Prompt: listen to Tennessee Whiskey by Chris Stapleton and write.

civilorange:

Here is a prompt written in 4:47 minutes, with no editing or idea of what’s going on. Just the feel of the song? IDK, IDK. 

---

In another universe “I love you,”
won’t sound like an excuse to not leave, or an apology for everything else.

But maybe, just maybe, it can be this universe too.

“Marry me,” it’s hushed and
silent and tripping off her lips in a drunken rush. Green eyes bright and
cheeks flushed, there was a moment when even Cat Grant couldn’t keep the drink
from slipping into everything she did. Kara’s captured, not by the all too
human hands bracketing her hips against the wall, or the nearly negligible
weight pressing down her body—no, it was the look in Cat’s eyes. Like distant
stars and endless sunsets, Kara was snared willingly by the alluring heat
calling to every one of her cells.

“Cat,” she tried, smiling
something of a rebuke—it was barely there, because how long had she wanted to
hear that—how long had she tangled her hands through this woman’s hair and
wished only to be able to do it in the light of day. “You don’t mean it.” It
hurt to say, hurt more than Kara thought possible—Kryptonite had nothing on
heartbreak.

“I do,” the media magnate
insisted, hands pressing and pushing until they dragged hot fingertips over the
dip of Kara’s hips, and into the smooth line of her waist. “I do. More than
anything.”

The kiss is sloppy—wet and
inarticulate—but it’s real and that’s
something the movies and books never make a point of. Love is messy, it’s
cumbersome at times and ill-times—but it’s always real. Cat tastes like
thousand dollar champagne and dollar store whiskey—the burn of her lips so very
right.

“You’re drunk, Cat,” Kara tries again,
capturing insistent hands determined to slide Kara’s shirt up and over her
head. Pressing a kiss to her lover’s knuckles, she squeezes her eyes shut,
tight enough that colors burst against the black of her lids.

“I’m drunk, and stupid, and
finally honest with myself,” a voice no longer wavering, no longer listing away
at the end of every syllable. Green eyes bright as distant thunderstorms, Cat
shakes her head—enough to dislodge perfectly curled blonde hair. “Marry me,
Kara. Make me the happiest woman alive. I love you.” There’s honesty and fear
tangling into each word, each letter.

Maybe, just maybe, I love you will mean everything it
should—it finally feels like it does.

“Yes.”