The Wondering Nerd @wonderingnerd - Tumblr Blog

Jun 3

This Used to Be an Even Battlefield (Lena Luthor x Fem!Reader)

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Anonymous asked: Is this where I send in requests? I've never done it before, but I loved/totally recommended your Lena Luthor fics. Could you do a Lena fic where Reader meets Lena for the first time, and sees that she seems really lonely or sad. Ever since meeting, Reader tries to make her smile by using these really dorky pick up lines. Lena is at first a bit hesitant/cautious, but with time she opens up and becomes a bit shy or flustered. Eventually, they both fall for eachother, but neither of them confess. Until Lena decides to flirt back and Reader just cannot function. And...honestly, that's all I got, you can change whatever you like, I just like how you write Lena!

Rain taps softly against the windows of L-Corp, turning the glass walls of Lena Luthor’s office into mirrors streaked with silver.

Below, National city glows underneath the storm—headlights smeared across wet streets, and people hurrying beneath umbrellas.

The city is alive, though in a way Lena feels strangely detached from.

She leans against her desk, one hand wrapped around a glass of scotch she hadn’t touched.

Another failed meeting. Another donor who’d withdrawn his support after a journalist had dredged up Lex’s name for the ten-thousandth time.

Another reminder for Lena that no matter what she built, no matter how hard she worked, she would always still be in the shadow of her family.

Her assistant, Jess, and left nearly an hour ago after gently suggesting that Lena should go home.

Lena hadn’t moved.

The office is silent, except for the rain and the faint hum of the city below.

Usually, she prefers silence, but tonight, it just feels empty.

Her phone buzzes again.

It’s another article.

LUTHOR LEGACY: CAN PEOPLE REALLY CHANGE?

Lena stares at the notification without opening it.

Then, with a quiet sigh, she sets the untouched drink aside and then reaches for her coat.

Maybe fresh air will help, she thinks.

. . .

The cafe across from L-Corp is still open, despite the late hour.

Lena hesitates outside for a moment before stepping in.

Immediately, heat wraps around her from the scent of espresso and cinnamon. Conversations murmur softly around her. What Lena thinks is Girl in Red hums low through hidden speakers.

No one notices her at first and she moves towards the counter.

“Hi,” a voice comes from behind the espresso machine. The barista staring back at her looks about her age, maybe a little younger. She’s wearing a slightly oversized hoodie beneath her apron. She has tired eyes, but a kind expression. “I’ll be right with ya,” she finishes the cappuccino she’d been working on, and then handing it off to its owner with a smile. “What can I get for you?” she’d stepped back up to the register.

“Just a black coffee, please,” Lena replies.

“Comin’ right up,” she turns towards the coffee machine and starts a new pot of coffee.

Lena watches her for a moment before looking away.

That’s another thing Lena had learned over the years—people noticed when Lena Luthor paid attention to them.

“What’s the name for the order?” the barista asks, pulling a marker from the pocket of her apron.

“Lena.”

There’s a pause, and then recognition flares in her eyes. Lena can see it happen in the slight widening of her eyes. Here it comes, Lena thinks.

But instead of excitement or suspicion, the woman says quiet, “That’s a really pretty name.”

Lena stills.

They were simple, harmless words, but something about the sincerity catches her off guard.

The woman seems to realize what she’d said a few moments later, and seems to visibly die inside.

“Sorry. That sounded smoother in my head,” she apologises.

Lena looks at her for a long moment, “You should stop trusting your instincts.”

The woman laughs unexpectedly, warm and slightly crooked.

Lena accepts the coffee when it’s handed over. Their fingers brush accidentally. The woman jerks back like she touched a live wire. “Sorry.”

Lena studies her for another second before giving a small nod and turning toward the door.

. . .

The next morning, Lena tells herself she’s stopping at this cafe for convenience and nothing more.

Definitely not because she’d caught herself wondering if the woman from last night also worked mornings.

That would be ridiculous, Lena thought.

Still, when she steps inside and sees the same woman behind the counter, something in her chest loosens unexpectedly.

The woman looks up, and her face lights up with recognition, and then restraint.

The woman smiles politely, “Good morning.”

Lena finds herself almost disappointed by that too. “Good morning,” she replies. She considers Lena’s face.

“Well?” Lena sighs softly, though her lips twitch slightly.

The woman brightens cautiously. “Are you made of copper and tellurium?”

Lena stares, “. . . What?”

“Because you’re Cu-Te.”

Against her will, the corners of Lena’s mouth twitches upwards.

The woman notices instantly, her expression softens in quiet triumph.

“You’re terrible at this,” Lena informs her as she takes her coffee.

The woman grins. “I know.”

. . .

Lena did not intend to come back the next day.

But around eleven that morning, halfway through a meeting about renewable energy expansion, she catches herself staring at a presentation slide while thinking about an objectively terrible chemistry pickup line.

Ridiculous.

She has billion-dollar contracts waiting for approval, three separate interviews were scheduled, a mountain of emails, and an active PR nightmare involving a senator accusing L-Corp of technological outreach.

And somehow her brain decided on Cu-Te.

Lena presses two fingers against her temple.

Across the conference table, a board member keeps talking, “. . . public trust is still fragile after the—”

“Excuse me,” Lena interrupts smoothly, already standing. The room falls silent. “I need coffee.”

No one questions her.

. . .

The bell above the café door rings softly when Lena walks in.

Warm air brushes against her face almost immediately.

The lunchtime rush is in full swing.

And behind the counter, “There she is.” The words slip out of her mouth before she can stop them, and she freezes.

Lena pauses too.

The woman looks horrified with herself, “I mean—hi. Welcome back.”

“You sound surprised,” Lena says.

The woman blinks. “Well,” she says carefully, “you kind of seem like the type of woman who disappears mysteriously after emotionally devastating someone with a single smile.”

Lena gives her a flat look, “You’re very dramatic.”

“I work for tips,” the woman replies, grinning.

That almost earns another smile.

“Black coffee?” the barista asks.

“Please,” Lena says.

“You know,” the woman says while pouring the coffee, “I never got your opinion on my pickup line rating system.”

“You have a rating system?” Lena asks.

“Obviously,” the barista replies.

Lena accepts the coffee. “And how exactly are they graded?”

“Emotionally impact,” the woman places a hand over her heart.

“I see.”

“For example, yesterday’s was scientifically excellent.”

“It was awful.”

“But memorable.”

Lena hates that she can’t argue with that.

The woman leans lightly against the counter. “I’m trying to work my way up to one that actually makes you laugh.”

A strange warmth settles briefly in her chest before instinct immediately cools it.

“What’s your name?”

The woman straights, slightly surprised, “(Y/n).”

Lena repeats it quietly before she can stop herself, “(Y/n)”.

The woman goes very still.

Something unreadable flashes across her face. Then she recovers quickly. “Well,” she says faintly, “that sounds significantly more attractive when you say it.”

Lena picks up her coffee from the counter she’d set it down on. “You should really stop saying everything that comes into your head.”

“That’s fair.”

And yet Lena notices the smile she’s trying to hide afterward.

. . .

(Y/n) has a new pickup line most mornings.

Lena pretends to hate them.

“Are you a keyboard?” (Y/n) asks one Tuesday morning.

Lena doesn’t even look up from her phone. “No.”

“Because you’re just my type.”

There’s a silence, and then Lena says, “That one was particularly bad.”

(Y/n) gasps dramatically. “You wound me.”

. . .

“Do you like Star Wars?”

Lena sighs softly. “No.”

(Y/n)’s face falls in genuine disappointment. “Oh.”

Lena pauses, “. . . I’ve just never had time to watch it.”

“Perfect. That means I can fix this.”

Lena blinks slowly, “You say that like it’s a crisis.”

“It is a crisis.”

Something dangerously close to amusement flickers across Lena’s face before she suppresses it again.

(Y/n)’s lips twitch slightly.

. . .

The first real crack in Lena’s armor happens on a Thursday.

She walks into the cafe looking exhausted.

The previous night had ended with another argument over the phone involving Lex.

She orders automatically and reaches for her card.

(Y/n) doesn’t take it immediately. Instead, she studies Lena carefully for half a second. “Long day?” she asks softly.

Lena’s instinctive answer rises immediately.

I’m fine.

But she’s tired. Too tired to perform properly. “. . . Something like that.”

(Y/n) nods once.

Then she turns around and grabs something from the pastry case.

When Lena looks down, there’s a blueberry muffin beside her coffee.

“I didn’t order this,”

“You looked upset,” (Y/n) replies.

Lena’s expression cools automatically at the word.

(Y/n) notices the shift immediately and steps back emotionally just as quickly. “Sorry,” she says lightly. “You looked like someone who might overthrow a government if they skipped breakfast.”

The tension eases a fraction.

Then Lena realizes suddenly that (Y/n) was adjusting herself around Lena’s boundaries in real time.

“. . .Thank you,” Lena says finally.

(Y/n) smiles slightly, “There it is.”

Lena’s brows knit faintly. “There what is?”

“You saying thank you instead of glaring at me like I committed a federal crime.”

Despite herself, Lena lets out a breath of laughter.

. . .

After that, things shift.

Lena starts lingering longer after getting her coffee.

A few minutes at first.

And then ten.

Sometimes fifteen.

(Y/n) talks when she’s nervous, Lena discovers.

About programming classes.

Customers.

Books.

Random facts.

Once, for nearly seven uninterrupted minutes, about how octopuses can recognize individual humans.

Lena listens quietly while pretending not to enjoy it.

. . .

“You think I talk too much,” (Y/n) says suddenly one evening.

Lena looks up from her coffee.

The cafe is nearly empty now, soft music humming in the background.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You had the face.”

“I have many faces.”

(Y/n) snorts softly. Then she leans against the counter. “For the record,” she says, quieter now, “you don’t have to keep coming here if you don’t want to.”

Lena stills slightly, “I know.”

“I just—” (Y/n) hesitates. “I don’t want you feeling obligated to humor me.”

Lena can hear the uncertainty in her voice.

“I wouldn’t come if I didn’t want to,” she says before she can reconsider.

(Y/n) goes very quiet.

Lena immediately regrets how honest that sounded.

But then she sees the way (Y/n)’s expression softens.

. . .

The next morning, Lena arrives earlier than usual.

The cafe is mostly empty.

(Y/n) is standing on a chair trying to change something on the menu board.

“Are you dying?” Lena asks from the doorway.

(Y/n) startles violently.

The chair wobbles.

Lena’s heart jumps before she can stop it, “Careful—”

“I’m okay!”

The chair tilts harder.

(Y/n) makes a deeply concerning noise as gravity completely abandons her.

Lena moves before thinking.

By the time the chair clatters sideways, Lena has caught her.

One arm around her waist.

The other gripping her forearm.

Everything stops.

(Y/n) stares at her.

Lena suddenly becomes acutely aware of the warmth pressed against her.

The instinctive way (Y/n)’s hand grabbed her shoulder.

The fact that neither of them are moving.

“You should sue whoever designed that death trap,” Lena says quietly.

(Y/n) continues staring, “. . . I think I just forgot every programming language.”

Lena feels heat rise unexpectedly into her face.

She helps steady her before stepping back immediately.

(Y/n), meanwhile, still looks completely dazed.

Then, because apparently her brain cannot survive emotional tension without self-destructing, she blurts, “Did it hurt?”

Lena blinks once, “Did what hurt?”

“When you fell from heaven.”

Then Lena slowly covers her face with one hand, “That was catastrophic.”

(Y/n) groans loudly, “I panicked.”

. . .

Three days after the chair incident, Lena still can’t think about it properly.

Every time she tries, her brain would supply the image of (Y/n) looking up at her all wide-eyed while Lena’s arm was around her waist.

That was profoundly unhelpful during meetings.

Jess notices immediately, of course. “You seem distracted,” she says while handing Lena a tablet between meetings.

“I’m not,” Lena replies automatically.

Jess gives her a look.

Lena pointedly signs the document without elaborating.

Unfortunately, Jess has worked for her too long to be deterred by silence. “Is this about the cafe?”

Lena’s pen pauses for half a second.

“I knew it,” Jess smiles triumphantly.

“There is nothing to know.”

“Mm.”

Lena narrows her eyes. “You’re being smug.”

“I’m being observant.”

Lena returns the tablet with slightly more force than necessary.

Jess smiles faintly before leaving the office.

Lena stares after her. Then she sighs and leans back in her chair.

Because the truly irritating part is that Jess is right. Lena is distracted.

Distracted by the fact that she hasn’t seen (Y/n) in two days.

Not because anything had happened.

But because apparently (Y/n) doesn’t work Tuesdays or Wednesdays.

Lena only knows that because she walked into the café Tuesday morning, saw someone else behind the counter, and felt an immediate, irrational wave of disappointment.

She’d recovered quickly, obviously.

But still, it was annoying.

Worse, she’d caught herself glancing toward the door while waiting for her coffee, like maybe (Y/n) would appear anyway.

She hadn’t.

Which is why Lena finds herself walking into the café again Thursday morning despite having a schedule packed so tightly she realistically should not be here.

The bell above the door rings softly.

Lena feels an unexpected flicker low in her chest. “I was here Tuesday,” she says before thinking.

(Y/n) blinks, “You were?”

“I had a meeting nearby.”

That part is technically true, Lena thinks.

(Y/n)’s expression softens immediately in a way that makes Lena wish she hadn’t admitted it, Because now she looks pleased, “You came in on my days off?” She smiles cheekily, “Who were you lookin’ for?”

“I was getting coffee.”

“Mmhm.”

Lena narrows her eyes. “You’re very smug for someone who fell off a chair this week.”

(Y/n) gasps dramatically. “You said we’d never speak of that again.”

“I said no such thing.”

“That feels legally questionable.”

Against all better judgment, Lena laughs softly.

And there it is again.

That look.

God.

“Your usual?” (Y/n) asks softly.

“What if you made me a drink you like?”

(Y/n)’s expression lights up. “Are you sure?”

Lena watches her for a moment before speaking again. “Yeah.”

Then, because apparently that activates her fight-or-flight response, (Y/n) blurts, “Are you a time traveler?”

Lena closes her eyes briefly, “Oh no.”

“Because I can absolutely see you in my future.”

A customer nearby snorts into their coffee.

(Y/n) immediately hides her face behind her hands, “I’m so sorry. That was horrible.”

Lena should probably encourage some sort of shame here. Instead, she feels laughter pushing at her chest again. “You’re impossible,” she murmurs.

. . .

That evening, Lena comes back again.

(Y/n) looks up from wiping down the counter and freezes, “You came back.”

“I was nearby.”

(Y/n)’s mouth twitches, “Sure.”

Lena narrows her eyes slightly. “You’re getting bold.”

“You laughed at my pickup lines. That’s changed me as a person.”

The cafe is nearly empty now, except for her and Lena, lights low and warm around them.

(Y/n) finishes cleaning the espresso machine before leaning lightly against the counter across from Lena. “You know,” she says carefully, “I’ve been trying very hard not to ask you something.”

“That sounds ominous.”

Lena studies her, watching as (Y/n) fidgets with her sleeve.

“You can ask,” Lena says after a moment.

(Y/n) exhales once like she’s gathering courage. “Would you maybe want to have dinner with me sometime?” (Y/n) immediately rushes onward. “As a date,” she says quickly. “Preferably. But if you don’t want that, I can absolutely pretend I meant something casual and non-romantic.”

(Y/n) is trying very hard to seem calm, but Lena can see the nerves underneath it.

“Yes,” Lena hears herself say.

(Y/n) blinks, “. . . Yes?”

“I would like to go to dinner with you.”

For one full second, (Y/n) just stares at her.

Then her entire face lights up so brightly that Lena actually feels her breath catch.

It’s unfair, honestly.

“You would?”

Lena’s lips twitch upward faintly. “You seem surprised.”

“I thought there was at least a 70% chance I’d pass out before finishing the question,” (Y/n) admits.

“That seems low,” Lena says, and (Y/n) laughs helplessly.

The sound settles warmly into the space between them.

And before Lena can think better of it, she finds herself smiling back openly this time.

(Y/n) goes completely silent.

Lena notices immediately, “What?”

(Y/n) looks almost dazed. “That,” she says softly, “might actually be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Lena feels heat rise unexpectedly into her face.

And to her horror, (Y/n) seems to notice that too.

. . .

The restaurant (Y/n) had chosen was small and quiet.

It’s private enough that Lena immediately understands why she picked it.

It wasn’t flashy or expensive for the sake of being expensive.

Just warm lighting, soft music, and an atmosphere intimate enough to make Lena’s pulse jump the second she walks inside.

Then she sees (Y/n).

And for one horrifying moment, Lena forgets how to breathe properly. Because apparently seeing someone in hoodies and coffee-stained aprons every day had not prepared her for this.

(Y/n) stands awkwardly near the host stand, clearly trying not to fidget. She’s wearing a dark, button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up to her forearms, and her hair is fixed properly.

Pretty. God, she’s pretty.

Then (Y/n) notices her, and immediately looks equally as devastated.

“Well,” she says weakly as Lena approaches. “This feels unfair.”

Lena raises a brow.

“You can’t just show up looking like that,” (Y/n)’s cheeks are dark.

Despite herself, warmth rises into Lena’s cheeks. Interesting. She hadn’t realized she could still blush this much.

“You look lovely,” Lena says carefully.

(Y/n) stares at her like she just hung the moon. “Cool,” she says after a full second. “I’m never recovering from that.”

Lena laughs softly before she can stop herself.

The tension breaks immediately.

Thank god. Because underneath all the flirting and warmth, Lena had been nervous.

Actually, genuinely nervous.

What if things feel different outside the cafe? she’d thought.What if the connection disappears once we’re are alone together like this?

But then dinner starts.

Conversation flows naturally.

(Y/n) talks animatedly with her hands when she gets excited.

Lena catches herself watching her mouth while she speaks.

At one point, (Y/n) accidentally knocks over her water glass while explaining something about her programming class.

“Oh my god.”

Water spills everywhere.

(Y/n) looks genuinely horrified, “I swear I’m usually capable of functioning.”

Lena laughs quietly as she helps move the plates out of the way, “I’m beginning to doubt that.”

“I’m distracted.”

“By what?” The question leaves Lena’s mouth before she thinks better of it.

(Y/n) looks up.

Their eyes meet across the table.

And softly—far softer than the pickup lines—she says, “You.”

Lena looks down briefly toward the tablecloth, suddenly very aware of her heartbeat.

It’s been a long time since someone made her feel like this.

When she looks back up, (Y/n) is watching her carefully.

Nervous now. Like maybe she said too much.

Lena surprises herself again. She reaches across the table, just enough for her fingers to brush lightly against (Y/n)’s wrist.

The contact is brief, but Lena realizes she likes having this effect on (Y/n) far more than she should.

. . .

The truly catastrophic development—for (Y/n)—comes about two months into their relationship.

(Y/n) is sitting on Lena’s couch one evening in worn sweatpants and one of Lena’s oversized sweaters, squinting at her laptop while trying to fix a bug in her code.

Lena walks back into the living room carrying tea, and pauses.

There’s something deeply domestic about the scene.

(Y/n) looks up immediately and smiles, “There you are.”

They were just words, but they hit Lena unexpectedly hard.

There you are.

Lena crosses the room slowly and hands over the mug, and (Y/n) takes it carefully.

Their fingers brush.

Then Lena hears herself say, “You look very pretty in my clothes.”

(Y/n) stares at her.

Lena blinks once, because she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Apparently her brain had simply abandoned her entirely.

(Y/n), meanwhile, looks seconds away from cardiac arrest. “. . . What?”

Lena feels warmth rise into her cheeks, “I said you look pretty.”

(Y/n) makes a sound that cannot legally be classified as language.

Lena watches, fascinated, as her girlfriend visibly short-circuits.

“You can’t just—” (Y/n) gestures helplessly. “You don’t usually do that.”

“Do what?”

“Flirt with me!”

Lena tilts her head slightly, “I thought you liked when I flirted with you.”

“I do,” (Y/n) says immediately. “That’s the problem.”

Lena laughs softly.

And god—Lena suddenly feels almost dizzy with affection.

. . .

After that, it escalates quickly.

Lena learns something about herself, she enjoys flustering (Y/n).

One afternoon, Lena stops by the café during a lull between meetings.

(Y/n) looks up immediately from behind the counter and brightens so instinctively that Lena’s chest aches, “There’s my favorite customer.”

Lena leans lightly against the counter, “Just customer?”

(Y/n) freezes.

Immediate panic.

Lena watches it happen in real time.

“Oh my god,” (Y/n) whispers. “You’re doing it on purpose now.”

Lena hums thoughtfully. “Doing what?”

“That thing where you say emotionally devastating things in a very calm voice.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Liar, (Y/n) thinks. My beautiful, terrifying liar. (Y/n) narrows her eyes weakly.

Then visibly loses the battle the second Lena smiles.

“You’re evil.”

“And yet,” Lena says softly, “you seem very fond of me.”

(Y/n) covers her face immediately.

Lena, to her own horror, starts laughing hard enough that her shoulders shake.

. . .

(Y/n) is in Lena’s kitchen making grilled cheese at one in the morning because apparently “sadness requires carbohydrates,” and Lena is sitting at the counter still wearing part of her suit after a brutal fourteen-hour day.

The apartment is quiet except for the soft hissing of butter in a pan.

“You know,” (Y/n) says while squinting critically at the stove, “I think rich people underestimate the emotional healing properties of a grilled cheese.”

Lena watches her fondly over the rim of a wine glass, “That’s a fascinating scientific claim.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’ve nearly burnt the bread.”

“Extra flavor,” (Y/n) counters immediately.

Lena laughs softly.

(Y/n) glances over immediately at the sound.

There it is again. That look.

And with horrifying, breathtaking clarity, she realizes that she could picture this for years to come.

The late nights. The terrible cooking.

And warmth filling spaces in Lena that had been cold for so long that she’d stopped noticing it.

Home, the realization hits Lena so hard that she goes very still.

“Honey, you okay?” (Y/n) asks, noticing immediately that something was off.

Lena looks at her standing there in her socks and one of Lena’s old sweaters, hair messy, cheeks warm from the stove.

“Yes,” she says quietly.

(Y/n)’s expression softens even more—somehthing Lena didn’t know was possible.

(Y/n) turns the stove off before walking over quietly.

Warmth settles beside Lena’s chair.

Gentle fingers slide carefully through hers.

Lena looks up slowly.

(Y/n) is already watching her with that same open expression she’s had from the very beginning.

The vulnerability of it almost steals the breath from Lena’s lungs. So naturally, she deflects. “You know,” she says softly, thumb brushing across (Y/n)’s knuckles, “you’re very pretty when you’re worried about me.”

(Y/n) immediately short-circuits. “There it is,” she mutters weakly.

Lena’s lips twitch upward, “There what is?”

“That thing you do now.”

“What thing?”

“You say what most be the emotionally devastating sentence and then act innocent afterward.”

Lena hums thoughtfully. “I still don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re flirting with me again.”

“Am I?”

(Y/n) stares at her. Then points accusingly, “You know exactly what you’re doing now. This used to be an even battlefield.”

Lena actually smiles at that, “Did you truly think you could spend months flirting with me and not face consequences?”

(Y/n) groans dramatically, dropping her forehead against Lena’s shoulder.

Lena slides a hand automatically into (Y/n)’s hair.