supercorpkid

[supercorpkid]

Obsessed

Supergirl. Kara Danvers x Reader. Mon-El. Alex Danvers.

Word Count: 4k

Notes: Please don't read this if you like Mon-El, he will not come out pretty of this one.

You aren't supposed to notice things like that.

Not the way Kara’s face shifts so easily — from sweet, clumsy Kara Danvers, with her glasses slipping down her nose, to something harder, sharper, devastatingly sexy. It’s kind of surprising, honestly. And it is impossible to choose which version you like most. In the end, you have to come to terms with loving every expression so dearly it’s almost pathetic. Her face is your favorite thing in the world, no matter what it’s doing.

Surely you’ve realized you're in love with Kara Danvers by now. But you hadn’t really noticed how obsessed you'd become. How your every thought now orbits her, each one a satellite pulled by her gravity, a dizzying constellation of Kara Danvers, Kara Zor-El and Supergirl.

Like right now, the way she is laughing, loud and easy. Lighting up the whole world with just one sound. And the sparkle in her blue eyes —that unnamable something that could make the whole world stop and stare— gets even sharper.

It shouldn't, it really shouldn't, but it just makes you fall harder.

Your fingers twitch against your jeans, a restless, useless thing. You tell yourself to look away, to focus on anything else. You don’t. You can't.

Kara's gaze skims across the room and lands on you.

You can tell the exact second she catches you staring. Something in her face trips, falters. The laughter cuts off mid-breath. For a second, her whole body stills, like she’s bracing for impact. Then she smiles. A shy, almost secret kind of smile that’s just for you.

And you’re done for.

Kara drifts toward you, slow and hesitant, like she isn't sure if she's allowed even though she is in her own apartment. You don't move. You couldn't, even if you wanted to.

She stops a little too close. Not touching you —only orbiting— but you can feel the gravity of her skin anyway, buzzing under the thin space between you.

"Hey you." she says, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

You swallow hard. "Hey."

She fidgets with the hem of her sweater, tugging at the loose threads. Her knuckles brush yours— once, twice, just light enough that you could pretend it was an accident. If you were the kind of person who could still pretend about Kara Danvers.

You are not.

She’s close enough now that you can see the way her pupils blow wide when she looks at you. Like you mean something. Something big. Like you're a whole planet, not just some tiny moon caught in her orbit.

But then his voice rings out. Loud, performative, like he’s the life of the party. Like Mon-El actually thinks he’s the reason everyone’s here. You let go of the breath you’d been holding, bitterly aware of the truth:

Kara isn’t yours. She’s almost yours. All but yours. Which, of course, is the same as not at all.

Mon-El’s catches you staring more than once. Every time, he makes a show of it: throwing an arm around Kara’s waist, pulling her in for kisses that last just a second too long, ending his dumb little anecdotes with, "Right, babe?" Like a damn punctuation mark.

You’re sure you’ve never heard him call her that before. It sounds fake in his mouth. If Kara thinks it’s weird, she doesn’t show it. But you’re not the only one shifting uncomfortably every time he gets a little too handsy.

The worst part is, Kara just keeps smiling. She laughs, loud, like she’s trying to make up for something. Everyone glances at her, confused, as if to say, why the hell is she acting like that? But no one dares to say anything.

You’re about three hours into game night when it starts to become unbearable. After an especially obnoxious kiss —the kind that makes the room go quiet for a beat too long and stare at walls so no one is looking directly at such a private moment— you’ve had enough. You slip out the room, trying to steady your breath, footsteps echoing down the hall.

You don’t make it far.

A hand catches your arm. You spin around, reflex sharp, but it’s just Mon-El. Too close. Smiling like this is all just a game and he already knows he’s won.

"You know," he says, all faux-casual, "for someone who’s just Kara's friend, you sure look like you’re ready to throw yourself into traffic for her."

Your heart kicks up in your chest. But your mouth? Your mouth moves before you can think better of it.

"What?" you bite out. "If you wouldn’t throw yourself into traffic for Kara, you’re the one who’s wrong here. Because everyone else would."

He only laughs, strangled and fake, and lets go of your arm like you're not even worth holding onto. "You're not even trying to hide it anymore, huh?" he says, his eyes gleaming, mean and bright. "The way you stare at her. Like a damn kicked puppy. How many times will I have to tell you to fuck off?"

You open your mouth, you don't even know what to say, but he cuts you off with a lazy shrug.

"Doesn't matter anyway," Mon-El says. "She's with me. And it's almost funny you'd think she'd leave me to be with..." He trails off, his gaze raking over you, slow and contemptuous. "You."

You feel it like a slap. Like a punch to the gut you didn't see coming.

He smiles at the way you flinch. A little too satisfied.

And then he’s gone. Just turns and walks back down the hall like he didn’t just light a stick of dynamite inside your chest and leave you bleeding in the blast.

You stay frozen in place, staring down at the carpet like it might tell you how to feel. Like it might help you piece yourself back together. Your breaths come too fast, too shallow. You try not to believe him. Try not to crumble.

But the words burrow in anyway. They sink deep, like rot. Because he’s right. God, he’s right. Kara is in love. She’s happy. Her laugh echoes through the hall, bright and full of life — and it settles inside your hollowed-out chest.

You drag a shaky hand over your face, trying to wipe it all away. The tears, the want, the grief. Breathe in once. Then again. You can’t fall apart here. Not where she could see.

The voices grow louder as you get closer to the room. Kara’s laughter bubbling over again. Alex’s voice cutting dry through the noise like it always does. You school your face into something blank. Something safe. And you walk back in.

No one notices you right away. You’re grateful for that.

No one but Kara — Kara always notices you.

Her eyes find you almost instantly, that warm, dazzling smile breaking over her face. She reaches for you without thinking, fingertips brushing your arm in a soft, unconscious gesture she’s done a thousand times before.

This time, it feels like being struck by lightning. You flinch back like she burned you.

Her hand hovers in the air for a second, confusion knitting her brows, her mouth parting slightly like she might say something, but she doesn't even get the chance because in a second, Mon-El is there. 

You don't know when he moved. But he is already sliding into her space, wrapping his arms possessively around her waist, dragging her back against his chest like she's a prize he's showing off. You see the way Kara stiffens for a second. You see the flicker of discomfort flash across her face before she smooths it over.

Your throat closes up so fast you nearly choke. You can’t breathe. You can't do this. You can't survive this.

"I gotta go," you mutter, voice cracking humiliatingly at the edges. Nobody hears you except Kara, who twists in Mon-El’s hold, reaching for you again.

"Wait, are you okay?"

You can't even answer. You just shake your head and bolt.

You don't look back. You can't. If you do, you know you'll shatter your heart into a thousand tiny pieces. Because Mon-El is right. And you don’t know how to live with that.

You manage to hold it together long enough to get home. Your fingers are shaking as you fumble with the key, and by the time the door swings open, your eyes are already blurring. You step inside, chest heaving, and—

"Hey!" Kara’s voice.

Your first reaction is to slam the door shut. Right at her face.

There’s a knock. Soft. Almost scared. You freeze.

"Y/N," Kara says from the other side, voice gentle, frightened. "Can you—can you please open the door? Just for a second?"

You press your back against it, hand still gripping the knob, and squeeze your eyes shut until it hurts.

"I don’t—" Your voice splinters. You try again. "I don’t want to talk right now."

"Are you okay? You ran out of there so fast." And god, the way she says it, her voice full of worry, full of care—it’s too much.

You want to scream. You want to sob. You want to throw the door open and confess everything, all at once. 

Instead, you whisper, "Just go, Kara."

She hesitates. You hear the shift of her weight, the creak of the floorboard just outside your door. “I don’t understand…”

“I said go.”

Silence. A breath held too long. Then, a step. A small one. Careful. Her palm lands flat against the other side of the wood, like she’s trying to reach you through it. Like maybe if she presses hard enough, you’ll feel her there. Holding you up. Holding you together. Like she thinks standing close might be enough to fix something.

“Kara,” you whisper. Her name catches in your throat the second time. More fragile. More ruined. “Just go. Please.”

You hear her breathe in, soft and hurt, and then finally, her footsteps retreat.

You wait until you’re sure she’s gone.

And then you collapse.

You slide down the door with your arms wrapped tight around yourself, shaking like a leaf. The sob rips out of you before you can stop it, harsh and ugly and raw. You press your hand over your mouth like that’ll muffle the sound, like that’ll keep the pain from leaking through the walls and chasing her down the hall.

You cry until your throat aches. Until your knees go numb. Until there’s nothing left in you but Kara’s name and the echo of her hand on the other side of the door.

By morning, your eyes are swollen, your body heavy, your heart scraped raw. You're glad it's the weekend, but you know you can't run away forever. But your life is built so carefully around Kara that when the week rolls over, there’s no way you can hide anymore.

The DEO is colder than usual. Or maybe it’s just you.

You're walking fast, trying to keep your head down, shoulders tense, every part of you screaming to disappear — when you feel it. A hand on your wrist. You flinch hard.

Mon-El.

He drags you into a quiet corridor, out of view, voice low and bitter. "You seriously can’t do one thing right, can you?"

You freeze. He’s too close. He smells like smugness and space cologne and too many second chances. His eyes flick down to your face like you’re pathetic for flinching. "You’re falling apart so fast, everyone’s noticing. Kara’s noticing."

You look away, jaw tight.

He steps closer. "Now she won’t shut up about you, ‘Is she okay? Did I do something? Should I check on her?” He huffs a bitter little laugh. "The entire weekend.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s somehow worse than before."

Your voice is hoarse when it finally comes out. "What do you want me to do, Mon-El?"

He doesn’t answer, so you keep going, each word cracking more than the last. "I already shut the door on her face. I—I’m doing everything I can to disappear." You’re shaking. Your voice breaks entirely. "What else do you want me to do? Fucking die?"

The silence that follows is deafening. And then—

He shrugs. "Honestly? Yeah. I kinda do."

You blink once. Twice. The air is gone from your lungs. The walls close in around you. You take one step back like the words physically hit you.

But you don’t cry. Not in front of him.

You barely register when Alex’s voice cuts through the hallway like a blade. "What the hell did you just say?"

You both turn. She’s standing there, jaw clenched, eyes blazing. She’s heard enough from him. And she looks like she’s about to kill him.

Alex doesn’t wait. She marches straight up to Mon-El, shoving him back with both hands, hard enough that he stumbles against the wall.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Mon-El scoffs, adjusting his jacket, trying to look cool. “Alex, this doesn’t concern—”

"You don’t get to talk to her like that," she snaps, voice rising. "You don’t get to say that. Not to anyone, but especially not to her."

You’re frozen in place. Completely still.

Alex’s eyes flick to you—just for a second. But it’s enough. She sees it. The glassy sheen in your eyes. The way your hands are shaking. The way you’re holding your breath like that’ll keep you from falling apart right here in the damn hallway.

She turns back to Mon-El. "You wanna pick on someone? Pick on me, you coward." Mon-El opens his mouth like he’s gonna say something smug, but Alex’s look cuts him off clean. “You wouldn't, would you? You know Kara would dump your pretentious ass the next second.”

Without another word, she grabs your hand. “Come on, Y/N.”

You don’t even have the strength to resist. You let her pull you down the hall, around a corner, into a quiet DEO office that smells faintly like paper and gun oil. The door clicks shut behind you, and—

You break. You’re on your knees before you even know what’s happening. Your sobs come out in ugly, heaving waves, your arms wrapped around yourself like you’re trying to keep the shame from spilling out.

Alex drops to the floor beside you and pulls you into her arms like she’s done it a thousand times before. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just holds you while you fall apart.

When your crying slows to hiccuped gasps, she finally whispers, “How long?”

You can’t even look at her. You just shake your head against her shoulder.

“Since they got together?”

You nod. Just once. Barely.

“God,” she breathes out. “You’ve been carrying this alone.”

You finally croak out, “I shut the door in her face. I—I did that.”

Alex runs a hand down your back, calming and steady. “You were protecting yourself.”

You’re quiet for a long time. And then, voice barely audible, “She doesn’t love me back.”

Alex pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. And for once, she doesn’t try to fix it. Doesn’t say ‘you don’t know that,’ or ‘give it time,’ or even ‘she’ll come around.’

She just holds your hand and says, “I’m so sorry, kid.”

She leans back against the wall and drapes an arm across your shoulder, warm and grounding. You lean into it, bone-tired. A quiet moment passes.

“Y/N, I know what your answer is going to be, but…” Alex turns your face to her. “What Mon-El said to you, that was messed up. He is a piece of shit. Kara needs to know.”

She’s barely finished speaking when you’re already begging— “No. Alex, no. Please. I can't. I can't be the reason Kara is not happy, I can't be the one to break her heart. Please.” 

Alex’s jaw clenches. You can see it—can feel the fury still coiled in her spine like a spring waiting to snap. But she doesn’t push. She just watches you, eyes dark with something that feels like grief on your behalf.

Alex exhales slowly, then nods. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. I won’t say anything. Not unless you want me to.”

Relief hits you like a wave, but it’s hollow relief. It doesn’t change anything. You’re still in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. Who’s holding someone else’s hand. Kissing someone else’s lips. Laughing at someone else’s jokes.

You sink back against the wall, eyes blurry again. “Do you think it’ll ever stop hurting?”

Alex is quiet a long moment. Then she says, “Yeah. But not today.”

And somehow, that’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you.

The knock is soft.

So soft you almost don’t hear it over the hum of your too-loud thoughts. For a second, you consider pretending you’re not home. Just staying quiet. Letting the knock go unanswered.

But it comes again. Firmer now. And a little voice inside your head begs you to open it, almost like it knows who’s standing behind it.

When you open the door, she’s there. In jeans and a turtleneck—fuck, she looks good— with two paper bags in her hands and that impossibly hopeful look on her face. Like she’s half-expecting you to slam the door again but praying you won’t.

“I bought potstickers,” Kara says softly. “And donuts. I didn’t know which one you’d need more.”

You stare at her. Not just her face—her eyes, her stance, the way her fingers tighten slightly around the bags. She’s nervous. Just as scared of this as you are.

“No one knows I’m here,” she adds, quieter now. “I wanted you all to myself.”

That gets you. Cracks something open inside your chest, even as your heart thunders in protest. You step aside because Mon-El can't hurt you if he doesn't know.

The door closes behind you, and suddenly the apartment feels too small. She sets the food down and turns to face you, offering the softest smile. One she never gives to anyone else.

“I don’t know what happened the other day,” she says, stepping closer, “or why you’re pushing me away ever since…”

Your mouth opens automatically. To lie. To deflect. But she cuts you off, voice barely above a whisper.

“I just know I can’t live without you.”

You freeze. Every bone in your body begs you to take a step back and say something flippant. But your breath catches, and your eyes sting, and you can’t seem to move.

Because this is everything. Everything you wanted to hear—and everything you shouldn’t be hearing right now.

“So maybe you could stop running away from me and just… I don’t know. Tell me what the hell Mon-El did.”

“What?” It rips out of you, breathless.

She exhales. “I’m not stupid, Y/N. That day—he was showing off too much. Everyone felt it. Especially me. And you. And I thought... there had to be a reason for it.” Her gaze drops to the floor. When she looks up again, her eyes are full of tears. “Is there?”

You can’t answer. You want to. You want to give her everything—fall into her arms and let her sort through the wreckage—but your throat’s closing, your chest tightening around something jagged. You’ve held it in so long, you're scared if you let it go, you’ll fall apart.

“Kara,” you manage. It comes out wrecked.

Her tears are right there, waiting. But she doesn’t cry yet. She just takes a tentative step forward, hands open, like she’s approaching something scared. Like you’re a whole planet and not a tiny little moon.

“I don’t know what he said,” she whispers, voice trembling, “but I felt what it did to you. I’ve been feeling it. You haven’t looked at me since.” She reaches up, cupping your face. “Please don’t lie to me. Not about this.”

You close your eyes. But the tears still come.

“We’ve been friends for so long, Y/N. Way before Mon-El even landed on Earth.” Her hand stays on your face. Gentle. Steady. “Please tell me.”

“Kara, it’s nothing. He just told me the truth.”

“No.” Her voice breaks—fierce and soft all at once. “I don’t believe you. You won’t look at me. Alex is literally grinding her teeth every time his name comes up. Why are you all keeping me in the dark about him?” She swallows hard. “I know he said something bad. And I don’t think it was the truth.”

“He said I’m obsessed with you.”

Kara frowns. “What? No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

It leaves your mouth so quietly it could be a breath. But once it’s out, it detonates in your chest—and suddenly you can’t hold back anymore.

“I am. God, Kara. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. I—I've looked at your face for so long it’s basically burned into my retina.”

You roll your eyes at yourself, bitter and embarrassed. “Whatever. Look, he’s right. I’m obsessively in love with you. But you’re his. And you’re never going to leave him for me. So, I don’t know. Maybe he was right about everything. Maybe I should just die—like he told me to.”

The silence that follows isn’t quiet. It’s violent. Like the whole room is holding its breath. Like the floor might crack.

And then Kara moves.

She’s past you and at the door before you can even register the blur of it, rage flashing across her face like lightning—pure and terrifying.

“No. Please—”

She stops just barely in time. Spins back to you. Her eyes are glowing—with heat vision and fury.

“You don’t get to protect him right now,” she says with greeted teeth. “You don’t get to ask me to stand down when someone tells you to die.”

“I’m not protecting him,” you say, your voice breaking. “I’m protecting you. I don’t want to be the reason your relationship falls apart.”

Kara blinks. Like she doesn’t even recognize the words coming out of your mouth.

“My relati—” Her voice cuts off. “You think I want to be with someone who hurts the person I love?”

That word. Love. It hits you like a punch to the sternum. Your lips part. No sound comes out.

Kara steps toward you again, slower this time. Her face softens as the quiet stretches between you. The word—love—still vibrates in your ribs like it hasn’t finished landing.

She looks at you like you’re her home planet—the place she was always meant to return to—and the pull of your atmosphere is finally too strong to resist.

“You think I haven’t noticed? I’ve seen you studying my face, because I’ve been memorizing yours. Haven’t you noticed how when you laugh, my whole body turns toward it like I don’t even have a choice?”

You try to look away, but she won’t let you. Gently, she cradles your face in her hands, thumbs resting just beneath your cheekbones, warm against your damp skin.

“Don’t you get it?” she says. “I’m not his. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

Your chest caves in on itself, and a sob breaks loose before you can stop it.

You reach up, hands trembling, cupping her face to mirror her touch. Her breath ghosts over your lips, gaze locked on yours, full of a tenderness that steals what little breath you have left.

“Kara,” you whisper, her name a prayer on your tongue.

Her eyes flutter closed. She leans in. The kiss is feather-light at first—then deepens, a silent promise of everything you’ve both held back for far too long.

“Wait, wait.” You can’t believe you’re the one pulling away. “You have to break up with him.”

“Sure,” she says, smiling. “Right after I break all of his bones.”

You huff out a sound—half-sob, half-startled laugh—against her shoulder. It rattles through your whole body, sharp and unsteady.

“Kara.”

“I’m serious,” she mutters, cheek pressed to your hair. “I’ll do it nicely. Symbolic bone-snapping. One for every shitty thing he said to you.”

You pull back just enough to meet her eyes, your fingers still curled in the fabric of her jacket.

“That’s not how breakups work.”

“I’m an alien,” she says solemnly. “Maybe it is.”

You laugh so hard you can hardly believe you were crying minutes ago.

And Kara’s face lights up—she’s smiling at you in that way again. That smile. The one meant only for you. The one that makes your bones ache and your heart skip like it’s trying to keep up.

A new energy sparks in your chest—relief and protectiveness mixing into something almost brave.

“Okay,” you say, pulling back with quiet determination. “Let’s go break up with your boyfriend.”

Kara’s grin widens. “Lead the way.”

[supercorpkid]

North

Supergirl. Supercorp. Lena Luthor x Kara Danvers.

Word Count: 4.5k

Notes: loosely inspired by Clairo's song 'North'.

The key sticks in the lock. 

Of course it does. The house has been abandoned for years—so long Lena forgot it even existed until she needed somewhere no one would think to look.

The door groans open, and stale air breathes out like something exiled and forgotten. She doesn’t step inside. Not yet. Just stands there, one hand still on the key, trying to summon something—anything—from this place.

If she stares at the couch long enough, maybe a memory will surface. Lex and Lillian playing chess. Lionel with his whiskey, some heavy book cracked open on his lap. Maybe a younger version of herself curled by the fireplace, small and shadowed, just trying to be unnoticed.

But nothing comes. Not even when she forces it.

Her mind is playing tricks on her, because the only voice she hears—the only presence she feels—was never here.

Kara Danvers doesn’t even know this house exists. And still, Lena swears she can hear her, “Hey Lena, come snuggle on the couch and watch a movie.” She shakes her head as if to shake the voice inside her brain off.

The place smells like dust and old wood, varnish gone sharp with time, a ghost of lakewater and damp earth. But when Lena breathes in, it’s Kara she feels in her lungs. 

That’s why she left. That’s why she ran. Because everything in her penthouse smelled like Kara. Like sunlight and laughter, like warmth that creeps in on you. It smelled like sweet nothings and heavy comfort. Sun-warmed cotton, bare skin, and smooth-talking.

It clung to her pillows. Her couch. Her clothes. It haunted the house with invisible hands, brushing over her shoulders, curling against her spine.

Kara stayed over.

Just like that. No excuse. No justifying why she didn’t go home. She curled up on the couch with Lena like she belonged there. Head on Lena’s thigh. Gentle fingers tracing the seam of her trousers. Not sexual. Not not, either.

“You always smell like lavender. It's my favorite.”

Lena didn’t know what to say. Her heart was already beating too hard. Kara had looked up at her with those wide blue eyes and smiled like she’d just said something innocent.

In bed, later that night, she pushed it further.

Whispered as a secret in the quiet of the night, under the same darkness, surrounded by the same blanket, “Goodnight, my heart.”

And Lena's heart, god, it screamed. All of the sudden there were flashing lights. Sirens in her bloodstream. Every nerve buzzing like something terrible was about to happen—because something always does. When she lets someone close enough to touch the parts of her no one should reach—awful things happen to everyone involved.

She’d said nothing. Turned her back to Kara and stared at the wall like it might save her.

But it didn’t. Because Kara stayed the night. And in the morning after, she made coffee like it was her kitchen. She danced around in socks, humming some stupid song under her breath, calling Lena love like Lena had earned it. But…

Did she?

Lena could feel herself splitting down old fault lines. Cracks she’d plastered over years ago beginning to open again.

So she ran.

No note. No goodbye. Just a bag thrown together in ten minutes and a car aimed north.

Now the lake stares back at her through tall windows like it knows the truth.

This wasn’t supposed to be her story. She wasn’t supposed to be the one who fell first. She should’ve had the upper hand. The control. The distance. All the things she learned in this very house—maybe, probably—to wield like weapons.

But Kara had gotten under her skin. Sweetly. Softly. Like honey. Like flowers growing under your feet. Like something that gets you before you even notice it's there.

And somehow, impossibly, Kara is still here. In the creak of the floors. In the way the light moves across the walls. In the ache behind Lena’s ribs that won’t subside.

How is it that Kara's warmth seems to have followed her all the way here, when it should be a place filled with nothing but resentment and expensive art?

Lena drags herself upstairs. The bed is enormous. Cold. Blinding white. Too Luthor.

She strips it bare.

The old sheets go in a pile on the floor. She buys new ones. Drives an hour into town to make sure they’re not satin, not high thread count, not something Kara would sink into with a smile. These are scratchy. Beige. Soulless. That’s what she needs.

She buys too much food. A way to tell herself that she is here to stay. That, this time, she won't shake this feeling in two to three business days. No. This time, it's deep. Nestled inside her like marrow and she knows she will need weeks to get over her love for Kara Danvers. 

Maybe— maybe she even knows she will never truly get over it. She just needs to be functional before going back to National City.

There's a text on her phone, when she glances down at it. Kara’s name. That stupid heart Lena had added next to it. Pink. Soft. Mocking.

It’s not the Luthor way, she tells herself. Then again, perhaps it’s the most Luthor thing she’s ever done—this brand of operatic madness. Because she’s out the door before she can stop herself.

Underwear and a T-Shirt. Nothing else. Not even shoes.

She runs and runs—through grass, down the slope, straight to the edge of the lake. Breath ragged, chest burning. She keeps running.

And then, she stops just short before the water meets her toes and flings her phone so far into it, she knows she will never get it back. 

She doesn't even know what the text said. It doesn't matter. A hello at this point could have killed her.

She stares at the lake for about ten minutes until it dawns her, whoa—that was dramatic. And completely unnecessary. The superwatch is still perfectly fastened to her wrist, of course. Because while she may have lost her mind for a second, she’s not insane enough to throw that into the water.

She draws a breath and turns toward the house. Resigned. She walks back up the slope with wet grass clinging to her ankles and mud drying on her calves. Every step heavier than the last. By the time she makes it back inside, she wants to scream.

Because—what was that? What was all of that?

The sleepovers. The touches. The pet names. The way Kara looked at her in the mornings like it was already theirs, like Lena was something she could keep.

And then—nothing.

No explanations. No confessions. No kiss. 

Never a kiss. 

Was it all a game? Was she just… practice? A warm place to land until Kara figured out who she really wanted?

Lena knows Kara. Knows her heart, or thought she did. And she wants to believe that Kara wouldn’t play with her like that. That she wouldn’t be cruel.

But what if she is just too good at it?

That’s the part Lena can’t stand—the possibility that none of it meant anything. That Kara can smile and touch and whisper like that, and still walk away unscathed. That she can call someone my heart like it’s nothing.

And maybe Lena was foolish for believing it. For letting herself think that this could be different. That Kara—sweet, sunny, ever-loyal Kara—could see her, really see her, and still stay.

Lena rips open the fridge. The door bounces back from the force of it. She stares inside like it's supposed to offer her answers, and then laughs—a bitter, hollow sound that barely makes it out of her throat.

She’s angry now. And it’s better than being sad.

Because it hits her—how pathetic she must’ve looked. Curled up on the couch with Kara. Letting her lay there, tracing lines onto her trousers like that didn’t mean anything. Like she wasn’t branding Lena at that moment. Whispering things no one had ever said to her before and expecting her to survive it.

And what did Lena do?

She smiled. She let it happen.

God, what kind of Luthor was she? A bad one. One that would be scrutinized if anyone else from her family had seen.

She was twelve. Sitting in the lounge of this very house, legs tucked up under her as she watched Lex play chess against their mother. Lillian didn’t even glance at her as she moved a rook and said, flatly, “People who are soft don’t get to win.”

Lex had chuckled, cruel and easy. “People who are soft get turned into weapons.”

Lena had pretended not to care, pretended it wasn't about her they were talking about. Had pretended her heart wasn’t cracking just a little when Lionel looked up from his whiskey and said, “See, Lena. You have to learn that no one will like you if you’re soft.”

She stares at herself on the nearest shiny surface. Her hair’s a mess. Her eyes are red. She looks like someone who didn’t learn.

Kara had walked right into her life with sunshine and sweetness and meant it, and Lena still managed to fall for it like a fool. Like a Luthor desperate to believe she could be loved.

No. No.

This was her mistake—thinking she could be soft. Thinking she could lay back and let someone like Kara hold her and stay the night without consequences.

She grips the counter tighter.

If she’s going to break, she’ll do it on her own terms.

The wine doesn’t even taste good.

She finds it in the cellar, one of the few things in this house she vaguely remembers liking. Dusty bottles, stupid labels, vintage worth more than most people’s cars. She doesn’t care. Just pops the cork with shaking hands and drinks straight from the neck, mouth tilted, jaw tight.

She finishes and starts another bottle in the same breath. Manages to get halfway through it, before she stumbles her way upstairs again. Leaves her clothes in a trail behind her like she’s shedding everything Kara ever touched.

The sheets are beige. Soulless. Chosen for their lack of memory. And yet…

She throws herself into the bed—and freezes. The scent hits her before she’s even fully underneath. That fucking smell.

Not Kara, not exactly. Not like her skin or her perfume. It’s subtler. But it’s there. That warm cotton softness, that trace of vanilla from Kara’s shampoo. The smell of safety. Of being held.

And Lena chokes on it.

“No,” she whispers, fists already twisting the pillow, dragging it out from under her to throw across the room. “No—no—no.”

She tears the blanket off, throws it down, tears at the sheets like they’ve betrayed her. Which they have. Which everything has.

“I bought these. I chose them,” she says, voice rising, cracking. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to be anywhere near me.”

But Kara always was good at sneaking in.

Even now, even here—hundreds of miles away, behind locked doors and miles of dirt road—Kara got in anyway.

That’s what breaks her.

Not the wine. Not the bed. Not the house or the lake or even the fucking text she never read.

It’s the realization that no matter how far she runs, she still brought Kara with her. Kara Danvers is in her blood now. Every breath tastes like her. Every ache leads back to her.

She sinks to the floor beside the bed, knees drawn to her chest, arms around them like a cage. And then the tears come. Angry. Humiliating. Loud.

Not the elegant kind that slides down cheeks like poetry—no, these are the kind that rip their way out. Ugly. Shaking. Snotty.

“I hate you,” she sobs into her own arms. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you—”

But she doesn’t. God, she doesn’t.

And that’s the worst part.

She presses her face into her arms and tells herself it’ll pass. That she’ll wake up tomorrow and feel nothing.

But the ache only gets louder.

Because right now, she doesn’t believe Kara ever meant it. Not really. Not the hand warm on her tight, not the pet name, not the staying over, not the never leaving.

And that’s the part Lena can’t forgive.

She cries until her throat hurts. Until she’s gasping more than sobbing. Until her body is wrung out and her skin feels too tight for her bones.

Eventually, she drags herself into the bed again—not because she wants to, but because the floor is cold and she’s shivering. The sheets are still warm from her outburst, but the smell lingers. She hates that it’s in the fabric, hates that it’s in her. That even now, Kara feels closer than anyone else ever has.

She stares at the ceiling in the dark, blinking through the leftover tears, and lets the silence press in around her. No phone. No noise. Just her, alone in the bed she tried so hard to make sterile.

She wants to hate her. But Kara never gave her a clean wound. Only the kind that keeps reopening.

She kind of wishes Kara had kissed her and then disappeared. Slept with her and then laughed. Lied, cheated, done something she could hold like a weapon. But Kara hadn’t done anything like that. She’d just stayed. She’d lingered.

She’d said things like goodnight, my heart.

And Lena—idiot, idiot—she’d believed it.

That’s what gets her again. The punch of it. The humiliation of how deeply she let herself believe. Like some wide-eyed farm girl in a high school movie, not someone raised by wolves in thousand-dollar suits.

“Luthors weren’t built to be this stupid,” she mutters bitterly into the mattress.

But she was. Somehow, she was.

Because when Kara smiled at her like that—when she touched her hair like it was silk, and called her love like it meant something—Lena believed her.

And now she doesn’t know how to stop feeling Kara in her bones.

She’s surviving on tears. And anger. And wine, obviously.

Usually, by now, she would’ve gotten over it. She would’ve reasoned with herself—told herself it was ridiculous. That having this many emotions about one person is not only unhealthy, but maniacal.

She’s not Lex. She’s not about to become the kind of person who spirals over Kara Danvers like he did over Clark Kent.

Only… Lex didn’t want Clark to kiss him breathless and say he was in love.

Or maybe he did. It would explain a lot more.

Maybe Clark played with Lex’s feelings the same way Kara plays with hers.

Kara leaned in too close one night, in the penthouse. Close enough that Lena could see her own breath stutter in Kara’s glasses. Close enough that when Kara whispered something—I swear this lipstick drives me insane—and then kissed her cheek like it was nothing. She thought she would die.

But her hands had stayed on Lena’s hips for a second too long. Her eyes had dropped to Lena’s mouth like they’d meant to.

And Lena, like a fool, had tilted forward.

Just slightly. Just enough to ruin everything.

But Kara only smiled. Like Lena had misread the whole thing. Like they were playing some game Kara never agreed to start.

And then she’d left.

Went home like she hadn’t just lit Lena’s entire ribcage on fire and walked out before watching it burn.

Maybe it wasn’t even romantic. Maybe it never was.

Maybe Kara’s just doing that thing people do—keep your friends close, your enemies closer. Whispering sweet things to keep her soft. Keeping her roped in, just in case. For leverage. For safety. So she’ll always know where to find her, if she needs to.

Maybe that’s all Lena ever was. A safety net. A contingency plan with good taste in wine and a huge bed Kara liked sleeping in.

Because how else do you explain it?

How else do you explain the way she keeps coming back? The way she touches Lena like it’s second nature and then pulls away like she didn’t mean it? Like Lena imagined the whole thing?

God, maybe she did.

Maybe that’s the real Luthor curse—not the madness or the ambition or the name carved in stone—but the delusion. The desperate, pathetic hope that someone like Kara Danvers could ever mean it when she calls her love.

Before she realizes, it’s been a week.

Look, Lena is a pathetic mess when it comes to Kara Danvers. But she’s better than that. She’s smart. Resourceful. Half a Luthor—for whatever that's worth.

So she comes up with a plan. A damn good one.

She keeps herself busy with the stupid house. Cleans it. Throws things away. Hides others in the basement. She gives herself a clean slate. Somewhere she can almost see herself living for real. After all, she does have a portal.

But when her mind plays tricks on her, she has a contingency plan.

She runs. Down the slope and straight into the freezing lake, until her body is fighting just to survive. Until the cold shocks her brain quiet again.

It isn’t a perfect system, but it helps.

Until it doesn’t.

It works until she’s dragging herself out of the lake, soaked and shivering and breathless—only to see Kara standing at the edge. Just waiting. Her mind is either powerful enough to conjure Kara here, or she’s been found.

She freezes.

Literally and figuratively.

Kara says nothing at first. Just looks at her like she’s not cold, not dripping, not trembling from the inside out. Like she’s something Kara’s been watching for a long time.

Lena wants to scream.

Instead, she walks right past her. Leaves a trail of lakewater and bruised dignity all the way up to the house.

“Wait—”

Kara follows. Of course she does.

“I’ve been texting. You just disappeared, and I had no idea—”

Lena slams the door behind her like it might keep the words out. Like it might keep her out. Even though she knows Kara is strong enough to break it open if she wants to.

“Ever think I didn’t want to see you?” Lena snaps through the door. Her voice shakes more than she means it to.

No way—no fucking way—she’s letting Kara into this house. It’s been hard enough trying to scrub away the smell of memories, the echoes of touch, the look Kara left her with.

“Lena.”

It comes out in that stupid, pleading tone Lena hates. Or loves. The one only Kara ever uses. The one no one else would dare use. The one she’s addicted to.

Kara’s at the window now. Hand pressed to the glass like she could reach through it.

Lena blinks hard. Maybe she’s still hallucinating. Maybe Kara’s just a trick of the cold.

But when she opens her eyes again—

“Lena, please. Let’s talk.”

It makes Lena laugh. Sharp. Bitter. It bounces off the clean walls she’s spent a week pretending weren’t the ruins of her heart.

“Why are you running?” Kara asks. “Why were you half-naked in a freezing lake all the way up north, alone? Why are you acting like I’m the reason for all this?”

A shiver crawls down Lena’s spine.

She realizes, belatedly, she’s still mostly naked—and freezing. She grabs the robe by the door, perfectly placed from all the other times she’s had to defibrillate her emotions back into submission.

Still, the shiver doesn’t stop.

Because Kara is right there on the other side of the glass, asking all the questions Lena thought she’d buried. The ones she thought they’d both already answered.

“Let me in?” Kara says. So softly it nearly undoes her. It’s the gentlest thing Lena’s ever heard. It makes her knees shake.

“I have let you in. So many times.”

Kara’s lips part like she might argue—but she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. She just stands there, blinking like she wasn’t expecting that.

Lena laughs again. Bitter. Broken. “You want to talk? Now? After all this time pretending there was nothing between us?”

“I wasn’t—” 

“Yes, you were,” Lena cuts in. “You always were. Pretending it didn’t mean anything when you looked at me like that. When you touched me like that. Like it was nothing when you whispered things no friend would say and left before I could answer.”

She’s shaking again. Robe clenched in both fists like armor.

Kara’s eyes go wide. “That’s not— I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“No,” Lena says, stepping forward, voice low and sharp. “You were just trying to keep me. Keep me around. Keep me wanting you so you’d never have to decide if you wanted me back.”

Silence falls. Heavy. Too big for the room.

Kara looks down. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” Lena agrees for an entirely different reason. “It isn’t.”

They stare at each other through the glass. Kara looks like she might cry. Lena already is—but the tears are stuck somewhere between fury and ache.

“You don’t get to show up here like this. You know why I ran. You’ve always known.”

Kara presses her forehead to the glass. “Baby. Please. This isn’t how we should talk.”

“Like what? With something between us?” Lena huffs a laugh. “This is the only way I can talk to you—so you don’t sneak in again and tear down all my walls and make me love you like I’ve never been hurt.”

Kara doesn’t flinch. She just watches her. Tender and unflinching. Like Lena's breaking along the same fault lines Kara has traced with her hands a thousand times before.

“I never snuck in,” Kara says quietly. “You let me. Every single time.”

Lena’s breath stutters.

“And every single time, you ran. When it got close. When it got good. You ran.”

Lena stiffens. “Don’t turn this on me—”

“I’m not, I’m not blaming you. I’m just saying I knew. I saw this coming.”

Lena blinks fast. Her voice drops. “I thought if I stayed gone, you’d stop caring.”

Kara shakes her head. “I thought if I gave you space, you’d come back when you were ready. Like you always do.”

Lena just stares at her, like seeing her for the first time. Like something she believed is quietly cracking apart inside her.

“I keep trying to reach you, but every time, you disappear. You know it’s not just me, Lena.”

A breath catches in her chest. She follows Kara’s eyes to the door. "Please?”

And that does it.

With trembling fingers, she unhooks the latch. The door creaks open like even the house is holding its breath.

Kara doesn’t move.

Lena breathes in, sharp and shallow. “I hate you for being right.”

“I know.”

“I hate that I still—” Her voice breaks.

“I know.”

Kara steps in. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wounded animal, unsure if it’ll bite or collapse.

“I didn’t come here to win,” she says. “I didn’t come to pull you back.”

“Then why did you come?”

“To be here. If you want me to leave, I will. But I couldn’t let you think I didn’t care.”

Lena’s lip quivers. She stares at Kara like she’s trying to find all the parts of her she’d rewritten as apathy. As abandonment.

“I thought you didn’t want me,” she whispers.

“I’ve always wanted you.” Kara says it so fast, so sure, there’s no room left for doubt. “But you have to want it too. You have to want it enough not to run when we’re close. When we’re almost there.”

Lena looks away—and this time, the tears come. Quiet. Unstoppable.

“I know you’re scared,” Kara says, softer now, each word wrapped in care. “I know they taught you to question everything—especially love. But you don’t have to question mine.”

And something in Lena breaks. She exhales like there’s a crack in her chest—like something old and heavy has finally given way.

“I thought you were playing with me,” she whispers. “Because it was convenient. Not real.”

Kara flinches, her face folding like the words physically hurt. “Lena, you’ve always been real. I want to give you everything. I just need you to stay when it gets real. We have to stop doing this to each other.”

Lena wipes her face and finally meets her eyes. “I always thought it was you pulling away… but maybe it’s been me. This whole time.”

Kara steps closer. Still not touching. Just there—radiating warmth like sunlight through winter glass, soft and sure.

“Let me stay?” she asks. “Let me in again?”

Lena’s voice is barely a breath. “And if I want you to stay forever?”

Kara’s smile is huge, warm, uncontainable. Like the sun breaking into the house, rewriting its history. It reaches the darkest, dustiest corners. And it does even more in Lena’s heart.

“It’s the only way I know how when it comes to you, my heart.”

Lena doesn’t speak. She just breathes Kara in like she’s been underwater for days and only now found air again.

Then, quietly, like the words might break her even more than silence already has, “Hold me?”

Kara doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to.

She steps forward and wraps her arms around Lena, careful at first, like she still might be pushed away. But the second their bodies meet, Lena exhales, a choked sound against Kara’s shoulder. She’s still shivering, damp and cold, but Kara’s warmth is immediate, all-consuming, the kind of heat that sinks into bone. And so she just melts.

Her arms circle Kara’s waist like she’s anchoring herself to something real for the first time in days. Maybe longer.

Kara pulls back just enough to cup Lena’s face, her thumbs brushing the tears away like they don’t scare her, like she wants to touch every part of the pain and still stay.

Lena’s eyes flutter shut, then open again. Steady now.

“No more waiting,” she says, voice raw. “No more running. Make me yours in a way none of us can deny anymore.”

Kara’s breath catches. Her gaze flicks to Lena’s lips like it’s instinct—like she’s been holding back for years and suddenly can’t remember why.

She kisses her.

Soft at first—reverent, trembling with everything they just said. But Lena makes a sound, a tiny, desperate thing in the back of her throat, and Kara deepens it without hesitation. Her hands slide into Lena’s hair, pulling her closer like she’s trying to fuse them together. Like there’s no world beyond this room, this kiss, this moment.

And Lena burns. From the inside out. With just a kiss, Kara surrounds her again. The warmth creeps in slow and steady—the smell of vanilla, sun-warmed cotton, and bare skin. It’s everywhere. It wraps around her like a weighted comfort, like coming home.

And Lena wonders, dazed and breathless, why she ever ran from this. Because this—this feeling, this touch, this one person—is the best she’s ever had.

When Kara finally parts their lips for air, Lena already knows what’s coming. Knows it like a vow. A promise etched deep into something eternal.

“No more dancing at the edge of us,” Kara murmurs.

And Lena, heart thudding, voice barely more than a breath, answers with her own vow—soft but certain: “No more hiding our feelings.”

Kara lifts her like it’s easy, like it’s always been meant to be, and Lena wraps her legs around her without hesitation. She’s laughing through her tears now, breathless, alive.

She used to think love like this would ruin her—but it’s the only thing that ever made her brave enough to stay.

[supercorpkid]

Found in Translation

Supercorp. Kara Danvers x Lena Luthor. Alex Danvers.

Word count: 2.8k

Lena doesn't know how to explain it. One day she’s being interviewed by Clark Kent and his cousin, and the next she’s Kara Danvers’ best friend.

It starts like these things usually do: harmless, warm. Shaped like something simple and fun. Coffee dates, movie nights, the occasional world-saving detour. Lena tells herself it’s just friendship. Tells herself she doesn’t notice the way Kara lights up when she laughs, or how often she reaches for Lena’s hand without thinking.

And then, it stops being harmless on a Tuesday.

Or maybe it had started the first time Kara smiled at her like that—wide and unguarded, the light catching on her cheekbones like the sun itself is paying attention. Maybe it had started long before that, when Lena first realized she wanted to be seen. Really seen. And somehow, impossibly, Kara always did.

They’re at game night. Alex is complaining about losing. Winn is pretending not to cheat. There’s laughter in the air, soft and golden, curling around the windows and cushions like smoke.

Lena’s half-listening, caught somewhere between the burn of bourbon in her glass and the curve of Kara’s mouth as she teases Alex.

She almost doesn't notice when Kara leans in, low and fond and a little breathless, and says under her breath, like it’s just for her:

“Zrhureiao.”

Kryptonese.

It lands like a meteor in Lena’s chest.

The syllables ripple through her—delicate, devastatingly beautiful. She knows what it means. God, she knows. Knows that it’s one of those tricky words that doesn’t translate cleanly, but always carries the same weight: attractive, lovely, captivating. The kind of word that leaves your mouth when you're not trying to be careful.

She hadn’t heard it in years.

But now Kara’s voice is curling around the word like it’s a secret, like it’s a spell.

Lena thinks about answering. The words are right there on her tongue: you think I’m beautiful? but she swallows them whole. Because of course she understands it, but she can’t explain to Kara Danvers why.

Not without telling her that she studied Kryptonese as a teenager. Not without explaining that once upon a time, she was trying to impress a brother who only cared about aliens if he could control them. That she buried herself in the language Lex found important, until she understood it better than most diplomats. That she kept studying even after it stopped being about Lex at all, because there was something about it. Something beautiful and sacred. Something that told her she would need it. Something more. 

Now—now she knows exactly why she felt like that.

Lena’s breath stutters. The moment stretches too wide, too bright, like a spotlight turned inward. Kara leans in again, tucking a strand of Lena’s hair behind her ear like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like she hasn’t just upended everything.

Lena blinks. Swallows. Commands her heart to behave.

But it doesn’t.

It keeps whispering it back to her all throughout the games. On the ride in the back of the car. On the elevator ride up to her penthouse. In the hush of her bedroom when all the lights are off and sleep betrays her—and her heart does even worse. It hopes. It beats hope and love and Kara’s name so loud, she doesn’t know how to keep it a hushed secret anymore.

Zrhureiao.

Gorgeous.

Her fingers brush her own ear like maybe the sound is still caught there. Like maybe she could press it back into her skin and forget it ever happened.

But she can’t. She won’t. 

Because Kara said it in her mother tongue.

And meant it like a vow, not something wrong.

And Lena understood it perfectly—like it was hers all along.

It happens again a few weeks later. During an argument this time, of all things.

Lena’s pacing in her lab, fury simmering beneath her skin like static before a storm. Kara made a last-minute decision on a joint mission—something reckless, heroic, infuriating. Something that could’ve gotten her killed.

Kara stands in the doorway, sheepish, trying to explain. But Lena won’t let her.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to do that,” she snaps. “You just flew off like—like you didn’t think I’d be able to handle it!”

“I trusted you to—”

“No,” Lena cuts her off. “You didn’t trust me, Kara. You protected me. Like I’m some fragile piece of glass you can keep on a shelf and hope I never crack. I'm not a damsel in distress!”

Kara’s eyes widen. She steps forward, hands raised in surrender—open palms and soft breaths, always trying to deescalate what she doesn’t understand.

“Lena—”

“No,” Lena says again, sharper this time. “You don’t get to ‘Lena’ your way out of this. You don’t get to look at me like that and expect it to just... disappear.”

But Kara does look at her like that. Like Lena is the axis the universe turns around. Like she’s the only truth left in a world full of chaos. And then, softly, barely more than breath:

“Ta- rrip zrhureiao rrem rrip doshai?”

Lena freezes.

She knows that tone. Knows the weight of those syllables like they were stitched into her ribcage. She wishes she didn’t know what it meant. Wishes Kara didn’t say it like it hurt to hold it in.

Why are you so beautiful when you're mad?

The anger vanishes—like breath on glass. Like it was never real at all.

Lena opens her mouth, then closes it. Looks away before Kara can see what’s breaking loose across her face.

She clears her throat, soft and sharp. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Kara blinks, confused—genuinely. Like she didn’t even notice the way the words escaped her. Like Kryptonese is just muscle memory now, leaking truth where silence used to be.

Lena shakes her head. “Forget it.”

But Lena, herself, doesn’t forget. She can’t.

Because Kara keeps doing this—speaking in Kryptonese like it’s safer than English. Like it’s a secret place she can feel everything she’s not ready to admit. A language where nothing is casual, where every word is laced with truth.

And Lena… Lena keeps understanding. Keeps translating Kara’s tenderness like scripture. Keeps collecting these slips like sacred footnotes in their history together. Keeps falling a little more, every time.

It’s late. The kind of late that softens the world, that stretches shadows across the walls and melts time into something unmeasurable. A kind of late where it feels like the night might stretch on forever, and Lena wouldn’t mind if it did. Not from where she is standing.

They’re curled together on Kara’s couch, draped in a blanket that clings like the last trace of a dream: light as air, heavy as comfort. The TV flickers with some old rom-com neither of them is really watching, its dialogue a distant hum against the quiet ache of something unspoken.

Lena’s head rests against Kara’s shoulder, her legs tangled in Kara’s like ivy curling toward sunlight. 

There’s peace here—but it’s the dangerous kind. The kind that settles in your chest too gently, makes you forget how fragile it is. A stillness that feels earned and borrowed all at once, like the universe is holding its breath, just waiting to take it back.

Lena tells herself not to notice. Not to register how perfectly they fit—how easily Kara’s hand could find hers if it reached, how natural this could all feel if she let it. Like puzzle pieces. 

She glances at the clock. A breath drawn in quiet defiance of what comes next. A slow, reluctant untangling.

“I should go,” she murmurs. Her voice is steady, even if everything inside her bends around the words.

Kara doesn’t move. Doesn’t pause the movie. Doesn’t ask her to stay.

Instead, she whispers. Soft. Unarmored. The words barely more than a breath, so fragile they might splinter in the air:

“Khuhp zhind ao rrip zhadif awuhkh vagem.”

Lena freezes.

The syllables roll over her like a tide, salt-rich and moon-drawn, ancient and aching. A language that should feel foreign but lands instead like home. Like something buried under her ribs, waiting to be spoken back into existence.

She doesn’t have to ask. She knows. She always knows. I wish you’d never leave again.

And something in her breaks. Quietly. Cleanly.

It isn’t fair, the way Kara says these things.

Like she doesn’t understand the gravity of them. Like she doesn’t know they could crush Lena just by existing. Like her words aren’t made of stardust and glass and every wish Lena ever folded small enough to hide.

She could answer. Could let it spill.

But the reply burns too deep. And if she opens her mouth now, everything will come rushing out—untamed, untranslatable. It would sound too much like love.

So she laughs. Or something like it. Something thin, breakable, and kind. 

“You’re getting sleepy,” She shifts back just enough to let the cold seep in. A punishment. A shield.

Kara blinks slowly, still somewhere between dream and meaning. “Mm. Yeah.”

Lena rises.

She draws the blanket tighter around Kara’s shoulders, tucking her in like a farewell. Like a promise she wishes she were brave enough to make. Her fingers linger longer than they should, then pull away.

She reaches for her coat without looking back.

“Goodnight, Kara.”

She doesn’t see Kara’s eyes trailing after her like she’s the last light in the room. Doesn’t hear the soft, stunned echo that follows her like a ghost.

“Goodnight, baby.”

But she carries the Kryptonian all the way home. Feels it settle into her skin like stardust. Like a prayer. Like a wish Kara never meant to speak aloud—and Lena can’t stop hearing it, replaying it in her mind like music written just for her.

Like maybe, in another life, she would’ve stayed.

They’re somewhere deep underground, far from the city—old stone, slick with moss, wires cutting across ancient architecture like veins through skin. Kara’s hovering just a few inches off the ground, too impatient to walk. Lena’s beside her, shoulder brushing Kara’s tights when she leans to examine the wall. And Alex is a bit ahead with the flashlight, casting long shadows that stretch like fingers down the corridor.

“Okay,” Alex says, voice echoing. “This one’s got some alien script—Kryptonian, I think? What does this mean?”

Lena doesn’t look at Kara. She doesn’t need to. The words are already burned into her mind. She’s read them before—on dusty pages in old Luthor archives, her fingers trembling, heart young and foolish and already looking for something that might belong to her.

But Kara steps closer to the inscription anyway, her voice low. “Lao zrhureiao divi khuhp skulir kuhs.’”

Lena doesn’t mean to say it. Doesn't mean to make choir to Kara's voice already translating out loud. But it falls out of her like a breath: “The beloved one is a light I can’t look away from.”

Silence.

So sharp, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the entire Earth.

Even Alex just blinks, stunned, slowly turning toward them. “Wait. What the hell did you say?”

But Kara’s already turned. She’s looking at Lena like the words were a key. And now the door’s opened and she’s seeing the whole of her.

“You speak Kryptonese?” Kara asks.

It should sound accusatory. It doesn’t. It sounds... hurt.

Lena swallows. Her mouth feels full of sand. “Um, yeah, sorta.”

Kara doesn’t look away. Her voice goes softer, more dangerous, “Since when?”

Lena exhales. “Since I was sixteen. Lex was obsessed with Superman. And I—” She tries to smile, but it feels brittle. “I wanted something to connect… Wanted him to need me.”

Kara’s eyes narrow, but not in anger. She’s thinking. Tracing things back. Adding it all up.

“How many times?” Kara asks. Her voice is too soft to be angry, too confused not to tremble. “How many times have you understood me when I thought you couldn’t?”

Lena wants to lie. God, she wants to. But she’s tired. Tired of silence. Tired of gathering Kara’s love like contraband—like something precious and forbidden.

“All of them.” she says. “All of, um, your secret confessions.”

Kara flinches. “Like what?”

Lena takes a step back. Her eyes flick toward Alex, searching for escape, for delay—but Alex is already moving. She’s seen enough. Felt the shape of what’s coming. And like someone sensing a storm, she quietly slips out of the room.

No more excuses. No more time.

Lena breathes. And then she answers, her voice barely there—small and yet impossibly brave in the quiet Kara leaves for her.

“Like… things I couldn’t bear to lose.”

Kara doesn’t press. She just watches her, listens like every part of her is tuned to Lena’s frequency. Like the silence is sacred now.

And Lena, against all her instincts, lets herself stay in it.

“Like the first time you called me beautiful,” she says. “You looked right at me when you said it. But you chose another language so I wouldn’t know…”

Her voice falters, like the memory still stings—soft and glowing, but edged with old hurt.

“You said it like it slipped out. Like you couldn't stop it even if you wanted. And I understood every word.”

Kara’s lips part, like she’s about to speak—but Lena keeps going.

“Or the night you said, ‘I wish you’d never leave,’ when I said I was going home.”

Kara’s shoulders tense. Her expression cracks.

“I stayed awake all night just to keep it, as if it would disappear if I slept.”

The words hang in the air between them. Fragile. Shining. Too much.

Kara steps forward. Slowly. Like Lena might vanish into the walls if she moves too fast.

“You knew,” Kara says, her voice frayed at the edges. “All this time. And you never said anything.”

Lena’s reply is barely more than a breath, still sounds too loud in this barren room. “If I told you… you would’ve stopped.”

Kara is close now. Close enough that Lena can feel the heat of her. Close enough to shatter her completely.

Lena’s eyes fall shut. She’s not ready for this—for the shape of truth spoken out loud. She’s spent too long hiding in the margins, surviving on shadows and half-lit moments, on words never meant to survive the air between them.

“I wouldn’t…” Kara’s voice falters, unsteady as a heartbeat in freefall. She inhales. Holds it. Tries again. “I won’t.”

Lena opens her eyes like the act itself might crack the world open. And Kara is looking at her the way sunlight looks at stained glass—desperate to get through, to touch something it was never meant to hold.

“I will never stop saying it,” Kara whispers.

Her hand rises slowly, reverently. And when she cups Lena’s face, it’s not a touch. It’s a vow.

Lena leans in just enough to say yes. Just enough to answer without words. Because Kara’s hand is trembling—not from fear, but from the weight of what comes next. From the sheer meaning of it.

And somehow, the stillness between them feels deafening. Like something holy. Like souls bleeding together. Like love.

Kara steps closer, and their foreheads meet—soft and sure. A contact so gentle it feels like a prayer.

“I meant every word,” Kara says, voice low and certain. “Even when I thought you couldn’t understand me.”

“I know,” Lena breathes. “I know.”

There’s nothing else left to translate.

Kara tilts her head and kisses her like a question.

There’s nothing rushed about it—no fevered urgency, no desperate pull. Just warmth. Just truth. Just the gravity between them finally given permission to exist.

Lena exhales into it, and it sounds like release. Like surrendering to something that had always been inevitable. Kara's hand drifts to the nape of Lena’s neck, fingers curling softly on her hair. The other rests against her waist, grounding her, because she can’t quite believe this is real and won't let the universe take it back.

The kiss deepens and it feels as if they're learning a secret language neither of them had dared to speak before. It’s soft, but it burns. And Lena can feel every unspoken word between them written into it: I want you. I see you. I love you.

When they finally break apart, it’s only just. Kara stays close, breath brushing over Lena’s cheek like a touch.

Then, in a whisper spun of stars and honesty, “Khap zhao rrip.”

Lena stills. Her eyes flutter open.

I love you.

There’s no mistaking it. No soft translation. No ambiguity.

And this time Lena doesn’t stay silent.

Her voice is hoarse with something holy when she answers.

The words don’t stumble—they rise. From the part of her that has always known how to speak these languages: Kryptonese and love. The part of her that has been waiting.

“Khap zhao rrip, zrhueiao.”

Her mother tongue coming out of Lena's tongue feels like a key turning in the lock of the universe. Kara’s breath catches. Her eyes shimmer like something celestial.

And when they kiss again, it’s no longer a question. It’s a promise.

[supercorpkid]

I just shed a couple tears on the last story, sent it to a friend so I can scream about it with someone else and I just realized I never thank you for inspire me to write Lena fics! So thank you!! I even was inspired by one draft you shared and never finished (I think)

So yeah, thanks so much for your stories and for the inspiration too

Hey!! aww, thanks, that's so nice of you. I mean, it was 100% inspired by that picture of Katie, so yeah, you were right. I'm glad you've enjoyed it so much.

That's so cool!! I'd love to read it if you have a link, or maybe if you wouldn't mind sharing through message? IDK, I'm super curious about which one you're talking about.

Thank YOU for always supporting my writing ❤️💙

[supercorpkid]

Speak Now

Supergirl. Baby Danvers. Lena Luthor x B!D. Kara Danvers.

Word Count: 3.3k

Whoa.

She looks beautiful.

It hits you like a punch to the chest. No warning, no mercy. Just Lena. In white. Standing there like she’s already someone else’s, and it guts you in a way nothing else has.

Her dress is too bright. Too clean. Like it’s trying to blind you into looking away. Her hair’s pulled back, every pin a quiet little soldier holding the shape of a future you were never invited into. Pearls catch the light in her dark hair; tiny, glinting things that look like memories you never got to keep.

She’s staring at herself in the mirror like she doesn’t recognize the reflection. Like she’s trying to fake it. Make it real. Make this hers. She looks perfect, even though is shaped like a heartbreak.

No. Worse. 

She looks like your dream—wrapped in silk and promises. A dream you’ve carried so close inside your mind it’s rewritten your memories, reshaped the way you breathe around her.

You don’t say any of that. You can’t. So you swallow the words like you always do, and it burns like bile when they go back down your throat.

Instead, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you try softly, like your heart isn’t screaming. “You sent for me?”

She turns. The smell of lavender hits you first. Hers. Familiar. Warm. But tonight, it smells like endings. Like something soft being whisked away.

The smile she offers is an imitation of a painted curve on lips you know so intimately. Tight, automatic, polite. Like another piece of jewelry she’s carefully put in place. You’ve lived entire days inside her real smiles, and this—this isn’t one of them.

“Yeah,” she says, her fingers tracing the delicate edge of her veil as if it’s made from thorns. “I couldn’t get this stupid thing to sit right. I could use your help.”

You cross the room without thinking. Like gravity. Like your body remembers her more than you do. Your hands move on autopilot while fixing, adjusting, pretending to focus on anything except her watery eyes. Pretending her skin doesn't burn your hands.

“Nervous?” 

It slips out. You want to take it back the second it does.

She laughs. Sort of. A thin, shaky sound she tries to pass off as ease. “Everyone gets cold feet, right?” But she doesn’t believe it. Not for a second. You can see it in the way she studies her own reflection not with excitement, but like she’s checking for visible cracks.

“He’s good,” she says. “It’ll be fine.”

You nod quietly, even though you want to scream. Good isn’t enough. Fine isn’t love.

Why is she settling for so little, when love is standing right in front of her in a stupid pastel bridesmaid’s dress?

She’s twisting her hands together now. You want to reach out, hold them still, tell her it doesn’t have to be this way. The silent plea echoes in the hollow chambers of your heart. Don’t do this. Don’t marry him. Pick me instead. Please pick me.

But you don’t say it and you certainly don't reach out. Instead, you smile.

Because you love her. And sometimes, loving someone feels like a slow, agonizing death. Sometimes it feels like selfless acts. It feels like walking her to someone else and pretending your heart isn't breaking beyond recognition.

You’re still fiddling with her veil, your fingers clumsy and useless, tugging at nothing, smoothing edges that are already perfect, when her warm hand closes over yours. The touch sends a jolt through you. A painful reminder of the intimacy you’re about to lose.

“Hey,” she says, voice soft, so achingly soft, it nearly unravels the last threads of your composure. “It’s fine. I don't think this is ever going to be perfect.”

You freeze. The delicate lace suddenly burns against your skin.

And you can’t breathe. Because Lena always does this. Always says everything while saying nothing at all. Always gives you just enough to keep you guessing, but never enough to be sure.

Is she talking about the veil? The wedding? Her heart?

You wouldn’t know.

She’s looking at you now. Really looking. And you know—you know—she feels it too. That dangerous pull you've always felt around each other. The gravity of something you’ve both refused to name for years.

There’s a raw vulnerability in her eyes, something fragile and scared that says she’s one breath away from shattering. One breath away from saying something that would change everything. Something she might never be able to take back.

And for one unbearable second, the desperate urge to beg her overwhelms you.

Say it. Say it. Please just say it.

But she doesn’t.

So you blink, and the moment slips merciless. 

You step back, a coward retreating from the battlefield of your own heart. You step back like you haven’t loved her quietly, fiercely, for years. Like your whole soul isn’t screaming her name into the silence of the room.

“Why didn’t you ask your maid of honor for help?” 

A flicker of surprise crosses her face, quickly masked by a familiar politeness. She looks away, fingers smoothing her dress like she could iron out the wrinkles with sheer will alone.

“I didn’t want to stress Kara out,” her voice is soft, almost a whisper. “She already cried over the font in the Save the Date cards.”

She’s trying to make you laugh. You do. Sort of.

“Besides,” she adds, her gaze still averted, “I figured you’d be the one to tell me if I looked like a mess.”

Yeah, right. Like she would ever look like anything less than perfection.

“Still mad I didn’t pick you?” she teases. A light jab. She didn’t mean to sound like that, didn’t mean for it to ache. But it does. It always does, with her.

Because yes. Rao, yes. Every fiber of your being aches with the injustice of it. But not for the reason she thinks.

It’s not the Maid of Honor title that stings. Not the label. Not the rank—best friend after Kara and Sam, but still before Alex.

It’s that you were not considered for the part you wanted most.

It’s his title —Her partner, her lover, her future— you want. It's the name. The one she’ll sign beside his, over and over, a permanent reminder that she does not belong with you.

You want to scream your feelings, shatter this illusion, ruin this carefully orchestrated day. You want to rip the veil away and make her look—really look—and see the truth in your eyes.

But instead—

“No,” you say, the lie a lead weight on your tongue. “Kara would’ve cried if you didn’t pick her. I know my sister.”

She laughs again, a sound that’s real this time. A sound so yours it makes you furious that you’ll have to share it.

And then, before you can stop yourself…

“You look stunning.” You don’t even mean to say it. It just tears out of you, raw and reckless.

Her breath hitches, an almost imperceptible gasp.

“Yeah?” she asks, the word no louder than a hope. A fragile plea for reassurance.

You nod, your throat tight with unshed tears, your heart bleeding a slow, agonizing trail down your spine.

“Yeah. Beautiful—like you always do.”

Because that word—beautiful— encompasses everything: Her spirit. Her laughter. The way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she’s really, truly happy.

And you’re just supposed to let that go.

Lena’s gaze falls, her eyes locked on the way her hands twist in her lap. The white dress she was so careful with this morning is creased now, bunched between her fingers like she’s trying to wring the nerves out of herself. 

The air thickens. Words hang there, unsaid, choking both of you.

“I don’t feel like me,” she says, so quietly you would've missed it if you weren't kryptonian.

You freeze. Every part of you goes still.

“I should,” she adds quickly, like she's trying to outpace the doubt. “I should. I’ve been planning this for months. I’m supposed to be glowing. But instead I just… what if I’ve been pretending so long I forgot what real even looks like?”

Your hands shake. The pin you’re still holding slips through your fingers and clinks against the floor, the sound so small that if the world hadn't stopped just now, no one would hear it.

There it is. The truth. The crack. The real Lena Luthor you've always known.

And every instinct in you screams: Reach for her. Hold her. Kiss her until she forgets his name and only remembers yours. Tell her: Then don’t go. Stay. Stay here, where real is waiting for you.

But you don’t. You bend down, slow and clumsy, and pick up the pin. You press it into place, sealing her into a future that has nothing to do with you.

“Lena, come on,” you say, and your voice sounds like someone else's, flat and distant, like it’s echoing through a tunnel. “You know what you’re doing. You’ve got this. This is what you've been preparing yourself for so long.”

Every word tastes like ash.

“Stop.” She jerks her head away, her voice sharp, sudden, desperate. Her eyes flash like something breaking open. “God, Y/N. Don't do that. I called for you because I thought—” Her voice cracks, and the sound of it feels like it physically tears into you. “I thought you’d tell me the truth. If I wanted that speech you're giving me, I would've called Sushine Danvers. ”

You look at her. At the mess of her dress, her trembling hands, the chaos flickering in her eyes. You look at her the way you always do. And it hurts.

“What do you want me to say?” Your voice is small, barely there.

“The truth.”

But the truth—the real, whole truth—is still locked inside you, pressed down beneath fear and history and the knowledge that loving her out loud might ruin your lives.

So you don’t give her all of it. You give her nothing.

“About what?” you ask, the deflection weak, your last defense already crumbling.

“This.” She waves at the room, at the dress, at herself, at everything closing in. “Tell me. Am I making a mistake?”

Your arms fall to your sides, useless. The veil you just pinned shifts, like even it knows it doesn’t belong here. She’s watching you with that look that sees too much. That quiet plea: Please. Please just say it so I don’t have to.

“Lena,” you whisper. Just her name. It feels like stepping up to the edge of something you won’t survive.

Because anything more—anything real—would break it all wide open.

She lets out a breath of a laugh, but there’s nothing soft about it. Just bitterness, just pain.

“Don’t you dare,” she says, and her voice is shaking now. “Don’t you dare look at me like that, with that look like you see right through me, and still lie.”

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to pick her up in bridal style and fly away. Find a way. You want to take her somewhere where no one’s waiting and everything is quiet and honest and just for the two of you.

But instead, you give her the lie that finally kills you.

“No. You’re just nervous.”

And something breaks. Not loudly—but deeply. Quietly. Something that was beautiful in its almost-ness, that could’ve been something more, cracks and falls apart in both of you.

Lena closes her eyes, and a single tear escapes, trailing slowly down her cheek like it doesn’t want to leave either.

And you know that something inside her, something soft and brave and maybe yours, probably just died right there.

“I thought if you said it was right,” she says, her voice wrecked now, thick and trembling, “I’d believe it. I always believe you. But, alas…”

And you realize—too late, always too late—that she would’ve stayed. If you’d just been brave. If you’d given her something to hold on to.

But you didn’t.

And now she’s going to marry someone else, with your name still caught somewhere in her throat like something she never got to say.

And you’ll sit there, front row, with a smile that doesn’t belong to you. You’ll clap when they kiss. And the sound will echo inside the hollowed-out place where your heart used to be.

Before you even find the words, the ones that could undo whatever mistake you just made—

“Hey guys!”

A too-loud interruption slices through the suffocating silence.

Your sister bursts into the room like artificial sunlight, breathless and beaming, her cheerfulness too bright to be real. She’s nervous too—you can tell by the way her smile twitches at the edges. But when her eyes land on Lena, they soften instantly. That part is genuine.

“Ten minutes!” she announces, her voice falsely bright. “Oh, Lena, you look perfect. He’s going to absolutely lose it when he sees you.”

She beams, then points at you with mock sternness, missing entirely the raw ache clinging to the air.

“You—make sure she’s not late. I’m still trying to convince Esmé to toss the petals like a flower girl and not a tiny assassin.” 

She turns to Lena, softening instantly, like she’s worried the joke might’ve gone too far.

“But don’t worry,” she adds, smiling. “Either way, it’s gonna be cute.”

Lena only nods. You manage a weak smile, your chest tight with pain.

“Don’t worry. I've got this.” The words feel cruel. You've got nothing.

Kara nods, satisfied, her mind already half-back in the chaos outside. She squeezes Lena’s hand, a final stamp of approval on a future that doesn’t include you and floats away, all light and nerves and misplaced hope.

The door clicks shut behind her.

Silence folds in again, heavier now, more aware of what it’s covering.

“Okay! Ten minutes! Let's make this sit right, so you can walk down the aisle.”

You reach for the veil, that delicate thing you tried so hard to fix, but Lena catches your hand mid-air. 

“So,” she says, her voice too light, too fake, “you’re in charge of getting me to the aisle, huh.”

She laughs once. A single breath, sharp with irony.

“To be honest,” she whispers, voice lined with something aching, “I always thought you’d be the one to keep me from it.”

Your heart stutters. You search her face, desperate for some clue that this is a joke, a mistake, anything. But all you find is the raw truth—unhidden, undeniable. She’s stripped it bare. No more polite pretending.

Time stills. The air is thick, suspended between the before and the after.

“Lena…” you start, your voice barely there. Your fingers are still caught in hers—this fragile thread between you—and you don’t pull away.

Then, before fear can clamp down, before loyalty or logic or the memory of his face can stop you, it all cracks open.

“What do you want me to say?” you whisper, voice thick with unshed tears. “Tell me. I’ll do whatever you need. It is your day, after all.”

Something flickers in her eyes. Small. Barely visible.

“If you need me to get you to that aisle,” you go on, your voice trembling, “I will. In nine minutes. I’ll fix your veil. I’ll hold your bouquet. I’ll smile when you say yes no matter how I feel.”

She doesn’t let go of your hand.

“But if you don’t. If you want the truth—here, now, before you vow yourself to someone else…”

Your voice breaks. 

“I’ll give you that too.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Electric. Years of longing collapsing into this breathless moment. You can feel your pulse everywhere. In your throat. Your hands. The space where her skin still touches yours.

“Which one do you want, Lena?” you ask, your voice low and breaking. “The lie—where I play the supportive friend? Or the truth—insane and real and bound to destroy everything? You have to choose, because I can’t give you both.”

She doesn’t hesitate.

“The truth. Finally tell me the truth.” Her voice is paper-thin, unraveling. “Please. I need to hear it. Just once.”

Her gaze drifts to the door. That future, so close she can almost touch it. But she’s still standing here.

Your chest tightens like a trap. Each breath is a struggle. You step closer, careful. She looks like she might shatter.

“I’m in love with you,” You confess.

The words land like a confession and a curse altogether. A prayer and a funeral bell. Not hope. Just the truth. Raw, sacred, inevitable.

She gasps, soft, sharp, believing. For the first time, her gaze drops. Then she looks up again—and the mask is gone. What’s left is Lena. Not the bride, not the one who's gonna take his last name. 

“I know,” she says. Quiet. Broken. “I think… I think I’ve always known.”

And the unspoken question bleeds between you like smoke: Then why are you still giving yourself away?

“So what now?” you ask, barely holding it together. “Now you go out there and promise yourself to him? You walk down the aisle with him waiting at the end and not me?”

Each word is a blow, and she takes them all—flinching, silent, her throat working around something she can’t quite say.

“Is this what this is, Lena?”

 “I—”

 “Speak now or forever hold your peace. We have two minutes until go time. What’s gonna be?”

Your voice cracks on the last line. She looks at you, and there’s something new behind her eyes—something sharp and bright and terrified.

She exhales. And the breath she lets go isn’t a sigh—it’s surrender.

“I can’t do it,” she says, so quietly it doesn’t sound real. “I can’t walk down that aisle. Not when it’s not you.”

You blink once. Twice.

Her fingers tighten around yours, the veil still dangling from your other hand like some ghost of what almost was. She looks at it, then at you, and when she speaks, her voice is steadier this time, threaded with adrenaline and something that sounds dangerously close to resolve.

“Run away with me.”

“Lena, wait—”

“I mean it,” she says, stepping closer, closer, until there’s no air between you at all. “Take me anywhere that isn’t this. Anywhere I don’t have to lie with every step I take.”

The world narrows. Just her face. Her voice. Her hand in yours.

And you don’t think. You just act.

You drop the veil.

You pick her up.

You run.

Through the side door, past startled sisters and an unsuspecting Sam holding Lena's bouquet like a question mark. Down the corridor where laughter echoes in the wrong direction. Out into the sun, where the world still dares to be bright and blooming, unaware of how you're about to destroy this wedding.

You don’t look back.

And Lena laughs—really laughs—and it’s breathless and wild and so full of life it feels like the first time you’ve heard it. You glance down at her, her heels in one hand, the veil flying around you like a flag of rebellion, and she smiles at you like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. 

You don’t stop running until your lungs burn and your laughters dissolves into gasps. You stop behind a brick wall, out of sight, hearts pounding in sync. The silence after the sprint is loud in your ears—like the world’s holding its breath with you.

She turns to you, flushed and radiant, hair wild, veil long gone. And when her eyes meet yours, everything stills.

You don’t speak. You don’t need to.

You kiss her. Soft. Certain. Not a question, not a maybe—just yes. Just finally.

She melts into it, one hand at your jaw, the other still clutching her shoes like she can’t let go of the ridiculousness of it all.

When she pulls back, her eyes shine. And she nods—smiling, radiant, real. Like someone who finally ran toward the right thing.

“Thank you for saving me,” she whispers. “I think I’ve been waiting for this my whole life.”

And in that moment, you're so glad you finally told the truth.

[supercorpkid]

(Jess anon here) Thanks so much!! Certainly no "must-haves", it's up to you! I guess some thoughts I have in mind are a friendfic where Lena gradually opens up to her/brings her into the friend group and she becomes part of it, or of course it could be romantic with her dating one of the group or getting her own partner. Whatever you get inspired to write will be great!

Hi!!

First of all I'd like to apologize for taking SO LONG to write this! I couldn't find an angle to, but then... I did. Finally?

So, I don't know if you're still interested, but here it is what I could come up with... Hope you like it :)

Who's that girl? It's Jess!

Thank you for your support!!

[supercorpkid]

Who's that girl? It's Jess!

Supergirl. Supercorp. Jess. Lena Luthor x Kara Danvers. Alex Danvers. Esmé Danvers. Sam Arias.

Word count: 4k

Jess flinched. The sound of the door slamming shook the glass in its frame, sharp and final. Whatever that was, it wasn’t just a disagreement. No. That was a fallout. And Jess hadn’t known anything was falling.

Kara stood in front of her, blinking fast, like she could push the tears back. Her eyes weren’t their usual bright blue. They looked clouded, raw, and most definitely wet.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Danvers,” Jess said, scrambling for professionalism and barely finding it. “Miss Luthor can’t see you right now. Maybe another time?”

It was a lie. Obviously. Lena hadn’t said ‘not right now,’ she’d said nothing, just closed the door like she was slamming a vault shut. There was no ‘maybe’ in that.

Kara gave her a smile that hurt to look at. Watery, uneven, nowhere near her eyes. Like a sun being hidden by rainy clouds. “Yeah. Maybe.”

When the elevator doors slid closed, Lena's voice rang on her phone.

“Jess, come in. Now.”

Crisp. Clipped. The kind of tone that meant Lena was either about to deliver a million-dollar idea or emotionally decapitate someone. And judging by the timing, Jess was leaning toward the latter.

She stepped into the office quietly. Lena was at the window, her arms crossed tight, posture like steel. The city lights glittered behind her, all calm and pretty and completely at odds with the tension radiating off her back.

“Yes, Miss Luthor?”

Lena turned. Her face was a mask, perfectly composed, perfectly cold. But Jess had worked for her long enough to know better. That stillness meant something was breaking underneath.

“Make a note,” Lena said, voice low and terrifyingly even. “Kara Danvers is no longer allowed access to this building. At any time. Is that clear?”

Jess’s mouth dropped open before she could stop it. Her brain scrambled. What?

She shut it again quickly, forcing her face back into something professional, but it was already too late. Kara? Not allowed? Ever?

That made no sense. They were always together. Lunch in Lena’s office nearly every day, whispered conversations and shared coffees and—

Oh god. The flowers. The thousands of flowers.

And the CatCo acquisition… Jess had always told herself it was a strategy. Smart move. Expanding influence. But now? Now there's more to it.

Jess blinked. Her brain was spinning, trying to reprocess everything — every lingering glance, every too-long lunch break, every quiet little moment she’d been too busy or too polite to question.

Lena turned back to the window. “Is that understood, Jess?”

Jess swallowed. “Yes, Miss Luthor.”

But her hands were already cold. Her mind wouldn’t stop spiraling.

She started mentally drafting the email to security, fingers twitching with the effort to act normal. But another part of her, the slightly nosey, deeply confused part,  was flipping through years of memories, stitching together a very different version of reality.

She hesitated. Usually she’d ask if Lena needed anything else, but the silence in the room felt dangerous. Lena looked like she might shatter if someone breathed too hard. Jess wanted to say something, anything, maybe even So… did you and Kara break up? But that would’ve been insane. Suicidal, even.

“You’re dismissed.”

Jess nodded. “Alright, Miss Luthor.” and slipped out, shutting the door behind her as quietly as she could.

Back at her desk, Jess stared at the glowing screen in front of her. The email she was about to send felt surreal. Like being told to ban sunlight from the windows.

Kara Danvers: banned from L-Corp.

Lena and Kara were supposed to be constants. Staples of the L-Corp ecosystem. Jess had honestly thought they might outlive the company itself. But now? 

Her fingers froze halfway through the entry.

She remembered the late nights. The flowers that always showed up in Kara's office. The way Lena laughed when Kara was in the room, like the sound had been waiting for her.

God. Had they been dating? Like actually dating? And no one noticed?

It felt like discovering your favorite book had a secret chapter written in invisible ink.

Before she could spiral further into the rabbit hole of accidental queer historical analysis, her intercom buzzed.

“Jess,” Lena’s voice crackled through “Can you come in for a moment?”

Jess stood so fast her chair nearly toppled over. “On my way, Miss Luthor.”

Inside, Lena hadn’t moved much from earlier. But now she had a glass of something amber in her hand. Not enough to be a warning sign, just enough to hint at it.

Jess waited for instructions. Except… none came. Lena turned after a long silence, and when she did, her mask had slipped a fraction.

“She lied to me,” Lena said quietly. 

Jess opened her mouth, then closed it again. This… wasn’t in the assistant handbook.

“I’m sorry,” she offered, incapable of more.

Lena exhaled, slow and tired. “You know what’s ridiculous? I had an entire speech about honesty. I was going to make it very logical, calm. I even practiced it.”

Jess's mouth went dry. This is definitely not my job, she thought, but nodded anyway, as if she had any right to be standing here for this.

“But when I saw her, it just—” Lena broke off, shaking her head like she was shaking something loose. “It didn’t matter. I couldn’t say any of it. I just—slammed the door.” A dry, humorless huff of laughter escaped her. “Real mature.”

Jess’s brain short-circuited. Had Lena Luthor just… opened up to her? Like, actual human emotions kind of opened up?

“Do you want me to…” she began, then trailed off, because she had no idea how that sentence was going to end.

“No,” Lena said, with a wave of her hand. “You’ve done enough. Thank you, Jess.”

Jess gave a professional nod and fled.

Back at her desk, she clutched her mug like it was a flotation device. Her mind screamed: Okay so definitely dating. Or almost dating. Or in love with each other and refusing to admit it, which is basically the same thing except more exhausting.

This was no longer just a Kara-and-Lena problem. This was a national crisis. And she was in the middle of it.

How had she become the reluctant keeper of Lena Luthor’s heartbreak?

She wasn’t just taking notes for work anymore. She was… documenting. Witnessing. Cataloguing the slow unraveling of something she didn’t fully understand but was definitely too close to ignore. The more she thought about it: the late nights, the private lunches, the suspiciously domestic little rituals… the more obvious it all became.

The relationship between Lena Luthor and Kara Danvers wasn’t just significant. It was foundational. Jess had always thought they were some kind of weird workplace gravitational constant.

And now?

Now Lena was heartbreak in heels, Kara looked like she'd been hollowed out from the inside, and Jess was left trying to make sense of the cosmic fallout.

That’s when she started her list — the mental one she couldn’t stop building:

Definitely Dating, Right?? Evidence:

So many dinner plans

Knew each other's coffee order by heart

Baked bribes (plural)

Kara spoke at Lena’s tech conference like it was a wedding toast

Hugs lasted way too long

Lena laughs different when Kara’s in the room

And Kara. The way she’d looked today, like the ache was living right under her skin. Like she’d lost something irreplaceable and was still trying not to show it.

That’s what did it. That’s when Jess decided. She was going to fix this.

She didn’t mean to get this involved. Really.

But there’s only so much dramatic silence, longing stares, and closed office doors a person can take before something in them just… snaps.

So, fine. Maybe she started keeping a little list. Maybe there were steps. Maybe she was going to do everything she could to fix it.

Sue her.

But Operation Get-Kara-And-Lena-Back-Together was officially a go.

Step one: intel gathering. She cornered Kara’s sister in the CatCo lobby with a muffin and her most innocent smile. 

“Totally unrelated,” She began.

"To what? We weren't even talking…”

“If you had to guess who broke the other’s heart, which way would you bet?” 

Alex blinked, visibly weighing the odds that this was a trap.

Jess leaned in. “Think of me as Switzerland. Just with better taste in boots.” 

Alex’s opinions turned out to be too cryptic to log. Jess crossed her off the source list. But maybe Sam would know something. She was Lena’s best friend, after all.

The call was innocuous enough. Something about the L Corp subsidiary Sam was overseeing. And then, halfway through pretending to care about quarterly projections, Jess dropped the question:

“Oh, by the way,” she said, casually, “totally random, but has Lena mentioned anything about, I don’t know, a catastrophic romantic implosion recently? Like, hypothetically?”

There was a pause. Then a sigh.

“Jesus. Did they actually break up?”

Jess sat up straighter. “So you knew something was going on.”

Sam made a noise like she was pinching the bridge of her nose. “Jess. Everyone knew. Esmé made them a macaroni art collage titled ‘My Aunts in Love.’”

Jess slammed her laptop shut. “Why does no one tell me anything?!”

“I assumed you knew. You’re literally their handler.”

Step two: emotional traps, aka weaponized sentimentality.

She dug up an old photo from the office holiday party — Lena looking terrifying (and gorgeous) in a black velvet dress, Kara leaning into her side with a candy cane between her teeth and stars in her eyes. Jess casually slipped it onto Lena’s desk, tucked between two budget reports.

The photo was mysteriously missing the next day.

It wasn’t her fault, she told herself. While knowing, in fact, it was entirely her fault.

The flowers were already scheduled — same as always, every other week. Sure, she could’ve canceled the order. But Lena had been so busy lately. Too busy to notice something small and stupid like…

...flowers.

Jess didn’t see Kara cry. But according to CatCo’s assistant, Kara had torn her office apart trying to find the card.

There wasn’t one this time.

And yeah — she cried when she couldn’t find it.

Step Three: recruitment. 

Or, as she would later call it, the day she accidentally gained a co-conspirator.

"I'm in," Alex said, cornering her by the elevator before Jess had even had a chance to swipe her badge.

Jess blinked. “What?”

“Whatever strategy, sabotage, divine intervention you’ve got going to get those two back together — I’m in. I can't take it anymore. Kara’s been moping around like a kicked puppy for weeks. So... what’s the next step?”

Jess stared at her, half-awake, “Is this… a dream? Am I hallucinating this because of sleep deprivation and romantic rage?”

Alex crossed her arms. “Jess.”

“Oh my God, this is real,” Jess whispered. Then louder: “Okay. Okay, yeah. Welcome to Operation Emotional Whiplash.”

Step Four: use their love for Esmé.

Jess had considered it, briefly. But she figured Alex would never go for it. Surely she wouldn’t let her baby daughter get involved in a scheme to emotionally manipulate two full-grown adults. Right?

Wrong.

When Esmé marched into the office with a crayon drawing titled “Happy Again” and a very specific request that both Kara and Lena be present for the unveiling, Jess realized this wasn’t a solo mission anymore.

This was a movement.

“They both cried,” Esmé reported afterward, entirely unfazed. “Can I have a cookie now?”

Jess gave her three. For bravery.

It was on step five, however, that things got out of hand.

Step Five: go big or—oh my God, am I losing my mind?

It started with a theme. That’s how you knew things had spiraled out of control.

Jess had been brainstorming ways to "accidentally" lure Kara and Lena into the same room without risking another emotional detonation. Something light. Fun. Distracting.

“Maybe… a party?” she said one day, mostly to herself.

But then Alex — sleep-deprived, emotionally unstable, and drunk on too much sisterly guilt — looked up from her phone and said, “What about a carnival?”

That should’ve been the end of it. A throwaway idea. But instead Jess said, “Oh my God. Yes. I know a guy with a popcorn machine.”

One week later, L-Corp's private rooftop was transformed. There was a cotton candy station. String lights and streamers in shimmering SuperCorp color palettes. Esmé had made a sign that said “Lena & Kara’s Fun Time, Attendance Mandatory” with glitter stickers.

No one stopped her.

Alex somehow acquired a miniature ferris wheel. “Don’t ask,” she said, tossing receipts onto Jess’s desk that made her gag audibly.

“Why did you buy a hundred plush space frogs?” Jess asked.

“For atmosphere,” Alex said, visibly unhinged.

It got to the point where Sam had to get involved. Since they were kind of, you know, spending a lot of company money on this.

It was around hour nine of hand-painting the “Super Ring Toss” sign that Jess realized she might have gone too far.

Like, way too far.

There was paint on her sleeves, glitter in her hair, and the faint sound of an air pump inflating a moon bounce in the background. She was pretty sure she’d pulled something carrying a popcorn cart up so many flights of stairs because somebody (her, it was her) forgot to rent the freight elevator.

“This is insane,” she muttered to no one, dropping her paintbrush. “This is absolutely unhinged. I’m Lena's assistant, not their fairy godmother. Or their therapist. Or their… weird matchmaking friend with a craft addiction.”

She looked around at the carnival chaos blooming around her.

Lena was her boss. Technically. No, definitely. And Kara was—well, Kara was supposed to be banned from the building.

And here Jess was. Making a rigged carnival game with her bare hands to force them into the same romantic airspace.

She sat down, right in the middle of the glittery mess. “What am I doing?” 

There was a soft rustling beside her. Esmé plopped down cross-legged, holding a container of heart-shaped stickers. She silently peeled one off and stuck it to Jess’s arm.

“You’re doing amazing,” she said solemnly.

Jess blinked. “Thanks.”

The sticker read #1 Boss Cupid. When did Esmé have time to do that?

And then, before she knew, before she had time to second guess this further— the guests arrived. CatCo employees. L-Corp staff. Sam came in from Metropolis. Brainy and Nia showed up in matching outfits. 

Lena arrived in red. Kara showed up wearing blue. Jess nearly screamed. She didn’t. She swallowed it. Barely.

Soon Esmé was holding up a camera yelling, “Say cheese or I’m telling everyone about that time you fell asleep while babysitting!!” And they actually stood together. For a photo. Neither of them burst into flames.

Jess hid behind the popcorn machine and gripped the counter like it was keeping her tethered to the earth. Alex sidled up beside her, holding a snow cone.

“They’re talking,” Alex said quietly. “Like, actual words. No tragic silences.”

Jess exhaled so hard it came out like a sob. “Oh my god. Do you think it’s working?”

“If it doesn’t, we burn the whole city down and start over.”

“Valid.”

Across the crowd, Kara laughed at something Lena said. Lena didn’t look away. Her lips twitched like she was trying not to smile but failing.

Jess stared at them, heart pounding. “I might actually cry.”

“Don’t,” Alex warned. “It'll make this weird.”

Jess’s eyes flicked around the party. “I’m pretty sure this is already weird.”

As more guests arrived, Jess busied herself with last-minute carnival tasks, but her gaze kept returning to Kara and Lena. They were standing close, laughing, as if their recent conflict had never happened. For the first time since her crazy scheme began, a flicker of hope ignited within her. Maybe, just maybe, her ridiculous plan might actually work.

And then, it happened. Near the balloon animals.

Jess was restocking napkins—because apparently no one else at this fake carnival cared about organization—when she felt a hand catch hers, light and sure.

She turned.

Kara stood there, soft-eyed and shining under the string lights. She didn’t say anything at first, just held Jess’s paint-smudged hand for a second longer than necessary. Then, in the quietest voice, just loud enough to hear over the cotton candy machine, she murmured, “Thank you.”

Jess blinked. “For what?”

Kara's smile was small, knowing, and just a little sad.

Jess tried to shrug. “I mean, technically, this was all Alex’s—”

But Kara had already moved on, slipping back into the crowd, the moment barely a breath.

Jess stared after her, heart hammering. She felt it. That glowing warmth in her chest. Like she’d done something good. Like maybe, just maybe, it had mattered.

And she nearly got away with it. She was this close to slipping out the side exit with her dignity semi-intact when—

“Jess.”

The voice stopped her like a trap snapping shut. She froze, turned slowly—and yep. Lena.

Hands on her hips. Red lipstick slightly smudged. Dangerous glint in her eyes. Standing between Jess and every possible escape route.

“Hi,” Jess said, way too brightly. “Did you enjoy the festivities?”

Lena raised a brow. “You mean the unsolicited rooftop carnival that hijacked my company’s schedule and budget for the week?”

“I would classify it as an interdepartmental morale-boosting social activation event,” Jess offered. “Helps build synergy.”

“Synergy,” Lena repeated flatly.

“Between divisions,” Jess nodded, backing toward the door, “especially with Kara as the head of CatCo—technically—”

“Right,” Lena cut in. “We’ll talk about it. Tomorrow.”

Jess gave her most professional, definitely-not-panicking smile. “Tomorrow? Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Step Six: get fired... possibly?

Jess came in early. Earlier than usual. Earlier than anyone ever should.

She wasn’t sure if it was the anxiety, the fear of Lena Luthor’s wrath, or the fact that she hadn’t actually slept thanks to the glitter still embedded in her pillowcase. Probably all three. Definitely the glitter.

She sat at her desk like it was a confession booth. Hands folded. Phone off. Soul bared.

At 8:01 AM, Lena’s door opened.

“Jess,” Lena said. Flat. Sharp. And, oh god, wearing her all-black power suit—the firing suit.

Jess stood immediately. “Morning! You look—powerful.”

“Come in.”

Jess followed her into the office like she was walking into a guillotine.

Lena didn’t sit. She turned, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “I was set on firing you yesterday.”

Jess flinched hard. Oh this is gonna be bad.

“But,” Lena continued, pacing slowly behind her desk, “some people came to your rescue.”

Jess blinked. “...People?”

“Alex,” Lena said with a sigh, “told me it was her idea too. Which I kind of believed. Esmé cried, saying it was to make us happy. And Sam—well. Sam called me a ‘romantic coward’ and said I should be thanking you for having more spine than Kara and I combined.”

“Oh, wow.”

Lena fixed her with a look. “Apparently, they are big fans of your meddling work.”

Jess tried not to squirm. “I... appreciate their support?”

“But that doesn’t mean I’m not furious.”

Here it comes, Jess thought. The scathing takedown. The monologue. The legal action.

Lena stepped closer, voice quiet but sharp. “Do you understand how insane it is to throw an unauthorized carnival on a corporate rooftop? How many liability waivers did I have to sign this morning?”

“Alex said we didn't need permits,” Jess offered weakly. “She is the one working for the government, so I—”

“You forged a fake event memo, Jess.”

Jess coughed. “Barely. I always write them anyway. I just… made you sign it.”

“You spent company money on a miniature ferris wheel and a hundred space frogs.”

“For atmosphere,” Jess mumbled.

“And,” Lena continued, eyebrows climbing higher, “you had Esmé write a glitter-covered sign that said ‘Attendance Mandatory by me and Kara. Which was not at all subtle.’”

“Trust me, she came up with that. I just—didn't stop her.”

Lena sighed. Rubbed her temple. Finally, finally sat behind her desk, looking way more tired than Jess had expected.

“I’m your boss,” she said after a long pause. “This—whatever that was—it crossed a lot of lines.”

Jess nodded, swallowing. “I know.”

“You orchestrated an entire operation behind my back. You used a child. Esmé now thinks she's Cupid. With stickers.”

“Her moms were okay with that.”

Lena stared at her.

Jess straightened. “Look, I know I should apologize. And I do. I’m sorry. I got too involved. I shouldn’t have. But—” She hesitated. “You seemed miserable. Kara was definitely miserable. And Esmé kept drawing pictures of the two of you holding hands in front of a rainbow. And I just—”

“You just what?”

Jess’s voice softened. “I just wanted you to be happy.”

The silence stretched. Lena leaned back in her chair, studying her.

“Why?” she said eventually. Quiet.

Jess froze. That wasn’t the question she’d expected. She could’ve handled being yelled at. But ‘why?’ That was… dangerous. That was soft. And Jess had no armor for it today.

“I—” she started, but stopped. 

Why?

Because she’d seen Lena break a picture frame of both of them. Because she’d watched Kara nearly cry her heart out in front of a stranger. Because the two of them had been walking around like broken halves of something whole, and it hurt to look at. That’s why.

But Jess didn’t say any of that. Couldn't. Instead, she offered, “Because! You're the CEO. If you're happy, the employees are happy.”

Lena blinked. Her expression didn’t change, but something in her posture shifted—just slightly. Her arms uncrossed. Her shoulders dropped.

“Look, Miss Luthor, I'm sorry. I know it’s not my place, and I crossed the line, and I accept whatever comes next. But someone had to do something. And I wasn't alone on it, because everyone else saw how much you two weren't fine. I'm sorry but—I’d do it again.”

There was a long pause. Lena stared at her. And then, with an exhausted sigh, Lena reached into a drawer and pulled out a folder.

Jess braced for termination papers.

Instead, Lena muttered, “We’re moving your office.”

Jess blinked. “Wait—what?”

“You’re being promoted,” Lena said, eyebrow raising. “Effective immediately. You’re now Head of Cross-Departmental Relations.”

“Is… that a real thing?”

“It is now.”

Jess blinked again. “You’re not firing me?”

Lena exhaled slowly, then looked up at her, gaze even. “I probably should. But apparently you’ve wormed your way into everyone’s hearts. Including Kara’s. And Esmé’s. And Sam’s. And even Alex's, somehow. So you’re staying.”

Jess let out a half-hysterical breath. “Okay. Okay. Cool. Promoted!’

“But next time you plan a romantic ambush on my property,” Lena added, “you run it by me. Or I will call security.”

Jess grinned. “Deal.”

She stood, legs slightly wobbly from adrenaline, and backed toward the door.

“Jess?” Lena said just before she reached it.

She turned. “Yeah?”

“…Thank you,” Lena said, quiet. Sincere.

Her heart did something weird in her chest. She nodded once—quickly—afraid she would say something dumb like You’re welcome, Boss, please name your first child after me.

Jess’s heart thudded so hard she was worried Lena might actually hear it. She turned to go—already halfway out the door when—

“Wait,” she said, almost without meaning to. She turned back, voice unsteady. “Did it… work?”

Lena paused. Her expression didn’t change right away. Still cool. Still unreadable. But something in her eyes shifted—softer, maybe. A little lighter.

She looked at her desk. Then back at Jess.

“We talked,” she said, a smile threatening to appear. “Last night.”

Jess held her breath.

Lena gave the smallest nod, like she was still getting used to the idea of opening up to her assistant. “We’re giving each other another chance.”

Jess actually swayed on the spot. Lena didn’t comment on it, which was kind.

So she bit back the thousand squeaky sounds building in her throat and just said, very seriously, “Okay. Okay. That’s… good. That’s very good. I mean, for you. Good for you.”

She bolted.

Lena didn’t stop her. But she was definitely smiling when the door closed.

Step Seven: reunite National City’s most dramatic power couple.

Step Eight: never admit how happy that made her. Not out loud, anyway.

[supercorpkid]

If Death Has No Claim

Supergirl. Baby Danvers. Lena Luthor x BD! Reader, Alex Danvers.

Word Count: 3.7k

Notes: kinda angsty, but happy ending.

You don’t remember leaving the fight. Just pain—sharp, cold, blooming behind your ribs like something ruptured. Everything was too loud. Too bright. Then, too dark.

Somehow, you find her balcony. Barely. You land clumsy on your knees, half-conscious. Your vision swims, one eye swollen shut, blood trailing warm down your face.

You reach the glass with shaking fingers. Tap once. A wet, red print smears across the windowpane. You try to breathe. Can’t. Try to knock again. Don’t make it. Your hand slips down the glass as you collapse, leaving a trail like a signature.

You can’t believe this is how you die.

She appears in the blur of it. The door flies open. Lena stares for half a second—frozen, hand still on the handle—before she’s rushing forward.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” she breathes, her voice cracking like glass. “What happened to you?”

You don’t know if this is real or a dream. If this is the next life or still your own. But you say her name. Chant it. Like a promise, like an oath, like a last word.

“Lena…”

Your lips barely move. You taste blood. And then you're gone.

She doesn’t remember asking for help. Doesn’t remember yelling Hope to initiate the Lena Luthor Protocol. Doesn’t remember the medkits or the blacklisted Luthor tech no one knows she still has. Lena doesn’t even know how she manages to carry a Kryptonian to her couch.

The world’s gone fuzzy at the edges—except for you. You, limp and bloodied on her sofa. You, breathing shallowly. You, barely alive.

She wipes the blood off your face with trembling hands. Tells herself it’s to assess the damage, to keep you from choking on it. But the truth is: she can’t stand to see your face like this.

Not when your skin is usually warm. Not when your mouth is usually curled in that stupid smile that drives her insane.

Now it’s slack. Pale. Split open from someone’s fist.

A tear falls before she can stop it. 

“Who did this to you?” she whispers, voice shaking. “Why—why does it always have to be you?”

You don’t answer. Of course you don’t. You’re out cold. Barely holding on.

So she presses her forehead to yours and whispers it again, softer now.

“Why does it always have to be you, my love?”

She cleans your face with trembling hands. Clutches at your ruined suit. Whispers your name again and again, like she could summon you back with nothing but want.

Nothing changes. Not even as the sunlight emulator beams down at full capacity, burning both your skins.

The silence presses in like a vice.

Her hand trembles as she brushes your hair back from your face—careful, so careful not to touch the bruising blooming beneath your eye. Her fingers come away bloody. Again.

And then the memory slips in. Like bile. Like poison.

It started with laughter.

The kind that left you breathless—leaning into each other on Lena’s couch, the TV long forgotten. One of your knees was hooked over hers, your fingers toying absently with the sleeve of her cardigan like you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

And Lena—Lena had been staring at your smile like it was sunlight. Like it was something sacred. Like it belonged to her and not to you.

You turned toward her, some half-formed joke still on your lips, but it died there when you saw her face. The way her smile had softened into something else. Something closer to awe. To devotion.

Her eyes dropped to your mouth. The room stilled.

It felt like a spark. A held breath. Neither of you moved—but the air between you did.

You were so close. So achingly close.

Your fingers slipped down her sleeve until your palm settled on her tight. And hers, as if pulled by gravity, found your waist. She held you there—gentle, but sure. Like she wanted you as close as this, if not closer.

Still, no one moved. Not yet.

It felt like one of those moments that lived outside of time.

You were the one who leaned in. Just a little. Just enough for your noses to brush. For her to feel your breath on her skin like a ghost touch. Close enough that she parted her lips and shut her eyes—trusting, wanting, willing.

So ready. All yours.

But you didn’t kiss her. No.

You whispered her name. And it sounded like she owned it. Like she was the only Lena in the world. Or at least, the only one that mattered.

“Lena… I can’t,”

Her eyes opened. Confused. Soft. Her hands tightened slightly at your waist, stopping you from pulling away.

“Can’t what?”

You swallowed, trying to steady your voice.

“I can’t be your girlfriend.”

She flinched—just slightly. “Oh.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you rushed. “God, Lena, I do. You have no idea how much I do.”

“Then why—?”

“Because what we are, what we could be, it’s more than that. More than titles and could-have-beens and almost-was. I don’t want to be something the world can name and then destroy when it gets hard.”

She didn’t look away. Didn’t interrupt. But her hands had started to shake.

You reached up. Touched her cheek.

“I want to be your person,” you said. “The one you trust when everything else falls apart. The one who stays. The one who knows you better than anyone.”

She blinked a tear.

“Lena, I—I want to be yours in a way no one can take away. Even if you fall in love with someone else someday, or your family disapproves, or the world tries to tear us apart—I want that unshakable, permanent place. The one that’s always mine.”

She closed her eyes again, breathing like she'd just been hit.

“I want to love you past the boundaries of this life,” you said, voice cracking. “I want to promise you something stronger.”

She was really crying now. Silent tears slipping down her cheeks.

And then, your voice went quiet. Reverent.

“Let my last breath be yours. Let your name be the final word on my lips. I want to give you more than just my heart, Lena—because when my body is no longer here, I want you to still hold my soul.”

That broke her. But she kissed your knuckles anyway. Touched your face like she was memorizing it.

Because worse than not having you the way she wanted… was not having you at all.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

And for some goddamn reason, she let you walk away from that moment. From her. Because you made it sound poetic. You made it feel holy. Better than heaven itself.

But it was everything except what she needed. The soul, but not the kiss. The promise, but not the touch. You gave her everything but yourself. And somehow, that still felt better than nothing.

​​And now, as Lena kneels beside you, your blood drying on her hands, that moment claws its way back to life. She remembers what she promised not to need. But she needs it. She needs you.

Because of all the places in the world, you came here. To her.

And when she pulled open the balcony door and caught you before you could fall, the last thing you managed— The last word that had crawled from your throat, thick with blood and pain—

Was her name. Just her name.

And now she understands more clearly than ever: You're dying. And that’s why you came. To keep your promise.

Lena bites down on her lip, trying not to be sick. She wouldn't know how to explain what pain tastes like when it melts into her tongue.

She wants to scream. To beg. Instead she reaches for your hand again—threading her fingers between yours like she’s trying to re-learn how to breathe.

“Do you know what that did to me?” she asks, staring at your broken face. “That night? Having to watch you walk away, like loving me too much was some kind of mercy?”

Her voice shakes. Breaks.

“I don’t want your last breath, Y/N. I want your firsts. I want the rest. I want all of it.”

And when her tears fall this time, they hit your skin like rain.

“Don’t make me keep that promise,” she whispers. “Wake up and love me like I need you to. Like you want to.”

It’s Alex who reaches out, less than an hour later.

There’s panic trying to be buried under her calm. A watery sound crackling at the edges of her voice.

“We lost track of Y/N,” she says with not even a hello first, like the words are spilling out before she can think them. “The mission went bad. Kara—Kara’s in the med bay at the Tower. Unconscious. We got her out in time, before it got worse, but I—Lena, I don’t know where my little sister is. Please, help me—”

“She’s here.”

Lena can’t deal with Alex’s tears right now. Not when she has so many of her own—burning behind her eyes, catching in her throat, begging to be let out.

“She flew here. I’m doing everything I can, okay? She’s—”  Lena glances back at you. The word safe dances at the edge of her mind, something she wants to offer to ease your sister’s fear. But she can’t say it. Not when you look like that—raw and gone.

“I’ve got her.”

Alex exhales. Softer now. “I’ll take care of Kara. You keep her safe.”  A pause. A shift. Something like a watery smile in her voice.  “She’d want it that way anyway.”

Lena closes her eyes. That shouldn't make her cry harder. But it does.

“I know.”

“If she needs anything, you call me, okay?”

Lena nods, even though Alex can’t see her. “I will.”

She hangs up without saying goodbye.

And when she sets the phone down, she turns back to you—like she’s never going to look away again.

It takes her a while to realize her hands are shaking. That she hasn’t moved since she hung up on Alex. Just stood there, watching your chest rise and fall in that uneven, terrifying rhythm.

Lena forces herself into motion.

She tries to make you more comfortable, pillows, blankets, warmer sunlight. But it’s not enough. Not when your skin’s still cold. Not when your lips are cracked and pale.

So she lifts you, as carefully as she can, like you might shatter in her arms. You're heavier than she expects—not in weight, but in everything else. The limpness. The trust. The unbearable stillness.

She lays you in her bed.

And then she hesitates.

Your suit is clinging to you like second skin, ripped in places, soaked through in others. Lena swallows hard. Her hands hover above your chest and she peels the suit away slowly, whispering apologies like prayers, like spells to keep you here.

The first thing she notices, when she pulls back the ruined fabric, is the blood.

It’s everywhere, still tacky near the worst of it. Smearing over your skin like something possessive. And for a second she can’t breathe just from looking at it. Food threatening to come back, again.

She forces herself to keep going. Fetches warm water. A cloth. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, not sure what she's apologizing for. “I’m just— I need to see where it's bad, okay my love?”

You don’t answer. Of course you don’t. Haven't moved an inch in hours.

She cleans you in silence. It feels too sacred to speak, too fragile to break with anything less than reverence. Her hands are gentle. Shaking, yes, but steady in all the ways that count. She tends to the blood on your stomach with careful fingers, wiping away what she can, dabbing softly at broken skin.

It’s intimate in a way that terrifies her. You’re wearing nothing but silence and scars. And she hates that it feels familiar.

She dresses you in something soft. Something you kept here—because of course you did. You left pieces of yourself tucked into drawers, hidden in plain sight. Quietly scattered through her house. Nestled deep inside her soul.

Then she notices her own shirt—ruined and sticky with your blood. She takes it off with a wince, grabbing the first sweatshirt from your drawer.

It smells like you.

And for the first time since you crashed into her arms, something in her unclenches. It smells like life. Like comfort. Like all the things she used to have, when loving you in stolen glances was enough.

She slips it on. Breathes deep. Pretends the fabric is a heartbeat.

And then she climbs into the bed.

It starts with respectful space. But the longer she watches you lie there, too still, too pale, the more the tether between your heart and hers pulls taut.

She circles closer. Inch by inch. Like gravity.

Until her forehead rests against your shoulder, her nose nudging your collarbone, her hand curled between you like a secret. She whispers your name. Just once. Like a spell.

And, “I love you.”

Soft. Shaking. Terrified.

“If you make it out of this,” she breathes, “I’ll let you choose, okay? You can keep the soul and not the lips, if that’s what you want. I’ll give you anything. I’ll break in whatever shape you need. You can have me—my heart, my body, everything—any way you want.”

Her voice catches. Her lips brush the skin on your neck.

“Just stay.”

She doesn’t mean to fall asleep. But she does—right there, wrapped around your quiet body like you’re the only thing that still makes sense in this world. The night lulls her with your breath too shallow to trust, your pulse too faint to hear. 

She wakes to warmth. The soft kind. Morning light pouring through the windows like a promise she doesn’t dare believe in.

And then she sees you.

The sunlight has found you first—spilling across your skin like it remembers you. Touching your face like a benediction. There’s color in your cheeks now. The faintest flush, but unmistakable. And your lips… they aren’t blue anymore. They look almost kissable again, and the thought makes something tear in her chest.

She jolts upright. Her body floods with panic before her mind can stop it. She’s scrambling off the bed, half-tripping as she rushes for the med kit on the dresser, fingers shaking too hard to unzip it properly. She tries to remember everything—vitals, CPR counts, Kryptonian physiology—anything that might tell her how to keep you alive.

She doesn’t notice your hand move at first. Not until it catches hers. Fingers weak, but there.

And Lena freezes. Looks down.

Your eyes aren’t fully open, but they’re fluttering. Heavy with exhaustion. But you’re here. You’re here.

And then—your voice. A rasp, broken and aching and soft as prayer, “Don’t go.”

She doesn’t breathe. Just stares, wide-eyed, as if you might disappear if she blinks.

“Don’t move,” you whisper again. “Please. Just… come back. I need you.”

Lena shatters. Drops everything. Crawls back into bed with the urgency of someone who’s just been given a second chance. Her hand finds its way over your heart, slow and careful, trembling now for an entirely different reason. Her head settles back on your chest like it belongs there.

And for the first time, she lets herself believe that maybe it does.

Lena must’ve fallen asleep again—curled into you, her breath finally syncing with yours, her hand still on your heart like it’s been counting your heartbeats even in her slumber.

She hears it before she feels it. A low, impatient grumble beneath her ear. She gets up, just to watch how your eyes flutter enough to make her know you're waking up, how your breath is strong, how the colors are back into your face, and all the purples and cuts that were painting you are slowly fading. Very slowly. 

Then your voice, raspy but unmistakably yours breaks her out of her trance, “What? Is there something on my face? I know it’s not food, ’cause I’m starving.”

She doesn’t laugh. Actually, she almost hits you.

She jerks back, staring down at you, her mouth caught somewhere between a sob and a swear, because how dare you make jokes right now? How dare you be funny, be you, like she didn’t just spend a night bargaining with every god she doesn’t believe in? Like she didn’t pull blood off your skin with trembling fingers and whisper promises you were never supposed to hear?

But then you finally open your eyes, and you see her. You see it on her face. The tears, drying fresh on her cheeks. The darkness under her eyes. The way her lip trembles like she’s still stuck in the moment where she thought she'd lost you.

You reach up with hands that feel like hope and find her face. Thumb brushing just under her eye, reverent and gentle. A ghost of a smile finding your lips—just enough to soften her.

“It’s okay, Zhao” you whisper. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”

And she breaks all over again.

Not with panic this time. But with relief so violent, it shakes her apart. Tears streaming down unstoppable.

She kisses your palm. Nods once like she believes you. And then she presses her forehead to yours, eyes closed, heart wide open.

“You’re not allowed to scare me like that again,” she breathes. “Ever.”

She stays like that for a while. Forehead to yours, breath shared, her hand cradling your cheek like she’s still trying to convince herself you’re real. That this is real. That she didn’t dream you back to her.

You’re the one who breaks the silence again. In a way that shatters the fragility of the moment, but gives life to it at the same time.

“Hey… do you think there’s food in this apartment or am I gonna have to crawl to the nearest diner and hope they take near-death as currency?”

She lets out a noise—something between a sob and a laugh. Wipes her face with the back of her hand, still trembling.

“You’re unbelievable,” she says, voice cracking in the middle.

“What?” you rasp, smile crooked, soft, “I'm Kryptonian. You knew that about me when you chose to love me.”

She shakes her head like she can’t decide if she wants to strangle you or kiss you.

Then she gets up—reluctantly, like leaving your side might undo whatever miracle just occurred—and mutters, “Fine. Don’t move. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Bring coffee,” you call after her, voice a little stronger now, just enough to make her pause in the doorway and look back at you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She wants to say it. Wants to carve it into the air between you— how you’re hers, how she loves you with a depth that rewrote her, how she’d argue with death a thousand times just to keep you breathing.  But instead, she only smiles.

“Just thinking if I should let it go, or kill you myself.”

You laugh at the joke, and she can't think of a more beautiful sound she would ever want to hear in her life.

Lena moves in the kitchen, quickly, purposely. Coffee. Food. Everything you like. All arranged fast on a tray, because she refuses to waste another second away from you.

Your face lights up when she walks back into the bedroom, and she schools herself into believing it's because of the food you so desperately need, and not because of her.

“Oh, baby,” You manage, between the coughs and strangled noises you make while trying to sit up in bed. She ditches the tray on the bedside table, to help you up. “You saved my life and brought me coffee. What’d I ever do to deserve you?”

She rolls her eyes, before sitting on the edge of the bed, to help you eat. But before she can move, your hands find her wrist, and stops her at once.

“Lena, I died.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Last night, between the fight and you finding me—I died.”

“No, you were—”

“I did.” You nod, slow and sure. “I died. In your arms. Just like I promised I would.” A breath trembles between you. “And somehow, you gave me another chance. Another life.”

Her throat bobs as your hand rises—fingers brushing against the fragile warmth of her neck. “You’re the reason I’m alive, the only reason I’m still here.”

Lena wants to speak. To protest. But nothing she could say feels worthy enough to touch this moment.

So you keep going, voice softer now, reverent like prayer.

“I gave you my soul in that last life, Lena. Gave you my final breath, my last act of devotion. But now… I want to give you more than that.” Your eyes meet hers—clear, unwavering. “Please. Let me give you even more in this one.”

Lena stares at you like she’s trying to memorize every inch of your face, every word you just said. Like she might lose you again if she blinks.

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. What could she possibly say to that? What answer could ever be enough?

So she doesn’t answer.

She leans in.

Slow, cautious—like approaching a secret. Her hand finds your cheek, cradling it gently, reverently, like she’s afraid to shatter you all over again. And you, you lean into the touch like it’s the only gravity you know.

When her lips touch yours, it’s not perfect. It’s trembling and tear-stained and full of all the things she never thought she’d get the chance to feel again. But it’s real.

It’s not hungry—it’s holy. It’s the kind of kiss people think about when they don’t believe in second chances. The kind you give someone when you’ve already mourned them, and they’ve somehow returned to you anyway.

You kiss her back like you’ve been waiting a hundred lifetimes for her to finally understand: this was always the point.

She pulls away just enough to rest her forehead against yours. Both of you are breathing hard. Eyes closed. Hearts open. Then, in a voice so quiet it barely exists:

“Okay,” she says. “You don't get to scare me like this ever again.”

You smile. Press your lips to hers again, just briefly.

“I can't promise you that, baby. What I can promise is that I'll come back to you every time. Even after I die, I'll come back to you.”

Lena kisses you one more time. Slow, lingering.

And when she pulls back, she finally says it, “I love you. I’ll always be waiting. I'll always be yours.”

[supercorpkid]

your stories are amazing, when i’m sad and alone i usually read yours and they make me feel a little less alone

That’s so kind!! I also write to feel less lonely, so I get what you mean.

Thank you so much for telling me this. It really encourages me to write a lot more ❤️💙

[supercorpkid]

I Love You, I'm Sorry

Supergirl. Kara Danvers x Reader, Cat Grant.

Word Count: 4k.

Kara soared through the sky enjoying the peace of a quiet afternoon. It wasn’t part of any scheduled patrol, but she had felt the need to just glide above National City letting her mind wander. There were no alarms, no calls to action, just the calm rhythm of the air around her. She took in the city below—familiar, bustling, yet peaceful in the way only cities could be at this hour.

It was in this moment of solitude that something caught her eye—small, almost insignificant at the park below. A journal, unremarkable and alone on a bench. Kara’s instincts kicked in as she descended slowly, landing on the grass with a soft, practiced step. Her gaze flicked around the park, scanning for anyone who might be searching for it, but there was no one. Not a soul in sight.

She could leave it. After all, it wasn’t hers. It was private. A small piece of someone’s world she had no business touching. But as her fingers hovered above it, something—a flicker, a pull—urged her forward. She could return it, perhaps. Someone would surely appreciate having their journal back, wouldn’t they?

Sighing quietly to herself, she picked it up, flipping it open with a careful hand. No name on the first page. No clue as to who it belonged to. She turned the pages quickly, not wanting to invade too much of the personal content, just looking for some scrap of information—anything to point her toward the owner. 

She exhales, shaking her head at herself. This isn’t hers to read. The least she can do is put it back where she found it.

Her fingers brush the worn cover, ready to close it, when—

Kara Danvers.

Her name, scrawled in hurried ink, jumps out at her from the page.

It was so jarring she almost dropped the journal. Her heart skipped a beat. The words weren’t just written about her—they were hers. The journal was full of the kind of musings that only someone who knew her—really knew her—could write. Her breath caught as she skimmed further, her eyes drinking in the lines, the raw, honest feelings scrawled across the pages. It was personal. And it was about her. Kara Danvers. Not Supergirl.

Kara’s fingers tightened on the journal, a wave of unease flickering in her chest. She scanned the park again, her gaze darting between the trees and the empty benches. Could this be a trap? A setup, perhaps, to expose her secret identity? But there was no one in sight. No one watching. The world felt strangely still.

She glanced back down at the journal, feeling the weight of it—this unspoken, fragile thing that didn’t belong to her, and yet somehow did because it had her name all over it. She held it a little closer, her brow furrowing, torn between curiosity and caution.

Against her better judgment, Kara found herself holding the journal close, making her way back to her apartment. The wind seemed to bite sharper now, the quiet of the park fading as the hum of the city swelled around her. But all she could focus on was the journal—the weight of it in her hands, the pull she felt to understand who it belonged to, who had written all of these words about her.

She paced around her apartment, the journal clutched in her hands like a secret she wasn't ready to confront. Her mind raced, trying to place the handwriting. There was something so familiar about it. The fluidity, the care in each curve of the letters—it made her pulse quicken with something she couldn’t quite name. She knew this person. She had to.

Her thoughts drifted, searching for clues. It wasn’t Alex’s—she knew her sister’s handwriting too well for that. It wasn’t Sam’s either, they don't know each other that well so Sam could fill an entire journal with her name. And Lena… Lena sure never sounded like this. Still, could it be? Was there some softer, more vulnerable side to Lena’s thoughts she hadn’t heard before? Or maybe it was Nia—her best friend’s empathy practically pouring off every word, every sentence. Or maybe it was someone else entirely. 

Kara couldn’t settle on an answer. But one thing was certain—she couldn’t stop reading. Her heart beat louder in her chest as she turned the page again, eyes scanning the words with increasing urgency, her gaze hungry for more. She had to be sure. She needed to know.

Then she froze, her fingers lingering on a specific page.

February 13 Galentine's Day. Or whatever. Nia came up with it. Apparently, it’s the day to celebrate your friends instead of your lover. To be honest, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea until Kara said she loved it, and she would bring ice cream and chocolates for a romantic movie-watching party. Suddenly, I’m head over heels for the idea, and I’m also the first one to get there — lame, I know. Nia made sure to also point that out. Nia ALSO wants me to ask Kara out tomorrow on Valentine's day which is seriously the most ridiculous thing ever because she would probably say no.

Kara furrowed her brows. She remembered this. Galentine's Day at Nia's apartment. Some girls from CatCo, pizza, and laughter filled the space as they watched cheesy rom-coms. The memory was warm, familiar, full of easy smiles.

She paused, turning the page slowly, the words lingering in her mind. She narrowed down the list of possibilities, trying to figure out who had written this. Three names danced in her head, but something in her gut whispered that she already knew.

February 26 I've always known that I’m a dud so there’s nothing I can do about it, but I had no idea I could be that much of a loser. Ms. Grant told me I’d be working with Kara this week for a piece, and the shriek of excitement that came out of me was seriously the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done. So, guess what? Now my freaking BOSS knows that I’m in love with Kara Danvers. And sure, she won’t say anything about it to Kara, but the way she looked at me when she figured it out—I swear, I wish the world would just suck me in and spit me out elsewhere.

Huh. She worked with Eve Teschmacher that week, but… No… No way. Eve would never be in love with her! It couldn’t be!

February 27 Yep, I blew it. Ms. Grant said I was too involved to work with Kara, and now freaking Eve will do it. I seriously hate myself, and also, I totally deserve it.

Okay, yeah, that made more sense, Kara tried to reason with herself, but there was still that nagging doubt. Maybe, if she read just a little more…

She freezed. What the hell was she doing? Kara's heart skipped a beat as the weight of her actions hit her. This was clearly an invasion of privacy—one she had no right to. And besides, it wasn’t Kara who found it—it was Supergirl! And Supergirl is a hero. She wouldn't dig through people's journals just for the sake of gossip, right? Right.

Her fingers hovered over the next page, a silent war waging between curiosity and self-respect. She could put it down. She should. But then again, it was about her…

March 5 Some days, it feels impossible to be around Kara. Not because she’s difficult or anything—God, I wish that were the case. It would be easier if she were mean, or distant, or even just a little bit selfish. But no, she’s Kara Danvers, and she’s soft in a way that sneaks up on you, warm in a way that lingers, kind in a way that makes you ache because it’s never just for you. It’s who she is. Today, she touched my shoulder while laughing, just a small, thoughtless thing. And yet, here I am, writing about it like some ridiculous, lovesick fool. Because for her, it was nothing, and for me, it was everything. And I hate it—I hate that I can’t just be normal about her, that I can’t turn this off, that every time she looks at me like I matter, I have to remind myself that it’s just who she is. That she’d look at anyone that way. I wish she wouldn’t. I wish she’d save it for me. And that’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever felt in my life.

Kara shut the journal with a snap, pressing it flat against her chest like that could somehow undo what she’d just read. Her heart was hammering. Actually hammering.

This was bad. This was—objectively—a huge breach of privacy. She should feel guilty. She did feel guilty. But also…

She was burning up. Her whole face was hot, her hands twitching against the worn edges of the cover. Because—holy shit. Someone is in love with her. Someone she knows is in love with her. And she had to know who it was.

Her mind raced through every possibility, flipping through memories, voices, the way people looked at her when they thought she wasn’t paying attention. It's definitely not Nia. Obviously not Lena. It's someone from CatCo, someone she’s been oblivious to. But then she remembered the entry about Galentine’s Day, and the way this person remembers every detail about her.

And the way Ms. Grant already knew.

Kara groaned, dragging a hand down her face. She could close the journal, she should stop this.

Oh, how she wished she would.

March 8 I swear, I’m one dumbass moment away from writing Kara Danvers in my notebook with little hearts around it. Actually, I probably already have. I wouldn’t even be surprised at this point. Today was painful. She wore that stupid soft sweater—the blue one that makes her look like a walking daydream—and she kept absentmindedly chewing on the end of her pen during the meeting. How am I supposed to survive that?? How?? Eve caught me staring (of course she did), and the look she gave me was so deeply unimpressed that I think I actually felt my soul leave my body. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that I'm so obvious, half of CatCo already knows, or the fact that Kara is so oblivious it wouldn't matter if the whole world knew—she won't ever acknowledge it. I’m doomed.

Kara let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a squeak and a gasp.

Oh. Oh.

She barely registered the journal slipping from her hands, barely heard the dull thud as it hit the floor. Her mind was racing, words blurring together, looping like a siren. Kara Danvers with little hearts around it. A walking daydream. So oblivious.

She had a sinking feeling she knew exactly who had written this. And now, with the words laid out in front of her, she couldn’t argue.

It’s you.

It had to be you.

The way you would look at her—as if she puts the stars in the sky, as if she is the sun itself. She’s seen it, the way your pupils blow wide, the way your heartbeat stutters when she gets too close.

And yet, somehow, she’s been oblivious to it.

She picked it up again, fumbling through the pages, hands shaking—because she knew exactly who wrote this. And now, holy damn, she needed to know everything. Needed to drink in every single word, to understand your feelings, to know your mind as deeply as you know hers.

April 12 I’m going insane. Kara has to know. There’s no way she doesn’t. Not when she looks at me like that—soft and searching, like she’s memorizing every detail. Not when she gets so close sometimes, I forget how to breathe. Because how could she not feel this too? How could she not mean it when she brushes my hair back when she thinks I’m not paying attention? When she leans in as if she’s about to kiss me, only to never follow through? Or pulls me into hugs that last a few seconds too long? And I hate myself always falling for it, for letting my stupid heart jump every time she pulls me close just to walk away like nothing happened. She’s not in love with me. I know that. I’ve always known that. But God, sometimes she acts like she is. And that’s what hurts the most. Because she could love me. She could so easily love me. But she won’t. And I don’t think I can survive watching her love me halfway anymore.

And that was it. That was the moment Kara broke. That’s when she realized—oh, fuck.

She’s been loving you in every way except saying it out loud. She’s been treating you like you’re hers, like she wants you, but she’s never let herself finish the thought. And in doing so, she’s been hurting you.

Her breath caught. Her hands tightened around the journal, fingertips pressing into the pages like she could hold you there, keep you here. Her stomach twisted, panic clawing up her throat—a sick kind of fear, as if it's already too late. As if she’s already lost you.

She needed to know—had you given up already? Was she too late?

April 16 I told Ms Grant I was thinking about leaving. Not in so many words, but she’s Cat Grant, and she knew exactly what I meant before I even finished my sentence. She gave me that look, the one that makes people crumble in interviews, and said, “That would be the single most idiotic decision of your career.” She’s right. Of course she’s right. I love this job. I’ve always loved this job. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I worked for. But it’s also her. Every day, I wake up knowing I’ll see her, knowing I’ll sit across from her and pretend I don’t notice the way she stares just a little too much. The way she wraps me in her cardigan because it's always too cold in that damn meeting room. The way she laughs at my stupid jokes like I'm moon to her sun. The way she almost loves me. But almost isn’t enough. And honestly? I can’t keep doing this. I told Cat I’d think about it and she asked me not to be an idiot. But the truth is, I don’t know how not to be an idiot when it comes to her. God, Kara Danvers, I love you, I'm sorry!

And then Kara spirals. Because she thought she had time—thought she could figure it out, thought you’d always be there, thought she’d never have to imagine a world where you weren’t right across from her, making her laugh, looking at her like she mattered more than anything.

But now?

Now she sees it so clearly. She’s been selfish. She’s been cruel without even realizing it. She’s been holding onto you—keeping you just close enough to make you stay, but never brave enough to actually choose you.

And now, you’re slipping away.

Now, she’s imagining an empty desk where yours used to be. A future where you don’t sit next to her in meetings, where she doesn’t get to hear your voice every day, where she doesn’t get to love you in all the ways she never let herself admit.

And that’s a universe she refuses to exist in.

She doesn’t even think.

One second, she’s clutching your journal so tight it might tear, and the next—she’s gone, a blur of blue and red streaking across the sky. She’s halfway to CatCo before it hits her—shit, she can’t exactly storm in as Supergirl.

So she skids to a stop in an alley, heart pounding, fingers shaking as she fumbles to change into something—anything—that makes her look like Kara Danvers instead of a lovesick disaster. Then she’s marching into CatCo like she’s ready to put up a fight.

“Ms. Grant!”

The second she steps inside, she regrets everything.

Cat lifts her head, one sharp brow raised at the audacity. “Kiera,” she says, slow and unimpressed. “Is there a reason you’re barging into my office like a poorly trained golden retriever?”

Kara swallows hard, gripping the journal like it might anchor her. “Uh—um—hi, Ms. Grant. Do you—uh—have a minute?”

Cat exhales, already exhausted. “Speak. Before I find a reason to fire you.”

Kara gulps. “It’s about Y/N. I heard she—she might be quitting?”

Cat’s gaze sharpens. “Have you now?”

Kara flushes. The journal feels like it’s burning in her hands. “Yes! And—and I just wanted to know if she’s already done it? And if she hasn’t—can you, like—not let her?”

Cat exhales sharply, pressing her fingers against her temple. “For the love of—Kiera, I have far more important things to do than play referee in your slow-burn, painfully obvious, infuriating love affair with Miss Y/N.”

Kara blinks. “It’s not—”

“Oh, shut up,” Cat cuts in. “You think I haven’t seen the way you look at her? The way she looks at you?” She levels Kara with a stare that could crack glass. “I told you to take the damn leap when it was about your career, but I meant it for everything in your life.”

Kara’s throat goes dry.

Cat leans in. “So if you’re done wasting my time—and hers—get a grip on yourself and get out of my office.”

Kara doesn’t need to be told twice. She whirls on her heel, heart hammering against her ribs, mind scrambling trying to find another way to make you stay. But she barely makes it three steps into the office bullpen before—

“What are you doing with my journal?!”

She stops so abruptly that the world seems to lurch around her.

Oh. Oh, no.

Your gaze is sharp, pinning her in place, flicking between her face and the journal clutched in her hands. Suspicion tightens your features, but before Kara can think of a way to fix this, you’re already moving—so fast that even she is caught off guard—snatching it from her grasp with a precision that should honestly terrify her.

She watches, still too stunned to react, as you shove it into your purse like you’re disposing of evidence.

“There was, um, no name on it!” she blurts, voice too high, hands lifted like she’s surrendering. “I—I found it in the park!”

Your frown deepens, but then something shifts. Your shoulders tense, your fingers tighten around your purse, and Kara watches as realization slams into you. She opened it. She looked inside. She might have even—

“You didn’t read my journal, right?” Your voice is sharp enough to cut.

Kara hesitates, but when she takes a step back, you take one forward.

“Kara,” you press, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t read it, right?”

She swallows hard. “I, um—might have skimmed through it to see if I could find the owner…”

The color drains from your face so fast it makes her panic.

She almost reaches for you, afraid you might actually pass out, because your pulse just shot through the roof, your breathing is suddenly all wrong and there's no color on your face anymore.

And you? You’re dying. No, worse—this is what it feels like to be dead, except somehow still conscious enough to suffer through it. Your thoughts are a mess, tangled and spiraling, and Kara is still looking at you, guilty and wide-eyed, and—

“It’s not about you!” you blurt, too loud, too fast, and absolutely unconvincing.

Kara stills. Her head tilts just slightly, and in that instant, you know. You just made everything worse.

“Really?” Kara’s brows knit together, her voice dipping just enough to let you know she’s not buying it.

"Yeah! It’s… a different Kara!"

That smirk of hers spreads, slow and sharp. "A different Kara Danvers?"

You nod—way too fast, a little too eager. "Sure! There’s more than one."

Kara snorts, crossing her arms. "That works at CatCo with you? And sits across from your desk?"

And just like that, you’re done for. You know she knows, and she knows you know she knows. Now you’re just standing there, utterly exposed, scrambling for an escape route that doesn’t exist.Think, think, think! your brain screamed, but it was just static. There’s no way out of this. Not anymore.

Her head tilts, all mock-casual, but there’s something else in her gaze now—something softer, something sure.

"Well, that’s a shame then," she murmurs, almost thoughtful. And then, like it’s the easiest thing in the world—like she’s not about to change everything—"’Cause this Kara Danvers thinks she’s in love with you."

The words hit like a live wire, short-circuiting your entire body.

"Wait, what? No. You—what?" Your voice cracks. Your breath stutters. Your hands twitch at your sides, as if your brain is frantically trying to send signals but forgot how limbs work.

Kara grins, tilting her chin at you, watching you crumble.

"I mean," she says, all maddening ease, "unless you’d rather keep talking about that other Kara Danvers."

And you? You’re still malfunctioning, still trying to process the fact that Kara Danvers just admitted she’s in love with you. Your heart is in your throat, your world slipping sideways—

And then—

She kisses you.

No hesitation this time. No warning. Just Kara, warm and real, closing the space between you like she was always meant to.

And your brain just—stops.

Your fingers twist into the fabric of her shirt, holding on like she might vanish if you let go. Your knees threaten to buckle, the whole world shrinking down to the press of her lips, the way she leans in—gentle at first, then not. Like she’s wanted this for so long and she’s finally done waiting.

The floor tilts beneath you. Your pulse is a hammer against your ribs. Your lungs forget their job. And god, Kara is kissing you like she means it. Like this isn’t some impulsive mistake or a fleeting moment—no, it’s deliberate. It’s soft and warm and kind, just like she is. But at the same time, it’s hot and desperate and hungry—and completely inappropriate for it to be happening in the middle of CatCo.

Between kisses, Kara exhales a shaky, “I love you. I’m sorry.”

It takes you a few good seconds—her lips already on yours again—for your brain to catch up, to understand why she’s saying this. And so, mid-kiss, you mumble against her lips, "Next time you read my journal, things will not end up this well, Danvers."

Kara laughs into the kiss, and you feel it—feel the way her smile curves against your lips, the way she just pulls you in closer, like she wouldn’t change this moment for anything.

"Noted," she murmurs, and then she kisses you again.

And that is exactly when you hear Ms Grant's voice behind you.

“Do I have to call HR?”

You and Kara break apart just enough to look at each other, wide-eyed, lips still way too close.

“We should go.”

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “Fly us home?”

Kara blinks at you, still breathless. “Wait—you know I’m Supergirl?”

You sigh, placing a hand over your heart like you’re deeply offended. “No, hun, I meant for you to fly us there on a bus.” And then, for good measure, you wink.Kara rolls her eyes, but she’s already reaching for your hand, fingers lacing through yours like it’s the easiest thing in the world. She tugs you towards the elevator, already grinning like she just turned every almost into a forever.

[supercorpkid]

reading your Lena x reader stories is always such a treat. they are ones of my pick-me-ups when i'm burning out [like right now], so i'm really really grateful to you🤍

OMG thanksssss!! I’m really really grateful to YOU! It makes writing so much more exciting when I know there’s someone else enjoying the stories!

Thank you so much, you’re really kind ❤️💙

[supercorpkid]

Love your work! I get a notification that you have posted and read it as soon as possible.

Keep up the good work! 😁

❤️💙 thank you!!! That’s so kind of you and so good to hear :) get ready for a notification soon I guess haha

Honestly you have no idea how good that makes me feel 🥹

[supercorpkid]

Call Me When You Break Up

Supergirl. Baby Danvers. Lena Luthor x BD!Reader, Kara Danvers, Alex Danvers, Eliza Danvers.

Word Count: 4k

The takeout container sits open in your lap, but you’ve barely touched it. The noodles glisten under the living room light, waiting, but the chopsticks in your hand feel awkward—like you forgot how to hold them. Like your fingers don’t quite remember what to do.

It’s not the food. It’s not even the hunger twisting in your stomach.

It’s your phone.

Or, more specifically, the picture on your phone, still burned into your brain even though you put it face-down twenty minutes ago. You don’t need to look at it again. You’ve already seen it enough times to memorize every detail.

Lena, at the lake. Half-smiling into the camera, wind in her hair, her hand curled into the sleeve of Grant's jacket.

You hate that he looks nice when he's clearly the stupidest man you've ever met. You hate that she looks happy with him. And you really, really hate that she’s not texting you back.

A fortune cookie hits your shoulder.

“Hey. Earth to Y/N.”

You blink, startled, and look up.

Kara’s upside down on the armchair, somehow managing to eat dumplings without dropping them. Alex is sprawled on the carpet like she’s exactly one second away from a food coma.

“Sorry,” you mutter, stabbing a noodle. “Just thinking.”

Alex smirks, too knowing. “Thinking about Lena?”

You go still. “No.”

They both turn to look at you.

“…Yes.”

Kara sits up a little. “Is she okay?”

You shrug like it doesn’t matter. Like you haven’t been obsessing over that photo for the past thirty minutes. “She posted a picture with her boyfriend. They’re at the lake. Together. Just the two of them.”

Alex rolls her eyes. “Phone guy. What’s his name again? Greg? Graham?”

“Grant,” you mutter, way too fast. “Stupid name.”

There’s a small pause. Kara raises an eyebrow.

You keep going. “Whatever. I just think it’s weird, okay? Didn’t she say she was too busy for a weekend away? Too busy to come to Midvale with us? And now she’s all cuddly and photogenic and on a getaway trip with his stupid face—” You stop yourself, huffing out a breath. “I don’t know. Whatever. It’s not a big deal.”

Alex crunches into her cookie. “Sounds like it is.”

Kara gives you a soft, knowing smile. “Is it because he's on his phone all the time or do you just miss her?”

You nod, relieved that someone gets it. “I miss her! We used to talk all the time. Stay up late talking about forever. I mean, she’d call me after meetings just to vent, and I'd be the first thing on her mind when she woke up. Now it’s all Grant this, Grant that. And she’s not even texting me—ugh.”

You shove a bite of food into your mouth and talk around it. “Honestly, I just wish I could make her forget about him for a while. Wouldn’t it be nice if she forgot what his name is?”

Alex pauses mid-bite.

“…That’s a little intense, Y/N,” Kara says gently.

“Thank you for saying what we all have been thinking,” Alex mutters. 

You wave a hand, dismissively. “No, come on. I’m just saying—I get her. I know how to make her feel better when she’s down. I know what she’s made of. I’m her best friend. Her boyfriend should be, like, ten times better than me. That’s the bare minimum, right?”

Kara gives you a look. “Okay, rude. I’m her best friend.”

Alex groans. “Not this again.”

You point your chopsticks at Kara. “I was there when she cried over her mother.”

“I helped her escape a spaceship prison where she was being obligated to marry my ex-boyfriend!”

“Oh please, you were doing that for yourself! I fly to Newfoundland once a week for her favorite food!”

Alex throws her hands up. “You’re all insane.”

Eliza, who's been in the kitchen doing whatever and not participating in the conversation, says—like she’s commenting on the weather, not detonating a bomb—

“Honey, are you in love with Lena?”

You freeze. Your sisters freeze.

“…What?”

Eliza doesn’t even look up. “I said, are you in love with Lena?” As if you hadn't heard her, and not like she has asked the most absurd question ever.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Alex stares at you like you’ve just been exposed in 4K. Kara drops her dumpling. And you sit there, too stunned.

And then, finally, you manage a small, shaky— “No.”

No one says anything else.

Kara doesn’t move, wheels on her head turning. Alex just blinks at you, like this is the first time she is seeing you. Even Eliza, who definitely heard the lie, doesn’t call you out on it.

The silence stretches, and you pretend to be very interested in your noodles, though you don't eat it.

Eventually, your mom changes the subject. You barely say another word the rest of the night.

It’s much later when the house has gone still and your childhood bedroom is dark, except for the faint blue glow of your phone screen. You're lying on the same double bed you used to share with Kara when you were little—back when you still kicked in your sleep and she talked through her dreams.

Now you’re older, but apparently nothing’s changed, because tonight, you're sharing it again. Kara’s out cold beside you, snoring into your pillow like she owns it. Alex on her bed on the other side of the room, cocooned in three blankets.

You, meanwhile, are wide awake. Clutching your phone like it might crack under your grip. Sleep doesn’t even bother trying anymore.

You don’t mean to open it again. Truly. It’s not on purpose. Your thumb just… slips. Again. And suddenly, for the twenty-third time, you’re watching the same Instagram story.

Lena, wrapped up in that soft oatmeal sweater she always wears when she’s somewhere she feels safe. Laughing at something you can’t hear. Her hair catches the light. The lake behind her is gold and endless and perfect.

And then, just as she turns toward the camera, just as you think—maybe she’s looking at you—his arm slips into the frame. Greg’s arm. His stupid, tan, strong arm.

You feel irrationally offended.

You go to close the app. You don’t. You let it loop. Again.

Are you in love with Lena?

Eliza’s voice echoes in your head like some kind of ghostly apparition. You still can’t believe she said that. Like, how dare she ask you that?

Ridiculous.

You huff and open your texts.

Lena’s last message is from an entire week ago: Don’t forget to eat, darling. You get grumpy when you’re hungry. You had responded: I'm always grumpy, and she sent back: no, baby, you're the sun itself. 

That was before she went to the lake. Before Grant took over her life. Before this horrible night where your own mother decided to psychoanalyze you over soda. You keep scrolling up, for no other reason than to hurt yourself, apparently. You swallow as the messages get sweeter.

Lena sent: Remind me to never schedule back-to-back board meetings. I fear I may commit a crime. And you, ever the good friend, texted back: Let me know if you need help burying the body, love. She replied instantly: That’s why you’re my favorite. 

Would Grant help her hide a body? You don't think so. 

You smile at her: Do you think I’d look good with bangs? You rolled your eyes: I think you'd look good bald. You could hear the smile when she texted: No! You're supposed to say no! And you? You'd never tell her no: Sorry darling, can't lie to you. You'd look good in a clown costume.

You groan and roll onto your stomach, pressing your forehead into the pillow. See? You’re not in love with Lena. You’re not.

You just think about her all the time. And miss her constantly. And maybe feel a little sick every time you picture her kissing someone else. And sometimes wish it was your name she said half-asleep instead of—

Oh no.

You sit up, heart hammering. And what about the constant, nagging feeling of wanting more whenever you're with her even though you never know what more stands for?

Oh.

Your eyes open wide. Is the fierce, all-consuming protectiveness—the kind that would make you tear down the world just to keep her from crying—not… just a friendly thing?

Shit.

You are losing your mind. It’s fine. It’s totally fine. You just— You just might be in love with Lena. And yeah, you are not handling it well.

So, obviously, you do the only logical thing. You turn to Kara and shake her awake.

She groans, barely shifting under the blankets. “Mmh?”

You shake her harder. “Kara.” Nothing. You slap her arm. “Kara! Wake the fuck up!”

She flinches, sniffs, then—finally—blinks blearily up at you. “Wha’?”

You ignore the guilt of waking her up at, yep, two in the morning. “Hey. So. Hypothetically. If I was in love with Lena, that’d be bad, right?”

There’s a long pause. Kara shifts, sits up straighter, hair all over the place, squints at you like she’s trying to see through a fog.

“Wait.” Her voice is clearer now, more alert. “Say that again?”

You exhale sharply, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Hypothetically—”

“Uh-huh.”

“—If I was in love with Lena, like, in a romantic way—”

“Uh-huh.”

“—That would be bad, right?”

Kara stares at you. Squints.Then, at full volume:

"YOU ARE IN LOVE WITH LENA!"

From the other bed, Alex groans. Rolls over. “No doy.”

You freeze.

Kara slaps a hand over her mouth. You stare in horror as Alex blindly reaches for her pillow and chucks it across the room. It lands with a sad little thwump against Kara’s shoulder.

You sputter. “Wh—you—what do you mean, ‘no doy’?!”

Alex doesn’t even lift her head. “I mean no doy. We can throw a party for this tomorrow, okay? Now go to sleep.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Okay, no, seriously guys. I just—I just need someone to tell me I’m overthinking. That this is just—like—a friendship thing. That I’m not in love with Lena. Please.”

Kara is suspiciously quiet. Alex even more.

You feel your stomach drop when Kara starts with, “I mean, I could say that…”

You close your eyes. “Kara, please.”

“…But it would be a huge lie.”

You groan and throw yourself onto the bed. “This is awful.”

“This is adorable.”

“This is a disaster.”

“This is long overdue,” Alex mutters from the other side of the room. Of course she would chime in now. "Should we put that on the cake tomorrow?”

Kara gives a full hearted laughter while you groan louder. “Okay, okay. Breathe. What’s got you spiraling?”

“I don’t know Kara! The fact that I'm in love with my best friend?! The fact that my mom figured this out before I did?! Or that Lena’s dating someone else?! Take your pick!”

Kara hums thoughtfully. “Mm. Yeah. That last one is rough.”

“THANK you—”

“But also,” Kara continues, “you know it won’t last.”

You blink, confused.

“Come on,” Kara says, amused. “Lena and Grant? That’s, like, Alex trying to use emojis. It’s unnatural and doomed to fail.”

That… should not make you feel as good as it does.

"Fuck you.” Alex grumbles. And that shouldn't make you feel even better.

“I mean, let’s be real. When they break up, who’s Lena gonna call?”

Your stomach flips. You swallow. “Me.”

Kara hums approvingly. “Exactly.”

For a second, you let yourself picture it. Lena, heartbroken, coming to you for comfort. Lena, curling into your side, whispering, I just needed to see you. Lena, looking at you like—like—

Oh.

You sit up straighter, heat creeping up your neck. “Okay. So. I’m in love with Lena.”

Kara and Alex, in unison: “No doy.” 

Then, just to annoy you further, Alex adds, “Seriously. You’re in love. We know. Midvale knows. Now go the fuck to sleep. I'm begging you!”

You inhale sharply. “I hate both of you.”

Kara just giggles, settling back in bed. Alex turns to the other side. And so you're left alone to think about your feelings and do no sleep at all.

No. Seriously. You haven’t slept.

The sun is barely beginning to stain the sky with that soft, traitorous pink that always makes everything feel more fragile than it already is. You’re curled on the bed with the blanket around your shoulders like a cocoon you’ll never come out of. Your phone is still warm in your hand. Not from use—no, from war. Because you've been fighting yourself all night long.

Lena’s Instagram is open again. It always is. She looks beautiful in that photo. Perfect. Nothing different from her usual perfectness. 

You tap back to your messages.

Your last real conversation with Lena was weeks ago, before he turned her life upside down and pushed you out of, deliberately.

You press your fingers to your eyes, hard.

It’s stupid, you know it is. But still—her laugh. Her voice. Her attention. You miss it so much it feels like your ribs are bruising from the inside out.

At 6:12am, you finally cave.

You: Hey Lena! Saw your picture with Grant on the lake—hope he tripped over and died :)

Ugh. Too bitter. Delete. 

You: Hey girl! So glad to see you enjoying the lake, even though you said you were too busy to come to Midvale with us!!

Okay, still bitter. You can taste it. Delete.

Your fingers hover. You huff, exasperated with yourself.

 “Why don’t you just go full jealous psychopath,” you mutter aloud. Then you type, mockingly,

You: Hey Lena! Call me when you break up!

You laugh under your breath. Bitter, sleep-deprived, mean.

You sigh. “Okay. No. Maybe I shouldn’t text her at all.”

You go to hit backspace. But your thumb twitches. And then—

Message sent.

Oh. Oh no. OH MY GOD.

You freeze. Stone-still. Like if you don’t move, the moment might not be real.

Then your phone lights up. Delivered. And then immediately after— Seen.

You make a strangled noise. Like a dying animal. Like your soul just ripped free and fled the scene.

Kara stirs next to you, groggy. “Mmmh. What’s wrong?”

“I accidentally texted Lena,” you whisper. Horror blooming across your face like fire through dry bush.

She doesn’t move. “Okay... so?”

You spin to her, scandalized. “So?! I just sent ‘Hey Lena! Call me when you break up!’”

That gets Kara sitting straight up. Her eyes go wide. “Dear Rao. This is so bad!”

Alex, still buried under three blankets and zero remorse, mumbles, “No doy.”

You clutch your phone like it betrayed you. Like maybe, if you hold it tight enough, it’ll unsend the text by pure regret.

You whisper, “She saw it.”

And from the look on Kara’s face, that might actually be worse than dying.

Your phone buzzes in your hand. You don’t want to look. You really don’t want to look. But your treacherous eyes flick down anyway.

Lena: ?

Your stomach does a full somersault. You stare like you’re watching a horror movie through your fingers. Maybe you can fake your death. Move to Iceland. Change your name.

Buzz.

Lena: That was… a bold message for 6AM.

Kara stifles a laugh behind her hand. You glare at her like she just kicked a puppy. “This is not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” she says, already grabbing a pillow in self-defense.

Buzz.

Lena: I haven’t broken up with him yet. So I shouldn't call you? Cause I'd like to, since I'm thinking about it…

Everything inside you goes very, very still. Like your heart forgot how to beat. Like your lungs forgot how to draw air.

Lena: Can we talk? Or should I wait until you're fully awake?

You stare at the screen. For once in your life, you have no idea what to say. But your fingers move anyway, your heart five steps ahead of your brain.

You: I haven’t slept. I miss you. And I hate that I miss you. But I do.

The typing bubble pops up again almost immediately.

Lena: I miss you too, babygirl. You know, you could’ve just started with that.

You smile. Just a little. Just enough to remember what breathing feels like.

Kara reads over your shoulder and sighs, “Okay, now I’m invested.”

You groan and shove your phone into your hoodie pocket. “I should go… somewhere else.”

Kara perks up. “Like where?”

“I don’t know. The sun?”

Alex, who has been pointedly ignoring this entire thing under the guise of trying to sleep, lets out a suffering sigh. “It is too early for this. What’s the point of coming to Midvale if I can’t even sleep?”

“You can sleep later,” Kara says, rolling her eyes. “This is important. This is Y/N's future.”

Alex groans but doesn’t argue. In fact, she gets up from her bed and makes her way to yours.

You sigh and flop back down onto the bed, pulling out your phone again. Kara and Alex immediately shift positions, each claiming a spot on either side of you like it’s their drama too.

“Personal space?” you say, glaring between them.

“Nope,” Kara says.

“Absolutely not,” Alex agrees.

You grumble but unlock your phone anyway.

Lena’s typing again.

You hold your breath as her message pops up.

Lena: You still there or just woke me up to fall asleep right after?

Kara snickers. Alex makes an approving noise. “I like her.”

“You liked her before,” you mumble, fingers on the keyboard.

You:  Still here. Just… I mean, you just posted a picture with what's-his-name, so I thought things were fine?

The read receipt pops up. But nothing comes through.

Kara shifts beside you, her gaze flicking between you and your phone like she’s waiting for something to explode. Alex is less patient. “What, she just—” she gestures vaguely. “Ghosted you?”

“No,” you say quickly. “She’s typing.”

Three dots. Then nothing. Then—

Lena: You think that looks like fine?

Your grip tightens around your phone.

You: I don’t know. You tell me. Lena: We had a fight before bed. I was lying here, thinking about how he doesn’t even know me. And then you texted saying exactly what was going through my mind. How? You: It's just what was going through mine. Lena: See? That's because you do. Know me, I mean. You: Yeah.

Another pause. Your heart sits in your throat like it’s waiting to be broken. 

Lena: I wish you were here instead. Or that I had gone to Midvale with you instead of here.

Kara mutters under her breath something suspiciously close to “dear Rao”. Alex whistles low. Your pulse is loud in your ears.

You: Do you want me to be there? I mean, I can fly. Lena: I know you can. But he’s still here.

You breathe in through your nose. That “but” slices clean through your chest.

You: Right. Sorry. I just keep thinking we're talking about something that apparently we're not. Lena: We are. Sorry—It’s complicated.

That’s not what you want to hear. That’s not what you want this to be.

You: It’s not, though. Not really.

Three dots. Vanish. Return. Your stomach knots.

Lena: He doesn’t know me. Not like you do. I keep trying to make it feel right, but it never does.

It’s not I want you, but it’s close enough that you forget how to breathe.

You: Then why are you still there?

A full minute passes. You’re about to throw your phone across the room when—

Lena: Because leaving would mean admitting that I’ve been lying to myself. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that.

It’s such a Lena thing to say—measured, thoughtful, devastating. You want to shake her. You want to hold her. You want to be anywhere but here.

You: What if I said I was already outside?

Lena: Are you?

You: No. But I could be if you wanted me to.

You don’t know what you want her to say. You just know that if she asked, you’d be there before she even finished the sentence.

A long pause. Too long. Your screen stays stubbornly blank. 

You can almost see her, lying in that bed beside him, phone dimly lighting her face, caught in the space between wanting and not letting herself have. 

Lena: Baby…

Nothing else.

Your heart slams against your ribs. You don’t wait.

Your phone is still in your hand as you stand, as you move too fast for thought, for hesitation. The cool Midvale air rushes past you, and then the sky does, and then—

You land.

You don’t even know if you’re breathing as you step up the cabin door. Your fingers hesitate over the wood. You could still leave. You could still pretend none of this ever happened.

Then the door opens.

And she’s there. Barefoot, sweater slipping off one shoulder, hair a little messy like she hasn’t slept at all. 

Your voice is barely a whisper, “Please.”

Lena blinks, lips parting slightly. “What—”

“Just tell me the truth.” Your breath shudders. “Please. Tell me with all the words that it’s me that you want. Not him. Not that sleaze in your bed.” You swallow, pulse thrumming. “Tell me that picture isn’t true. That this—” you motion between you, desperate, aching— “you, me, sleepless, raw, honest—that this is what’s real.”

Lena exhales sharply. Her fingers twitch at her sides. She looks at you like you just tipped the whole world over, and she’s scrambling to find her footing.

But she doesn’t speak.

And Rao, you don’t know if that’s your answer or not. Your stomach twists. The silence stretches too long. Too raw.

“Lena.” Her name catches on your throat. “I'm tired of could-have-beens. Please, say something.”

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “That picture isn’t true.”

Your heart stumbles.

She looks wrecked. Bare-faced and exhausted, barely keeping herself upright. “It’s not true,” she repeats. “I mean, it is—we were there, and he took it, but it’s not—” She presses her lips together. “I didn’t want to be there. I don’t want him.”

Your breath comes fast, uneven. “Then who do you want?”

Lena looks at you like the answer has always been obvious. Like it's always been you. “You, Y/N. I want you.”

And that’s it. That’s all it takes. You’re moving before you can think, closing the space, and she’s already reaching for you, fingers curling into the fabric of your hoodie like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

When you kiss her, it’s not soft. It’s everything unsaid, everything you’ve both been too afraid to name. And she kisses you back like she’s been waiting forever. You kiss her like you’ve been holding your breath for weeks, maybe months. Maybe longer. And she clings to you like she’s drowning in her own life.

When you finally break apart, she’s still trembling.

“Lena,” you whisper, your hands still on her waist, grounding her. “He’s inside.”

She nods slowly, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “I know.”

You watch her breathe, shallow and shaken, like she’s standing on the edge of something dangerous.

“I need to end it,” she says, voice low. “I should’ve ended it before. I just—” Her voice cracks. “I didn’t think I was allowed to want this. To want you.”

“You're allowed everything.” You press your forehead to hers. “But he deserves the truth, baby.”

She nods again, steadier this time. “Yeah. He does.”

There’s a pause. She lingers like she doesn’t want to let go of your hand.

“It's okay.” You guarantee because she clearly needs it. You smile, soft and teasing. “Just call me when you break up.”

Lena rolls her eyes, a smile coming unbidden, like once again you charmed her beside herself. 

She kisses you again. Just once. Quick. Like punctuation. Then she turns and walks back inside.

She calls you less than an hour later.

[supercorpkid]

love your writing! i always get super excited when i see a new post from you

Omg thanks!!! That feels so good to read!

I’ve been writing tons lately, but since it’s not supercorp per se, it doesn’t seem to tend to lots of people. But it’s great to know there are still people looking forward to read what I write.

Thank you so much to everyone who’s still supporting me ❤️💙

[supercorpkid]

Bestie ur brain is such a wonderful thing

U r on 🔥 lately fyi

Loving all of it! Thx for all of the fics ❤️

Omg how did you know that my brain was on fire?

No. For real. It’s on fire, help.

Thanks for saying that bestie. I have been writing A LOT lately. Haven’t even posted all the fics cause 1 it’s an insane amount, 2 have a feeling people are not that interested… but hey, gotta keep writing or I’ll go insane right?

Thanks for reading and commenting tho, it really encourages me to keep posting ❤️💙

[supercorpkid]

I Forget You Aren't Mine 3

Supergirl. Lena Luthor x Reader!, Kara Danvers x Reader!, Alex Danvers, Brainy, Lex Luthor.

Word Count: 3.8k

Note: the end my dudes! Part 1 / Part 2

You blink, disoriented. The cool, crystalline air of the Fortress of Solitude stinging your eyes. Kara's face swims into focus, her expression a mix of relief and something else you can't quite place. Alex and Brainy stand slightly behind her, their faces etched with concern.

There's medical equipment around you. Needles inside you. You can hear the beeps of your heart in the background. It feels disrespectful to not remember how you end up here.

"Babe?" you ask, your voice raspy. "What happened? Where are we?"

Kara's smile is tight, forced. "You're safe, my love. Everything is going to be okay."

She doesn't answer your question and that's not usually how your wife behaves. You look around again, eyes catching someone in the back. A small dark-haired figure, watching anxiously.

“Is that your boss?” You try to get up in one motion, but Alex holds you down. Why is she here? “What am I doing at the DEO?

“You're not at the DEO, Y/N. You're at the Fortress. You're safe, we're all here.” Alex assures you and you furrow your brows.

“Safe? From what? Why wouldn't I be safe?” You ask, watching as Lena takes one careful step forward. “And why is Ms Luthor here?”

“Do you remember the servers?” Lena asks, you shake your head in denial. “Lex's plans?” You deny again. Lena’s throat bobs as she looks at Brainy, something mournful in her expression. “The failsafe. He wiped her memory.”

“Yes, I was afraid of that,” Brainy states matter-of-factly, his eyes glued to his pad, seemingly unfazed by the gravity of the situation.

“How do you feel?” Alex asks you, you try to sit up again and she helps you up this time. 

You look around the vast, icy chamber, the strange technology, the towering crystals. It's all so unfamiliar.

“I don't know, Alex. I feel fine, but I have no idea what you guys are saying and it's so cold here,” You reach out, your fingers brushing against Kara's arm. “Can we go home? Please babe.”

Kara hesitates. It’s small—just for a second—but you catch it. Then she pulls you into a hug, arms locking around you like she’s afraid to let go. "Of course, of course my love. We can go home."

“Kara,” Alex says slowly, her tone hinting at the objection you know is coming. You can sense it—she’s not going to let you leave. “We should monitor her more closely. See what she remembers. Make her remember.”

Kara searches your eyes, and you silently plead with her not to listen to Alex. You reach for her again, tightening your arms around the woman you love, hoping to convey your fear without words.

A gentle kiss lands on your temple, but there’s a storm of emotions in her gaze—concern mixed with determination, and maybe a hint of fear. You can feel the weight of the moment, the tension thick between you all.

“Not now. We're going home.” Kara’s voice is firm, and you exhale, relief flooding through you.

As Kara makes her decision, Lena’s gaze remains locked on you, her expression unreadable. There’s a flicker in her eyes—perhaps disappointment, or maybe understanding—but you can’t quite tell. You don’t know her well, and you still can’t grasp why she’s here with your family, as if she belongs.

Alex, however, can’t hold back. “Kara, are you serious? This is insane! We don’t know what Lex did to her. We need to run tests, assess the damage—”

“Alex, that’s enough,” Kara snaps, her tone leaving no room for argument. “She wants to go home, and we’re respecting that. Just focus on Lena’s encrypted channels for now.”

Alex complies, slowly removing the medical equipment and needles from your body. Lena glances at Kara, and you catch a hint of a silent conversation between them—one that Kara seems to ignore, her jaw tightening with determination.

As Kara leads you toward the exit, Lena steps forward, her voice quiet but steady. “Kara, maybe just a brief scan... to ensure there are no lingering neural anomalies.”

Kara stops, her back to Lena. “No, Ms. Luthor. This has gone too far. My wife and I are going home.”

The journey back to National City is silent. Kara's hand rests on your thigh, but her touch is light, almost tentative. 

She tries to act normal—makes dinner, puts on your favorite movie, curls up beside you on the couch. But the atmosphere is thick with unspoken tension.

As you sit there, watching the movie, you feel a sense of unease. You look at Kara, her face illuminated by the flickering light of the screen. She's beautiful, undeniably so. But there's a sadness in her eyes, a quiet desperation that makes your heart ache.

"Hey," you say, your voice barely a whisper. "Are you okay?"

She turns to you, her eyes searching yours. "I'm fine, honey." she says, her voice strained. "Why wouldn't I be?"

You push forward, crawling into her lap, lacing your legs around her waist. Her hands find the small of your back automatically. Not your dimples, though.

“You're not fine.” You say it with a certainty that comes from years of knowing her. Your fingers knead softly at the nape of her neck, trying to ease some of the tightness. She shudders, her eyes glistening. “I’m sorry this happened. I’ll do everything I can to remember, but right now, just… tell me what you need.”

"No, no,” Kara swallows hard. “It's not your fault.” 

She pulls you closer, kissing the tear that is threatening to spill from your eye. Her shoulders finally easing up a little. “It was mine. I should never have agreed on putting you in danger. I promise that won't happen again. Everything is good now.”

You melt into her lap, resting your head against her shoulder as her fingers tangle gently in your hair. The moment feels perfect—like a scene from a movie, or maybe a—a TV show…

Your brows knit together. Something shifts, an odd tug in your chest, like a thread being pulled loose from a fabric you didn’t realize was unraveling. And beg yourself to believe in her words, everything is good. Please. Everything has to be good! Kara must feel it, too, because she stills, her fingers pausing mid-motion.

“You okay, baby?” she whispers against your temple.

You want to say yes. You want to say no. But neither answer feels honest.

So instead, you murmur, “Take me to bed. Maybe your mouth can find other ways to prove that everything is good now.”

You wake to hushed voices in the kitchen, their tones low and urgent. Your eyelids feel heavy, but the fragmented conversation outside your bedroom door pulls you upright.

The moment you step out, four pairs of eyes snap toward you.

Brainy, looking as detached as ever, still typing even if he is not looking at the keyboard at all; Alex, concern tightening the corners of her mouth, eyes soft as if she is looking at a child; Kara, her expression flickers between worry and something softer, something aching; And then there’s Lena—her eyes tell a whole story—one you don’t remember but somehow feel. There’s something restrained in the way she looks at you, like she’s trying to school her expression into neutrality but can’t quite keep the edges from fraying. A flicker of guilt, maybe, or regret. Or something even heavier, something close to longing.

You clear your throat, suddenly self-conscious. Their silence stretches, filling the room with something unspoken.

“Oh, um—” Your eyes drop to your clothes: Kara’s old university t-shirt draping over your frame, paired with barely-there pajama shorts. Not exactly appropriate attire in front of your wife’s boss. You shift on your feet. “Sorry, Ms. Luthor, I didn’t realize you were here. I'll change.” You turn towards the bedroom, but you still murmur, “Honey, a word?”

Kara follows you into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. “You hungry? I flew to Dublin for your favorite breakfast.” She tries.

“What the hell is your boss doing here this early in the morning? What's up with all the hushed meetings and you all looking at me like I'm missing a limb or something?”

Kara exhales, running a hand through her hair. “Why don’t you change and come join us, huh? We’ll tell you everything.”

Something about the way she says it makes your stomach twist. Like she doesn't want to say it. Too careful. Too rehearsed. As if she lost the argument against them. You glance back at the closed door, where the others are waiting. Where Lena is waiting, with that look in her eyes you still can’t place.

Tell you everything—like it’s some big revelation, like it’s something you should already know. Something you used to know.

You swallow. Nod. “Okay.”

God, amnesia is so cliché. Though, this isn’t the kind you usually hear about. There’s more to it—more than just forgetting. It’s reality twisting at the seams, shifting under your feet. A life rewritten, memories rearranged like pieces of a puzzle forced into the wrong places.

While you sit there, taking in every single one of their words, the flood hits all at once. Like a dam breaking, like drowning in something too big to hold. Tears spill before you can stop them, hot and unrelenting. A searing pain lances through your temples, a brutal counterpoint to the rush of images and emotions. 

Lena's eyes, burning with an intensity that made you feel seen to your very core, yet holding a quiet understanding that calmed your deepest fears. Kara's smile, a radiant warmth that chased away any shadow, filling you with a sense of pure joy. 

The memories slam into you, a chaotic whirlwind, each one a sharp, vivid shard of a life you had no idea you've lost. 

Passionate nights, breathless laughter, the feeling of Lena's arms wrapped tightly around you in the dark, her hands on the dimples of your back. The wedding, the apartment, Kara loving you loudly in the night, her hands on the dimples of your back.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the chaos in your mind. You gasp, your breath hitching, the air thick and heavy in your lungs. 

Lex's face, his voice, the chilling realization of the manipulation. The truth, the lies, the tangled mess of it all.

Lena moves before she can even process it, her touch impossibly gentle as she wipes the tears away. Alex sucks in a breath. Kara’s eyes darken, burning a hole into the back of Lena’s head. But you—

You’re stuck. Trapped in the avalanche of knowing.

This reality. The old one. You and Lena. You and Kara. The servers. Lex. The choices you made—the ones taken from you.

Your old life.

This life.

Which one is real? Which one is realest?

“Babe, are you okay?” Kara kneels in front of you, worried when she sees your eyes widening back into focus.

Lena is right next to her, mirroring the same worry, but you can’t think about that right now. You can’t think about any of that. Not yet.

“I know how to win.” You swallow back the flood of memories, the words you want to say, the feelings clawing at your throat. “I know how we can defeat Lex.”

You hesitate and everyone stops still, looking at you with intense concern and screaming urgency.

“What?” Kara reaches for your hand, her voice a tangled mess of emotions. “How?”

“Lena’s old encrypted channels. Do we have access to them?” You push to your feet, ignoring the way the two women kneeling at your feet flinch at your abruptness. You can’t focus on that. If you stop now, if you let yourself feel all of it, you won’t move at all. You won't win.

“Yes, but we can’t override his servers with them,” Brainy says.

“Because you’re doing it wrong.” You snap your fingers, already moving. “Lena, remember Non Nocere?” You don’t wait for her to respond. “You needed Myriad, or it wouldn’t work. That’s what’s missing.”

“Myriad?” Someone asks. It doesn’t matter who.

“No, memories.” You spin toward Alex. “People need to remember. Small things. They need to be brought back—” Your gaze locks onto her. “Do you remember Kelly?”

There’s a flicker of recognition at the name, but Alex’s eyes are still empty.

“You're engaged. She calls you love, she is a trauma psychologist. You two are going to adopt. A little girl named…”

“Esmé.” The word leaves Alex’s lips, and for a split second, her entire expression softens. The cold detachment cracks, and something like wonder flickers across her face.

You smile, turning next.

“Brainy! You remember Nia? Her superhero name is Dreamer, and you two have been together for months. She told you she loved you while watching Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows—which was super anticlimactic, but for some reason, you loved it.”

“Nia Nal.” Brainy’s voice is quiet, but certain.

Your smile widens.

“We need to make people remember. As many as we can. Once they disconnect from Lex’s neural programming, it’ll weaken it. Then we use Lena’s channel to override it.”

Silence stretches around you. Everyone is staring. Wide-eyed. Mouths slightly open.

“What are you all waiting for?” You exhale sharply. “We don’t have much time. If he realizes what’s happening, he’ll use the failsafes. We need to talk to as many people as we can and help them remember.” Your gaze snaps to Kara. “Find J’onn. Make Superman remember. We’ll need them.”

As the others scatter, Lena lingers. Her eyes meet yours, something unspoken crackling between you. You nod at her, then she’s gone, swift and purposeful. Simple as that.

Everyone has already left, but Kara’s hand finds yours, holding you back. “What about me?” Her voice is quieter now. “You didn’t say anything to help me remember.”

You blink at her. The answer is simple. Too simple.

“Because you don’t need it, do you?”

Kara’s breath shudders. Her eyes shine, dangerously close to tears.

“You had your memories all along.”

“I— I can explain.”

“Not now. We’re running out of time. We can talk when this is over. When we win.”

You win. The idea works. Once you have enough people disconnecting from the tangled neural connecting server, Brainy can override it and then—

The city erupts in a cacophony of confused shouts and relieved cries. Memories flood back, faces lighting up with recognition and dawning horror. The disorientation is palpable—a collective awakening from a nightmare. Lex's carefully constructed reality crumbles, revealing the raw, unvarnished truth beneath.

Superheroes, with their memories restored, move with purpose. Superman, Supergirl, the Martians, Dreamer, and the others converge on Lex’s heavily fortified command center. The battle is swift, decisive—a reclamation of truth. Stripped of his control, Lex falls, his reign of manipulation undone.

People spill into the streets, clinging to loved ones, piecing together the fragments of stolen time. The weight of what was done to them lingers, heavy and suffocating, but beneath it—relief. A breath, shaky but real.

And yet, as the world awakens, you stand frozen in the middle of your apartment. No—Kara’s apartment. Hers all along, yours only for borrowed time.

The soft whoosh pulls you from your thoughts. Kara lands with practiced ease, her suit vanishing in a blur of motion, replaced by the familiar comfort of her real clothes. She steps closer, hesitant, her fingers twitching at her sides before finally reaching for your hand.

“It’s over,” she murmurs, voice fragile as glass. “He’s gone.”

You don’t look at her. Your gaze is locked on a picture stuck to the fridge, its edges curling slightly with time. You and Kara, arms slung around each other, smiles so wide they’ve forced your eyes shut. A captured moment of happiness—from your honeymoon. From a wedding that never truly happened.

"It’s over," you echo, but the words taste different in your mouth.

You turn back to her, and for the first time, you really look. The relief in her face is painted with something heavier—fear, hope, something desperate and pleading. Like this is the fight she is most scared of.

“Did you have them all along?” Your voice is quiet, but the weight of the question settles between you like an unspoken truth. You don’t need to clarify; Kara knows exactly what you mean. “Did you have them there?”

She follows your gaze to the picture, shoulders tensing before they drop in surrender. “No,” she whispers. “No. I—I remembered everything when Lena came in for the first time with the datapad.”

The breath leaves your lungs in a slow, aching burn. “You knew it was a lie and you still wanted to keep it,” you realize, the words unraveling faster now. “You didn’t want to work with her. You didn’t—” A sharp inhale. The truth clicks into place with a sickening finality. “You didn’t want me around her because you knew it was true. You knew I’d remember.”

Kara swallows hard. “I didn’t have you in the original reality.” Her voice wavers, thick with emotion. “And then—Rao, baby, how could I just let you go when you were so right for me?”

Your chest tightens, an unbearable pressure curling around your ribs. “The memories—they were fabricated, Kara.”

“But not the feelings. The feelings are real.” She steps closer, the unguarded vulnerability in her eyes something you’ve seen so many times before. “I love you. I’d marry you right now. For the first time, the second time, it doesn’t matter. I'd marry you in a heartbeat. I love you in any reality.”

Her voice cracks on the last words, and it hurts, seeing her like this—open and afraid and so, so genuine. Tears gather along her lashes, threatening to spill. “I know I was wrong, I know, but I—I didn’t want to lose you.”

Your throat tightens, a raw ache settling deep in your chest, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. And then, softly—unforgivingly— 

“I wasn’t yours to lose.”

Kara flinches like the words have struck her, her breath hitching, her hands trembling at her sides. And then she shakes her head, a silent plea spilling from her lips before she can stop it.

“No, no, please. Y/N, please.” Her voice cracks, her fingers reaching for you like she could hold you here, tether you to the reality she’s so desperate to keep. “What we lived was real too.”

You exhale, slow and measured, and step closer. Not to bridge the distance, not to pull her into the embrace she is so clearly aching for, but to lift a hand—gentle—and brush away the tears slipping down her cheeks. The touch is careful, lingering, but there’s no promise in it. No reassurance.

"Tell me, Kara," you murmur, voice quiet but firm, "should love be about holding on tightly, or about letting go and trusting that the other person will choose you?"

Her breath stutters, and for the first time, the fight drains from her expression, leaving only bare, unguarded heartbreak in its wake. The silence stretches between you, heavy, trembling on the edge of something irreparable.

You swallow against the ache in your throat and lift a hand to cup her face, your thumb ghosting over the tear-streaked skin of her cheek. She leans into the touch instinctively, eyes fluttering shut like she could will this moment into something softer, something salvageable.

"I'm sorry, honey." Your voice is gentle, but there’s no room for hesitation. "I know you love me. I know."

You press a kiss to her jaw, slow and aching, your lips trailing just enough to feel the way her breath shudders against you.

"But you’ve prioritized your own happiness over my autonomy," you whisper, the words landing between you like a quiet devastation. "And even though I know you, even though I love you—" Your voice falters, but only for a moment. "I can't move past that."

Kara’s lips part, her hands twitch like she wants to hold onto you, but she doesn't. Maybe she knows this is the moment she should let go.

You lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss—soft, lingering, final.

And then you step back.

"Bye, babe."

You knock on her door, and it’s barely a beat before it swings open. Lena stands before you, backlit by the soft glow of her always-pristine penthouse, the hum of music spilling into the threshold. You recognize the song instantly, and it makes you smile—of course, of course she’s playing this one.

“Lena.”

Her name leaves your lips like a prayer, reverent and yours. And the way her eyes shine when she hears it—like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered—nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

“May I have this dance?”

Lena doesn’t hesitate. She yanks you inside with startling strength, the door forgotten, the world outside ceasing to exist. Your bodies collide—flesh against flesh, heat against heat. Her hands slide down your back with a certainty that makes your knees weak, fingers finding the dimples of your lower spine and pressing firmly, like she owns them. Like she missed them.

“You’re back.” Her voice is thick, weighted with too much—relief, disbelief, something heartbreakingly close to devotion. You don’t even need to look into her eyes to feel it spilling over, raw and overwhelming.

“I sure am, darling.”

And then your lips crash into hers.

Lena exhales a shuddering breath against your mouth, but you don’t let her pull away, don’t let her second-guess this for even a second. Your fingers thread through the silky strands of her hair, tilting her head just enough to deepen the kiss, to claim it. She tastes like wine and something sweeter, something hers, something you could drown in if you let yourself.

Her hands clutch at you, roaming desperately like she’s afraid you might disappear if she doesn’t hold on tightly enough. And you let her, let her have you, because God, there's no such thing as real reality, but there is such a thing as real person. And she is the realest.

The kiss turns greedy, all tongue and teeth and need, a battle of desperation and relief. Lena makes a sound, something caught between a sigh and a whimper, and it nearly undoes you.

She presses forward until your back meets the doorframe, your bodies flush, no space left between you. You can feel her heartbeat against your ribs, hammering just as wildly as yours, and it fuels something deep and unrelenting inside you. She doesn't just kiss you—she devours you, pouring everything she couldn’t say into the way her lips mold against yours, into the way her hands roam, relearning every inch of you.

When she finally pulls back, just enough to breathe, you chase her lips not ready to let go yet. Her eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded and dark with something unmistakable, something that's always been yours.

“You taste like coming home.”

Lena smiles, a slow, confident curve of her lips. “That’s why I always knew you’d come back to me.”

And then you kiss her again, because you can, because she lets you, because nothing else in the world matters anymore, and because this—this is what winning feels like.

[supercorpkid]

I Forget You Aren't Mine 2

Supergirl. Lena Luthor x Reader!, Kara Danvers x Reader!, Alex Danvers, Brainy, Lex Luthor.

Word Count: 3.2k

Notes: Read part 1 here! Last part coming soon!

Turns out contacting Lena wasn't the hardest part of the plan. The real challenge is keeping it a secret. Lex has eyes and ears everywhere. 

He brought his sister here with all of her memories, because he wanted her to suffer—to watch you with another woman, to fight and feel for something already lost. Like it was all just a game. A game he would be the only winner. Every time you think you're making progress, you realize you've actually taken two steps back.

You've resorted to clandestine meetings, coded messages, and using Brainy's intricate network to bypass Lex's surveillance. Each time you think you've found a secure channel, a subtle anomaly alerts Brainy to a hidden monitoring program. It’s like trying to navigate a maze where the walls are constantly shifting, and Lex seems to know every turn before you take it.

This afternoon, you find yourselves huddled in the back of a dimly lit, near-empty coffee shop—one Alex swore was a blind spot in Lex's network. Brainy is hunched over a laptop, his brow furrowed in concentration. Alex paces restlessly, one hand resting on the holster at her hip. Kara sits stiffly beside you, arms folded, jaw set, her eyes flicking between you and the others. The stale scent of burnt coffee mingles perfectly with the metallic tang of fear.

"He's anticipating our every move," Alex mutters, voice low. "It's like he's reading our minds."

"Or, and more realistically," Brainy says, voice flat, "he has access to our neural pathways."

Oh yeah, way more realistic. The implication settles like a weight in your chest. Lex isn’t just rewriting memories—he’s inside your head, predicting your next step before you even take it.

"We need a new approach," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "Something he won’t expect."

"Like?" Alex asks, eyes sharp.

"Maybe we should try Lena’s old encrypted channels?" Kara suggests, surprising you. "If she used them before, maybe they’ll be harder to track. Having access to it would give us an advantage."

"That is a logical suggestion," Brainy says, fingers flying over the keyboard. "However, accessing Lena’s previous encryption keys would require infiltrating Lex’s network in person."

"So, we’re back to square one," Alex sighs, running a hand through her hair.

"Not necessarily," Lena’s voice crackles through Brainy's modified datapad—the only safe line of communication left. You nearly forgot she was there at all. "What if we create a distraction? Something big enough to draw Lex’s attention away from us?"

Kara's jaw tightens at the sound of Lena's voice, her eyes narrowing. "What kind of distraction?" 

"Something that will make him think he’s already won," you murmur, the thought forming even as Lena speaks. A slow, knowing smile tugs at your lips—because you understand exactly where she’s going with this.

Beside you, Kara realizes the same and frowns harder.

"That would require us to know what he wants most," Brainy muses. "And to make him believe he has it."

"Lex wants recognition. Power," Lena says after a pause. "He wants the Kryptonians, the DEO, everyone bowing to him. He mentioned something about the two Supers being a ‘prize.’ If we can get Superman and Supergirl to honor him publicly, to give him some ridiculous award, the whole world will see him as the most powerful being alive."

"And why would I do that?" Kara’s arms cross tightly over her chest, her glare like steel.

It’s been a week since this whole thing started. By now, you know exactly what to say to get Kara on board. She just needs to be sure—sure that this isn’t about Lena, that she’s the one you love. That even if all of this is just some sick joke from a sociopath, you’ll still love her when it’s over.

"Because this won’t work without you." Your hand slides under the table, fingers brushing her thigh before giving it a light squeeze. “Babe, we can't win if Supergirl isn't on our team. I can't do this without you.”

Kara's eyes search yours, scanning for any trace of doubt. But the thing is, you're 100% honest about this. So she breathes in deep, exhales slowly, and then her lips find the curve of your neck. “Not fair,” she murmurs against your skin. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

You smile. At the fact that you got what you wanted and at the knowledge that Kara loves you enough to help you even when she doesn’t really want to.

Lena’s voice crackles through the datapad, cutting through the moment like a blade—almost as if she’s trying to shut your interaction with Kara down before it can go any further.

"It’s only going to work if Kara, Clark, and the director of the DEO are there, front and center."

All eyes turn to Alex, knowing she’s just as likely as Kara to hate this plan. There’s a beat of silence before she exhales sharply. "Fine. I'll do it."

"And while they're playing his twisted game," Brainy interjects, already typing at lightning speed, "Y/N, Lena, and I will attempt to access Lena’s old encrypted channels. We can use the distraction to mask our activity."

Kara’s head snaps up, her expression instantly darkening. "Absolutely not. Y/N is not going to be involved in this. It’s too dangerous."

"Babe, I'll be fine," you reassure her, taking her hand. "I have the watch. If anything goes wrong, I'll call you immediately."

"And I will be monitoring the situation from a safe distance," Brainy adds, calm as ever. "I will alert you to any anomalies."

"You won't even be there? So it’ll be just Y/N and Lena…" Kara argues, her voice tight with worry, knuckles white clenched into fists. "I don’t like it. What if this is a setup? What if she—"

"Kara." You and Lena say it in unison.

You stop immediately, realizing how much it's going to irritate her that you and Lena are in sync. Lena, however, presses on. "I’m in the same situation as you all. You think if Lex catches me working with you against him, he’ll let it slide?"

Alex steps in, her hand landing on Kara’s shoulder in a grounding touch. "We’ve talked about this. This only works if we trust each other."

"Yeah, yeah, but still—” Kara hesitates, her eyes darting between you and the datapad, “Y/N doesn’t have superpowers. If she gets caught—"

"I can get us in and out unnoticed." Lena interjects through the datapad. "I've been studying the floorplans."

"And I'll teach Y/N how to shoot," Alex adds. "Basic self-defense, just in case."

"Thank you," you say, squeezing Kara’s hand for emphasis. "See? It'll work. We just have to stick together."

Kara exhales sharply, clearly unconvinced but outnumbered. "Fine. But if anything happens to you—"

"Nothing will," you cut in gently. "We’ll be careful."

"We need to time this perfectly," Brainy says, eyes locked on his laptop. "The distraction and our access attempt must happen simultaneously."

"And we need to make sure Lex believes the ‘prize’ is real," Alex muses. "It has to be convincing."

"We’ll stage an event," Lena says, her voice clear despite the distortion. "Something that plays into his ego. A public display of… submission."

Alex nods, determination flashing in her eyes. "Then let’s get to work. We don’t have much time."

Alex teaches you how to shoot a gun. You wouldn’t say it’s your favorite thing in the world. The weight of it feels wrong against your body. A cold, heavy reminder of the necessity of all this. Sometimes you wish none of it was necessary. Sometimes you even wonder if you should’ve let it go—because Kara was right. You were happy. Your suburban life with a superhero, perfectly crafted, progressing like clockwork. Like a TV show.

Damn it.

"Hey." Kara’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, warm and grounding. She steps in behind you as you gather your things, her hands finding the dimples at the small of your back, pressing gently before sliding up to squeeze your waist. You don’t turn, not yet—not when she leans in, front pressed to your back, pressing a kiss on your neck, slow and deliberate.

"Are you sure about this?" she murmurs. "I don’t want you in any kind of danger."

"You have to trust me." you whisper, your resolve faltering when her lips trail to the spot just behind your ear—the one that makes your knees go weak.

"I trust you," she promises, her mouth never leaving your skin. "It’s everyone else I don’t."

"Babe," you try, but then Kara hums, her breath hot against your ear before her tongue flicks a slow stripe down your neck, and suddenly, words don’t exist anymore.

"Stop distracting me with sex," you manage, your hands trembling slightly, as you grip the table, trying to ground yourself. "We have to be at our positions in half an hour."

Kara chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Oh, I can do a lot in half an hour."

She turns you effortlessly, and when you meet her gaze, there’s a hunger there—something dark and possessive, something you hadn’t realized lived inside her.

"Besides," she purrs, hands slipping beneath your waistband— "I’m not distracting you. I’m reminding you."

"Reminding me of…?" you echo, barely breathing.

“Who you belong to.”

And shit. Maybe she is right. Maybe this is where you belong and she is the one you belong to. You can't seem to think otherwise while she makes you forget about the impending danger, and her hands and lips make you feel loved and wanted and like the most important person in the universe.

Until Alex's voice crackles through the datapad, yanking you out of the perfect TV show life and shoving you back into reality.

The staged event is underway, a grotesque parody of a surrender ceremony. Kara, Clark, and Alex stand before Lex, their expressions carefully crafted to convey submission. The crowd, manipulated by Lex's technology, roars its approval. You all should have realized he would turn this into a bigger circus than it was already meant to be.

Meanwhile, you and Lena are hidden in the underbelly of LexCorp, navigating a maze of conduits and server rooms while Brainy's voice comes from the datapad.

The space is suffocating—cramped, dark, the scent of ozone and dust thick in the air. You’re pressed tight against Lena, so close you can feel the ghost of her breath against your skin, the way her body aligns with yours in a way that feels too natural. Too familiar.

You try not to think about it. Try not to think about her. About the truth that sits heavy in the back of your mind—the knowledge that she wasn’t lying. That in another life, you were hers.

But your body betrays you. Despite everything, despite the weight of reality pressing in from all sides, warmth curls low in your stomach, a pull that feels instinctual. Wrong. Right. You shove it down, force your focus back to the task at hand, but Lena shifts just slightly, and the way your body reacts makes it painfully clear—

Denying her is impossible.

You swallow deep, ignoring the goosebumps on your arms. This is wrong. This is so very wrong for many reasons, but you can't remember a single one right now.

"I’m glad you wanted to know the truth." Lena whispers, her voice low and husky.

You hesitate, before answering. "I’m not doing this for me," you reply, your voice tight from the lie. "I’m doing this for the whole world whose minds are currently being enslaved by your megalomaniac brother."

"Of course," Lena says, a hint of amusement in her voice. "But you’re here, aren’t you? You’re fighting for what you believe in." Then her voice drops two octaves, so low it makes you shiver. Her eyes locked on yours. “And I think, deep down, you know it's me.”

Lena shifts slightly, the friction sending a sharp jolt of awareness through you. Every nerve in your body is already on edge from the mission, but this—this is something else. The warmth of her breath on your cheek, the way her thigh presses between yours, too perfectly slotted there to be a coincidence, too firm and unmoving—it’s like your body is recognizing something your mind refuses to acknowledge.

You swallow hard, eyes fixed on the dimly lit panel in front of you. Focus. You need to focus.

"You don’t need to tell me what I believe in." you manage, but your voice lacks its usual bite.

Lena exhales a quiet laugh, and the sound brushes against your skin like a touch. "You might not remember me, but I remember everything about you.” The way she says ‘everything’ isn’t casual—it’s weighted, lingering, curling around something unspoken. Something dangerous. “And I think your body remembers me too."

You hadn’t noticed. Your fingers trembling over the console, an unsteady breath leaving you before you can stop it, the goosebumps on your arms. You hadn't realized you were being this obvious.

"Stop it. I'm married, Ms. Luthor," you whisper, but it sounds more like a reminder to yourself than a warning to her. “Please move your leg.”

Lena doesn’t. She doesn’t step back, doesn’t even blink. Instead, her fingers brush against your cheek—light, deliberate—as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. A touch so simple, so meaningless, yet it feels like a test. Like she’s pushing a boundary neither of you should cross.

Your skin burns where she touched you, heat spreading like a slow betrayal. It’s ridiculous—how fast your pulse jumps, how your breath hitches, how traitorous your body feels at this moment.

Because you just had Kara’s hands on you. Kara’s lips on your skin, her voice in your ear, reminding you who you belong to.

But right now, Lena’s looking at you like she could dismantle your entire world with just a breath.

And so help you, God—maybe she already has.

“We’re running out of time,” Brainy’s voice slices through the tension, snapping you back to the present. “We need to access the main server room now.”

Lena nods, but her eyes linger on yours for half a second too long—like she’s searching for something, like she wants to say something. You hope she doesn't. You don't think you can take it. Then, she turns and leads the way.

You follow. Tight corridors, dim lights, the tension between you growing stronger with every step. The heat of her body stays too close, her presence like a ghost of something you’re not ready to name.

When you reach the server room door, Lena stops, pressing a hand to the access panel. She exhales slowly, steadying herself.

“This is it,” she says, voice low. “Once we’re inside, there’s no turning back.”

Your heart pounds. “Let’s do this.”

Lena enters the code. The door slides open with a hiss. Inside, the server room hums with power—walls lined with blinking lights, the air thick with the low buzz of Lex’s control. This is it. The heart of his manipulation. You bite the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to rip every wire out with your bare hands.

Lena and Brainy move fast, fingers flying over the keyboard, lines of code flashing across the monitors. You stand guard, gun raised, eyes locked on the hallway. Every nerve in your body screams to stay alert, to stay ready.

For a moment, it seems like everything is going according to plan.

Then—pain.

White-hot. Blinding. Like a knife slicing through your skull.

The room tilts violently. The lights blur into a sickening kaleidoscope. You stumble, reaching out blindly—gripping at nothing. You try to scream, but no sound comes out. The pain consuming you, devouring you—

Darkness.

A heavy thud echoes through the server room.

Lena spins at the sound, heart slamming into her ribs. Then she sees you.

No. No, no, no.

She’s kneeling beside you before she realizes she’s moved, hands pressing against your throat, searching—begging—for a pulse. There. Faint. But there.

“You’re breathing, darling. I’ve got you,” she whispers, voice trembling. But it’s shallow. Unsteady. Too close to nothing at all.

She grabs your shoulders. “Stay with me, please.”

You don’t respond. Panic claws up her throat, but she shoves it down. You’re alive. But you won’t be for long if she doesn’t get you out of here.

Brainy’s voice crackles in her earpiece. “Lena, what happened? I can’t read Y/N’s vitals.”

“She’s down,” Lena grits out, shaking you gently. Nothing. “Some kind of neural attack. I don’t know if it was Lex’s failsafe or something else, but we need to move. Now.”

“Extraction is impossible without alerting the entire security force.”

Lena clenches her jaw. Not an option.

Her mind races. She can’t carry you through the halls unnoticed. But— Her eyes land on a maintenance hatch in the wall. Tight, but big enough. The ventilation system connects to a sublevel exit Lex never reinforced. No one was supposed to know it existed. She shifts, slipping her arms under you. 

“Sorry, darling,” she mutters. “I know you’d hate this.” 

With surprising strength, she hoists you onto her back in a fireman’s carry. You don’t stir. Your weight presses against her, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. But she doesn’t have time for weakness. 

Lena unlocks the hatch. It pops open with a hiss. She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t think. Just moves. Crawling through the vent with your body slumped against hers is slow, grueling work. Her arms shake, every muscle screaming, but she doesn’t stop. 

Then—just for a second—she pauses. Just to breathe. Just to look at you. No flicker of consciousness. No reaction. She hadn’t realized she was crying. Her hands shake, as she strokes your face lightly, breath hitching. 

“Come on, love. Wake up.” 

Nothing. 

She keeps going. Keeps pushing. Every second stretching into eternity. When she reaches the sublevel grate, she kicks it open and drops down into the dim corridor below. Just a few more turns. Just a little farther. Then, finally—a door. The exit. 

Lena stumbles forward, shifting your weight so she can reach the panel. Her fingers are slick with sweat, but she punches in the code with steady precision. The door slides open. 

Cold night air rushes in. She doesn’t hesitate. Not for a second. She yanks back your sleeve, fingers trembling as she opens the watch on your wrist. The emergency button stares back at her. A silent admission of what she already knows—she can’t do this alone. She presses it. 

Of course she wants to be the one to save you. Of course she wants you to wake up and see her first. But none of that matters if you don’t wake up at all. And right now, you’ve got far better chances with Kara. 

The response is immediate. A sonic boom cracks through the air. Then—Kara is there. A whirlwind of panic and raw power, her eyes already burning as she takes in the sight of you—limp in Lena’s arms. Tear-tracks on Lena’s face. Desperation in her eyes. 

No words are needed. Kara holds you like you might slip through her fingers. Like she's afraid she already lost you. Don't you dare die on us.

And then—she’s gone. Faster than thought. Faster than light. Racing against time itself to save you.