#long winded way to say I refuse to admit I’ve fallen in love unless they love me back and that’s never happened so no :) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fromtheo-withlove · 3 years

Text

Pt. 4 - A Reunion

Finally get to bring in a bit of comfort, I hope you guys enjoy! It’s been such an amazing experience getting to share this story with all of you. Apologies in advance - it’s a bit of a long chapter but I’m hoping it’s worth the read.

TW: prisoner shackled, emotional whump, guilt and self-loathing, mention of injuries

Tag-list: @ihaveacrushonjester @tears-and-lilies @starnight-whump

Masterlist | Previous | Next

----------

Even before her mother had passed away 4 years ago, Princess Aurelia had always been incredibly close to her father. She treasured the time she got to spend with him and wanted to be like him when she became a ruler herself. Stories of the adventures and bravery of his youth were legendary and he had a way of charming everyone he spoke to. And Aurelia loved him.

But after watching Bennett and Gabriel’s arrival unfold and hearing about her father’s plans for them, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to see him in that light again. He had been different since the war began, quicker to anger, quiet, but she didn’t think he’d do something like this.

He had admitted Gabriel was an innocent in all of this, yet he let him think he was going to die, left him terrified and blindfolded while he played mind games. He had even whispered to her that he wasn’t going to actually let him die, but told her that he’d make it worse for him if she was uncooperative. She just couldn’t forgive him for all of this.

“Well,” she thought, “he may be acting like a stubborn monster, but I inherited every bit of that stubbornness and I’m not backing down either.”

She didn’t have any ideas on how to get Bennett and Gabriel out of this mess, but she was determined to see them at least, take care of them as much as she could.

It ended up being relatively easy to make it happen. She sought out Robert, the head of the castle guard, and he had ultimately agreed to let her visit the dungeons while one of the guards he trusted was on duty. He had known the princes when they were young. He had even given them sword lessons for a time and had been a tough teacher, but had a soft spot for them as well. It appeared he still did.

“Aye, war is war, but those boys were good lads. It’s a shame it’s come to this. I’ve told my guards to take it easy with them, but half this damn castle is hungry for their blood. They could use a friend in this mess.”

The guard’s first shift was that night, just past sundown. She passed the preceding hours pacing her room, gathering food and medical supplies to smuggle in, and trying to mentally steel herself for the reunions she was about to have.

The dungeon was vast, spanning the length of the castle. The king had ordered the princes be kept separately to avoid conspiring, as if they posed any threat in chains, shackled down. She was worried about Gabriel, but she decided to visit Bennett first. She needed answers and she needed a clear head for this conversation.

As the guard let her into Bennett’s cell, he reassured her that the prince would be shacked down and wouldn’t harm her. She almost laughed at the absurdity of the reassurance before remembering the crimes everyone believed Bennett committed. Rather than laugh, she nodded politely and thanked the guard as he closed the door and went back to his post.

It had already grown dark outside and the cell would have been pitch black if not for the glow of the lantern that Aurelia held. Luckily, she thought, there isn’t much here to light. The cell was small – enough space to pace in circles if the prisoner wasn’t shackled and enough room for them to lay down, but not much beyond that. Bennett sat in the corner looking tired and wary, his hands shackled behind him on a chain bolted to the floor.

He was the first to speak up. “Why are you here?” he asked, his eyes mistrustful.

She didn’t blame him for such a blunt greeting under the circumstances.

“I needed to see you, talk to you. Apologize. What happened earlier, the show my father put on…. It… shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.” She slowly walked closer as she spoke, then kneeled down near him.

She raised her hand to place it on his shoulder, confirm to herself that he was real and there, but he flinched and pulled away from her reach.

“I don’t deserve your time or pity, Auri. I wish I did. God, I wish I did. Please just go to Gabriel, he’s the innocent one in all of this. And do you want to know the worst part? He has every reason to hate me and he’s probably more worried about me than himself.” He let out a bitter laugh. “You know how good he is and you’ve already heard how much of a monster I am. Just go.”

Aurelia gave Bennett a hard glance. “Benn, stop it with all the self-loathing and self-sabotage. I’m going to see Gabriel after this. Let’s not waste time with you trying to convince me to leave, unless you truly have no wish to see me.”

In truth, he desperately wanted her company and in that moment he couldn’t bring himself to lie and say otherwise. When he stayed silent for a few seconds, she continued talking.

“I came here because I wanted to see you. I’m a grown woman now, I can make my own decisions.”

He finally spoke up, more quietly than before. “I know you can, I’m sorry… You have every right to stay here, but I don’t know what to say.”

“Well I didn’t come here to throw around accusations, you faced enough of that today, but, please, help me understand how things got to this point. Did you really murder innocents in those villages? I- I just can’t believe that. I need to hear it from you, without an audience. How could the same boy I knew, the one who wouldn’t hurt a fly, ever do something like that?”

She said that she couldn’t believe it, but Bennett noticed her stumble on her words, saw the fear in her eyes at his response. He knew her doubt in him was deserved, but it still somehow hurt.

“That boy you knew was pathetic, weak, naïve. When I returned to Lianhar, I had to see that and grow up. It’s the way the world works, Auri.”

Aurelia shook her head sadly. “Your father really did a number on you.” She stayed silent for a moment before asking quietly, “Do you remember the baby bird?”

“Obviously I do… why?”

“Humor me, what do you remember about that day, Benn?”

He knew what she was trying to do, but it had been so long since he’d been spoken to with compassion and a part of him wanted it to last as long as possible. “Okay… We were probably 11, maybe 12. It was springtime. It was that time of year when it’s finally starting to get warm but the weather keeps changing. There was that crazy wind and rain storm. The day after the storm we were so excited to collect fallen sticks and build our own little fortress.”

“We never did get around to building one,” Aurelia remarked with a small smile.

Bennett paused for a moment at Aurelia’s remark, but didn’t want to dwell on unfinished childhood dreams. It hurt too much to think about. He continued.

“Gabriel was inside, probably reading some textbook. We went down to the old oaks, and there was the baby bird, almost hidden in the tall grass. He was so small, and cute in an ugly way, with his feathers still growing in.”

Aurelia smiled genuinely at the memory. “You were amazed by it, shouting at me to come over. Until you saw its broken wing. I told you there was nothing we could do, tried to comfort you, but you were so upset about it.”

He nodded. “I was sad. I think I named him Momo.” He felt the corner of his mouth creep up in a smirk, the closest thing he’d had to a smile in weeks.

“You weren’t just sad, you were heartbroken. You laid near it crying and talking to it for almost an hour.”

“Auri, I get it, I was an overly dramatic child.”

“No Benn, you were loving and hated to see anyone or anything suffering. That bird would’ve died without you.”

Bennett scoffed. “No, your memory is way off. Gabriel was the one who saved him. I just sat there like a blubbering idiot.”

“I know he mended its wing, but he wouldn’t have even known about the bird if you hadn’t refused to come inside for lunch. He did always have a knack for medicine, but it was your heart that saved the bird.”

Bennett’s slight smirk was gone. He grew silent and leaned against the cell wall, no longer looking at Aurelia. When he spoke again, his voice had hardened.

“Well, regardless, real life isn’t like that bird story. And like I said, I had to grow up.”

“So you’re saying that you did kill them? Those innocent people?”

“No Auri,” Bennett snapped, his tone more annoyed than he intended. “I didn’t myself, but what difference does it make if I held the blade or my soldiers did? I didn’t stop them. That blood is on my hands.” He finally looked back at her, eyes narrowed, “I’m sorry if that gets in the way of you reminiscing on idyllic childhood memories.”

Aurelia raised her eyebrows, but didn’t take the bait. “So was it your idea? A plan to show strength? Did you want to do it?”

“Stop, it doesn’t matter.”

Aurelia stood up. “Just answer the question,” she commanded angrily. The sight of Bennett flinching at her demand was like a bucket of cold water on her anger. She quieted. “Please Benn, I need to know. If you still have any feelings of friendship towards me, tell me the truth.”

“You’re going to play that card?” Bennett said angrily. “What do you want me to say? That I never grew out of my weakness? That I didn’t want to lead a battalion, but conceded after just 10 minutes of pressure from my father? That my men never respected me, that they resented me for not allowing them their fun? That they killed my squire and pretended he died in an enemy attack? That they made veiled threats when Gabriel visited with medical supplies? That they were ready to stab me in the back because they felt my tactics were too passive? And instead of stamping out the disloyalty or, even better, dying for my own morals, that I gave up and handed my second-in-command the reigns?”

As he spoke, the anger in Bennett’s voice began to soften, but the bitterness and pain remained. “It doesn’t matter if I didn’t want them to pillage villages or harm civilians, I took a coward’s way out and convinced myself that what they did was out of my hands. I didn’t think they’d go so far.” His voice started to break.

“I really didn’t think they would, Auri. It will haunt me for any days I have left. But I should’ve known what I was doing. A good leader would’ve avoided that bloodshed. When I was a child, I’d cry about the injustices of the world, but then I actually had the power to change things and I was too much of a goddamn coward.”

Aurelia stood staring at her friend, tears in her eyes. “So, now you know,” he whispered. “You can leave with your answers.”

Instead of turning to the door, the princess knelt down face to face with Bennett and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. The gesture broke down his last barriers, and he began to cry into her shoulder.

“Benn, listen to me. You were forced into an unfair situation from the start. You didn’t ask for any of this. You avoided innocent bloodshed for a long time. They killed someone close to you, threatened you and Gabriel. Put you in an impossible position. You do not deserve this.”

He continued to cry for a few minutes as Aurelia stroked his hair. It was better than he deserved, but he needed comfort more than he ever had and he knew there was a chance this embrace would be the last he ever received. He only regretted not being able to hug her back.

Eventually, he began to breathe more normally and Aurelia let him go.

She looked at him with sadness in her eyes. “I’ve been trying to change things for you both, I swear I’ve been trying, but… my father….”

“Auri, the fact that you even visited is more than I can ask for. I’ve already accepted that I’m not getting out of this mess, don’t anger your father over something impossible.” He paused, then continued, “But my brother…. I know it’s unfair to ask and it’s probably not doable, but if there’s any chance for Gabriel, if you see any way to convince your father to spare him, please try.”

“I promise I’ll keep trying, but I don’t want to give any false hopes about the odds.”

Bennett just nodded.

Aurelia’s eyes suddenly lit up as she remembered what she had smuggled in. “I almost forgot, I brought you some food!”

“I’m not sure I can stomach it right now to be honest.”

Aurelia looked skeptical. “When’s the last time you ate?”

Bennett didn’t even bother to answer the question. He sighed dramatically. “Fine, you’re right, I need food.”

“I knew it! You always hated to eat when you were stressed out, but then you’d end up exhausted and feeling worse.”

“I guess some things never change. Like you acting like a mother hen, trying to take care of me. “Benn, wear your jacket it’s cold. Benn, eat your breakfast. Benn, it’s not a good idea to jump off the stable roof into a tightly compacted bale of hay.” I guess I should’ve listened to you on that last one,” he said with a grin.

“And I guess I should just lean into the mother hen for today – I also brought medical supplies. Your shoulder and head looked injured earlier. Can I see them?”

He nodded. “They’re from the fight when I was captured, but they’re really not bad. I’ve had worse.”

She examined the wounds for a moment. “Okay tough guy, but they’re still pretty bad. I can’t leave anything visible like bandages unfortunately, but I’ll clean them out and apply some ointment to help numb them a bit. I’ll ask Robert if he’s willing to have the guards bandage them before tomorrow night, maybe under the guise of appearances for the banquet or something.”

The mention of the banquet brought Bennett back to reality. “Do you know what your father has planned?”

“No more than you do, I’m sorry. But I do know he plans to keep you both alive for a while, for better or for worse.”

Auri spent some time treating Bennett’s injuries, trying not to think about how many more she’d be caring for over the next few weeks. She needed to take things one day at a time.

When she was finished, she packed up her things and wrapped Bennett in one more hug. “I should go see Gabriel now, I can’t risk wandering around too late and having my father discover I’ve seen either of you. I’ll come back though, as much as I can.”

As she headed to the door, Bennett felt overcome with gratitude that she planned to come back. “Hey Auri?.... Thank you.”

-----

Keep reading: Next

#whump #royalwhump #emotionalwhump #guilt #fear #comfort #bonding

15 notes · View notes

frickfrackapplesnack · 4 years

Text

Truth Be Told Geralt x Reader

Request 1: So just like some cute fluff or something would be great (and a a bit of angst never killed nobody)

Request 2: Can I get some Geralt and reader fluff? I've been in a biG holiday depression funk so I was looking for like;; him helping her through a bad episode and like just being dorky to try and cheer her up n shit?

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1883

A/N: I’m sorry if it’s a little OOC and if my writing isn’t up to par, it is very late over here. Also, no hate to Yennefer, I love her.

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

The wind was cold and harsh against the faces of travellers. As it should be so high up in the mountains; mother nature made sure that some places be more dangerous than others and thus the higher you went the harder it was to survive. Despite knowing that the harshness of the wind was normal and that she had agreed to come along on this quest Y/N’s fears were not quenched. It had only been a day ago that they had started their ascent and only two that she was safe sitting inside an inn drinking beer. She tried now to remember how warm it had been inside the wooden walls, tried to remember the burning sensation in her throat as she drank what was possibly the worst beer in her life while watching Jaskier flirt with any woman who walked through the door. Or, perhaps how shocked she had been when the old man Borch Three Jackdaws had sat at their table asking Geralt to assist in slaying a dragon. The idea had almost been as ridiculous as the man’s name and for a moment it seemed out of the question. But when a certain witch had walked through the door Geralt agreed almost instantly despite Y/N’s and Jaskier’s protests.

So now here they were on the side of a mountain, risking their lives all because Geralt wanted to show off and get laid. Y/N rolled her eyes at the thought glaring daggers at the witch standing only inches in front of her. “You’re right” Jaskier’s voice cut through Y/N’s brooding bringing her back to the moment. “This is a shortcut…to death” he gulped and looked back at Y/N who rolled her eyes giving a quick glance to the Witcher standing next to her; Jaskier sighed. Lightly touching his arm Y/N attempted to bring Geralt’s attention to her, however, his eyes remained on the horizon grunting as he gave the suggestion of turning back. ‘At least he has some sense’ Y/N thought.

“No, we’re very close” Borch. “And how could you possibly know that?” Y/N asked folding her arms over her chest. “We’re not going anywhere if we fall to our deaths.”

“Y/N…” Geralt warned.

“Don’t belittle me Geralt,” Y/N sneered. “I am not a child…this is too dangerous”

“It is a perfectly fine route” The leading dwarf growled, “As long as you don’t look down.”

Shoving her way past Geralt Y/N moved toward the front of the group, having no desire to walk behind the person she wanted so badly to push off the side of this mountain. If it weren’t for Geralt’s crush, then they wouldn’t be risking their lives right now.

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

When they had made it across and the time had come to set up tents Y/N’s mood had only worsened. Not only had they lost the lives of Borch and his companions but Geralt had risked his own life trying to save them; all because he wanted to show Yennefer how heroic he could be. But, despite the nagging voice at the back of her mind telling her that Geralt had wanted to save Borch because he was an innocent man she couldn’t shake the feeling that everything the Witcher did these days was because of her. Because he was smitten with a dark, beautiful and powerful woman. If truth be told Y/N was jealous, but she would never admit it to herself or anybody else. She sighed, taking a moment to admire the sunset abandoning the work on her newly pitched tent. One would never see a view like this from the ground, so magnificently beautiful it could bring any ordinary person to tears. Looking at it now it was as if someone had taken a paintbrush and struck the canvas in uneven violent strokes but creating something quite the opposite.

Jaskier and Geralt were sitting together on a rock close to the cliff edge, speaking to each other Y/N unable to identify what they could be saying. She sighed giving one last glance to the sky before retiring to her tent. Ready to sleep away her troubles.

It was not long after Y/N had set up a place to sleep within the linen walls that someone else entered the tent. She did not bother to look up, already hearing the sound of Geralt’s leather armour as he moved toward her. “There isn’t room in here for the two of us.” Y/N said bluntly, still refusing to turn and face to man. She sighed dropping her blanket over her bedroll hindering all movement. “I am not in the mood for talking Geralt. Leave me be so I may sleep.”

“Look at me Y/N” he growled. “Jaskier sent me in here because he said you were upset and I want to know why...so turn around.”

“No.” Y/N knew that if she saw him now that she could not stop the tears already threatening to fall. Now that she had given herself time to breathe the severity of the situation had sunk itself into her heart, squeezing it so tight she thought she might die. Geralt could have died today, and she could do nothing to prevent it. “Leave me be Geralt, I do not want to talk with you”

“Well, I do!” Geralt all but yelled. “You have been ignoring me for weeks Y/N, speaking to me only when you want to start a fight,”

“I don’t want to…”

“Then what the hell is going on?” Geralt roared.

Shaking Y/N got to her feet, slowly turning to face the angry Witcher still, however, refusing to meet his gaze; finding the floor much more interesting. “You could have died.” She whispered.

“What?”, Gulping Y/N repeated herself, “Speak up Y/N!”

“I said you could have died you fucking idiot!” Y/N screamed. “You could have plummeted to your death all because of her.” She could no longer hold back her tears, hot salty water now streaming down her darkened cheeks. “You could have died because you wanted to show off to Yennefer because you want to fuck her…AGAIN” She cried, not caring if anyone outside the tent could hear her. Finally, Y/N looked up meeting Geralt’s golden eyes, rage boiling inside her. “I told you this was too dangerous and you didn’t listen, I told you that the Gin was a stupid idea and you didn’t listen. It almost cost Jaskier his life and now you’ve risked yours and everyone else’s because of a stupid witch.”

“Y/N…”

“Don’t.” Y/N growled. “Don’t speak I’m not finished”

“Yes, you are!” Geralt screamed stepping forward, grabbing hold of Y/N and shaking her. “You are done speaking to me as if you were my mother.”

“I am not speaking to you like a mother” Y/N counteracted, “I am speaking to you as someone who loves you!” Geralt’s grip loosened and Y/N took this opportunity to step back breathing deeply as she took in what she had just admitted. For a moment all was silent neither person wanting to be the first to speak. However, after minutes had passed in silence Y/N had decided that the silence was more torturous than speaking. Taking a shaky breath she gazed over to Geralt who had been eyeing the ground unblinking since the words had spilt from Y/N’s mouth. Thinking Y/N began to question if what she said had been the truth, did she love Geralt in the way both of them had been thinking for the past five minutes or was it a spur of the moment decision. Was it to make the man feel bad, or was it something that had finally bought itself up to the surface. It would explain her jealousy, why she had been so upset when she had looked through that window all those weeks ago and seen Yennefer in the place she thought she ought to be. Why when she thought back to the image of their lips touching almost bought her to tears. Why she had cried herself to sleep that night and why she had refused to talk to Geralt since, unless absolutely necessary. If she did love him, that would explain why she was so utterly terrified when it looked like he would fall to his death, and why the tears coming from her eyes refused to stop.

Looking up at the Witcher once more she had made her final decision and without a second thought wrapped her arms tightly around his middle. Hugging him so tight that it seemed almost impossible to let go. It took a moment, but soon Geralt had his arms wrapped around her, bringing her closer and burying his face in her neck. “You could have died today...” She whimpered against his chest.

“I know” he replied.

“You could have fallen...”

“I know”

“You could have died...and left me all alone”

“I know”

Y/N giggled, moving away from Geralt and wiping away her tears sniffling as she did so. “Stop saying that...” She said looking up to meet his golden eyes. “You could have died, and I would still be here. Without you.” her voice quivered. “And you don’t care.”

“I do care.” He said, voice soft.

“Then why did you...”

“Because I had to try Y/N,” he said. “I couldn’t let an innocent man fall to his death” he moved closer wrapping his arms around her once again. “I didn’t do it to impress Yennefer. Or anyone for that matter, I did it because I had to.”

“But I saw you...” Y/N stammered. “Through the window, after the Gin...” She gulped staring up at the man holding her. “You two were...”

“Fucking?” he asked. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I love her.”

“But...”

“No buts Y/N. It was nothing, it meant nothing”

Y/N nodded looking back at Geralt's leather-covered chest. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It is none of my business what you do with other women, but I want you to know that what I said is also true.” She sighed. “I love you...and not just in the way a friend does, or a member of one's family. But with my heart...I love you with all my hear Geralt and...” She could not finish for Geralt had lifted her chin upward and connected his lips to hers in one swift motion. The kiss was slow; gentle. But hiding a sense of urgency both people felt. Y/N bought her arms up to wind them around Geralt’s neck and pull him closer deepening the kiss, meanwhile, his hands made there way down to her waist holding her in place. The kiss ended all too soon for Y/N’s liking and she was about to protest when Geralt spoke.

“I have felt...something for quite some time now.” He said. “I didn’t know how to put it into words...and I still don’t” Y/N nodded listening. “I have tried to distract myself. But now I don’t think I can.”

“What are you saying?” Y/N asked.

“For now...all I am asking is if I can kiss you again.” Y/N nodded slowly as Geralt captured her lips with his once more turning the night into one of love and passion. And although it took a while for Geralt to say aloud what Y/N had already admitted both agreed it was worth the wait.

Neither one of them could be any happier.

#geralt imagine #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt #the witcher imagine #the witcher #witcher imagine

298 notes · View notes

s-nebul0sa · 5 years

Text

Do you know what it’s like Part 3

Part 1 and Part 2 Read on AO3

Christmas morning is upon them in the blink of an eye and Lena groggily wakes up to loud high-pitched screaming telling her and James, “it is time! Hurry up sleepy-heads!”

She’s never celebrated Christmas with an excitable, impatient kid. She’s never really celebrated Christmas at all, unless fancy dinners and impersonal expensive gifts — mainly given for show — count.

“Ss too early,” Lena slurs, pulling a pillow over her head to try and keep all the sounds out.

James laughs, a deep rumble that doesn’t care about the pillow Lena has clutched over her ears and just resonates through it. She pulls it away and angrily glares at him.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he tells her, walking over and kissing her between her brows where she knows a crinkle is present. He affectionately cards his hand through her hair and she uses his arm to pull him closer, making him fall back on the bed. “I’d advise you to get up before Dax decides you need help and storms up the stairs.”

Lena grumbles and burrows into James’s side a little more before sighing and resigning herself to the fact she has to get up. She throws the covers off and immediately regrets it when the cold air hits her whole body, making her hairs stand on end and her skin break out in goose bumps. “Shit, it’s cold.”

James quickly holds a bathrobe up for her to slip into. “How are you feeling?” he asks as he slips his feet in a pair of slippers.

“Glad you insisted I take a nap yesterday before mass.” She punctuates her statement with a yawn and pulls the robe a little tighter around her. “What time is it even?”

“Six thirty,” James replies with a smirk, holding the door open for Lena so they can join the rest downstairs.

“No way.” Lena glances at her phone and curses under her breath when she sees James is right. “I’m glad we don’t have one of those running around every morning.”

James starts. “You don’t want kids?”

“Hmm?” Lena stops walking and turns around. “We talked about this, didn’t we? With you, I do if you want that too. I’m just saying I don’t mind we don’t have any right now. I’d like to enjoy my mornings a while longer.”

“Oh, okay. I thought you’d changed your mind for a moment there,” James admits.

“If I did, I wouldn’t spring it on you like this,” she reassures him as she walks over to stand in front of him. “But we barely moved in together so I wouldn’t worry about it too much. We’ll figure it out and I don’t mind too much either way.” Lena shifts to her tiptoes, pulling a little on James’s collar to get him down to her level for a kiss. “Don’t tell me for now you don’t enjoy getting to sleep in when you want to.”

“Oh, I do. I really do,” James acknowledges, pressing close for another kiss.

From the bottom of the stairs a shrill voice interrupts their moment. “Old people are so slow! Hurry up or you won’t get any presents.”

They breathe out a laugh and lean their foreheads together for a moment to enjoy each other’s closeness just a second longer before pulling apart and descending the stairs. At the bottom, Dax is waiting for them with a stern look on his face.

“So bossy,” James jokes, ruffling Dax’s hair before wrapping his arm around Lena’s back so they can descend the rest of the stairs together. Dax is impatiently trying to speed them up and complaining about how slow, like snails, they are.

They’re all huddled together around the Christmas tree, presents spilling out from underneath it, all with neatly written tags with names on them.

“Dax, honey, why don’t you explain to Lena how we always celebrate Christmas?” Olivia suggests. Dax immediately puts on a serious face and stands up in front of the adults as a teacher.

“First, everyone gets to open one, one-” he raises a single tiny finger to emphasise his point- “present from Santa. Those are in the socks. Then, we have breakfast and go for a walk to show we have patience and aren’t greedy. And then we get to open the presents together. Only one at a time so we don’t have, uhm, mommy?” He looks to Olivia for help and immediately gets it.

“Chaos,” she gently fills in for him.

“Yes, that. Chaos. Because that’s not nice. We always start with the rest of Santa’s gifts and then we do the gifts from grandma and mommy and daddy and uncle James and you and me. Santa always gives small gifts so don’t be sad if he gives something small because he has a lot of other kids to give gifts.” Dax proceeds by taking one gift from each stocking and handing it to the designated person.

Lena is still baffled they went through the effort to get her a stocking. She’s only ever had a dainty one with frilly lace, too small for gifts and only hung up for show in the room her parents would receive people in.

Dax hands her a small round object before taking his own gift and sitting back down on a pillow on the floor.

“Now you can open it,” Dax announces.

Lena carefully pries loose the tape and unwraps the gift, ignoring Dax’s excited shouting about receiving a banana himself. Her gift contains a small mandarin with a smiley face drawn in sharpie on the smooth skin. She can’t help the smile that spreads on her face as she looks down at the fruit.

“Ohhhh!!” Dax cheers as he looks at her mandarin. “If your fruit is happy it means you’ve been good this year. Look, my banana is happy too because I’ve been a good boy.” He shows her his banana with a winking smiley drawn on its peel.

After breakfast, which consists of a fruit salad with all their smiling fruits, waffles and eggs, they dress themselves warmly to go for a walk outside. It’s not necessarily freezing cold but warm is different. No snow has fallen yet, seemingly waiting for the new year to arrive before doing so, and the sky is clear and bright. The breeze is biting and Lena is glad for her scarf and gloves. She burrows her nose a little further in the fabric to keep her nose from getting too cold.

Dax runs ahead of the group, chasing ducks away from the pond they pass and pointing out each and every animal and vehicle he says. Everything gets a story and he rambles on and on about them, his words flying away on the wind as he runs away again. Lena cannot fathom having so much energy. They’re about halfway, she asked a few minutes ago, and she can already feel her body begging her to stop walking. It’s not necessarily a long walk but the cold is eating at her and makes her limbs feel like she’s wading through water.

Slowly, she starts lagging behind. She started walking in the front with Mary but now, she’s the last one of the group and the distance between her and them is increasing. James, of course, notices and slows down to walk by her side. He offers his arm and Lena wants to refuse it; she doesn’t need help walking. Except, she does. It takes her only a short moment to get over her pride and loop her own arm with James’s. She refuses to lean on him, though. It’s just a small support, she’s not going to use James as a crutch.

After a short while, Lena gets the break she’s been wanting but was too stubborn to ask for. Dax has found a tree surrounded by pine cones and insists on collecting all of them before finishing the walk. Not wanting a fight on Christmas morning, Olivia relents and lets Dax start piling all the pine cones. She tells him he can pick one to bring home, the rest he has to leave behind. That sets Dax on the search for the best one of the batch. Lena, James and Maria find a bench nearby to sit on while they wait.

Eventually, Dax has narrowed his choice down to two possible pine cones to bring home. First, he shows them to his parents and asks for their opinion and then he trots to the bench and lets Maria, James and Lena voice their opinions.

Lena ends up telling Dax about math in nature. She explains how the Fibonacci sequence shows up in many plants and flowers, also in pine cones. Dax curiously listens and soaks it all up. Maybe it’s a little advanced for his level of understanding but he seems interested and asks questions whenever they arise so Lena happily explains more and more about it.

“I love you,” James says softly when Lena’s done answering all of Dax’s questions and the boy has run off to put back the newly rejected pine cone — it’s Fibonacci numbers weren’t as pretty as the other one. Lena turns to look up at James. His eyes are soft and starry, smile soft and warm and his hand reaching out for hers.

“I love you too, darling.” Lena looks at James’s gooey eyes and completely out of this world expression and appends her sentence, “but why are you suddenly so sentimental?”

“You’re just so patient and never give up. Not when he asks difficult questions—” James points at Dax who’s running around in the distance— “or when work gets hard or when your body gets in the way. And I just— I realised I don’t want to grow old without you.”

James’s admission leaves Lena teary-eyed and as she quickly wipes away the water in the corner of her eyes, she playfully swats at her boyfriend. “None of that mushiness, James Olsen. We’d said no moving too fast. I’m not dying, we can take our time. We can grow old together but no proposals just yet.” She raises a warning finger causing James to burst out in a deep, bellowing laugh. He throws his head in his neck as his voice booms through the park.

Lena can’t help smile at James’s loud laughter. It takes him a bit to calm down and stop laughing, but when he does so, he pulls her close and embraces her tightly.

“Please don’t ever change,” he whispers in her hair.

She doesn’t reply. They both know changing is inevitable. Only the last year is enough proof of that already. But she gets what he means. Not ‘don’t change’ but ‘don’t lose who you are in the process’, a sentiment she wishes for him too.

James presses a kiss to Lena’s head and Lena returns one to his neck, the only place she can currently reach. He makes the world seem just a little less daunting for her. She grounds him. They’re not each other’s better halves but just two pieces of a large puzzle that happen to fit together well. The only thing with the potential to drive a wedge between them, though Lena is still very much unaware of the possibility as well as the truth, is Supergirl’s identity.

#guardiancorp #supergirl #lena luthor #james olsen #my writing #supergirl fanfic #fanfiction #do you know what it’s like #guardiancorp fanfic

15 notes · View notes

princessamericachavez · 6 years

Text

By far, my favorite moment from the last episode was when everyone was healing each other after the first battle at the Victory Pit. Because it was a beautiful example of the team dynamic and how they are looking out for each other and like I really wanna dig into it because those 3 minutes are solid character gold.

So, anyway, because you know me and my meta goes way too long sometime, the rest is under the cut.

First of all, Jester pulls out her medicinal herbs to heal Beau who is clearly hurting a lot. I love that she’s now fully embraced her roll as “the cleric” and clearly was prepared for this kind of scenarios.

“Where are you at? Jester? Hit point wise?” Fjord asks as she’s working on the medicinal kit and I really love how this furthers his role as the one that is always looking after her. I think that Fjord is really starting to worry about how many times she’s fallen and how adamant she seems to be about healing herself.

Now, Jester replies, without even looking up, letting him know she’s very hurt at the moment (12/31) and Fjord immediately offers her a health potion.

“What?” And that’s when Jester looks up, and she looks sad, kinda conflicted, like she’s surprised that someone is looking after her.

After Fjord repeats the question she says “Well, I can use my spells to heal us.” Note the use of us even when Fjord was offering her the potion. Jester seems to really be putting herself in the bottom of the priority list. Fjord begins to protest, but then (interestingly) stops himself and is like “...or well?” Letting the argument drop.

“Well, the only spell I have to get rid of poison is Lesser Restoration, so I’ll cast that on Yasha,” says Jester once again diverting a conversation that started with healing her and turning it into how she can heal someone else.

“But the poison will wear off,” says Nott —who is probably, after Jester, the most mindful about saving their healing spells and potions for the most desperate times.

“Not before the next fight,” intervenes Molly, because of course Molly is not going to let Yasha stay poisoned just because it could eventually wear off.

Much like Fjord with Jester, Molly is the designated person that looks after Yasha and is constantly pointing out how hurt she is and when she needs healing badly. It’s a nice bit about their dynamic, in which Molly’s probably the most vocal one and has picked up (with his high af wisdom) that his friend is not likely to ask for help on her own, especially since we’ve seen her say she ‘doesn’t deserve it’.

Jester immediately makes the choice to heal Yasha (even after Matt asks if she’s sure she’s doing it) and she’s firm and direct about it.

The instant she is healed, Yasha is looking at Jester and asking how badly hurt she is. Now, Yasha has been rather protective of Jester since episode one, and it’s a trend that’s been developing further now that she’s back. That and the fact that they’ve got their ‘muscle sisters’ dynamic going on is very interesting. Yasha seems to me like the kind of person who is not used to kindness or friendship being shown to her, and who develops very fast and strong bonds of loyalty towards those who look after her. So I think, next to Molly and maybe Nott, Jester is definitively in the list of people that Yasha would go far to protect, no matter what.

Now, what we know so far about Yasha suggests that she grew up in a hellish environment where violent response was the logical option, where eating rats was a nice dish, where you don’t heal or help someone unless they ‘deserve’ it. Considering she’s the one that bolted and bailed on everyone in the circus after the first night’s trouble, seeing her take an active role in looking after some of the people in the group outside of battle shines light in a nice development for her.

“I’m at 12 hit points,” Jester replies.

“You need healing,” Nott says. And it’s interesting, probably, to see the contrast between her saying that Jester shouldn’t use her spell on Yasha to insisting Jester look after herself. Much like with Yasha, I feel like Nott is one that forms strong loyalties to those that treat her kindly, and we’ve seen that out of the whole group she feels like Jester’s the one that’s ‘earned’ that consideration and trust. So it’s probably safe to say that Jester is also part of the short list of people Nott’s trying to protect (next to Caleb, and so far she probably only has those two... though Molly and Fjord might be closer to earning a spot on that list following their sad backstories reveals).

And Yasha hands Jester a potion, but she is still not accepting healing for herself. “But Yasha, you need healing too!”

Now, once Fjord notices that Jester is taken care of, he offers his potion to Beau, who needs just as much healing. “I’ve got a healing potion if you need it.”

“Well, I won’t deny it, but I also won’t request it,” says Beau and that’s pretty much a synthesis of her stand when it comes to help, kindness and attention. Beau clearly wants to be loved and accepted and to be Part of the group (she was terrified of being left behind by Fjord and Jester but then was reluctant to admit she wanted to travel with everyone else, or her attempts to be nonchalant about searching Dairon out to train or at least report her whereabouts).

Fjord sees through this, though, and makes it easier for her by keeping up their friendly snark. “Just fucking take it,” he grumbles, and just hands it over without either of them meeting eyes.

Jester is watching the exchange (she looks at Fjord after she’s given the potion, as if looking for confirmation or reassurance) and once she sees that Beau is taken care of she seems to relax. That’s a nice detail, I think, that it becomes the moment when Jester realizes that she’s not alone in looking after everyone else, that others are also trying to provide healing and caring (not only to her because she’s the cleric, but to each other). I think that little exchange between Fjord and Beau actually might have given Jester peace of mind that, even if she runs out of spells or can’t be everywhere at once, it won’t mean her friends die.

It’s after that exchange that Jester agrees to take the healing potion.

“My god, you people,” Molly sighs, looking at all this happen. And it’s interesting because Molly is the one that’s always looking after the others, keeping track of their health and letting the others know when someone needs help. He shouted for someone to heal Beau when she went down in the sewers, he keeps pointing out when Yasha is injured and he instructed Jester to run away if something bad happened and later saved her.

Molly is clearly of the idea that as a party looking out for each other is what must be done and the only way to go, because when you belong to a traveling group, like he has before, that’s the only way to survive. So he’s clearly exasperated by everyone’s reluctance to accept help. More than that, he’s likely worried about them and what this could develop into in the long run if they are not careful to look after them. Jester, Yasha and Beau all seem reluctant to get help, though Beau won’t ever deny it if offered and will be quite effusive about her thanking, like she isn’t expecting that kind of help.

(Molly, on the other hand, is very reluctant and stutter-y when it comes to letting Jester know he needs healing, though, so really like he’s one to talk).

Later, Jester still used a spell on Yasha (because she realized that aside from the poison she was also very injured) and healed Beau just as they were running into the next fight. She’s a lot more liberal about using her spells on other —insistent even— compared to how she seems to refuse to use them on herself unless it’s like life or death.

...

Little note that Fjord looking after everyone, carrying his healing potions pretty much to spend on his friends and being the one that’s always willing to give up his share of things if it means someone else gets them is also a trend that we see in this little moments and the next healing round.

Like we’d seen it before. When he told Beau and Jester they could have his part of the reward because he made money playing cards the day before. He then let Jester have his silver when they were distributing loot the other day. He was quick to refuse a caramel apple so that everyone could get one, before Yasha asked for the candied one. And then, when Jester was asking who was hurt, he said nothing and refused to accept healing until he realized that she was doing a Prayer of Healing that could get to many at once.

“If you’ve got one to spare...” he says, sheepishly.

He’s not as adamant to accept help as Jester and Yasha, nor as awkward asking for it as Molly and Beau, but he’s also not going to ask for it when he thinks someone else might need it more. He’s really taken the leader role in the party, and it’s showing in very nice ways.

Anyway, that’s my long winded meta that just wanted to overanalyze those exchanges because they were very nice. (Not much Caleb because he barely spoke there and at least the squishy wizard was mostly uninjured in the first fight and quickly healed in the second, but he also didn’t seem very involved with who got healing and how... the only time we’ve seen him actively look after a member of the party —health wise— other than Nott was when he offered Jester a potion back in the old lab, so that’s an interesting detail I think).

#the mighty nein #meta #critical role #fjord #jester lavorre #yasha #mollymauk tealeaf #nott the brave #caleb widogast #sofia's nonsense #cr spoilers #cr meta

296 notes · View notes

chac-ozai · 6 years

Text

Freedom’s Worth

You ain’t free unless you’ve got nothing left to lose. The Overboss and Porter Gage have built an empire, but they both come to understand that all of Nuka World's greatness is coming to a quick end. It is up to Gage to decide if he will admit their time as kings is ending, or take his dream AND his Overboss to the grave with him. Contains Raiders which also means foul language, bad behavior, and violence.

"This is perfect. Almost looks as good as it did in the postcards." The Overboss said, gleefully holding up a faded image of a forest-side cabin in a postcard. He held it up next to the shambles that remained of it over 200 years later, just a few walls and a crumbling roof dangling between them.

"Yeah-huh. Perfect." Gage repeated him, smiling at the thought of throwing down their travel packs and taking a load off for the night. There was a few cans of cram with his name on it and the air smelled strange, almost good, being this far away from Nuka Town's deathly stench. His Overboss was a real wiz at getting fires going, all he needed was a few pieces of the fallen walls, some dried leaves and a fast bullet to get a nice little blaze started. His Overboss, who refused to give him any name other than "Chac" (Kind of a stupid sounding name, but whatever) had been overly pleasant since they'd gotten away from East Boston.

"Look at you, havin' a good time." Gage sits back, watching his unusual boss dancing in place while he stabbed open some cans of food and ate them on the spot.

"Owww~ I feel good! da na na na na na na~" Chac sang, gravy dripping under his chin before spitting out what looked like fossilized food into the fire with a sizzle. Gage loved to watch him, he was real funny when he was so full of life like this, it's been a while since he even seen the guy crack a smile.

"You sure you ain't on somethin', boss? Y'been bouncin' off the damn walls for the past hour now." Gage found it hard to keep up with him sometimes, the guy just looked so high on life right now.

"Don't like it, huh?" Chac threw his can into the fire, shrugging off his jacket and using it to form a cushion for where he planned on sitting.

"Nah, It's friggin' great. I like seein' ya happy. Makes me happy." Gage refuted him, in the solitude and dark like this, far away from everyone, he suddenly wanted to be close to him.

"Well look at us, just two happy guys having a little camp-out." Chac squatted next to the fire and took a big swig of water, warming his tattooed hands by the growing blaze.

Gage inched up to him and followed suit, feeling a creaking in his aging knees. He stole the metal bottle from his Overboss and gladly shared the drink with him, loving this moment but feeling unsure of something- why was the guy so happy go lucky all of a sudden? Earlier today as they left Nuka World he was cranky at best, irritable and barely anything to talk to.

"Glad you joined me, Gorgeous." Chac reached out and patted Gage's tan arm, the guy shooting him a testy glance. He hadn't heard that one in a while, either.

"What, done with callin' me PG?" Gage falls back on his ass and gets comfortable next to him. Firelight smoothed out all the weathering of Gage's face, illuminated the lines of age around his eyes and mouth and made him look good. Real good.

"Mmhm, Nothing PG about what I'm thinking, the way you look right now." his Overboss was a real flirt, and Gage actually felt bashful at all this talk; he never did get used to it. The joke flew over his head-

"No idea what yer sayin, but I'll take it." Gage relaxed as he listened to his Overboss' pleased humming. He had to ask him though, why?

"Really, Boss. What made you so perky all of a sudden?"

"Food Poisoning, maybe." He lies, and Gage just scoffs.

"I don't think that's what it is. C'mon, Boss. What are you on right now?"

"Ugh, i think it is food poisoning." He repeats himself, holding his stomach. Gage started to get irritated, wondering maybe the guy was huffing Jet when he had his back turned- "Oh god." Chac gurgled, lifting up from his seat and ripping ass so loud it made Gage leap up and crawl away from him-.

"Ah fer fuck's sake, Boss! I had my damn mouth open." His partner was getting cranky, and likewise the boss has had enough of the questioning, something Gage had been doing more often lately.

"I'm glad that's over." Chac states, sitting back down and wrapping his arms around his knees, closing himself off from any more questions. But still, his partner persisted-

"I'm being serious right now. Seems like every time we get the heck away from Nuka World, yer a different guy, boss. Fuck, I can scarcely even look at'cha when we're at the park, like yer gunna fuckin' bite my head off."

"It aint you, Gage. It never is you, and I'm not mad now so why you gotta keep bringing it up?" His overboss took a hunk of ancient plywood and lugged it onto the fire, cinders skittering to the tips of Gage's shoes.

"Cuz it's annoyin' as shit, man! I don't care if it ain't me!" Gage plopped himself down well out of arms reach from Chac, lighting up a stale cigarette and merely holding it, concentrating his blinded gaze on the smoke. "It might as well be me, because I'm the first fuckin' person who gets your rotten attitude. But look at you, out here, bein' all sweet and shit. I don't get you." Gage huffed harshly, taking a drag of his smoke and holding it tight inside his chest. The drug may have been old, but it worked.

Chac merely ignored him for the moment, deep in thought. This has been a long time coming, this talk. Gage was no good at it, feelings, but lately he'd been the one needing to bring it up more since shit got too much at Nuka World. The real reason why he was so happy right now? Because he wasn't at Nuka World.

"Fine then, don't answer me." Gage spat on the fire, revolted. He didn't want to look at his Overboss and that deadpan look he got on his face now. Shaking his head in disappointment, the older raider chose to keep quiet.

"..." Chac toed a piece of rubble to form a better guard between him and the flame. He watched Gage from across the fire, how he pulled off his armor and his eyepatch, revealing the still-living but blind eye underneath. Thoughts flashed before his mind of a life abandoning Porter, leaving him with Nuka World in the dust. The pain alone that creeped inside him was just enough to get him to talk.

"I get that way because running Nuka World is a fucking nightmare, Gage." Chac let it out, and it was true. Porter looked at him in shock, as if he himself wasn't sharing the same amount of stress over it these days. "Every day some new bullshit comes up. The power struggles, the bootlicking, the assassins? It's a fucking miserable shit hole back there, and you know it."

"What are you trying to say, Boss? You don't got the stomach for it anymore?" Gage let the cigarette burn to the filter, crushing it under his heel and immediately lighting a new one. His heart was in his guts right now.

"You know what I'm trying to say." Chac starts-

"No, I don't. Please, enlighten me." Gage retorts, clearly pissed off. Chac could see the flash of his gold teeth as he worried his lip, something he learned Gage was prone to do when he was stressed.

"I'm saying that Nuka World is a fucking prison."

Nothing was said, a painful sort of silence above the crackling wood.

"...But how? I know the Raiders are pissin' you off, but look, boss, you got the entire park running. We're gunna own the commonwealth, and you wanna say it's a friggin' prison?"

"I want my freedom back." Chac states, Gage doing a doubletake- freedom? How could losing everything be..

"How could losing it all be freedom to you?" Gage leans in, something inside him breaking at the idea of his Overboss wanting to leave-

"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." Chac pushed himself up to stand, crossing his arms defiantly. Gage found himself once again looking up at him, caught in a flurry of confusion. What he said struck Gage deep...freedom. Nothing holding him down.

"-And I can't think of myself as free until I don't have to worry about the next time Mason will threaten to tar and feather me." He thought, adding - "Or Nisha wanting to skin me and wear my body as a man suit. Shit like that, this dread, it's a prison. So if you want to know why I'm nice when I'm not in Nuka Town, well, there's your answer."

"You can't leave. Fuck em up if you have to, but don't leave. This entire operation runs on you." Gage watched him like a hawk, refusing to stand and face him eye to eye on this.

"It's collapsing from the bottom up. It's a pipe dream, Gage. I can leave, but the real question is, can you leave Nuka World?"

He had it. Gage shot up from his seat and got in his overbosses' face, scant inches taller than him "The hell you just say to me? You askin' me to drop everything I've worked for, for the past 4 fuckin' years and just go fuck myself like I ain't poured my whole life into it?"

Chac remained calm, hands at his sides. He knew Gage would be hurt, I mean, why wouldn't he be?

"Yeah. I expect you to. Cuz' you're smart.You aren't willing to die for a lost cause."

Gage reeled back and slugged his Overboss in the face so hard the both of them fell. His Overboss' dreads threatened to light on fire as they scrambled on the ground beside it, Gage climbing on top of Chac and winding up his fist for another haymaker-

"Burn in hell!" He screams, his voice harsh with emotions he so often hid. "You fuckin' asshole!" He slugged Chac again, blood on his knuckles and on the gravel below. All the times he hit his boss then, it did nothing to quell the truth that the Nuka World dream was crumbling. He was about to strike Chac again before the roof of their ramshackle hideout began to drop dust on them from above. Gypsum peppered Gage's mohawk and Chac's bloodied face, his Overboss looking up at his partner.

"...You can't leave me." Gage repeated himself, panting hard. Chac used that time to throw off the Southerner, scuttling back until as soon as their fight started, it was over.

"I never said anything about leaving you." Chac panted, wiping blood off his face and onto his jeans "When shit hits the fan, and it will, I expect you to leave with me. With our heads intact."

Gage shook his head, refusing to believe this. Partners for a year... more than partners, and then this? Gage didn't want whatever life awaited without his overboss. It'd be shit. Everything would go to shit.

"I gotta get the fuck away from you. Don't follow me." Porter says, flatly. He picks up his flashlight and gun, and walks out into the wastes. Chac's eyes followed him until there was nothing but darkness, and chose to sit flush against the wall. If Gage needed space, let him have it.

Gage stomped through the wasted wilderness for what felt like only a few moments. He came to a road overlooking a cliff, and saw Diamond City's dazzling lights far in the distance. Perching his ass on a traffic barrier, he let his anger consume him. What the fuck was he going to do about this? Nuka World wasn't doing good, yeah, He would admit that...but the boss running out on them? Might as well nuke the place. Gage felt betrayed in the worst possible way.

"Gunna fuckin' kill him." He whispers to himself, forgetting his smokes back at camp. What he said resounded in his head. Kill him....That's what Gage promised himself he'd do if the Overboss didn't work out, right? Just fuckin..kill him? Gage looked at the gun in his trembling hands and bit his lip hard. He had to kill him. Chac was the overboss, there wasn't any other that would hold a candle to him.

Furious, heartbroken, Gage knew this is what he had to do.

What a shit show. What an absolute honest to god shit show this turned out to be. That's all that the Overboss could think about on their silent tram ride back to Nuka World, the PA system long since gutted for parts. They both knew something was wrong long before Nuka World even came into view; it was the smell that got to them first. A smell not worse than death, but real fucking close to it.

"Holy shit." The Overboss spoke up, his first words in hours. "Smells like a mass grave, what is that?" Chac stood and looked over the horizon, from the mountaintops they could see black smoke billowing from Nuka Town. Gage's heart couldn't have felt worse than it did already, joining his boss and seeing what looked like the fires of hell coming from the inner walls of their empire.

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me. Did the whole place burn down in the two days we where out?!" Gage looked over to his Overboss for some kind of reaction, but Chac's bitter coldness was telling; His Overboss was merely standing there with arms crossed, his knuckles white.

"Boss, Wh..Say somethin, man! What the fuck are you gunna do about this?!" The magnet tram couldn't move fast enough, Gage panicking on the inside thinking all hell had broken loose.

"I don't know." Chac only said, after way too long.

"Oh, Oh, you don't know." Gage spits, his hands still hurting from bashing his boss' face up the night before "You know what, I really don't think you give a shit. That's what I think."

"..Would you hate me if I said you're right?" Chac said, defeated. The smell was overwhelmingly nauseating, and the closer they drew to it, the more recognizable it became. Burning rubber, the smell of melting tires and cheap plastic.

"Oh, don't worry about that boss. You know I can't hate you any more even if I tried." Gage threatened him, finding himself being as close to fed up with this situation as he can get.

"Hm. That sucks." Chac dismissed, wondering if his partner really felt that way. As they came into docking with sooty air clogging their throats, Neither the boss or Gage had any time left to bicker. Before them was a monument of what looked like every bit of carcinogenic rubber that could have been scrapped all settled into a massive pyramid, it had been burning for the entire day, liquid rubber oozing onto the concrete and no one in sight. Well, no one alive, that is.

"This is bad." Gage covered his mouth with his shirt "These poor fuckers. Ain't no one but the Disciples coulda done something like this." Gage spoke to himself, his Overboss wrapping a red kerchief around his face and approaching the nearest corpse. Immolated beyond recognition... And it was one of their own, maybe an Operator. Who knows, he's dead now. There where burned crosses dotting the main circle,and if there were bodies on there at some point, they where long since burned to cinders.

"So Nisha is being honest to her word." Chac steps over the body, only to face another one on a charred cross. Such carnage, yet somehow Chac felt a sickening sort of happiness; good. It was coming down, just like he said it was.

"What'd she say to you?" Gage pulled out his gun, unsure.

"You'll find out. They built this fire to get my attention. Follow me."

"As if I got any other god damn choice." Gage spat, and held his breath as they made their way towards Fizztop mountain.

...

"I can't believe this actually happened." Gage collapsed onto his chair, coughing roughly. He couldn't remember a time he felt more anxious in his life, being stuck between Nisha, the Boss, and Savoy.

"What, you didn't think one of the gang leaders would eventually kill another one? Really, Gage?" Chac slammed the door to the outside of the patio, just to keep the smell out.

"You know this wouldn't be happening if you where tougher on them. Now we got a fuckin' war on our home turf and who knows how the hell we're going to be able to stop it."

Chac, his overboss, knows he had little to say to make Gage feel any shred of comfort. Anger welled inside of him, he hated being forced into this position and being blamed for the hubris of others. He pulled a glass off the countertop and poured himself a double of bourbon, inhaling it deeply to rid the smell of death from his memory.

"Yeah boss! Drink up, that'll solve aaaaall our problems!" Gage picks up an empty bottle and flings it towards his Overboss, lack of depth perception making him miss by a hair.

"Oh come on, Gage! Daisy got herself murdered because she was a wild animal and had to be put down. Nisha wants to blame William for killing her? Yeah, think again, she got herself euthanized for being a fucking thorn in everyone's side."

"It ain't supposed to play out this way. You get those two gangs back in line before it's US up there on the damn crosses!"

"What the fuck do you want me to do about it, Gage?" Chac yells after gulping down his drink, hissing "Do you not realize that this entire operation you cooked up is missing one important concept? The only thing that all the force and leadership in the world can't control?"

"What? WHAT." Gage spits, throwing his hands out in disgust.

"Human greed. The most powerful force in this fucked up world."

"..." Gage said nothing, narrowing his eye at his boss.

"Thats right. How long did you think this operation would go on before Raiders, the scum of the fucking earth, decide that they want it ALL and not just some? There's no overboss in the world you can find that'll fix that problem. It's innate, Gage. It's in their blood to destroy everything in their path. I'm surprised someone like you doesn't know that, and you're as scum as they get."

He has to kill him. That burning desire inside Porter flared up stronger than ever, he just wanted to do anything to stop his Overboss from saying this shit, no matter how true. There was still a way to fix this, god dammit, and even if it took the unthinkable to stop a war between them, he could still find a way to turn this around. Gage has done this before, he'd backstabbed his bosses in the past many times and this time...he had to do it. Just one more time. But..

"You are a god. damn. embarrassment." Gage states, he couldn't look at his stupid face anymore. Turning tail and heading towards the elevator, Gage was about to press the button before instinct told him otherwise- He knew Nisha hated him, more than anyone here. What was stopping her from killing him if he stepped foot outside? Her words from just before echoed in his memory... "From here there's no going back." Shit. Was this really death looking him in the face right now? he thought about what his Overboss said, this is a pipe dream. Gage switched off the breaker, rendering the elevator useless.

He turned around. Gage had to pretend the bastard wasn't in the same room with him, choosing to unload his gear in the small area he once called his own by the workbenches. Cursing to himself, a cigarette now hanging from his lips, the older Raider crams all of his stuff haphazardly into his personal containers. None of this shit seemed really worth it now, looking at it. It all reminded him of his soon to be ex-Overboss, the wild adventures they shared. The door slammed from across the room and Gage let out a shuddered breath to know that Chac was out of his sight. How was he gonna do this? His good eye passed over all of the loot that had been filling up their headquarters, every object held memories that Porter now vividly recalled.

The Thirst Zapper lay on a far table, he approached it and simply stared. It was empty now, but he could recall all the times his Boss would get him with it, a shot of water right at the back of the head. If he had the heart to smile he would have, thinking of when Chac wrestled him to the ground and stepped on him, squirting water on his crotch until it looked like he pissed himself. Gage got him good for that one, he remembered, slapped that shit so hard his handprint was on his face for half a week. All the playful memories that stemmed from a single little plastic toy just hurt now.

No. Gage huffed and grabbed the squirtgun, and tossed it under the couch just out of his sight. If he was gunna...do this.. he couldn't have some sappy shit like that making him think twice. But he couldn't escape it; everywhere he looked there was a memory. The still-functioning record player where his Overboss showed him all the old dance crazes from his time. The massive spools of tickets from all their time in the arcade, cheating. Gage's throat closed up and he ran towards the bathroom and slammed the door, sitting in absolute silence on the sink. He felt like he would die if he stayed in there any longer, but he also knew his death was waiting for him just outside the elevator doors. Trapped, Gage chose to hide in the bathroom with only the light of his cigarette to keep him company.

It felt like hours had gone by. The Overboss hadn't come in to check on Gage once, and honestly, why would he? Isn't what they had technically over? Gage pushed himself up to stand after fighting his urge to dissociate there forever, feeling his knees creak. He held his breath as he stepped out, it was dark. He could hear his pulse in his ears as he scoped the inside of the grill, his steps finding himself drawn towards the outside where he knew Chac would be.

He opened the door, and lo and behold there he was, standing at the lift and looking out onto their crumbling kingdom. The small firepit illuminated his back and only the fiercest planes of his face as Chac turned around to make eye contact with his partner.

"Wind changed directions, its taking the smoke out to the commonwealth now." He states, as calmly as one would the weather. "You hungry, or something?" He asks, Gage feeling himself clam up at his sincerity.

"Nah." He answered, receiving only a little nod from his boss. "What are you doing?"

"Come here, and watch." Chac calls him over, and the Raider hesitantly follows his order. They hadn't seen it before, but Gage's mouth dropped when he saw what happened just below. In the water there float a dozen, maybe more, freshly dead bodies, Operators and Disciples alike. Several members of the Pack seemed like they where fishing, casting out novelty fishing poles and reeling a corpse in by it's ankle and laughing joyfully. Around the pond there was an immeasurable amount of filth, moreso than ever before. From a far corner of the map they could hear the sound of hammers driving into nails, screaming. Raiders where being crucified by their own as they stood and watched...Gage felt sick to his stomach.

"What are you thinking right now?" Chac asked, breaking the silence between them with a grim question. Gage didn't answer him, it hurt Chac inside to see his partner look so disheartened. He knew Gage wasn't stupid, that he was just refusing to believe the end was near to try and turn his overboss around to stay. But here they where.. watching it happen.

Gage walked away from him, Chac's eyes on his secret lover as he walked, head down, towards the brambles of thick dead branches that lay on the far side of the patio. Gage's first love was perched way on the top branch, big fat claws dangling as it slept. The older man reached out and tapped his hand on the branch, his massive pet iguana nodding awake and crawling excitedly into his arms and across his shoulders, claws raking his bare skin to join the endless amount of tiny white scars already present.

"There's my baby girl." Chac could hear Gage mumbling, a sweet sort of baby talk no one could have expected from a Raider. "I know you missed yer daddy. You eat all your food, Lulu baby? Ya aint touched your molerat. I know, I don't like it either."

'It's a boy, you know.' Chac always would correct him, but he only sighed, watching his partner baby the dog-sized lizard that looked strangely like him. Gage sat by himself and shared his body heat with his pet, staring distantly and stroking the long frills on his neck. Porter only wanted a few moments of comfort, any sort of distraction to take his mind off of what he was ultimately set on doing tonight. The sun had already set, cool air was billowing in through the broken glass and sending a chill up the Overboss' spine.

"I'm gunna eat something and turn in for the night." Chac called over, watching the back of Gage's head, Lulubelle's face peeking at him from over his shoulder. His silence was expected- "You're welcome to stay in bed with me tonight, if you can even stand looking at me."

"..." Gage's heart sunk. "Don't expect any company." he blurts out, and held his breath as he could hear Chac exit and slam the door. Minutes felt like only seconds alone with his thoughts, Chac reemerging from inside and going to lay on the bed Colter once owned.

"Goodnight, Babe." Chac called over, his final act of aggression on Gage. How dare he, the older man thought, how dare you say something like that after spitting in the face of everything we built. With one utterance of that word it was the only thing that could have made Gage change his mind, when moments before he was wondering which type of bullet to plant in his skull. Now they became floundering thoughts of every moment he could possibly live in the future without him.

As if in a trance, Gage put his pet back on the branch, not forgetting to pet him as he absently made his way back inside. It was his hatred of Chac that drew him towards his collection of guns, a single eye scanning for what would be his best choice. Shaking hands reached out and felt the metal edges of his silenced pistol, checking the clip...9 millimeters, 4 bullets. He felt sick at the idea of such a small piece of metal being the thing to take down such an unstoppable man. But it would do, right? He killed Colter with a water gun, Gage assumed that he simply was a cheapskate when it came to stabbing his friends in the back.

Gage sat down at his old bed, small plumes of dust rising from months of vacancy. His throat burned as he studied every inch of his weapon, aiming it out and holding it to the braincase of a skull that decorated his bedside. An easy, clean shot right in the temple; something he'd done too many times to count. He could see the barrel of his gun shaking like mad at the idea of his Overboss' brains spattering the bed they shared. But he needed to do this.

He waited, utterly devoid of feeling as the minutes ticked by to a full hour. Chac always slept so soundly, he should have no trouble... Gage stood, purpose powering each step out the door. The gun was hidden behind his back, each step up the rickety stairs that led to the foot of the bed was as loud as gunfire in his mind..

There he lay. He did really look helpless when he was asleep, something Gage always thought was..well, He didn't know how to put it. Precious? Gage bit his lip, eyes locked on his boss' face.

"Fuckin scumbag" he mouthed, silently. Gage felt like the man had manipulated him this entire time, filled his head with all kinds of ideas, his heart with.. No. Gage sat down quietly on the safe next to his sleeping boss, observing his rising chest, the gentle part of his lips. The feeling that consumed Gage just then was something he'd never felt before, all encompassing sorrow, a crippling panic that soaked into his very bones and made them weak.

"Make it back to Nuka World soon, boss. It needs you, and well, I need you."

"I'd follow you to the ends of the earth, if you asked me."

"Don't make me say it. You know how I feel about you."

All his own words, now all echoing inside his head. Sure he was angry, heartbroken..but tomorrow how would he feel? To not have this crazy man in his life? Gage extended his hand and held the barrel of the gun to Chac's temple. His fingers where numb, his lips cold, Oh my fucking god this kind of feeling was completely new and terrifying. He tried to think of how angry he was and..

It didn't work. Gage's finger lifted off the trigger, and he placed the gun silently on the ground. His insides roiled as he desperately wrapped his head tightly inside his arms, rocking back and forth as he tried to fight it off. He thought about what Chac said, about Freedom. All it really is, is nothing left to lose. Porter bit back the urge to vomit his guts out at the idea of losing him; that wasn't freedom. That was hell. His stomach audibly lurched, the man doubling over in his seat and tugging at his curly hair.It hurt so bad; In a panic to make it stop, he picked up the gun and cocked it, the cold metal briefly touching Chac's temple. Try again.

Just do it. Do it.

A soft noise passed from Chac's parted lips. It was such a beautiful sound. Gage panicked and stood, racing to the balcony overlooking the lake- he cried out as he flung his gun with all of his might into the distance. He lost sight of it until with a quiet pop!The gun discharged the bullet meant for Chac clean into the air, a small flash of light finalizing it all. Gage steadied himself on the wooden planks, gasping hard for air; he looked behind him and saw the man he loved resting undisturbed.

Shit, what was he thinking? Gage threw himself up the stairs and to Chac's bedside, taking the man's face into his shaking hands. Porter leaned down and planted a kiss on his forehead, followed by frantic kisses that peppered his Bosses' entire face, ending at his lips. The man stirred, but only for a moment, the smell of his liquor dinner thick on his breath.

"I'm sorry," Gage croaked, his weathered hands resting on Chac's chest as he stared him down. He wanted to cry like a fucking pussy, his chest making each breath a trembling mess. He'd never felt anything like this in his entire life.. by far. Heh, just another to add to the list of new experiences this crazy son of a bitch brought into his life.

Crawling away from the bed, Gage stumbles past the balcony, overlooking the park illuminated for the shit hole it is. Porter looked over it all, and visions came into his mind of Nuka World ablaze, their bodies wasting away on the cross. He understood now what the Overboss meant, the dream is dead...it was doomed from the start. Gage shuddered, catching his breath just long enough to make it back inside to the silence of his old room. All of the possessions they'd accumulated meant nothing to him now, just stupid little things that where nothing more than weights keeping him down. He didn't give them more than a moment's thought before he made it to the kitchen to give himself a hefty shot of Chac's favorite poison. He hated the taste, it burned all the way down but it gave him what he needed; something to kill off the sobs that wanted to break free from his throat.

There was no way he could sleep alone. Gage needed to see him, just to be near the bastard, and he couldn't make it to the bed quick enough. He threw off his battered shirt, climbing in and muscling himself up with everything he was right against his boss. He draped a cool arm over his Boss' chest, burying his flat nose hard into Chac's neck and taking a deep breath of his musky smell.

"Mmhh?" His boss moaned, eyes peeking open and surprised to see Gage glued so tightly to him. "Hey, cowboy." Chac's fingers loop around Gage's shoulder and pull him in, half-awake and unaware of the danger he'd been in.

"...Hey, boss." Gage whispers. "I'm real sorry." For more than you can ever imagine.

"S'arright. We Figure it out tomorrow."

Gage was overjoyed then, even without Nuka World, no matter where they end up, at least they'd have a tomorrow.

"...Yeah. Tomorrow."

#M!SS/Porter Gage #Porter Gage #Male Sole Survivor #my gay art #FO4 Fanfiction

13 notes · View notes

legrandepapillon · 6 years

Text

Chastity (washette) [[NSFW]]

Summary: Whenever Prince Gilbert de Lafayette needs something, he can always his his Knight and personal guard, Sir George Washington, to help him. Though, this time might be a little different. Prompt: “I’ve heard the good news. Congratulations, your Highness.” “What are you talking about? What good news?” “Well, your engagement, of course.” & “I’m still a virgin.” Author’s Notes: more,,,, washette,,,,,,,, smut,, why am i like this

Sir George Washington watches Prince Gilbert as he stares out over the valley, arms resting on the balcony attached to his bedroom. The young Prince looks at peace in these moments, out of the stuffy Military uniform he was forced to wear to events and wearing nothing but a billowy blue tunic and white trousers—he’s even abandoned his shoes. His dark curls blow in the wind of the balcony, released from the perfect ponytail that he sported outside the confines of his privacy and falling down to his shoulders. Despite how uncouth and inappropriate it is for the Prince to be seen in such a state of undress, the older Knight can’t help himself but to stare—admiring the tranquil and peace that has completely enveloped his young charge’s energy.

When the Knight remembers the news he’s come to deliver, a sickness twists in his stomach. He knows that this level of calm, confident serenity would probably never posses the young Prince ever again—especially considering that all of these attributes came from Gilbert’s independence. Something that was about to be viciously snatched away before the eighteen-year-old could even experience it. Clearing his throat, Sir Washington knocks on the doorway to the boudoir, sharply ending the few shared moments of quiet that had blanketed the room. Bending at the waist to give the royalty his proper respects, he gently says, "Your Highness."

"George, how lovely it is for you to visit," Prince Gilbert says, surprise and joy in his voice. There’s a bright smile on his lips as he turns his back to the balcony to take in the frame of his personal guard. Gil never enjoyed using their official title that was bestowed upon him with the Knighthood, and didn’t like for George to use his. The prince insisted that they were far closer than some meaningless rank titles.

George hates that the sound of his name on his lips and that beautiful, lazy smile makes his heart flutter. It doesn’t help that the glow from the backdrop of sunset behind him makes him look almost ethereal. Heavenly. The knot in his stomach sinks a bit more. "Please, call me Gil. Look at the beautiful sunset. Come join me, yes?"

Figuring he could humor the young Prince for just a bit longer, he concedes—crossing the space between them to join Gilbert at the balcony. The boy stands on the tips of his toes to plant a kiss on the Knight’s cheek, flushing Washington’s face. Again, his heart flutters. And again, his stomach twists and sinks as he realizes that this joy would soon be cut short "It is a lovely sunset. Beautiful,” Washington admits, though his eyes aren’t on the sky. They’re on Gilbert’s, those glistening hazel ones that looked at him with such love and admiration. It makes him feel not only guilty for withholding this truth from him, but also anger at the way things were set up. He was the Prince of this Kingdom, and because he was such, this shouldn’t have been happening. However, he’d had the misfortune of having an elder brother, and this brother would be the one to rightfully ascend to the throne after their father’s recent death. Because of this, Lafayette was being forced to marry off into another Kingdom—not only to form an alliance with a neighboring Kingdom, but so he wouldn’t be a threat to his brother’s rule. There had been too many instances where younger brothers have overthrown their elder brother’s throne and taken it for themselves, often times causing factions to form and wars to wage. The regency that was in place until Thomas’ coronation had decided that they could not risk waiting until Gilbert himself found his own suitor, they were forcing him to wed immediately. None of this was the worst part. No, the worst part was who he was being married off too. King George III, a King to a neighboring rival kingdom. He was—in short—an annoying whiny man who was known to abuse, berate and degrade most of his spouses that had come before Gilbert. After the sudden, tragic death of his first wife, King George had turned into an absolute tyrant of a man to the people his Court had tried to replace the woman with. If any of his husbands or wives said anything about the abuse—which, was well known throughout his Kingdom despite his efforts—he would immediately have them beheaded on charges of treason and blasphemy. He too had no children, and was newly unmarried. He proposed Gilbert’s hand in marriage—George knew it was because Gil was young, and pure, and meek in public eye—and the council had already accepted and begun to plan the wedding. And they sent Sir Washington to break the awful news. "George? Is there something wrong?" he asks, turning with genuine concern to his Knight. Washington swallows thickly, realizing that he’d been staring at the Prince for several long minutes. George wishes he could wed him instead, take him away from that slimy bastard—become the cliche ‘Knight in Shining Armor’ to save his princess. Or rather, prince.

But alas, Knights were forbidden from wedding royalty. Unless they were a Princess, in that case they had all the right to attempt her hand. But Princes, Princexs and Kings were off limits. It had been King Louis XIV’s—Gilbert and Thomas’ father and the former King—law. After of course, his eldest son had been murdered by a rogue Knight that had fallen in love with him. The Knight had acted out in a fit of rage after he’d learned of the Prince’s marriage to a peasant woman.

He had unknowingly cursed his fellow soldier, Sir Washington. "Gil—your Highness," he corrects himself quickly, takes a shaky breath. Now that Gilbert was engaged, he had to maintain a new level of professionalism. Hopefully, he would be allowed to follow the young Prince to his new Kingdom and remain a personal guard. But if he wasn’t, he needed to break the comfortable camaraderie the two of them shared. "I’ve heard the good news. Congratulations, your Highness." "What are you talking about? What good news?" he asks, head cocked and frown forming on his face. The Knight winces, almost backs out of telling him—can’t bear to see the look of anguish that would inevitably grace their gorgeous features. But then he realizes he couldn’t let the man he’d grown to love—though he loathe to admit the fact—walk into this blindsided.

"Well, your engagement of course. To King George III, you know him," then, in a lower voice. "The council already decided it, Gil. I'm sorry, your Highness."

There is a blanket of silence that settles over the two of them as George watches the young Prince process the information. Several different emotions flash over his face—first confusion, then shock, then anger followed by withering sadness. Another cringe from the Knight, and he reaches out to comfort the Prince by placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. This seems to snap Gilbert out of his catatonic shock, and his eyes quickly begin to water.

"No, I can’t be engaged… I-I’m courting you!" he says, eyes widened and voice a harsh, barely audible whisper. George quickly looks around the boudoir, noting the open door. He goes to close it before returning to his spot with the Prince, worry etched into his features. Gilbert really had to stop going around saying those types of things. Prince or not, they'd have his head in milliseconds. Knights and male Royalty were forbidden, he knew this. "How do they get to decide who I marry?!"

"I’m terribly sorry, Gil. I’m so, so, so, sorry," he murmurs in response. George didn’t think he could express his grief and guilt enough—for not stepping in, not saying anything in the teenager’s defense. He tries to comfort the Prince by bringing him close and holding him against his chest. He was without his armor for now—as he was off duty until the Prince started his day—, so Gil could feel the hard muscles beneath. It comforted him, knowing that if need be Washington could—and would—protect him. "The King is on his way to our kingdom as we speak. It is estimated that he will be here in time for your brother’s coronation."

"George," he whines, tugging at the bottom of his shirt. There’s a look of horror and realization on his face now, and the Knight dreads to think of what could possibly be more horrific than meeting his future husband in less than a week. “George, I can’t marry that man! We will have to consummate! I… I’m still a virgin! I refuse to lose my chastity to that barbarian!”

This thought makes Sir Washington’s stomach turn with sickness and disgust. The idea of the old, grimy man taking the sweet, beautiful young Prince’s virginity makes him recoil. George knew that King George would not appreciate Gilbert as he should be. He would not be slow, he would not lay worship upon the Prince’s body. There would be no passion to the consummation, no love.

And Gilbert deserved all of that and more.

Rage filling his entire being at the thought of Prince Gilbert being roughly abused and handled by the lascivious monarch, at the mental image of the young boy being shoved down onto a bed and simply taken—like a piece of meat, like something that was not meant to be cherished. His hold on the boy tightens, protectiveness pulsing throughout his every vein.

“I don’t know what else to do, Gil,” he whispers, hopelessness creeping into the edges of his voice. He rests his chin against the top of the Prince’s head, rubs soothing circles into his back. This is to not only hopefully soothe and calm the near-hysterical Prince, but himself. “Thomas did everything he could to stop this, but there’s nothing he can do. His regency still remains in full power. And I… I am but a Knight. I hold no power over your Court.”

“No,” Gilbert agrees, and there’s a thoughtfulness in his voice. “You’re right. Neither of us hold any power over the Royal Court. However, I do hold power over one thing. There is one thing that the King, my brother, and the regency cannot take from me. And that is the power to choose.”

“To… to choose, your Highness?” Washington asks, suddenly very confused. Did Gilbert not hear him say that he had no choice in marrying King George, that he would be forced to do it anyways? What ‘choice’ could he possibly be thinking of?

And that’s when Gilbert pulls away, and looks up at his protector through tear-dropped eyelashes. His eyes are still brimming with little droplets, and his cheeks are tracked with them—but to George, he looks just as beautiful as ever. In fact, he is tragically so. Like a fine painting, face forever captured in sorrow.

It dawns on him as Gilbert’s hand slides over his chest, fingertips coming up to ghost lightly over his collarbone. He knew what the young Prince wanted from him, though he was unsure of whether or not he was willing to indulge. George was aware that if he didn’t do this, the Prince’s new betrothed certainly would—and the man wouldn’t be nearly as appreciative of the moment.

“Washington, you have to save me,” he pleads, voice innocent and small. There’s desperation in his eyes as he fidgets with George’s tunic again—this time, with a purpose in mind. “Save me from that evil man.”

He knows what must be done. His job is to protect Gilbert, from any and all danger. And his job would be what he would do. Wordlessly, George removes his shirt and lifts the smaller of the two so that his legs wrap around his waist, before walking him back into his bedroom. Gilbert falls on the bed, and Washington crawls on top of him, kissing the corner of his mouth. He bites down on his shoulder to keep him quiet because to be honest, he couldn't actually save him. And that thought burned his insides like iron on fire so he simply makes him stop talking. That's what he was always good for, anyways.

He licks his lips and tries to control the excitement growing in his pants—damn this boy for that—as Gil gives him that pitying look. George rests his hands on the younger man's waist, and foul thoughts fill his mind of what the Prince would look like underneath him without those dreadful threads. "Your Highness," he remembers suddenly that this is wrong, and unprofessional. This child was under his charge, he was supposed to protect him. He couldn’t be fantasizing about things he couldn’t have. Why is that he remembered these important things much too late? "You don't want this, sir. Trust me." "Enough of the formalities, George, and that’s an order! My god, I know you're attracted to me," Gilbert huffs in frustration, wiggling beneath him. He pushes the other man up and sits on the edge of his bed with a pout that could move mountains. His arms cross over his chest, and for some reason, he looks oddly adorable. If it weren't for the heavy topic at hand they were discussing, he would have had to resist the urge to squish his cheeks. Now he's resisting the urge to fuck him senseless on those soft, pristine sheets. "So what're you waiting for? Just… let’s get it over with already. I don’t want my first time to be with someone I don’t love. Please." "No," Washington insists, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. He needs to keep his head on straight, not let his lust get the better of him. "You're eighteen. I'm forty-one. You're still a baby, Gilbert. A little boy. Do you realize how uncouth and inappropriate this is?" "It's inappropriate that I’m going to be forced into an awful betrothal with a man that I hate, too. But no one's attempting to stop that," he replies coolly. "As for being a little boy, I shed that title when I became the General of my father’s army and saw the atrocities of war. I haven't been a 'baby' since I was thirteen. So please, George. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do this for me." "You're an awful flirt," Washington says, before yielding and closing the space between them again—this time to sit on the bed beside him. He stares at him for a moment—at his curly dark hair, his scared yet explosive hazel eyes. Gilbert is bloody beautiful and it's not okay for him to think that. "This is irreversible. Once you lose your purity, you can’t decide that you’ve made the wrong decision and get it back. Are you sure about this?"

He can’t be sure as to why he’s doing this. There are a million and one reasons why he shouldn’t, and yet, he still considers it. It could come down to the fact that Gilbert is young, and vulnerable, and Washington doesn’t want anyone taking advantage of him. Or, maybe he’s doing this because he’d do anything this man asked of him… he’d die for him, if asked to lay down his life.

But most of all, George thinks it’s because he’s hopelessly in love with his charge.

“I’m sure, George. I’ve never been so sure of anything else in my life.”

Washington gives a final deep breath, steeling his resolve, before dropping his lips down onto the young Prince’s. He now notices the fact that Gilbert tastes surprisingly sweet—like sugar and fresh fruit. It’s obvious that he’s never been kissed before because their teeth bump awkwardly against each other until Gil finally relaxes into the kiss, letting George take control.

The Prince shudders when Washington’s tongue slides over his bottom lip in a plea for entrance, relinquishing his mouth for the other man to explore. It’s a wonder—how good his mouth felt on only his lips. Imagine the wonders it would cause in place where he himself had never dared to venture.

Somehow, the two of them fall back onto the bed again—Gilbert with his head in the pillow, George on top of him. Despite him telling his body not to be so lewd, Gil’s hips move upwards—grinding his groin against George’s lower stomach. The older man chuckles at the action, slides his cold fingers beneath the cloth of his lover’s tunic to tweak and tease one of his hardening nipples. This elicits a hiss of both pain and pleasure that comes from somewhere between his teeth, and Gil can feel Washington hardening against his thigh. When Gilbert had asked his guardian to take his virginity, and he expected the type of lovemaking he'd accidentally seen traded between Thomas and his fiancee, Angelica. Kisses like small pecks or chaste lip brushes, hands shy and explorative but comfortable. He’d only walked in on the two of them twice—the first time, curiosity got the best of him and he watched before alerting them of his presence—but neither of those times had prepared him for anything like this.

This is much more heated and passionate, a kiss that only two lovers madly in love would share. It's intoxicating—Washington’s tongue is exploring everywhere in his mouth, and again it takes Gil a long moment to get over his shock and react. However, once he does, things get far more messy. His tongue pushes back against George’s, battling for dominance now that he’s been shown how to kiss. And he becomes almost dizzy with how much he realizes he loves this man. Unfortunately, Gilbert pulls away first. He's gulping breaths of air and staring at Washington like he had just told him all the secrets of the world. How could something forbidden and wrong feel so… right. He doesn't know what's in Hell—which is where his father said boys who have sex out of wedlock go—, but if whatever’s there is as electrifying as this, he’d go without a moments hesitation. He never wants this to end.

And George doesn't let it end, nibbling on his bottom lip and peeking up at him with knife-edge eyes. Washington worries the soft flesh between his teeth, before pulling away sharply and lifting Gilbert’s tunic over his head. He does the same with his undershirt, tossing both articles of fabric to the floor hurriedly before lowering his mouth onto the younger man’s nipple.

A loud gasp escapes Lafayette’s now swollen and bruised lips as the feeling of his warm mouth over his nipples sends an electric shock through his body. His spine tingles with sensation at the feeling of him pulling one of his hardened nipples between his teeth gently—not hard enough to hurt him, but rough enough to bruise and swell them. "George," he sighs, his legs wrapping around his lower back in blindness, pulling him against his body. Gilbert can feel the thick bulge poking out of his trousers and he swallows past his desire. That would come soon, he promises himself. Live for the now. "More." "So eager, your Highness," he says, his voice rustic and heavy with need. While his mouth works on teasing his chest, his hands slide over Gil’s flat stomach and down to his pelvic area—all while he pushes himself from in between his legs and readjusts to the side of them. Teasingly, both hands push the young prince’s pants and undergarments down, tossing them to the foot of the bed lazily. Anticipation knots in and sits beside the lust in Lafayette’s stomach. He knows what's coming—the blasé sex education classes as well as his brother had spoken of it a million and one times. Washington’s skilled fingers dance over Laf’s pelvic bone, grazing over the soft flesh between his thighs before fluttering back to splay against his stomach. Gil pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he parts his legs further apart. Teasingly, one of Washington’s fingers sneaks down to his entrance and a shiver crawls it's way down his lover’s spine. Washington reaches over into the chest beside the bed. He is surprised when he finds the bottle of oil that he thought he wouldn’t have, but doesn’t let that surprise keep his lover waiting. After putting some on his hands and soaking two of his fingers in it, he looks back up to his lover.

“This might hurt, just a little. If it’s too much for you, just say stop. Alright?” Lafayette nods obediently, and is rewarded with a gentle kiss on the lips. Washington uses this kiss to distract the Prince as he presses gently with his finger and pushes past his entrance, into the soft warmth inside.

Gilbert cries out in nothing but complete ecstasy, the pain fueling him as he pushes his hips against his hand in a plea for more friction. George obeys, plunging one finger inside of him and curling it in, causing him to moan his name and a victorious smirk to dance across Washington’s lips.

George removes his lips from Lafayette’s nipple—giving a final lick that has him shaking again—and presses a small kiss to the corner of his mouth before adding another finger. The Prince whimpers, back arching as his lover pumps and stretches his hole. He hadn’t expected for this to feel so good, so exhilarating.

Looking up to check on Laf, Washington pauses his finger movement and raises an inquisitive eyebrow—making sure that he was alright, that he wasn’t in too much pain. Gil doesn't know how he's supposed to speak while his finger is still working wonders on him that would make a blind man be able to see again, so he nods his head instead.

Washington finger-fucks the eighteen-year-old until, apparently, he is satisfied with how well stretched he has made the boy. Either that, or he’s unable to wait any longer. Sliding his fingers out of Lafayette’s hole with a lewd pop!, the Knight reaches for the oil again. This time, however, he kicks out of his own pants and undergarments lathers up his member with it. Gil watches with wide, lustful eyes—taking in the girth and length of his Knight’s cock. He wonders what that’ll feel like, and if it’ll hurt. Then, once those thoughts pass, he wonders how he’d known Washington as his personal guard since joining the military and yet, had never seen him in this state before.

Once Washington has lathered his member in the oil, he sets the bottle aside and returns to his position over Lafayette—his legs between theirs, one of his arms supporting his weight while the other holds himself in his hand to guide him into Gil’s hole.

He says nothing, but kisses the spot just under Lafayette’s ear. The kiss sends another shiver down Gilbert’s spine and he wonders just when the hell did ears becomes so sexy? Maybe they were never sexy, and maybe it's just the fact that it’s George. But that's a dangerous thought—a thought that is pushed to the back of his mind.

Washington carefully pushes in, stretching Gil to the point where it sends pain shooting through his body. The older man hits a spot inside of him as he bottoms out that has his eyes rolling back in his head. A loud moan of his name escapes from Lafayette’s throat, a moan George uses his mouth to swallow.

George relaxes a little bit as he settles over his lover, waiting for Lafayette to stop writhing and his legs to stop quivering. Laf’s hands grip his guardian’s back, nails digging into the tanned skin there. It admittedly does hurt, but the pain is mixed with an intoxicating sense of being stretched and the feel of the tip of George’s cock resting right over his prostate. Had he known that sex with his trusted General would feel this good, he would’ve seduced the older man much sooner than this.

Its almost tragically beautiful—how he’s introduced to the rushing, overwhelming feeling of love and satisfaction when the Knight is buried inside him… only to have it taken away within the week.

His thoughts are quite literally fucked out of him as Washington pulls out before plunging inside of him and hitting that spot again. Suddenly he's trembling again, and shaking, and it feels like a thousand fireworks are dancing across his body. George’s eyes find his face—his eyes scrunched closed, his mouth open in a soundless shout, a whole new look of serenity that he'd never seen on him before—and he almost sighs in contentment. Lafayette is beautiful and he’s actually feeling happy that he'd come to him instead of waiting to be raped by King George. He would worry about the dangers of that thought later.

Right now, he needs to light dynamite behind his eyelids and make him see into another dimension. Right now, his worries mainly consist of Gilbert and his pleasure. Washington’s mouth finds Lafayette’s again and he kisses him again—gentler this time, something sweet and passionate and… loving. Something that he should not be doing—, before drawing his lips down the side of his neck and down to his collarbone. He trails a path of kisses over his clavicle, nibbles at the skin there until the flesh begins to redden. One of his hands grips Lafayette’s thigh, squeezing the skin there as he thrusts slowly into his ass while the other wraps around his cock—pumping him to aide in completion.

"You’re so tight for me, Gil," he groans into the flesh of Lafayette’s shoulder, caressing his outer thigh. Lafayette’s cheeks begin to burn a fiery red and he grins at the prudishness—even though he was underneath his guardian getting fucked into oblivion, he still managed to maintain a sense of propriety. How cute.

“George,” Lafayette moans, voice accompanied by a tremor. They’re moving slow and sweet together—George’s mouth switching between creating bruises on Lafayette’s skin and making out with him lazily as his hips rock back and forth in a steady, tender rhythm. “George, I love you.”

Washington freezes, for just a moment, and takes in his expression. The words seem to simultaneously freeze and melt the Knight’s heart, as he is made aware of two guaranteed facts. One, he loves them, too. With every bone, every drop of blood, every cell in his body. He adores them endlessly. He had realized this long ago, but had buried the emotions within himself. Reminding himself that Gilbert was a child, and he was supposed to be protecting him not romancing him. But these few moments had broken the dam, sending all those feelings of love and admiration back.

Washington knew what he felt was real, because he had made love to a hundred different women, but somehow this is different and new—somehow it's like his first time all over again.

Two, there was a possibility he would never see them again after the following week. In several days, the love of his life would be shipped off, and there was no guarantee that he would be allowed to follow his charge to his new home.

These few, precious moments were all they had.

He decides not to remind them of these things. For, since these moments were all they had, he didn’t want Gilbert to remember him as being despondent. Using the hand that was on their thigh, Washington brings it up and lightly caresses the side of his face. His lover leans into the touch, eyes fluttering open and a content smile forming on his lips.

“I love you, too, Gil. More than you will ever know.”

“Make love to me, George,” Lafayette says in response, eyes half-lidded. George is more than happy to obey the command, resuming his steady tempo and bottoming out with each thrust. He’s rewarded with moans of pleasure emanating from the man he loves, every stroke increasing his cries in volume. It's euphoria for the young Prince—Gilbert’s body is prickling with a sensation he's never experienced before, something he's almost sure he'll never experience again. George’s mouth is working wonders as he switches between lazily making out with him and creating new bruises on his flesh. Washington gently squeezes the fist he has around Gil’s cock, attempting to enhance the experience just a little bit more. He strokes the length of his lover, moving his thumb over the slit in the head every time his hand comes up—teasing the head and using the sticky precum as a sort of lube. Above him, Gilbert places the edge of his pillows in his mouth to muffle the loud shout that burns it's way through his throat. Something sparked with an impatient tick blooms in his lower belly at George’s work, which he voices aloud.

"George," he whines, nails digging into his as he realizes what the feeling is. Washington doesn't stop though—there's no way in hell he’s not gonna ride Lafayette through his first orgasm, and their first together. "George."

Gilbert tries to pull his hand away, to spare him, but one final thrust against his prostate sends his eyes rolling into the back of his head. It burns like spirits down a cold throat—heating up his entire body. Firecrackers burst on his skin, exploding and illuminating his body with iridescence. George lights him on fire, sending this strange tingling sensation up and down his spine, making him feel alive like for the very first time in his life. Lafayette’s entire body crackles, his pupils dilate until his irises are no longer visible, and Washington’s name continues to skitter and tumble from his throat like a prayer to some sort of God. Light fills his entire being—for a moment, he's reaching towards the moon and falling upon the stars.

It should be a crime to be in so much bliss.

When he comes down from his high, tears are streaming down his cheeks and Washington’s hand is covering his mouth. Lafayette glances at him—the effects of his first orgasm fading but never quite leaving—and realizes that he, too, had an orgasm. George is shuddering himself, groaning into the sweaty skin of Gilbert’s shoulder.

“Shh, Gil, it’s alright. I have you, my love, I have you," he whispers hoarsely, brushing back his sweaty hair and holding his shaking body. "There you go, let it out…”

Once the last few shudders have gone through his body, and he’s been thoroughly exhausted, Washington removes his hand from his mouth to plant a chaste peck on his lips. Gilbert is surprised at how tired he suddenly feels, how exhausted. The effects of his climax are almost immediate, and as soon as George rolls off of him, he pulls his covers up and snuggles into the Knight.

“Get some rest, baby,” Washington murmurs, running his fingers through Gilbert’s hair to soothe him. The Prince yawns, shifting so that he’s as close to George as possible. Using his other arm, the older man wraps it around his Prince—his Prince, how adorable—before pecking a kiss on his temple. “Don’t worry. I love you.”

Lafayette doesn’t respond, as he’s already fast asleep.

Author’s Notes: so i’m writing a lot of smut bc a) i need practice and b) its the only thing i’ve really had muse to write lately. Probably like one more chapter of this, and then I promise i’ll go back to writing SFW works. hope you enjoyed!

5 notes · View notes

supergirlimaginesfic-blog · 7 years

Text

Lena Luthor x reader (Couldn’t stand a chance; not against you)

Request: Can you do a lena x reader : where the reader doesnt think they have a chance with lena because they think that she has feelings for kara but she likes the reader instead

a/n: so, I guess it’s pretty obvious that I’ve added another component of media to complement the reading experience, and here’s my first ever go at it!!! There’s only so many of the same gifs I can use for these posts tbh, LOL. I am seriously having the time of my life though... It’s so much easier writing this particular style of fan fic and being able to envision so many different lives this way - there’s really so much freedom and I am absolutely loving every moment of it. Thank you all for sticking around and thanks to those who dropped by and read something I’ve written. I truly appreciate every last one of ya :D

this was a really fun one but also a bit challenging. I feel like I’ve taken a bit of a different direction than what I’m usually predisposed to and totally cranked up all the angst I could muster for this... Who knows why I was in such a mood to be an angst monster. I guess I figured this one in particular deserved it. I think I can happily say I’m pretty proud of this one!!

- - - - -

If anyone were to ask you to describe your life, you would perhaps say it’s remained rather happily uncomplicated thus far, and you’d coasted for the better part of the two decades of your happy-go-lucky life. You left high school and the rest of your worries behind, ready for the next chapter in your life.

You messed around a little bit before eventually buckling down to attend a small community college and chase your diploma - much to your pleasant surprise, you somehow managed to graduate on the dean’s list.

Now, you find yourself starting as a tattoo apprentice, something you absolutely did not go to school for but stumbled upon in a serendipitous stroke of events. Naturally, you said yes to the opportunity when it presented itself.

You’ve come to understand that in life, things more often than not have a long-winded way to go about being; things that are meant to be come to fruition right as you’re ready, and yet they are realized long after you can be aware of what’s happened. Before you know it, you’re changed - and that is the truth of the very reactionary nature of the privilege that is to exist.

As it was, you’re just like anyone else, trying to find the precarious balance of standing out of the way of things you can’t fight with, and taking action for the things you so badly wanted and to fight for them.

Still, you would admit you were a lover more than a fighter - and still you think that’s the shittiest cliche known to mankind. You’ve come to learn that the two aren’t mutually exclusive - you often in fact found yourself dancing on the precipice of both realities at once.

So how on earth possibly were you to know if you would fight for what you love, or love what you want to fight for, or whatever else tired trope have you? You certainly did not know.

It’s a conundrum indeed to be a respectful person, and even more so a challenge to respect yourself enough and to believe you deserve certain guarantees of happiness, just like anyone else.

If you were confronted with the choice of getting what you so deeply wanted in your heart, but doing so would be at the cost of irreparably hurting the one you desired at all, what would you even choose?

You find yourself contemplating such tenets as they applied to your life inside a relatively swanky cafe, staring blankly at the cup in your hand as if it had all the answers to your questions, which frankly is quite a lot to ask of your coffee.

“(Y/N)?” a voice calls out to pull you from the void, and you come back feeling as if you’d just spent some time underwater.

The rush of noise fills your ears as you look up at your coffee drinking and philosophizing companion, Lena Luthor. She’s the image of concern and curiosity as she coaxes you tentatively.

“Are you alright, darling?”

Whatever look of vaguely pained contemplation you have on your face dissipates immediately at the sight of her. Despite yourself, the smile comes so easily to you and that in itself should set the alarms in your head right off.

You think you might stare a little bit too long at her, her pink glossed lips just short of a slight frown, and you think about how much you want to wipe the sadness away from her lips when you realize that simply answering her would suffice.

However, the simple and honest truth was that Lena rendered you profoundly useless most times, and it took admittedly a lot to leave you that certain type of incoherent - this alone is a testament enough to the sheer power one Lena Luthor had over your entire being.

“Yeah- sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Anything pressing that you’d benefit from talking about? It seemed you were rather taken by it.”

Your face softens at her and you feel yourself instantly relax.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry, I zoned out, I hope it wasn’t anything too important that I just clocked out of,” you grimace at your apparent disregard of your conversation with Lena.

She observes you wordlessly and looks as if she’s about to say something, but at the last moment, she decides against it and just smiles, a reflection of your own fondness.

“There’s no need to apologize, I know how busy you are at the shop. How’s the tattooing going?”

You sit up in excitement. “It’s so great! Everything’s really coming together. I’m not actually tattooing yet, I’m practicing on fake skin for a while but a lot of the sketches I have up on instagram are getting some attention. I think when I do eventually start working on people, I’ll have my work cut out for me.”

She smiles at you and her eyes light up, “I’m so proud of you, I know how much you’ve really fallen in love with the art. You were so worried in the beginning; I’m really happy to see you didn’t let your fear take control of you.”

You remember it all too well. Lena was there from the very start, and you in fact are indebted to her in a very holistic way for convincing you to test the waters. She was such a vital part in helping you push your boundaries, and you know that’s another flag to throw up in the grand scheme of all the ways in which Lena made you a better person.

“Yeah, well, I only ever take advice from people smarter than me,” you give her a sly grin and laugh when she rolls her eyes.

“It doesn’t take a genius to see you have talent, but you flatter me.”

“It certainly helps when you have one in your corner though.”

She gives you another one of her fond smiles, one that always supplies just that little bit more of belief that maybe, just maybe, you’re wrong about all this. You refuse to think much about it though - it’s the only way you’ve survived all this time.

“You know I will always be in your corner,” she says. “I don’t think I could stop rooting for you even if I wanted to.”

“Have you even tried?” you ask, raising an eyebrow in question.

You were just joking, but you can’t help but feel the immediate weight of the implications that came with your question and you can’t take it back now - not when you’ve already thrown it out there.

You can only hope the answer doesn’t disappoint you.

Lena’s eyes flutter as she blinks, her eyes move downward when she reaches to take a drink from her cup. She waits another moment before she answers.

“I don’t think I’ve any reason to do that,” she says quietly. “Unless you want me to?"

A smug smile comes back to her lips as she throws out a challenge of her own.

You breathe just a bit deeper and lean imperceptibly closer across the table. Your eyes trail down to Lena’s lips and you let a small smile form on your lips.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to... a smart woman like you ought to know that.”

You hear her sharp intake of breath and glance up to see her eyes fixed on your lips. She peels her eyes away just an instant later and meets your gaze.

She hums in consideration before she answers you, “why do I have the notion that you’re giving me some sort of permission?”

You can’t help but smirk; this delicately tense exchange is so natural with you two and you’re loath to admit you live for the slight thrill it gives you.

At this point, however, you’ll take anything you can get that Lena gives you - you know that could very well be all she is able to offer you.

“It’s your world, Lena. We’re merely rocks just orbiting around you.”

You lean back in your chair and throw your arm easily over the back, still reeling at the charged conversation that is such a common theme with you and Lena.

There’s a flash of the same look in her eyes, but you dismiss it immediately as a product of your wishful thinking - you know better than to let yourself get too hopeful, especially now.

Lena gives you another soft smile, shaking her head as she leans back in her seat and crosses her legs.

Just then, you’re reminded of the reality you’re currently living in and the dull ache that usually sits neatly in your chest becomes just that much sharper.

Perhaps in another life, you could sit here and not have to pretend. Perhaps in that life, you could reach your hand across the table for Lena’s - to feel the softness of it in yours and feel the world’s weight in gold in her fingertips.

It’s not that life, however, and you become painfully aware of that fact when you see Kara’s cherubic face beaming at the sight of you two and she waves happily, approaching from the entrance of the coffee shop.

Lost in her own train of thought, Lena just has the time to subconsciously react to the new presence that’s standing near her, and the smile that spreads across her face when she sees who’s beside her nearly kills you.

As if she didn’t know already who it was.

You’re finding it increasingly difficult to tame your bitterness.

Kara, you’ve learned with much bullheaded reluctance, walks through the walls that are fortified around her effortlessly and she’s always none the wiser to it - even in your festering resentment of your circumstance, you find some sliver of sincerity whenever you smile at her, mostly out of politeness, and hate immediately how easily the sentiment mixes in with genuine goodwill.

You want to hate Kara, but you can’t. How could you, when you see just how remarkable of a person she is?

How could you hate someone like Kara? How could you hate Kara? How could you hate Kara who was literally Supergirl? How could you ever bring yourself to hate Kara who personified goodness, Kara who was so unfairly wonderful, Kara who was beautiful both inside and out, Kara whose ass the sun literally shines out from?

How could you bear to look at yourself in the mirror and know you are the bad guy of your own story?

You want to hate Kara - Kara and her altruistic sense of unfailing kindness. Kara is loving, and just, and you know all too well how undeserving the world is of her; Kara, whose existence is really an honour that blesses everyone who merely looks at her, and does so much more for those who actually know her.

You don’t hate Kara - you despise what ugly monster you become in the wake of your deepest insecurities and you know the roaring decapitated head of jealousy is the spitting likeness of your own face.

You want to hate Kara, but you know with all honesty that you only resent the fact that she makes Lena smile in a way you wish you could.

You think you hate Kara because she makes you feel inferior, but the simple truth of the matter was that you could never compete with her even if you had the shameless audacity to do so.

How could you possibly think you, a mortal of Earth, would ever stand a chance against a godly, celestial being like Kara?

Lena sees the same expression on your face again from when you blanked out earlier and she really does look like she’s about to confront you on your bullshit this time.

There are other plans from the universe though, and you become ever cognizant of the life you will never live (but you still hold on to that stubborn hope anyway). You feel moderately relieved that you’re spared of that conversation.

“Hey, (Y/N), Lena. I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Kara smiles, though she looks like even she can sense the unspoken conversation that’s occurring between you and Lena.

Lena tips her head to the side, a wordless question suspended in the air as she stares at you - some inexplicable sadness is plain on her face and for the life of you, you can’t figure out why.

“It’ll be fine,” Lena says.

You refuse to listen to the voice in your head telling you that Lena is also doubling her words to address you specifically.

“Were you just dropping by for some food?” she asks Kara.

Kara begins to shift on her feet, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with each passing second.

“Uh, actually, I don’t think you remember- which is totally okay if you don’t! You’re very obviously busy with... CEO... things, and no one can blame you. It’s just, you texted me to meet you here, like an hour ago? It’s on the way to L-Corp? I’m supposed to interview you for another story, but we can totally postpone it for later, Snapper even said I could take my time with it and if you’ve got more important things to address-”

“Oh!” Lena snaps out of whatever daze she was in and slips effortlessly into business mode. “Right, I am so sorry, Kara. I’ve lost track of the time entirely.”

You lament the physical limitations of your human form and the very rude inability to not sink further into your chair, or just disappear from life altogether as you watch Lena scramble to explain herself.

That gut feeling in your chest has lurched considerably and sits just at the pit of your stomach - the sudden desire to dry-heave overcomes you.

For her part, Lena looks visibly remorseful when she looks at you and you really, really wish she’d stop being such a good person for once and just stop giving a shit about you, if only to spare you the pity on her face of you having to share her time and implore for her attention like the martyr she is.

“I apologize for having to cut our conversation so abruptly, (Y/N). Will you just be around here for a little longer, or...?” Her question trails off with a little less confidence than she started with, another silent one left voiceless in the shadow of self-doubt.

When you speak up, you have the decency to cringe at the hoarseness of your voice, rough with whatever cocktail of unpleasant feelings you downright refuse to acknowledge at the present moment.

“Yeah-” you clear your throat, “yeah, I’ll just hang around a bit. I don’t have to be at the shop until much later anyway, I’ll probably kill some time riding around.”

Your mouth twitches in what you’d hoped would be a reassuring smile, but you are more than positive it comes out as a pained scowl - you bring a hand to the back of your neck and rub awkwardly, a nervous habit you never could get rid of.

Lena blinks the mild distress from her eyes and you refuse to acknowledge it, staring at the coffee you’re going to chug and toss out as soon as you can get the hell out of there.

She nods silently as she accepts your weak answer and gets up to collect her belongings.

“I’ll see you later then,” she says.

“Yeah, for sure.”

Lena looks like she’s about to say something else, something like ‘text me later’, or, ‘can I call you after?’, which is usually what occurs without prompting anyway, but this time both of you can feel it’s just different.

Something’s shifted and both of you are disinclined to state the obvious.

She doesn’t say anything else. You don’t bother to reach out for the follow up you know you’re both wanting.

Kara is looking aggressively at anywhere but you and Lena - she snaps her attention back to you when she realizes Lena is set.

She does a much better job than you and Lena at gracious ignorance - though perhaps, she isn’t really faking it at all and smiles, “it was nice seeing you, (Y/N)! I’ll see you around!”

You lift a hand up in a feeble wave, your mouth pressed into a tight line as you bid them goodbye.

Deciding that you can’t sit in the suffocating air of the coffee shop for much longer, you all but rush to the entrance after giving Lena and Kara a few moments to get ahead.

You realize then, in your thoughtlessness, that perhaps your solution wasn’t the best as you move to put your helmet over your head and catch a glimpse of their departing figures.

You don’t want to watch, and you valiantly rip your gaze away with a heaviness you refuse to name. Still, you know - it’ll take quite a lot of nearly everything you have and everything you know to forget the image of the girl who has your heart (and is blissfully ignorant of that very fact) as she walks away from you with someone else by her side.

You start your bike and rev the engine when you mount it. You push off into the opposite direction, hardly surprised at all that you have somewhere to go before you’ve ever properly considered it.

Perhaps you had indeed thought about it and were just too preoccupied to realize, or perhaps you fell back on an instinctive inclination and named the first place that came to mind when you thought about solitude - regardless of the method, you heed your heart and find yourself driving towards the National City limits.

With the promise of a place where you can watch the skyline and ruminate the entirety of your circumstance in silence and with the feel of the wind pressing all around you as you speed up on the gradually empty roads, you feel just a little bit lighter.

You know you can spend hours on your cliff point, marvelling at the landscape and the vastness of your smallness when you’re forced to see perspective like this.

You hadn’t prepared for the little bit of a roadtrip that became of your journey whenever you ventured outside of the city - though that always ended up being the case whenever you found yourself here.

Without fail, you spend the rest of your day among nature and hadn’t even realized the time you spent on these hills. You think a beautiful kept-away place like your view of National City’s skyscrapers deserves better than you only visiting in turmoil, but you resolve that perhaps that’s precisely its allure.

You left your phone on silent, noting the lack of messages or calls on your phone and you think, ‘of course’ and also, ‘what really else is there to be expected?’.

The shop hadn’t even called you, and you feel a sudden wave of guilt at completely disappearing on them. At the same time, you do know they are all quite lax, almost to the point of irritating negligence - now more than ever, you appreciate their casual disregard.

You fall into a mindless routine of work, Netflix, and food. The next few days blur together and are spent in near radio silence - your phone hasn’t blown up save for the occasional notification from one of your social media accounts, and though you’re completely bummed out about not hearing from Lena, you also know it’s ultimately better this way.

That doesn’t mean it hurts any less, though.

You’re parked outside the shop and you stand near the door as you observe the goings-on of the street around you. Suddenly, you hear a voice calling to you and then you see Kara coming up to you.

“Hey! (Y/N!)”

You don’t have the time to process much as she comes closer with her arms outstretched for an embrace. You automatically open your arms and wait for Kara to come to you.

You let your arms wrap around her without even thinking about it.

“Kara, how’s it going?”

“All’s well, I’m doing well!”

You pull away from the hug and she continues, “it’s actually great that I caught you now, I was literally just about to text you and Lena about a get-together at my place tonight.

“I totally get it’s too soon and if you already had something else planned then I absolutely understand- it’s just, I don’t think the superfriends have seen much of each other in a long time and I wanted to fix that! There’ll be tons of food, I already called the Chinese place on 5th for three party platters, and the place with the really amazing jerk chicken that’s spicy enough that even I could taste it, and I got Alex to stock up on chips!”

“Kara,” you smile in spite of yourself, trying to interrupt her excited ramble. “Don’t knock yourself out, you don’t need to convince me. I’ll be there, armed with gifts of a 2-4 of beer and enough donuts to feed a small army.”

“If you make it the donut holes from the bakery on King, I’d love you forever and ever.”

“Yeah, alright, you got it.”

“Yes!” Kara fistpumps the air. “You are a hero.”

You roll your eyes at the irony of her statement - you figure she must let funny phrases like that come out of her mouth often, the irony entirely lost on her.

“I was going to bug Lena about it but I have to rush back to work, Snapper’s putting the pressure on and the office is super hectic right now. You can go ahead and text her for me though, I’m sure she’d really love to have a break and talk to you.”

You look up at her face and wonder if there’s any underlying context in her suggestion.

She’s smiling at you and then tilts her head in concentration, perhaps listening for something a human couldn’t possibly pick up.

“Okay, I really have to go now. Text Lena about the get-together for me! I’ll see your wonderful donut bearing face at mine! Come any time around 7!” she calls over her shoulder and waves as she leaves.

You shake your head and just stand there for a moment, processing the flurry of constant motion that is Kara’s existence. Suddenly, you get a text message.

Lena: “Hey, I just wanted to check in on you. We haven’t really spoken since we convened at the coffee shop. Is everything alright?”

You stare at the message, wondering how you were going to answer. It seemed like forever ago that you and Lena last spoke; sometimes, you two have gone on for much longer without so much as a hello, but you both took it in stride.

This time though, it feels different. There was still the charged tension between you, and you surmised that you both knew this. The days apart felt like weeks, and you scoff at your initial apprehension.

As if you would ever ignore Lena even if you had the option to.

You stop kidding yourself and just message her.

you: “yeah, it’s been alright. It should be me asking you though, I guess the office is keeping you hostage these past few days?”

Lena: “Ugh, I don’t even care to get into it. I can’t imagine what it’d do to you if it already bores me to death.”

Your mouth twitches into a smile. You get the unbidden feeling of wanting to stop by her office, some takeout from her vegan restaurant of choice in hand to make sure she’s eaten something. You consider the thought, but tamper it down just a bit more.

you: “I just saw Kara by the shop, she’s having a hang out at her place for the crew tonight. Will you be the princess stuck up in her high, lonely tower of corporate woe again?”

Lena: “I think I’d rather much die before I spend any more time past the hour of wine o’clock in this office. I will definitely be there.”

You laugh at her reply, forgetting you’d ever spent the past few days dejected and miserable without contact from her.

You try not to think about how severe your dependence has become and how easily it is for you to slip back into each other’s lives.

you: “that’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind! Did you want me to pick you up?”

Lena: “Don’t push your luck. Not even you could convince me to get on the back of a motorcycle.”

you: “there is such thing as walking ;)”

Lena: “It never hurts to make sure! No need for that though, I might run a bit late and I wouldn’t want to hold you up. But thank you for your offer :) I’ll see you there.”

You let the conversation end there as you put your phone away, feeling lighter than you ever have in the entire time you and Lena exchanged not a single word for days.

There’s no denying the relief you feel, and you’ve resigned for now to just accept it for what it is.

You’ll ween yourself off of your ever-growing feelings for her eventually.

You spend a lot of your time conceding the fight, not really knowing when, and more disconcertingly, if you even will at all.

A lot of your time, you realize, is spent in a happy, light preoccupation with all things Lena, and the rest of your time is spent in utter peril and haunted by all things Lena and knowing what can’t be.

Even in a room full of your greatest friends, you still find yourself spending a lot of time in a reclusive stupor, and you know you should be better than that - your friends deserve your attention.

Still, you’re keeping back, watching the gaggle of Winn, Maggie, Alex, Kara, and James bickering and arguing loudly over a cowering Settlers of Catan board. Lena arrived a bit later as she said she would, but insisted to not partake in playing, and she seemed content in her decision as she spectated the game in quiet amusement.

You found yourself at the kitchen washing the multitude of dishes; somehow you managed to convince Kara and the rest of the gang to start the game, all of you knowing Kara could very well have cleaned everything up in a matter of seconds if you’d let her.

You won out in the end, the others excitedly getting into competitive mode quickly as you stayed back in the kitchen and watched the ordeal unfold. Lena had a soft look about her for the better part of the night, seeming to not be fully present, and you figure it’s very much similar to how you are at the very moment too. You wondered what she’s thinking about.

You’d catch her glance often; neither of you saying anything and neither of you extending an invitation to start a conversation. You still smiled at her all the same, and she returned the smile, and she’d be back in her silent reverie and you’d go back to your own state of meditation.

You think a few times, you see her shift in her seat like she’s chocked up some resoluteness and would make her way towards you, but she’d always backed out at the last moment, and you’d politely ignore that you’d noticed anything at all.

“You’re doing an awfully superb job at washing that one plate, for like, five minutes now.” Lucy comes up to you instead with a smug grin as she takes a seat at the barstool by the island.

You roll your eyes and twist your mouth in an attempt to damper the smirk that’s promptly forming on your lips.

“Yes ma’am,” you salute sloppily and purposely let the soap duds on your arm flick in her direction.

She clicks her tongue and shoots you look, you grin as finally put the plate away. You see that Lena has taken notice of your interactions.

“What’s got you all in your emo state of mind?”

“Pfft, nothing.”

Lucy’s eyes grow incredulously at you as she stares - you realize the subtle hint of offense that’s in her expression and she looks at you in no uncertain terms which silently conveys the very loaded question, do you really think you can fool me?

“Yeah, sure. Even without all the military training, even a civvy could see you’re an absolutely shit liar.”

“And even with all those high accolades and accomplishments of yours, Major, I don’t think a therapist is in your job description.”

“No, but I could always give it a shot as a friend,” her expression softens and she gives you a reassuring smile. You return the smile and drop the banter. You allow yourself to let go of some of the tension you’ve been holding.

“Seriously, what’s up? You wanna talk about it? Or we could not, both are perfectly fine for me. In fact, I usually prefer the latter in most situations.”

You breathe in deeply and exhale slowly, leaning your forearms onto the counter and let your hands hang over the sink. You only smile slightly at her attempt at a joke.

“You ever feel like you can’t compete with someone? Like you’re trying too hard to work on yourself, but then there’s this- there’s this unfairly amazing person who gets added into the mix, and they’re always setting the bar higher?

“The bar is always being pushed impossibly higher because that’s just who they are and you’re stretching yourself thin just trying to get on their level, and you’re just... there’s that unfortunate realization you have that even if you did manage to get there, you still wouldn’t be half the person they are. Not at all.”

Lucy lets out a low whistle and chuckles derisively, “Oh boy, don’t I know it.”

You scoff in agreement, nodding your head at her silence.

“They’re in this room, aren’t they?”

“Who?” you ask a bit too quickly.

“You know damn well who, (Y/N). You thought about them right as I said that. You didn’t have to say anything for me to know you instantly thought of someone.

“They’re on your mind, they always are on your mind. Whoever it is you’re competing with, or whoever it is you’re trying to reach out for. Maybe both. They’re here, aren’t they?”

You don’t answer immediately, you in fact don’t feel like you want to answer that specific question at all, but your silence is answer enough for Lucy.

“Yeah, that’s some real tough shit,” she says.

The two of you are silent again in contemplation. You begin to wonder if there’s really any resolution that will come from this. Still, you have it in your heart to thank Lucy for her attention. You seem to both have a similar way of handling emotional matters.

She speaks up and interrupts your reverie, “well, there’s not much I can say about that, except you need to stop selling yourself short. You’ll only ever be half the person you think you are because you’ll beat yourself up to get to that point. And that’s sure as hell not fair to you. That’s self-sabotage, buddy, and if you want to be a better person for someone else, if not even for yourself first, then you need to start believing that you’re top shit.

“Unless you’re an absolute ass of a person, which I know you are not - usually,” you smirk at her backhanded compliment, “then I really don’t believe you are anything other than a remarkable person, let alone less than half of some bullshit standard you think you see in someone else.”

“For all your scrappy looks and unfailingly successful intimidation tactics, you sure do have a way of making me feel special, Miss Lane,” you smile in spite of yourself.

“You think I’m intimidating?” she grins, and you so wish you could backpedal. Of course that was the only thing Lucy got from your remark.

You reply mechanically, “you are a very intimidating person and it can be argued that one might even think it is vaguely hot.”

You hope your sarcasm is clear enough in your retort, but you suspect even in the face of blatant mistruths, Lucy Lane is the type of person who takes any compliments she gets in stride.

“You don’t need to feed my ego for me to help you, but I appreciate the sentiments all the same, (Y/N),” she says flippantly.

You roll your eyes, coming to learn you are indeed correct in your presumptions and you flick water at her, grinning at her disgruntled look.

“Alright, do you trust me?” she asks.

“Yeah...” it comes out more as a question than a conviction.

Lucy comes closer to your face, leaning in slowly as your eyes widen slightly in surprise.

“What are you-”

“I’m gonna get really close to your face.”

“Yes, I definitely see that-” you say.

“And I’m gonna get so very close and it’ll raise some alarms with whoever’s watching us right now, at this very moment.”

“Uh, yeah, okay, but-”

Lucy gets closer until there’s barely any space between you, her eyes level with yours and you can actually feel the breath from her lips as she speaks.

“And I’m gonna see the truly hilarious image of you looking like you’re about to shit your pants, but I’m not gonna laugh about it yet, because we’re going to stare at each other really intensely and we’re not going to say anything else.”

You merely stare at her, paralyzed with confusion and bewilderment, your mouth opening and closing like a fish as your gaze at her wordlessly, and she takes it as your affirmation.

“So now you’re going to look around to the direction of whoever your person is, subtly!” she adds quickly, “you’ll do it subtly - make it casual for god’s sake. And if I’m right about anything, which I am all the time, you’re going to catch their gaze and you’ll get the very nagging thought of ‘why do they look jealous?’. Am I right?”

You take another moment to process her absurd instructions before you tear your eyes away from her mischievous ones slowly, eventually landing on the group and Lena’s questioning expression.

As impressed as you are with Lucy’s uncannily accurate commentary, you refuse to believe that there’s a low simmering anger in Lena’s look as she looks between you and Lucy. You really cannot afford any more delusions regarding your feelings.

“You know what, that means absolutely nothing.”

“It means nothing, or you want it to mean nothing?” Lucy pulls away and leans back into her chair in a socially acceptable distance, smiling smugly.

You realize she’s never fixed her eyes on anything but you, and you feel a deeper respect for Lucy for not following your gaze to identify the person you’ve been talking about in question - she lets you keep the secret of your unrequited feelings, and you really admire her integrity for that.

You stare at her, and as much as you have a newfound admiration for her, you’re slowly realizing with begrudging acceptance that Lucy’s nearly got you in a corner. Turns out, she is an impressive counsellor, indeed.

“I don’t want it to mean nothing,” you mutter under your breath.

You think she hasn’t heard you, and you’re kinda glad she didn’t if you were being honest with yourself, but then she’s clapped her hands together and you flinch at the abrupt noise.

“Well! Would you look at that, then it doesn’t have to be nothing! Do something about it,” she says easily, as if it were the simplest solution. Perhaps, it really is.

You can’t help the bitterness that laces your rebuttal, “I can’t compete with a goddamn superhero, Lucy.”

She pauses and glances at you when she hears your comment - any fleeting look of deeper understanding in her eyes eludes you before you can even try to spot it, but without missing another beat, she replies, “frankly, if there’s anything we learned just right now, it’s that I don’t think you have to compete at all.”

She says nothing else as she takes two bottles of beer from the pack and opens the first one with the other, placing it roughly on the counter near your hand before she takes the second bottle and pops the cap off easily with her teeth.

“Lena invited me to the L-Corp gala tomorrow,” you mention quietly.

“And? Don’t tell me you’re gonna bail on her.”

“No. Kara will be there too.”

“And?” she asks more pointedly. “What’s your point? Because I don’t see any.”

You sigh harshly, “I don’t know, damn it. I don’t know if I can handle that shit.”

“Just go, don’t be an idiot. Kara’s there because she has to be. She’s Supergirl, and it sucks to say it but there’s something about Lena that makes every alien and human with one bad motive have a hard on for terrorizing her. But the fact is, Lena asked you to go because she wants you there.”

The comment is flippant, but it’s enough to make you stop and feel the familiar sinking feeling in your gut again. You’re trying hard to not get your hopes up, you really are. There are just some off-handed remarks that demand your attention, and you so wish to just be able to ignore the simple truth in some of them.

“Quit your moping, it’s such an ugly look on you - and you’re hotter than that. Moreover, I really don’t believe you’re going to get any of this shit done,” Lucy waves her hand at the sink full of dishes, “so I think it’s time you get your butt on a couch and start heckling the others with me.”

She has a wolfish smile on her face as she begins to scheme. You take her moment of distraction to get a wet rag and you snap it in her direction, laughing at the shock you’ve given her.

“Thanks, Lucy.”

She hums, “no need to thank me just yet. Call me back when it all pays off, though. Then you can treat me to lunch, or drinks, or constant affirmations of how beautiful and smart and talented I am. I’m not picky.”

She winks at you as she climbs off the barstool, grinning over her shoulder as she makes her way to the others.

You shake your head again and take a few minutes to breathe. You’re considering the conversation you just had and you wonder if Lucy is right. Even if she was, though, is the risk really so worth it to take?

Maybe you could rock the boat and put your feelings out there in the open, but that didn’t mean Lena felt the same way. There are so many repercussions to consider.

You dry your hands on a towel and take a swig of the beer Lucy so graciously opened for you. You catch Lena’s eye again but her face is devoid of any telling expressions.

When you finally get to the table, Winn and Kara are arguing over bricks and sheep, nearly wrestling over each other and arguing their case to a smug looking Alex - presumably, they’re all entrenched in a multi-trade stand off and Alex looks to be enjoying her time messing with the two and stringing them along.

“This seat taken?” you ask Lena as you hover near the empty spot on the couch beside her.

She looks up at you tips her head in the affirmative. You nod your head wordlessly and take your place, looking up as Lucy watches you and raises her bottle to you in recognition.

You smile at the action and raise your own slightly, both of you taking a drink and then she jeers at Alex. You laugh at Alex’s obscene hand gesture that she’s employed as her only retort.

You lean back into the couch and sigh deeply, closing your eyes as you force yourself to relax.

“That looked like quite the intense discussion you and Lucy had back there,” Lena comments. She’s looking at you when you open your eyes and you sigh again.

“Yeah, you could definitely say that.”

“Did it help any?”

You consider the question. “I think so, yeah. My head’s in a really weird place lately, but I’m kinda glad Lucy forced me to talk it out. She’s helpful in her own aggressive way.”

“Well, that’s good. At least there’s someone who could help you.”

You glance at Lena, noticing her slightly standoffish behaviour. You wonder what instigated the change, you even consider asking her what’s wrong.

“Yeah,” is all you faintly supply.

There’s an awkward lull in your conversation and, yet again, you feel the unwelcome tension that’s been cast over you and Lena eating you alive again. You choose to press on and ignore it.

“So, that gala, did you still want me to come?”

“Of course, the offer always still stands with you.”

“Alright, cool.”

You take a long drink of your beer, moving your hand up to your neck to rub it awkwardly.

You and Lena spend the rest of the night in strained silence. You can sometimes feel Lucy’s eyes on you, but whenever you look, her eyes are politely set on something else.

You’ve been gradually restless with each passing minute, breathing deeper than usual with increasingly shorter breaths and bouncing your leg, rubbing at your neck, toying mindlessly with the empty bottle in your hand in agitation.

You don’t know how long you’ve been fidgeting for, you’ve been so distracted and jittery that even Lena has begun to take notice - and even when both of you have exchanged less than three sentences with each other the entire night, she’s wordlessly put a hand on your knee to calm you down.

You blink several times and stare at the hand on your knee - you trail your eyes upward to see Lena’s expression, less troubled than you’ve seen it the entire night.

She observes you and tilts her head imperceptibly, seeming to look for something in your blank stare.

Without thinking, you give her a half smile, already utterly spent by the toll your emotions have taken on you. She must see the exhaustion clear on your face, as she softens sympathetically and her eyebrows furrow in worry.

Silently, she scoots closer to you and puts her head on your shoulder - when you sigh and feel the weight of her against you, it’s probably the most subdued you’ve felt all night.

When everyone leaves Kara’s apartment, you can’t say you remember how you get home. Though not in part to the very little alcohol you consumed, you feel as if some more responsible part of you took over on auto-pilot and shut itself off the moment you locked your doors and dropped onto your bed.

Even then, you spend the night restlessly tossing and turning, falling in and out and again in sleep. Somewhere in the pattern, it becomes 8am and you trudge through the morning in a trance.

You get through the rest of the day in an idle sort of functionality, your shop owner even regarding you in doubt before sending you home an hour earlier than you usually go home.

You decide on perhaps napping before the gala, but it feels as though the moment you finally get to sleep properly, your alarm is blaring in your ear and it seems that you’ve woken from one of those naps that make you feel worse than before you fell asleep at all.

You blindly reach to turn the offensive noise off, groaning as you attempt to wake yourself up, smacking your cheeks slightly in hopes that you can pull yourself together quickly.

A hasty shower and one migraine pill later, you’re riding up to L-Corp in your tailored grey suit and brace yourself for the mass of people, noise, and sudden claustrophobia you know you’ll have to battle tonight.

You stay at the very edges of the floor space and opt to people watch - eventually you catch sight of Lena and Kara not too far off from you. They’re both conversing with a small group of people, Kara equipped with her notebook. You realize then that Lena is addressing a group of reporters, she glances away distractedly and that’s when she catches your eye.

You think she brightens subtly because she’s talking animatedly now, laughing graciously at a reporter’s comment and finally manages to take her leave.

You feel the breath escape your lungs when you see her approach, taking in the entire image of her - you think to yourself, there’s never a time she’s not absolutely radiant.

She gets closer and you feel a dull ache in you when you see the inconspicuous tiredness in her eyes, no doubt well hidden from years of practice by her make up and the well-honed art of pretending.

You open your arms for an embrace and sigh when you feel her pressed against you, taking in her perfume and letting it soothe you.

Still grappling with the multiple ailments of your body and mind, you really wonder how you manage to get through a conversation with Lena. She smiles broadly at you as she takes in your suit, you think you spot a fleeting look of longing in her eyes.

You manage to struggle through the interaction, nodding and speaking up when required and you only have half the mind to remorsefully consider that Lena might very well have mistaken your reluctance to engage her as total indifference, and you want to throttle yourself.

She, for her part, smiles through the hurt she no doubt feels and bids you goodbye, to enjoy the night and perhaps you two will be able to talk when she’s done making her rounds.

Not long after she leaves you with the unresolved desire to be with her for longer, an old colleague of yours you knew well from college comes up to you, and though you are pleasantly surprised to see them, it’s another bout of will and endurance to appear socially appropriate.

For what feels like hours later - perhaps it very well could have been, you really couldn’t tell, you feel the distinct lack of Lena and you wander around to see if you can find her.

At some point, you bump into Kara and she’s wondering the same thing.

“You know what, I might actually think she’s up in her office. Don’t take me at my word for it though, I’ve kinda been too preoccupied with looking around for anything suspicious.”

Kara looks just the slightest bit guilty when she speaks, and again you’re left marvelling at Kara’s altruistic goodness - only she would feel bad about being proactive in wanting to protect an entire banquet space full of people.

In your sleepless abandon, you think you’ve lost most of your inhibitions, and subsequently, your filter.

“You’re too good, Kara.”

She tips her head to the side, staring at you in question at your mildly strange remarks.

“I think it’s worth checking out though, she’s said she just wanted to be alone last time I saw her,” her eyes grow wide in an abrupt realization, “oh, shi- shoot! I don’t think she’d be in any danger though, I feel like I’d know that, I mean the whole point of even being here-”

Kara looks around, conflicted as she’s scanning the space around her. You see several DEO agents stationed throughout the room. You’re grateful that for once, an L-Corp event hasn’t been disrupted.

“I’ll look for her, Kara.”

She sighs in gratitude before looking at you again meaningfully, “good luck.”

You’re beyond the point of critical thinking and really couldn’t be asked to decipher whatever deeper meaning Kara intended for you in her last comment, instead just making your way to the elevator that’ll take you to the top floor.

When you walk through the darkened office, you cross the floor and navigate easily until you’re easing Lena’s door open.

You find her on the balcony and she has the sense to turn around to look at her new visitor.

She eases immediately when she sees it’s just you and turns her gaze back toward the skyline as she waits for you to join her.

“Got sick of the people at your own party?”

She huffs in laughter, smiling wryly at your remark, “I never really felt exhilarated in playing that social game.”

She’s quiet for a moment before she murmurs softly, “not in the way Lex always was, anyway.”

Thoughtlessly, you move to take your suit blazer off, draping it over her shoulders and you watch as she instinctively wraps it closer to her. She turns to glance at you, seemingly satisfied that you at least had a rolled up long sleeve underneath.

You rest your arms on the balcony railing and take in the night view, inhaling the crisp fresh air and closing your eyes, listening to the muffled sounds of the street far below.

You think you feel Lena’s eyes on you, and the moment you move to turn to her, she speaks.

“Did I do something to upset you?”

You feel a certain pang in your gut again, your eyes snapping wider to look at her. You ache as you see the pained nervousness on her face.

“No, Lena,” you answer earnestly - how so very badly you want to do something to wipe the sadness from her eyes.

She’s silent for an unnervingly long time. She doesn’t seem convinced by your answer.

“As long as you tell me... I’d want to know if I did anything wrong. I think I deserve at least that from you.”

I would tell you anything you’d want to hear, you think - though you know that’s a lie. You don’t think you’ll tell Lena how you really feel about her even if she asked, and you hate that it’s your truth.

“Of course,” is all you concede.

She takes her time answering you, seeming to consider all her actions, and you’re nervous at the mere thought of that alone.

“I just feel disheartened... you’ve been avoiding me all week and I’ve no idea how to broach that with you,” she admits.

You sigh deeply, thinking of the week you had and the way your morning turned out and all you hear is just excuses.

“I know, I’m sorry I haven’t been myself lately. I’ve just been feeling stuck these past few days, and I didn’t get much sleep last night... everything just feels messier than usual and it’s hard to keep track of it all, and to manage it is just-” you cut yourself off, refusing to get into it.

Lena merely looks at you, gives you a sad smile and she blinks her eyes forcefully when she breathes in.

We always used to tell each other everything, goes unsaid for both of you; neither of you will say it, but you know you’re both thinking it.

She pushes further, seeming to find the strength for what she’s about to dive into.

“I think I know deep down, if I am truly honest with myself, that I’m the reason you’ve been so distraught and troubled.”

You force yourself to look at her, you think you owe her that much.

“And I think, regardless of me being ready to hear it or not - I want you to just tell me now. Please, (Y/N), just talk to me,” her voice quivers slightly and you press your hands into your eyes, unable to face her turmoil for much longer.

“I...” you trail off, shaking your head.

You struggle for the words you need to say, struggle with the things you want to confess, struggle with your very tangible conflict of admitting everything and thus freeing your heart, but consequently facing the harrowing reality of hurting the woman you care for - the woman who means more to you than you could ever have anticipated.

You begin to brace for impact, “if I am really honest with myself, if I can find that strength to admit it to you and to myself... it is you, Lena. It’s... all these months, this past year; it’s never been anyone but you.

“I’ve been tripping over myself all this time trying to wrap my head around you, trying to understand what it is about you that makes me come apart and makes me feel like I can take on the world all at the same time and- it’s you I’m trying to figure out how to get over.”

Lena twists and purses her mouth as she looks at you - even under the hazy moonlight, even illuminated by the dimmed luminescence of the skyscrapers around you, you can see the wetness in her eyes.

She’s silent as she watches you - you have to look away.

“Because I can’t do it- I can’t keep pretending anymore,” you say with a shaky voice, “but I know I’m gonna have to. And I’ll do it for you. I’d do anything for you because I don’t think there’s much left in this world that can really stop me when it comes to you.

“Even if it ends up killing me in the end, even if it’s you who asks me to stop and ignore every compulsion in my body I have that lives and breathes for you, you’re the only one who can tell me to stop lov-” you stop abruptly, eyes widening immediately as you tear your gaze away from her, taking in a sharp breath to steady yourself.

You hasten to recover from your costly near-miss, “you’re the only one who can ask me to stay away, and I’d do it- I’d do it because you asked.”

She blinks several times, tears freely falling, “why would you have to do any of that?” she asks in a small voice.

She looks at you, imploring with a question in her eyes when you don’t answer, “what if I don’t want you to do that?”

It’s so quiet - the question is so small and saturated with the ever-heavy weight of vulnerability, and even still it could just get lost in the chilling night air.

She asks again, “what if I don’t want you to stay away or to get over me?”

You inhale sharply, clenching your jaw as you close your eyes. Your words come out slowly.

“Then... then- I don’t know. Whatever string it is you want to pull me along with, you know damn well- damn fucking well, I’d keep letting you drag me along. You know-” your voice cracks as it becomes broken with unbidden tears.

The last of your remaining composure escapes you as you rush for your words, “-you know I would let you. But Lena, please. I’ll need space. I won’t be able to see you. I wouldn’t handle it. And it wouldn’t be fair to me or you. I don’t know for how long, and I really wish I could give you an answer, I know I want one just as badly too, but it’s already so hard as it is. It’s already so hard now to see you with her-”

“What?” she interrupts you.

“Please don’t make me say it.”

“No, tell me- tell me who are you talking about? What do you mean? Who are you talking about, who am I with-”

“Kara!” you all but yell. “For god’s sake, it’s Kara! I don’t know why you’re even asking me to say it like this,” the tears fall from your eyes, wetting your cheeks and cooling them against the chill evening air.

“I am tired, Lena. I am so tired. I can’t keep looking at her knowing I want to hate her and knowing damn well I really fucking can’t. Not when she’s the most honest, caring person I’ve ever met. Not when she’s so good to you.”

“(Y/N)...” you hear her say

“I can’t do it, not even for you. Believe me, I have tried. I am still trying, and it’s the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever had to do. I can’t. Not now, at least. It’s fucking killing me, it’s already taking so much-”

She tries again, “(Y/N).”

“No, Lena, please-”

“No!” Lena yells. “No, you listen to me, let me say my piece.” She doesn’t wait long for your concession.

“Do you really think that after all this time, everything that’s been said and done... did you really still think I don’t-” she shakes her head in aggravation. “Did you really think it wasn’t you that I want? How could you think there is anyone else?”

She lets the question hang in the tense silence. She takes a shaky breath when you’re speechless.

“Because you’re wrong. There has been no one else in my life. There never was anyone else, (Y/N). It’s only been you- you’re the only one I want. And if you think otherwise, which is evidently the case, then I have been doing an extraordinary job of monumentally fucking up every single thing I have worked so hard for. I have been doing everything so very wrong if you think you’re not the one I’d so willingly give all of myself to.”

You breathe in shakily as you let what little air you can into your constricted lungs.

“It feels like it will only ever be you who can take me apart just as easily as you can hold me back together,” she says.

You wipe at your eyes - at any other point, you’d find it a bit comical how helplessly speechless you currently are. Lena merely looks pensive, stares at something beyond her when she speaks again.

“If you really think it’s Kara who I care about in the same capacity that I care for you... you’ve got it so very wrong. There has never been anyone who even comes close to what I feel for you.

“You unravel me, (Y/N). You’ve pulled apart every pretense I’ve made to guard myself, and you’ve left me bare with nothing standing in between. Whatever it is you see in me, I’ve learned to reconcile that it might be worth caring for, and it terrifies me because this is all of me - this is it.

“It terrifies me that I’m so open to you and that I want you to take it all - I so badly want you to, and this is me saying it out loud, finally letting myself hear the truth that I want it to be you.

“I was just too much of a coward to admit it first. And then I let it go on for so long that you started questioning yourself, and for whatever it is you pushed me away for, I’ve pushed you away just the same.”

You steady your gaze on Lena now - the tears you’ve cried are nothing in the grand scheme of things you care about at the moment.

“I was too scared to admit my feelings for you, and it’s cost me,” she amends quietly. “For all my work of letting you in so close and allowing myself to be vulnerable around you- it’s like it’s pushed you away in the end.”

You shake your head, not accepting Lena’s words.

“No, that’s- that’s not entirely it. It’s not just you, Lena. I’m just as culpable. I didn’t want to admit what I feel for you,” you put your hands on her arms, running them up and down soothingly.

“I was selfishly guarding my heart. I didn’t even see you trying. I didn’t see you reaching out to me and didn’t see it for what it was worth. I let my pride get the better of me. I could have just asked. I could have just said something and we could have avoided all of this. I just, I didn’t know-” you have a moment of realization.

You’re quiet in your admission, “I just didn’t know.”

“It seems as though there’s a lot of things we didn’t know,” Lena says sardonically.

You pull Lena into a hug, bringing her head gently to your chest. You let your hands trace on her back - with no doubt, you know she must be cold from all the time you’ve spent out on the balcony.

“All this time, this is all that I wanted. If only I’d just put my bleeding heart on my sleeve and yelled at you. We could have skipped to this part much sooner,” she jokes.

You feel her shiver in your arms and you decide to bring her inside - you’re long overdue to bring this conversation indoors. When you shut the door and secure the balcony door behind you, Lena’s looking at you with purpose.

You stand before her wordlessly and tilt your head in question.

She’s leaning against her desk, simply regarding you as you both stand silently in her dark office. The weight of the room grows heavier, the silence just a lit bit louder when neither of you speak. You wonder if she can hear your pounding heartbeat - you think you can hear it beating erratically in your ears.

“No more doubts... no more unanswered questions,” she utters quietly.

You gasp slightly when she reaches toward you. She’s got a grasp on your necktie and tugs - you take the hint.

You stand between her legs and let your mouth hover near hers; her lips are slightly parted as she waits.

You look for any trepidation in her eyes but all you see reflected in her is the similar desire that is kindling in you. You close what little distance there is between you and you both sigh in long-awaited relief.

You swallow her moans in the kiss as you bring yourself closer to Lena, hands on her waist and you press her into her desk. She tugs more forcefully on your tie and a low groan rumbles deep in her throat.

She does everything to spur you on, or perhaps it’s just you that’s irrevocably aroused when you feel the pressure on your neck. She bites on your lip and sucks, relishing in the sound you make at the sensation.

You lift her up onto her desk, feeling blindly for anything that could poke at her and make her uncomfortable, but she’s got her hands cupped on your neck and brings you impossibly closer into another heated kiss.

She moans softly at the feel of you tangling your fingers in her hair, massaging at her scalp as you work slowly to free her hair from her high ponytail. When it all comes undone, her jet black hair cascades over her shoulders and you’re momentarily stolen of your breath.

Lena’s breathing heavily as she notices your pause, smiling slightly at your daze. She watches before she decides she’s grown impatient, realizing you’re not really going to do much unless she reminds you.

You feel a tug again, one hand on your shirt collar bringing you in closer and you feel the other grab for your hand. She guides your hand to her leg - you realize only then that her dress has ridden up her thighs, and then she’s taking you underneath the fabric. Your jaw goes slack as you feel the slight wetness of her there.

“I don’t want to waste any more time,” Lena murmurs. “Let there be no more doubt when I show you just how often I’ve thought about this very moment... about how much I’ve dreamed about a reality that I thought would never come to be.”

Her eyes flutter shut as you twitch your fingers, testing her reactions as you press into her with varying degrees of pressure. You become emboldened by the little sounds she makes, and you decide without much thought that it’s all you want to chase.

You bring your other hand just to her cheek, brushing the back of your fingers lightly over her cheeks as she leans into your touch. Despite the recent turn of events, you still feel a dull ache in your chest when you feel the softness of her cheeks, dampened from her earlier tears.

You bring the pad of your thumb just below her eye, your eyes furrowing as you wipe away what’s left of her dried up tears and she all but watches.

Your eyes flash with a twinge of sadness and you think Lena sees it because then she’s nudging you closer, and when you meet her gaze, you see no trace of blame - you take it as the forgiveness so freely given to you, the forgiveness you haven’t worked for but will take anyway.

You let your fingers linger before you run them through her hair, you chase her lips and fall into her kiss. Your fingers splay on the back of her head, holding her tenderly as you move to bring her impossibly closer.

The hand on her head tugs her hair back gently, the noise Lena makes awakening a rapidly building desire in you. You bring your mouth to her neck, kissing the dark freckle that’s there and she leans back to give you more access.

You squeeze her inner thigh and savour the moan that vibrates in her throat, quickly finding that you are enjoying every single thing that she’s giving to you. You massage her thigh a little more before pushing the fabric of her underwear to the side without much warning.

You feel the slickness of her and coat your fingers with it, teasing her entrance and smiling when you hear the lewd sounds that escape her parted lips.

Your hand pulls with slightly more force and she tips her head back with it, a long, unhindered moan drawn from her when you finally slip a finger slowly into her.

Lena decides immediately that it’s not enough, brings her hands to your back and digs forcefully in - again, you take a hint.

You thrust your finger, testing her reactions as you twist and angle your finger, coaxing all sorts of sounds from her - you decide it’ll be your new favourite pasttime. You nearly growl when you feel her clenching, and without much preamble again, you slip a second finger in and smirk at the loud cry that rings through the quiet office.

“Oh my god, (Y/N)-”

Lena rocks against your hand as you pump your fingers into her, teasing her with a slowing speed and bringing her back up again, your mouth planted to her chest.

A steady stream of moans and soft mewls fall unbidden from her lips, and you suck and bite on her skin, soothing the area with licks and kisses as you alternate your ministrations, intending to leave marks like constellations and map a galaxy across her chest.

“Harder, baby,” she whines at you.

You decide to turn up the notch one level higher and press your thumb to her clit, her voice echoing through the office and you have no doubt anyone outside her door could hear. You circle your thumb as you fuck her with your fingers, your hand growing wetter as she rides you.

She rocks against your hand and pants loudly, the crude noises of her pussy mixing in with her moans and affirmations.

“Yes, yes- (Y/N), I’m close.”

Lena whimpers as you continue your pace, happily occupied with everything she’s offering you. You know you’re officially hooked on everything Lena; you know deep within you that you’d take her anywhere she’d let you, but still you decide, perhaps selfishly, that what you’re getting right now is not nearly enough to satiate your overwhelming arousal.

Your voice is gravelly with misuse when you bring your mouth to her hair and mutter, “let me take you home, Lena. You’re mistaken if you think I’ll be done with you once we leave this office.”

You hook your fingers slightly and tug forcefully on her hair, her voice taking a higher pitch as she cries into the empty room - somewhere in the currently absent rational part of your mind, you think you suspect Lena’s being louder on purpose (you take note to test your theory at your earliest behest).

Her fingers scratch at your back desperately and you nip at her collarbone, biting lightly as you hear her the fractured panting of her breaths.

Lena is a babbling mess of incoherent vulgarities and your name as she rolls her hips into your fingers.

“Holy shit, (Y/N)- yes! Baby, right there, oh my god! Don’t stop-” she punctuates her stream of consciousness with a long, drawn out moan. You feel her body seize against you and then she’s screaming out in pleasure.

She cums all over your hand and you feel some slickness against your suit trousers - the thought of her cum stains visible on your pants gets you pulsing with arousal.

When she comes down from her orgasm, she’s panting heavily as her eyes flutter shut. You smirk at the sight of her and become increasingly restless to fuck her more thoroughly.

No sooner than you can think about the wonders this experience has done for your ego, the smugness is wiped clean off your face when Lena brings your fingers into her mouth and sucks on them.

Your jaw goes slack as you watch her, realizing she knows damn well what she’s doing to you as she swirls her tongue around your fingers.

When she’s finished - you think you actually pull your fingers away in impatience - you kiss her and chase the taste of her on your tongue. It’s not nearly enough for you, and somehow you both end up stumbling out of her office only half decent and, you suspect, absolutely, very obviously disheveled.

You miraculously find your way back to your apartment, barely keeping your hands off each other in the back of some poor man’s uber, and you all but drag her to your room - along the way you’d made a detour against a wall, against your door, nearly just right on the floor, but you make your way to your bed.

Come morning, you wake up much earlier than Lena and you have truly no clues as to what time it is. You untangle yourself from the koala-hold she’s got on you and allow a quiet, breathy laugh to escape you when she sleepily whines at the loss of contact, pouting as she curls deeper into your blankets.

Satisfied that she isn’t going to wake up, you check your phone and learn that it’s 7am - no doubt she’d consider that just short of late for work, but you also wonder if she’d allowed the employees of her company, and by extension, herself, the leeway to sleep in after the company event.

You think to call Jess on her behalf, but decide perhaps that might be too bold of you, and instead you pull on a sweatshirt and the pants thrown over the chair in your room to finish your errands.

You have some loose ends to tie up today, and you’ll only be semi-reluctant to admit you’re getting it all out of the way now in hopes for a half day spent with Lena in bed.

In your careless haste, you left your bike at L-Corp for an uber and you laugh at the very fact - having to walk around for a bit is a very small price to pay when you consider the payout of the circumstances that led to that outcome.

You stop by the florist business that’s just two shops away from your apartment on a whim, feeling particularly cheesy and disgustingly soft - you’ve been feeling like directionless, miserable shit for the past week, you resolve that you and Lena both deserve absurdly cliche acts of affection.

You bound back to your apartment nearly running, still finding Lena’s naked form very much asleep and wrapped in your bedsheets. You smile as you lean in to press a soft kiss to her head, not wanting to rouse her awake.

When you leave the single rose you’d purchased in your place on the bed, you left a quickly written note with it:

“Lena, I’m just running some errands. I left rather early. Will pick up my bike and get food, text me when you’re awake”

Without much consideration, you scrawl the best heart you can draw at the end. It’s only just an hour later after you leave when your phone buzzes with a notification.

Lena: “I’m awake :)”

You laugh at the simple message, and you’re just in the middle of texting her back when she sends an attachment of a picture.

Lena: DSC_09086.jpg

Lena: “Hurry up, I miss you. I even grief-cooked all these pancakes and bacon in your absence. What else am I supposed to do with this?”

You can’t help the happiness that springs from your chest as you smile at Lena’s series of messages, laughing at finally being at the place you never thought you’d ever get to - not even in your wildest dreams could you have pictured this.

You realize, however, that this reality is much better than anything you’ve ever dreamed of, and it’s the only explanation you’ll firmly stand by when Lena watches you practically crashing into your apartment not even ten minutes after she sent her last text.

#lena luthor x reader #lena luthor #lena luthor imagine #lena luthor fic #katie mcgrath #lena luthor fanfic #dating lena luthor #supercorp #supercorp fic #kara danvers #kara danvers imagine #supercorp fanfic #supergirl imagine #lena luthor x you #lucy lane #lucy lane imagine

1K notes · View notes

sascerides · 7 years

Text

The Smell of Love (A Short Story)

This year, I challenged myself to write 12 short stories. One for each month. Each of them inspired by a randomly generated word. Story number 1 and 2 (as well as some stories from last year) are here. Word number three was “Hate”. here’s story number two:

Nat always smells like defiance. Charlene can smell it before she even enters the flat. Nat is always ready to fight, always ready to stand up, hands on hips, spite in their eyes. The smell is on Nat’s coat and Nat’s hair and Nat’s embrace when it consumes her. It’s a smell like pine needles and frost. Like a forest refusing to bend to the wind. Perhaps it is a German thing, perhaps it’s just Nat. Charlene doesn’t know why but she loves that smell. It makes her feel brave. As brave as Nat.

Nat’s speakers are always playing old fashioned rock. Nat’s hips are always moving along to the sound and their fingers are always playing out the solos on Nat’s invisible guitar. Charlene loves Nat for all of their existence. Charlene loves Nat. Just, not like that.

She knows that Nat loves her just like that. It reeks off Nat's skin and breath. Charlene can smell the love the moment she sees Nat. It’s the smell of melting candle wax and newly picked flowers. The smell of infatuation with every word that Nat says. Charlene knows and it is okay, because Nat knows the feeling isn’t mutual. Of course, Nat has no idea that Charlene knows, or how she knows, but all that does not matter. What matters is Nat’s voice and Nat’s hips and Nat trying to convince her download Tinder.

“Listen, Charlie” they say. “I just want you to be happy.” and Nat’s laugh. That stupid smile of crooked teeth and dimples. “And I want you to get laid so you’ll stop being so broody”.

Charlene doesn’t want to get laid. She wants someone to hold her hand in the cinema. Someone to kiss her under street lamps. Someone to take her to their favourite places in the city. Someone to pick her up in the airport. Someone to stay too long on the U-bahn just to kiss her goodbye one more time. Someone to stay up all night to text her. Someone who will smell like chocolate and freshly roasted coffee and red wine. Just someone to hold my hand. Someone like Nat. Just. Not Nat.

Charlene has fallen in love before. She was in love with a woman and with her hair and her smile and they way that she danced. A woman who smelled of ambition and happiness. The minty smell of striving that made Charlene dizzy and enthusiastic and nervous all at once. Until one day she looked at her and smelled nothing but the sour smell of rejection. And I cannot face that from Nat. Charlene doesn’t want to get laid, she wants to fall in love. But not with Nat.

Of course, in the end, Charlene does download Tinder and Nat sets up her profile. Picking out the best pictures. Charlene watching over a cup of tea as Nat’s badly-painted fingernails run over the screen swiping this way and that. Looking for someone for Charlene to love.

Charlene has loved before. She loved a man with all her heart and he loved her back. Whenever he smiled she could smell his dreams and she dreamt them too. Sweet and flowery scents taking her by the hand leading her into a life they were going to live together. Together. Until one day he looked at her and he smelled like nothing at all. And I cannot face that from Nat. Now, she is ready to love again. Perhaps. Just not Nat. Not Nat. “You need three dates in one day” Nat explains. Nat knows about these things. “You take the best one first. Somewhere nice. A café perhaps. I know a good one. And then…” Nat stops mid-sentence to drum along to a drum solo in the air. Eyes closed, the tattoos on their arms dancing, that smile again. “Then, you take someone to a bar. Unless things go good with the first one that is.” Nat giggles and raises a fist in the air “Oh you’ve got a match”

Nat does not show Charlene the phone before continuing the plan. "Just a bit of wine and talk, nothing dramatic”. Nat takes a sip of tea as if all these things are common knowledge. Charlene says nothing. “If that goes well, you take them to a club and you dance and then… well then you have sex”. Charlene doesn’t really care about that bit. But the wine sounds nice. She says nothing.

“If it doesn’t go well, you go to a club anyway, where you’ve arranged to meet number three” Nat smiles that sly smile and moves their hands along to the music. Charlene can smell the thrill in the air from Nat’s fingers as they dance. And she can smell the love even from across the room. “So… either way. You get tipsy… and you get laid. Bullet. Proof. Who da man?”. Charlene isn’t sure she likes this plan, or who the man is. “Right” Nat snickers. “None of us are… now, I’ve picked out three people for you, what do you think?”.

“I’ll have a look” Charlene says and proceeds to not take the phone. Nat puts it in her hand and waltzes over to the globe-bar the two of them found sitting around at a Trödelmarkt that one time. The sun was shining and Nat had just shaved their hair for the first time. Back then Nat did not smell of love. They smelled of excitement and confusion, and ever so faintly of fear. But that was months ago.”Whiskey? It’s almost noon". Charlene says nothing. Nat pours her a whiskey anyway. “you know, sometimes I wonder if you understand me at all”. Nat says. “Iz mein Deutsch accent too zick?” Charlene just laughs and mumbles a no into her whiskey before looking at the person on her screen. Perhaps it isn’t too early for whiskey at all.

The first one is a man. He isn’t exactly handsome but his pictures are good. His profile says he’s tall but Nat ensures her that “They always add a few centimetres to their height. And to their shoe size.” Nat says this with a wink and Charlene giggles although she’s not sure she understands the joke. The thing about Nat is. I don’t have to understand. Nat doesn’t mind.

The profile says the man likes art, but he does not specify which kind. He says he likes intelligent conversation. Nat assures her that means he likes to talk and be listened to. “Just a man after your mind huh?”. Charlene sips her whiskey and nods. She does like to listen. But mainly to Nat. “Well... have a look at the next one” Nat says. The smell of excitement sharp in the air between them. The smell of it making Charlene feel drunker than the whiskey. “Do you want a girlfriend or a boyfriend this time?” Nat asks. “It doesn’t really matter” Charlene says. I just want someone. "Or someone in between i suppose?” That last word hangs between them, rosy with hope. “I suppose so” Charlene says. Yes. I suppose.

The next one has long brown hair and big doe eyes. Charlene suspects she enlarged them for the photo. Her profile has lots of people on the pictures and they all seem to be having an awful good time. All the time. She is holding champaign glasses and wearing red lipstick. She is photographed leaning against a wall staring into the distance. Her name is french and Charlene is sure she can’t pronounce it. Her profile says she is looking for fun. “Nichts Festes”. No strings attached.

“Nat, I…” Charlene sips her whiskey. Nat is dancing along to the music, bare feet on the wooden floor. “I’m not sure about this. I mean… am I looking for fun? 'No strings attached.’" Nat is dancing over the floor, glass still in hand. They’re tipsier than Charlene by far. “You’re young darling Charlie. You’re young and you’re in Berlin. When are you going to live if not now? come now. Text her. don’t you think she’s schön”. She is. Charlene has to admit. And Nat tells her to live. Nat knows about these things. Charlene types out “hi”. Nat grabs her phone and adds a wink emoji before she can send. And you’re smiling that stupid smile of yours again.

The third one is handsome. Far too handsome. The way Nat describes him his face is the love child of Hugh Jackman and Ryan Gosling. Nat licks their lips while saying this. Giggling. Charlene giggles too. But he is too handsome. Half his pictures are taken in the gym. Shirtless. His eyes look serious. As if he is lost or afraid or perhaps he is angry. Charlene catches herself sniffing at the screen trying to tell but of course all she smells is the piny, burning smell of Nat leaning over the screen. And the whiskey. “Nat I… “ She hears herself saying again. "Are you sure about this”.

Nat laughs. “It’s all good fun Charlie. You need to have fun. It’s not like you need to marry any of these. Just text them for now. See what happens!” Nat spins around the room, empty glass in hand, arms spread out like an eagle. “Live Charlie! Live!”. And so, Charlene does. She downs her whiskey and she lives. And as she walks down to the S-Bahn she can smell the excitement on her own breath. And something like candles burning and fresh flowers too. The train is crowded with lovers. Charlene never understood why there are so many couples in spring. The whole city is pungent at this time of year. Charlene hates the smell of love. Or maybe it’s the smell of other’s people’s love she hates. The sweet, sticky scent of their kisses on the station. It smells like toffee and candy floss and these are not the smells of love, these are the smells of pretensions. Two teenagers are snogging on the seat in front of Charlene and she almost has to hold her nose. The boy smells of infatuation and blindness and hope. She, on the other hand. She has the soft, spicy smell of doubt. Of wanting to be somewhere else but not knowing where. And this is not what I want.

In her phone are messages from three people she has no idea how will smell. The woman is asking what she is looking for. Nat, just, not Nat. The shirtless man is sending pictures. Most of them shirtless. This is not what I want. The last one is asking what the last book she read is. Charlene answer the questions with lies and the pictures with a forced selfie. In reply, she gets a wink. She does not know what to say.

In the afternoon, leaning over a bridge, watching the stream go by, she calls Nat up. For a moment she can almost smell Nat’s crush over the phone. Or perhaps it is just something in the wind. Perhaps someone is eating strawberries somewhere upriver. Perhaps a couple just walked past. And then the smell is gone and Nat is laughing on the other end of the phone.

“So have you arranged to meet them yet?”. “Well…”. “Come on Charlie! You can do it. Or do you need me to?” “No… I’ll do it. Just gimme a bit of time”. She wants to tell Nat no. She wants to say “this is not what I’m looking for” but she does not know what she is looking for. I’m just looking for love. I’m just looking for someone who smells like they care. And what would Nat think of that. How would they smell if they knew?

Nat does not remember the time that they kissed. Nat was drunk on vodka and laughter and love. Charlene was drunk on the smells of Nat and then they kissed. Nat kissed her and she kissed back. Inhaling that sweet, rosy smell of infatuation and, just for a moment, smelling it on herself. And then she remembered. She remembered the smell of indifference the smell of rejection, the smell of hatred. And how would Nat smell in a month from now, in a year or in five? Nat was too drunk to remember now, and Charlene will not mention that night. Not now. Now it does not matter. What matters is Nat is with me still. Just not like that.

Charlene hangs up, standing there in the wind. Smelling the city and the people in it. Smelling their love and their fear and their hope and, from somewhere down the river, a little bit of hate. In the end, she arranges to meet the art-lover at a café, the woman at a bar and finally, she will go to a club to dance with the man Nat has now named Mr. Forgot-My-Shirt ( and “If I had abs like that I wouldn’t wear a shirt either”).

The first man says he knows a café. “It’s a really cool place. I know lots of writers who come there to work. You’ve probably never heard of it”. Charlene has. She’s been there about eight times until Nat decided it was becoming to mainstream. “It’s in a really cool area too” the man writes. "it’s just on the corner of Rosenthaler Platz, I know the bartender”. Charlene knows one of the bartenders too. She used to date Nat, and Charlene has a suspicion they still sleep together sometimes.

The bartender greets her with a smile. The man is sitting at a table by the window. His glasses are fogging over every time he sips his coffee. Charlene finds that oddly endearing. The man smells of lemongrass and of coffee. He is nervous and so am I. His shirt is newly ironed and he is wearing a tie. Charlene fiddles with her dress as she sits down, trying to smooth it out. Unsuccessfully. The man notices, the smell of his disdain making her sick to her stomach. She orders a Chai latte. The smell goes stronger.

The date lasts for about half an hour. The man tells her of his love for Matisse. Of this “really cool British street artists who’s really questioning the conventions of society… You may have heard of him. Banksy he’s called”. Charlene asks what he does for a living. He tells her about a writer he likes and says he doesn’t read “all this fantasy stuff, I mean... no offence if you do”. Judging from the smell, that last bit was a lie. This was not what I wanted.

Charlene tells him she really likes Chaucer. The man says Chaucer is the father of poetry. He smiles a sly smile. Charlene can smell the pride on him even over the coffee as he fixes her eyes with his. “Shall I compare thee to a spring day” He quotes, wrongly. Charlene sips her chai and does not correct him. She does not want to know what that would do to his smell.

As soon as her cup is empty she tells him she has to go “I promised my friend to go to a bar” except my friend won’t be there. The man says the conversation was “delightful” he’d really like to do it again. His words have the lime-like scented-candle fragrance of insincerity. Charlene can smell the relief on herself. She nods, and as she leaves the bartender tells her to give Nat a kiss from her.

Charlene picked the bar for her second date. It’s a small place on Heinrichplatz in Kreuzberg. The woman looks out of place here in her glittery top and her perfectly red lips. The place is a mixture of a bar and a living room left half unfurnished. The woman smiles when she spots Charlene in the doorway but her scorn of the place can be smelled across the room. This is not what I wanted. She is sitting at a table in the corner, a stiletto dangling from her foot. Her fingers elegantly curled around the stem of a cocktail glass.

Charlene orders a drink and sits down next to her, suddenly feeling out of place herself. The woman’s eyes are on the surrealist paintings hanging on the bare brick walls. They’re on the guitar hanging from a peck behind the bar. On the model ship above the door. On the empty cake trays standing ready for next morning’s breakfast. Her eyes are on the walls, on the floor, on the lesbian couple sharing a burger behind them. Those big doe eyes of hers are on everything but Charlene, and Charlene’s are glued to her drink. “This is… and interesting place” The woman says. Charlene nods.

The woman sips her drink. “So… what brings you to Berlin?” Her smell of indifference making Charlene miss her bed and her Netflix account “I uhm… I wanted to learn German I guess…” The woman nods. “I’m here for the culture” she says, sipping her drink again. “You know, there’s so many interesting people here” She laughs and her laugh is as beautiful as her eyes. “So much fun to be had”.

Charlene can smell the tequila and the flirt every time she laughs. The two smells are almost the same and Charlene finds herself enjoying the scent. But this is not what I wanted. Her shirt is glittering in the light of the candle, falling perfectly over her chest. Her collarbone moving as she places a hand lightly on Charlene's. “I could show you some fun” she says. Charlene moves her hand to her drink. Gulping it down.

The woman tells her of a party she went to. She tells her of an actress she kissed in an alley. She asks Charlene about her hobbies, about her job, about her experiences and she looks away from her as Charlene answers her questions. She is wrapping a strand of hair around her finger. She is licking her teeth. She is ordering yet another margarita. Even her perfume does not cover that the smell of her flirt has turned to boredom. It sneaks through to Charlene’s nostrils, thick and dusty and dry like wood and dust-mites and mold. Choking her. The woman excuses herself to go to the bathroom and strokes Charlene’s leg on the way out. Charlene wishes she had worn jeans. She is texting Nat even before the woman has left.

“This plan was awful” “How’s number two? Is she not as hot in real life”. “She’s hot alright but she has nothing to say” “Does she needs to speak while she licks you?” “NAT! Behave yourself.” “I’m not the one having magaritas with a hot lady in a bar” “You are though, aren’t you?”

Nat answers with a selfie. The bartender from the café is leaning on Nat’s shoulder. She looks drunk and happy and Charlene does not need to smell her to know what’s on her mind.

The woman is back and she has touched up her lipstick. She is handing a note to the bartender. “I’m sorry… I just got an invite to this event. I really have to go” She kisses Charlene’s cheek as she leaves then stops, turns around and looks at her. “It’s a shame you know. That I’m not what you’re looking for. We really could have had fun”. Charlene nods. “Yeah. Good luck out there, enjoy yourself.” The woman laughs and in that moment she is the prettiest thing Charlene has seen all night. And then she is gone. The smell of her confidence still hanging in the air like cloves and nutmeg and perhaps she didn’t smell that bad after all.

Mr Forgot-My-Shirt is waiting for her outside a club. He is wearing a shirt. He greets her with a hug, his hand on the small of her back. His desire smells warm and musky and deep. The smells of freshly rolled cigarettes and coffee beans fresh from the mill. Charlene smiles at him, tasting the smell, the alcohol doing cartwheels in the back of her head. For a moment she smells that same smell on her own breath as his hand guides her into the club. This is not what i wanted.

The club is lit in flashes of red and green. Flashes of moving bodies and skin against skin. Charlene recoils from the smells of lust and carelessness in the air. She can smell the bodies in there being so alive and yet not really present at all. Hands are on skin and clothes are thick with sweat. She can smell the pulsating excitement of a dance getting closer and closer and faster and faster. The man grabs her hand, his face is a grin and his hand is strong and dry and he is not nervous at all.

Charlene lets him pull her into the mayhem of flashing lights and screaming smells. His hips moving with the music his hands moving on top of her dress. His lips on her neck his face so close to hers. His lust smells sharp and cold. It is the smell of aftershave or gasoline. It is a smell just about to catch fire and she knows it all to well. This is not what i wanted.

And yet she finds her body moving along with his. His breath on her skin. His hair touching hers. His lips on her ear. His voice on her neck “Wanna take this elsewhere?”. Charlene wants to be elsewhere, but she’s not sure he’s thinking the same kind of thing. She is tired and hungry and her feet hurt and his hands are so heavy on her hips and his smell is so sharp in her nose. “It’s so loud in here” she shouts over the pulse of the speakers. He smiles. Charlene does not like that smile. This is not what I wanted.

He is leading her from the flashing lights, his skin glistening with sweat, his hand not letting go of hers. The music still shaking the world around her. The bodies moving back and forth in mating displays. The smells overwhelming her. And then, they are in the cool night air, standing by the stairs of a station. He is telling her he lives just a few streets from here. His breath is flammable with greed for her body. She can smell his expectation his hunger his itch. Filling the air like a lighter gas about to ignite. This is not what I wanted.

She glances at the U-Bahn sign, fumbling for words. And before she even says them her nose picks up his disappointment. Sour and full like an old swiss cheese. The smell is in her throat and on her skin and in her hair and all she wants is to escape it.

As she half runs down the stairs leaving him standing there the smell that follows her is stronger. Thick and dusty like the room of a lonely person. The smell of sweat and pee and masturbation. A smell so strong she can taste it on her tongue. Bitterness. He is shouting something, but she does not care. She is on the train and the city is disappearing into a dark tunnel leading her away and she is texting Nat.

Nat is waiting for her on the platform. Charlene recognises their trench coat before the train has stopped. She is running over the platform and she is in Nat’s arms. Nat’s worry smells of yeast, of fear and dark ale. Nat’s hands are on her cheeks. Nat’s voice is in her head. “Are you okay? I’m sorry Charlie. I thought it was what you wanted”. Charlene says nothing. She is smelling Nat’s hair and Nat’s skin and Nat’s love and she is smelling something else too. She is smelling candle wax and roses on top of the yeasty smell of worry. Closer, somehow, clinging to her own breath. But how will Nat smell If say? How long will that smell of love last? How long?

She looks at Nat’s eyes, and Nat’s smile, and she hears herself whisper “I love you Nat, you know that right?”. Nat is smiling that stupid smile. And Nat is kissing her forehead, laughing. Saying “I know Charlie darling, I can practically smell it on you”. And for a moment the station is spinning around her, the platform has the smell of a flower shop and she realises Nat never smelled like anything but defiance and laughter and care. But the smell of love. The smell of love was coming from herself all along.

And it does not matter if Nat smells like infatuation or worry or indifference or care. Because Nat loves her and all that matters is that Nat smells like Nat.