on the panel as they pass several floors.

“I had a dream,” she answers honestly.

“Oh?”

(It sounds like an Oh?, a ‘Oh, you had that sort of dream?’ and it makes Lena blush.

Because, yes, that’s a part of it. But it was mostly Kara’s certainty that Lena would find her. It was the reminder that Kara always hoped—always had faith—and Lena owed it to her be the same way.

And to be perfectly frank, telling Kara’s sister about her feelings for the alien is a conversation she’s not keen on having.)

“Yes.”

“Not going to elaborate?”

“Kara always believed in me. And I believe in her. And by extension you.”

“Oh damn, Maggie was right,” Alex says, eyes wide. Fortunately, Lena’s spared having to think of a response when the elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open to their floor. “After you, Luthor,” Alex says with a grin, motioning for Lena to go on ahead of her. With a huff, Lena does as she’s told, holding her head up high as they walk through the office, ignoring the looks—from shock to distrust to amusement—that follow them as they pass by cubicles. The whisperings of ‘Holy shit is that Lena Luthor?’ begin immediately, and Lena curses the entire place for the umpteenth time.

She really, really hates The Daily Planet.

They catch sight of James as they blindly walk around, and his wide smile and genuine happiness to see them puts Lena at ease despite where she is and who’s she’s surrounded by (vultures, the very vultures that destroyed her family’s name, dragging it through the mud, though admittedly, much of that dragging was deserved thanks to Lex and Lillian).

“He’s not here,” James informs them after quick greetings and a tight hug, pulling them into an empty room and closing the door behind him. “There was a fire and he went to help out, he should be back soon.”

“Thank you for this, James,” Alex says, looking relieved. “I know Clark’s your friend—”

“Don’t thank me, I looked at the footage like you said. You’re right, it’s fishy. And if tricking Clark helps us get to the bottom of it…” He trails off, clearly unwilling to state how he’s prepared to hurt his best friend in order to find Kara. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“Mr. Kent doesn’t trust me,” Lena says with an easy shrug. “I say it’ll work quite fine.” Alex opens her mouth, almost as if she wants to reassure Lena that Clark’s alone in his reticence to trust the last remaining Luthor, but it snaps back shut when they hear a flurry and a sound of boots landing. (Lena’s sure Alex just had the same thought she did: for a moment—just a moment—they both convinced themselves they’d turn around and see Kara come in from the window, a grin in her face from the flight, her hands on her hips, hair windswept. Instead, they’re met with Clark Kent’s narrowed and suspicious eyes.)

“James? What is this?”

“We want to know where you took Kara,” Alex says before James can even open his mouth. Clark—Superman, Lena’s not really sure how to address him—stares as his best friend merely steps back and allows Alex to begin her interrogation.

“I told you the last several times you came here,” Clark begins heatedly, revealing where Alex was off to when neither Maggie or J’onn were aware of her whereabouts, “she’s gone. She’s in Rao’s light and you need to let her go.”

“My sister is not dead!”

“Alex,” Lena warns, worried they’ll be overheard. Clark seems to share the concern because he raises his hands in surrender.

“You’re sad,” he says bracingly. “I understand. I’m sad too.”

“Don’t you dare,” Alex hisses, “don’t you dare pretend you’re going through anything similar to me. I love her, I’d do anything for her. You gave her up! You sent her away! You abandoned her!”

“I loved Supergirl too—”

“Kara is not gone,” Alex interrupts, shocking Clark enough that his hands drop and his eyes flit over to Lena.

“Alex, what’re you doing—”

“I know who you are, Mr. Kent,” Lena says, rolling her eyes at the fear clear on his face. “I may not be like Lex in many respects, but neither of us are blind and glasses are not an adequate disguise.”

“Lex Luthor knows about—”

“We don’t have time for this. Tell us where you took Kara.” Lena must not sound as scary as Kara sometimes claimed she did, because Clark just groans.

“For the hundredth time, Kara is gone. I heard her heart stop.”

“Did you? Or did you just think you did?” James questions, leaning against the door. “You should listen to what they have to say, Clark. Because if they’re right, Kara’s in trouble and she needs our help.”

“And if I don’t?” Clark asks, his false bravado failing as his voice shakes even at the possibility of his cousin still being alive—at somehow having been wrong. Lena pushes aside the pity she suddenly feels for him—the sorrow that fills her at the thought that Clark has spent the last several months thinking he not only lost his only genetic relation, but one of his kind, leaving the weight of an entire civilization (not even rightly his), once on Kara’s shoulders, solely on his back—and steps forward.

“If you don’t, Mr. Kent,” Lena says, her voice low and her tone cold, “I’ll do what my brother couldn’t bring himself to: I’ll tell the world who you really are.”

J’onn, Maggie, and James (as the Guardian) go over the details of the plan again, but Lena sits back, content to watch Winn argue a point, Vasquez and Lucy offering their own advice and suggestions.

It’s remarkable, really, how many people have been willing to put their hearts on the line in order to pursue this razor thin thread of hope that Alex’s faith and a bit of shaky footage has offered them. It’s remarkable how a few seconds of video—moments, mere heartbeats, really—show the relief on Clark’s face before it morphs into despair and that’s enough for all of them to practically move into the DEO and use the information Clark gave them to attempt to figure out where Kara could be.

(“I took her to the Fortress, I thought maybe Kelex could help somehow. But I had to leave—there was a plane crash over Bulgaria—and when I got back, Kara was gone and Kelex told me she’d joined her family in Rao’s light. I didn’t think to question it. I was sure I heard her heart stop.”

“If we don’t find her, it’ll be your fault.”

“I was trying to protect you, Alex. I didn’t want you to keep hoping for something that wouldn’t come true. I’m sorry. Let me help now.”

“I think you’ve done more than enough protecting, Clark,” Alex had hissed, and that was that.)

And though she knows it’s a waiting game at this point—already having done as much as she could by helping Winn design the program that could narrow Kara’s location—she feels useless and helpless. She wants to be moving, she wants to feel as if she’s accomplishing something, she wants Kara in her arms, wants to kiss her for real—admit how she feels for real.

She just wants Kara back, in any capacity. A friend, the city’s superhero, a bumbling reporter. Kara needed to come back.

“Hungry?” Alex asks, interrupting Lena’s thoughts as she plops down in the chair next to Lena, offering an energy bar. Lena shakes her head and Alex shrugs, unwrapping the bar and taking a large bite. “You know, Luthor,” she says between chews, raising one eyebrow, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Clark scared till you threatened him. I’m impressed.”

“It was all in a day’s work,” Lena says proudly before her shoulders droop. “I just hope Kara doesn’t hate me for it.”

“If anything, Kara will be too busy hating me to hate you. So I think you’ll be fine.”

“Why would Kara hate you?”

She regrets the question as soon as she asks it because it makes Alex’s smile and her cheerful attitude slip away almost immediately.

“It was my fault.”

“No,” Lena immediately denies, shaking her head. “No it wasn’t.”

“Don’t lie, you’re not good at it,” Alex says mirthlessly. “It’s something you and my sister share.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“That’s the issue, isn’t it? I just…stood back. Allowed it to happen. Ignored the warning signs because of a charming smile and a few excuses.” She turns her head, and Lena looks down, wanting to spare Alex the embarrassment of seeing her cry—something she thinks the agent is tired of doing in front of Lena. “I was so involvedwith Kara’s relationship with James,” Alex continues, voice muffled. “We talked almost every night, we joked about it, I let her cry on my shoulder when Lucy came to National City. But with Mon-El—God, I didn’t even questionit. Didn’t even wonder if it was really something she wanted, but I pushed for it because I wanted her to have what I have. And when things started to fray with him, all the fights and the arguments…I just thought it was none of my business. I stayed out of it, and Lena, that’s on me.”

“You couldn’t have known he would turn out the way he did.”

“You mean violent? Aggressive? Selfish? Because I did know all that. We allknew that.”

“The only one responsible for Mon-El’s actions is Mon-El. And he got what he deserved.”

“He should’ve died. I should’ve killed him.”

“Except you’re not a killer.” Lena looks over at Alex, frowning at the strained look on her face and her tense shoulders. “Kara loves you and she wouldn’t want you to become a killer for her.”

“Technically, it wouldn’t be for her. It’d be to get rid of the worst thing to happen to this planet,” Alex says wryly, clearly attempting to joke and change the subject. But Lena’s more stubborn than Alex expects, and she doesn’t smile or even react to the comment.

“When Lex did the things he did I wondered if anything I ever accomplished would matter. After all, I’d always be tainted by Lex, his dark shadow always looming over me. In the end, it was Kara who made me see that what I do matters, that I was right in wanting to move away from Lex’s legacy.”

“Yeah?” Alex says disinterestedly, still trying to shrug this topic off.

“Yes. Kara is living proof that regardless of all the terrible things that happen—to us or others—we still have a choice, we still have the opportunity to do as much good as we can, be as kind and accepting as possible, and change the world for the better.” Lena smiles, bumping shoulders with Alex. “You don’t pay back bad with more bad, Alex Danvers. You squash it out by overwhelming the world with good.”

“God, you’re a sap. You really love her, don’t you?” Alex says, and this time, Lena allows the subject change, ignoring the tears in Alex’s eyes.

“Yeah. I do.”

They get their first real break when a woman visiting family in India returns with stories of a super woman who could carry more weight than any of the men in their town, a super woman who’d single-handedly saved dozens after an earthquake caused the local hospital to collapse, reminding everyone of the fallen hero, Supergirl.

But when Lena prepares to pack, prepares to visit the area along with Alex, Lucy, J’onn, Vasquez, and others, she’s held back by Maggie.

“You and me are sitting this one out, Luthor,” Maggie tells her, leaning against the doorway to the DEO barracks where Lena’s been spending her time away from the office. She makes another mental note to give Jess a pay raise after she didn’t question why Lena asked for some of her clothes to be brought to the office—didn’t even raise an eyebrow when Lena came in every morning with yesterday’s clothing.

“Like hell we are,” Lena shoots back, resuming her packing. (Mostly it’s just essentials, a laptop to work, her phone charger to make sure she could keep up with the going-ons at L-Corp.) “I want to be there when we find Kara.”

“She might not be there.”

“Maggie—”

“I’m just being realistic. It might be a coincidence. And if it isn’t, haven’t you wondered why Kara hasn’t come back if she still has her powers? Why she’s been MIA for months?”

“Maybe she can’t. Maybe she’s hurt. Maybe she’s being threatened.”

“But she has time to help earthquake victims?”

“Dammit Maggie!” Lena shouts, at wit’s end, tired of Maggie’s endless cynicism. (And if a part of her knows it’s not cynicism but pragmatism—something Lena used to be known for, a cold logic she could apply to any situation regardless of her feelings, except apparently, when it involves Kara—she doesn’t dwell on it. She can’t.) “What do you want from me?” she asks, voice dropping to barely a whisper, collapsing onto her bunk and cradling her head in her hands.

“You’re worried. You’re scared. You’re hurt. I get it, Luthor, I do. But you’re not thinking straight. Kara’s a part of the DEO, she’s their agent, and recovering her is a mission for the DEO. Not for a lowly NCPD detective, and not for a CEO.”

“You wanted to go too, didn’t you? Who said no? J’onn? Alex?”

“Little Danvers is important to me, even if you and Alex think I’m a monster for being realistic about this whole thing.” She pauses, leaning her head against the doorway and closing her eyes briefly. “I want her to be alive too. I want her back too.” She opens her eyes and straightens, eyes determined. “I said you and Alex believing is enough for me, and I meant it. But someone has to be ready to pick up the pieces if all this goes wrong.”

“That doesn’t sound like faith, detective. It sounds like you’re waiting to play cleanup.”

“In my experience, faith doesn’t really work out.”

Lena drops her hands and finds herself smiling at Maggie, shrugging helplessly even as she resigns herself to remaining behind.

“Yes, my experience is like that too. But this is Kara. So I believe.”

Maggie snorts, shuffling over to Lena’s bunk and sitting down next to her, the two of them staring at the floor. “Like I said, how it is bubbly, happy Little Danvers attracted such stubborn people will forever be a mystery to me.”

“Probably because she’s the most stubborn of all of us.”

(And if it’s said almost like a prayer—a hope that Kara’s stubbornness gets her through this latest threat, this latest obstacle in her life as a superhero—neither Maggie nor Lena show any indication they notice it. They can’t.)

She spends her lunch walking in Hero’s Park.

The memorial is finished now, nearly six months after Supergirl fell to her supposed death, and it truly is breathtaking. The statue stands near a fountain that’s shaped like the House of El crest, a massive ‘S’ standing in the center, covered in words people have used to describe Supergirl. (Things like hero, brave, gentle, kind, friend, and even love.) It’s become somewhat of a tourist destination, especially after Superman came one afternoon to brush his hand over Kara’s likeness, as if he thought if he stared hard enough or hoped hard enough, the stone would dematerialize and leave a very real and very alive Kara in its place.

(He uses that visit to also come by the DEO and apologize again, offering his help again, and Lena wishes she could’ve seen Alex’s scathing response, even if J’onn accepted the aid—stating they’d need all the help they could get.)

James, Winn, and Maggie are with her, the four of them left behind, banding together in this moment, breathlessly waiting for news—for Alex’s return, if all goes right, with Kara. James keeps staring at the statue, Winn chatters nervously, and Maggie’s texting, her brows furrowed at whatever she’s reading.

Lena doesn’t ask—she worries it involves Kara and she isn’t sure she wants to know if anything’s gone wrong.

“We should have a game night to celebrate her return,” James says suddenly. “All you can eat pizza and potstickers and ice cream. Maybe some of that alien alcohol that can get Kara drunk.”

“And Monopoly,” Winn adds. “If she’s getting drunk we should play Monopoly, it’s always more fun that way.”

“And karaoke,” Maggie laughs, slipping her phone into her pocket and grinning. “Have you heard Kara sing? There’s a reason she’s called super.”

“We should invite everybody,” Winn continues. “From the DEO, Metropolis—drag Cat Grant into it if we have to. Maybe we could even get into contact with her inter-dimensional friends, Barry and Cisco and the others.” He smiles dreamily. “I can talk about the multiverse with them.”

“The first thing I’m going to do when Kara’s back is give her a hug,” Maggie says. “I miss Little Danvers’ hugs.”

“I’m going to spoil every single TV show she follows. It’s going to make her so mad,” Winn says happily, rubbing his hands together.

“I’ll just tell her that Cat’s back in charge and that Kara’s job is waiting for her if she wants it.”

“Lena?” Maggie question, coming to a halt and pulling Lena to a stop as well. “What about you?”

“I think I’ll just be happy she’s back,” Lena says, not meeting Maggie’s eyes and ignoring Winn’s blatant amusement and James’s raised eyebrows.

“Come on, Luthor,” Maggie presses.

“Yeah, Lena. There’s nothing you want to tell Kara?” Winn adds, holding back a smile.

“You know, the one obvious thing throughout all this, something you’d think one would want to confess if they got a second chance?” James asks, his eyebrows still comically raised.

“I don’t know what any of you mean,” Lena says resolutely, her chin jutting out even as she avoids all their eyes. “Kara being back would be more than enough for me.”

“Kara being back would be more than enough for all of us,” James says, actually letting out a laugh. “But take it from someone who’s been where you are—if you don’t tell her, you’ll regret it forever.”

Supergirl returns to National City on a Saturday.

It makes her wonder sometimes, this sole fact. Because Supergirl returns quietly, without fanfare, without buzz, rolled into the DEO on a bed, injured and unconscious, Alex gripping her hand so tightly that Lena is almost sure she’s impending blood flow.

(Over the next few days, the story—the truth—begins to come out. There’s talk of spores from a starfish-like alien named Starro. How this alien has hated Superman since he and others locked Starro away, how the spores were able to not mind-control entirely but suggest certain thoughts, how Supergirl had been trying to get back for months, resisting the spore’s effects as best she could. There’s explanations as to how Superman was exposed to the spores in the first place, how he came to be so sure that Kara died in his arms, how Kara managed to leave the Fortress of Solitude as weak as she was, as confused as she was.

And the strangest thing of all, Kara’s last words before she passes out after Alex removes the spores: where’s Lena?)

Supergirl returns to National City on a Saturday and it’s extraordinary in its simplicity, its easiness, the utter sense of rightness. She slips in as if she never left, as if she was never gone, as if no time has passed at all, and even though she’s laying on a bed underneath several sun lamps, Alex never straying too far from her side, she feels so permanent—so unmovable and untouchable.

Supergirl returns to National City on a Saturday, and by Monday the entire world becomes aware of it as well when she saves a school bus from getting hit by a man running a red light.

(It’s as if the world is upturned again, as if they entered some sort of alternate realty. The President returns to National City for a photo op with Supergirl, shaking her hand and exclaiming how glad she is to have Supergirl back. The memorial remains in place but is called a celebratory monument. People swarm into the park, hoping to get a photo with the statue and maybe even a flash of red as Supergirl flies by overhead.

Alex calls Lena at work and tells her that Superman comes to the DEO not even a day after Supergirl wakes up, exclaiming how grateful he is to have her back, and how much they need to watch ‘that Luthor,’ much to Alex’s amusement.

James visits and admits Cat offered his job back and he thinks he might take it, realizing after some time away that the distance from his friends wasn’t something he could live with.)

(Lena doesn’t see Supergirl after that first Saturday she’s back. She wishes she could stay by Kara’s side like Alex, but she manages little more than brief visits when she has the time, and after Kara wakes up, Lena’s assaulted by reporters asking her how she feels about Supergirl’s return, embroiling L-Corp in a conversation her company shouldn’t be involved in. She’s busyand Supergirl is busy—making up for all the lost time, zooming about all hours of the day and night, no job too large or too small for her help—and it’s okay.

After all, all she needs to do when she feels overwhelmed or sad or worried is close her eyes and listen to the superhero speeding about the city, or turn on the news and witness it for herself, for her heart to settle and her mind to ease.)

And while James, Alex, Maggie, and even J’onn ask if Lena’s seen Kara yet—ask if she wants help tracking Kara down, getting her alone, admitting the truth. But they don’t understand, Lena doesn’t need anything other than knowing Supergirl is around. They don’t understand that for Lena, Supergirl’s presence in National City is enough.

Because Supergirl returns to National City on a Saturday, but more importantly, so doesKara.

A week passes before Lena hears that oh-so-telling thud of boots against her balcony. It’s years of lessons drilled into her head about not reacting—never showing her hand—that stops her from turning around immediately, not rushing to Kara immediately, not gushing immediately. Instead she slowly shuts her laptop and smiles as Kara steps into view, her hands on her hips, her head tilted to the side.

“Are you avoiding me, Lena Luthor?” Kara asks, the first thing she’s said to Lena since before the fall, since before the world turned upside down at the loss of their greatest hero. She’s smiling as she moves to stand in front of Lena’s desk, arms crossing over her chest, covering up her House’s coat of arms. There’s an odd sense of tension between them, a silence filled with so much going unsaid, an awkwardness that only time and distance can ever really bring about.

“I could ask you the same thing, Supergirl,” Lena says as she stares at the woman who’s her best friend, the woman she’s fallen in love with, the woman she felt so lost without. She wanted Kara back, and now that she is, it’s frustrating that it feels so strange.

“Apparently disappearing for months on end is not a good idea,” Kara says, leaning back onto the heels of her feet. “Means a lot of work when you finally get back.”

“Something to remember the next time you decide to make the entire world think you’re dead, I’m sure,” Lena says, unable to keep her eyes off Kara, roving over the curls of her hair, the blue of her eyes, the lift of her lips, the tap of her fingers, even the set of her shoulders. Lena drinks her in, storing up for another potential drought, never wanting to forget the strength of Kara’s back, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes. She’s back, Lena reminds herself. This was what she wanted. This was the thing she hoped for.

“I’m sorry about that by the way,” Kara says, dropping her gaze. “I hadn’t meant—”

“To get betrayed by someone we all trusted and then be subjected to one of Superman’s enemies? You’re not the only one who didn’t mean for that to happen, Kara. And none of it is your fault.”

“I should’ve known better,” she says, hanging her head. “I didknow better but somehow he…” Lena watches as Kara trails off, struggling to find the words to explain what went wrong, and Lena finds that enough is enough. Awkwardness and tension be damned, she gets up quickly, rounds the desk, and pulls Kara into a hug (the first hug since before the fall, since before losing her best friend, since before her world turned upside down at the loss of the woman she’s in love with).

“I missed you so much,” Lena says, wanting nothing but to show Kara how amazing she is, how wonderful she is, how utterly neededshe is. “And I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I knew, you know,” Kara mutters into Lena’s neck, her arms wrapping around Lena’s waist pulling her closer. “I knew you and Alex wouldn’t give up on me. I knew you two would find me.”

And Lena knows that one day she and Alex will have to tell Kara about the drinking, about how everyone ignored Alex for months, about how it took a very realdream about Kara for Lena to believe as well. And she knows that one day—not today, but soon—Kara will have to talk about what happened to her, explain how it was that she fought off the spores that had so completely convinced Clark of her death.

But today, the first time Lena has seen Kara since the fall, since her supposed death, all that can wait. Today, Lena just holds on tighter to Kara, revels in her warmth, and lets out a laugh.

“I suppose Alex and I are just stubborn that way.”

The next time she visits Hero’s Park and the monument dedicated to Supergirl, it’s with Kara, the two of them arm in arm, Kara enjoying an ice cream cone.

“Lucy and James got back together,” Kara informs Lena suddenly, releasing Lena’s arm and turning around to walk backwards, one sticky hand holding onto Lena’s hand. “Lucy says they’re pretty happy.”

“I’m glad. James and Lucy deserve that.”

“They do. Honestly, I’m not surprised. James has been different these past few months, spending so much time at the DEO and with Lucy—it was obvious he wanted to try again.”

“I’m just glad James decided to stay in National City. I don’t think anyone would be able to control Winn’s cheating at game night otherwise.”

“I don’t think Clark’s quite forgiven James yet for what you and Alex did,” Kara says with a laugh, squeezing Lena’s hand when she looks away at the reminder. “I doubt James wants to go back to Metropolis anytime soon.”

“It’s not like I would’ve actually given away his secret. It’s not my fault he doesn’t see past my last name.”

“Exactly.”

“And I—wait. What?”

“I said exactly. I love Clark, but the man needs to relax a little bit more. All that stress probably isn’t very healthy.” Kara grins and motions towards Lena’s bench—the one she spent so much time on nearly a year ago. They sit down together, arms brushing, and like always, Lena’s heart rate spikes at merely the proximity.

“Alex says I traumatized him.”

“Pfft. Alex is the one who traumatizes people. You’re too…you for that.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“You know,” Kara gestures wildly over at Lena, her eyes wide. “You’re you.”

“I’m sorry, Kara, I don’t know what you mean—”

“—you’re aloof but really warm and kind behind all that standoffishness and it’s just…you. An oxymoron personified.”

“If you say so…” Lena mumbles, not at all sure if she should be insulted or not. She’s not even quite sure if she wantsto be her, as Kara puts it. Mostly, she wishes she was anyone but herself.

“James told me to wait for you,” Kara says, making Lena lose her train of thought and turn to her in confusion, “but I’m sort of tired of waiting because, well, I’m not the most patient person ever.”

“No, you’re really not.”

“And the thing is, I’ve told Alex, but I haven’t told you because I was scared, but you being you…I mean, that’s what saved me.”

Lena laughs, rolling her eyes and bumping shoulders with Kara. “Are you talking about that attack on L-Corp earlier this week? For the last time, Kara, I didn’t saveyou, I just did what I had to do to. Besides, he was myformer employee, if anything it’s my fault that—”

“I’m talking about last year, Lena. About the spores and being stranded at the Fortress of Solitude.” That shuts Lena up, her mouth snapping close, her eyes somehow fixed on Kara’s uncharacteristically serious face. “I’d get these flashes of you,” she continues. “Of something you said, something you did, and I’d realize that whatever was happening wasn’t real. Because of you. Because youfelt real.” She laughs, returning to her normal, bumbling self, her hands adjusting her glasses awkwardly, her lips twisted into a wry smile. “You saved me from my own thoughts and I guess—”

This time, it’s Lena’s turn to interrupt Kara. Not with words, not with a look, but by leaning in and pressing their lips together in a kiss remarkably similar to the one she dreamed about, momentarily making Lena question whether what’s happening is real or not.

And when she pulls away to see Kara’s eyes flutter open, a thrilled grin on her lips, Lena finds herself falling yet again.

But in a good way—in the only way that matters.

#supercorp #fanfic #kara danvers #lena luthor #old #the next one will be new I just gotta finish it

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