Summary: In which you, a girl who flits and glides and slides, across campus on careful feet, with parents who expectations scrape the damn sky, a mother with narcissistic edges sharp enough to cut, a sorority chosen for you rather than by you, and a whole personality you wear like a costume, calls the Hero Assistance Line as a joke, you dial expecting a voicemail, “this is Kara Zor-El” Your world tilts. Kara Zor el providing timely advice, Kara sensing you need a friend, undercover supergirl in uni per Clark’s advice to fit in, nerdy punk rock Kara Zor el, falling for her. Time skip just fluff. Kara finding her people. Smut, not graphic but still MDI 18+ errors wil occur
Notes: “Maggots for brains” sorority reader x Kara Zor El. Had a grand time writing this, just something for fun. Word count to be added
The hero line had existed on campus for as long as you could remember. Existing on walls, weathered behind sorority meeting reminders pasted onto the bulletin boards. No one payed that much attention to them, “they’re just for looks” one person had said, another, “I think the school puts them up. Don’t know” when you had bothered to ask. Either way, the papers seemed to follow you everywhere you went. Like some unspoken question you never got answers too.
You were naturally curious by nature. Something you hated about yourself-deeply and negatively. Your mother had called you, “conceited”, “too smart for your own good” would tell all her country club friends between the wine and the cigarettes and the half eaten fish between courses how you were doing in university. You’d sit right next to her, hands clasped to your side, dress too tight, too constricting, covering your lungs and squeezing. Listening to your mother as if you were not in the very same room. “Oh, yes, she’s just joined Delta Asteria.” Your mother’s lips were moving, but you didn’t hear her words, too busy watching the green golf course against the glinting windows of the country club-wondering just why on god’s green earth were you here?? Sat her like some pawn, like some little girl, all poised and dressed but feeling so dead inside. Unmotivated. Unhappy.
Your fingers curled into themselves, making indents in your palms, and you dragged your eyes down to your plate, the fish dish sat, one eye still staring at you from your plate, you caught fragments of your mother’s voice as she droned on, “it will be good for her reputation. She needs to learn more socialization skills. She’s so far behind the other girls-speaking of other girls your Julie is doing wonderfully I hear! She speaks so eloquently!” Your jaw clenched on that particular statement, the way the praise fell so quickly and fully out of your mother’s lips. Praise that you didn’t get to be party too.
The pain was immediate, that white hot flash of anger, of wanting your mother’s love, of wanting the simple want of your mother. It was pathetic, the way the woman could hurt you, to oblivion, but you’d still come back crawling asking for anything. For love. The fish tasted awful, but it gave you something to do with your hands, cutting the fish diagonal and taking a sip of your lemon water, trying to focus on anything but your mother’s voice. The release of breath you let out was welcome, and for once in your life, you wished you could be back in your dorm. Your little dorm with no air conditioner, with a bunk so small and uncomfortable, with sheets that felt suffocating because even that, was better than this hell.
Campus was your life. You’d wake up, blink, get up like a robot, no real joy in your features, you’d sit and eye yourself in the mirror, feeling no recognition at your face, like you were playing a part, because you were. This was a part your mother yearned for, a part she spent years forming into you, and one rebuttal from you would send her screaming, “after all I’ve done for you! You ungrateful child!” So this was a slight price to pay. You’d dress in pastels, all colours that made you feel like joy, but it was like putting a plaster on a wound that required medical attention. It was a quick and easy fix, the root cause was still hiding beneath the surface
The ribbon in your hair was a reminder of your mother. The ribbons she’d tie in your braids, tight and suffocating. Then you’d walk out into the cold crusty morning and pretend. And pretend. And pretend, and pretend some more.
It was a life curated for you, but it was stable. It had some sort of meaning, if you looked hard enough, squinted enough.
“You’ll need to hurry if you want to catch the traffic dear.” Your mother’s voice was like cat claws on a chalkboard, irritating and threatening all the same. Her perfectly manicured hand sat on your shoulder, barely touching, skimming your sleeve, like she couldn’t quite touch you.
The action made your face stone cold, and you stood on shaky legs, nodding to all her friends, who looked down on you. Some of them adored you, others thought of you in your mother’s perspective. Which was to say, not amounting to much.
Your lips met your mother’s cheek, robotic in motion and almost no tactile affection in the act. “I’ll see you next week. Please tell papa I miss him” you spoke, and your mother nodded, waving her hand in motions meant to silent you, “yes-yes-I’ll tell him. Off you go”.
The minute you walked away, out of the country club, away from the rich wine, the chandeliers, the fish and the lemon water still percolating on your tongue, it was relief. You could breathe. You undid your hair, taking off the ribbon and the head band, letting your fingers weave through silk strands, messing it up as you walked to the car out back.
Your steps halted. Your eyes taking in the sleek car, the one commissioned by your father, a man too busy for time. He bought time with material things. He missed your recital that you had worked hard on for months as a little girl, your mother had drilled you so hard, her words had been like ice, but it all would have been worth it to see your father’s face. So much like yours. He’d stand, clap his hands, a proud smile on his face, love you you realized. But he hadn’t. He’d been busy. He couldn’t make it. But he had sent flowers. Beautiful flowers, daisy’s. Your mother had taken one look at them, decided they were withered and thrown them out. And a puppy-a beautiful golden retriever that had made you sequel. Duke-who now resided back home, a bit old, but still chugging. Your mother hated him, “disgusting animal” but it made it worth it, going home and being greeted with big fur, with love. He still had some good years left in him, and once you were ready, you’d take him with you.
This car was another gift. Your father’s way of caring for you even past his delegation. Because even at 21, you still felt so lost. So unloved. And he knew that, and still made weekly visits to campus. Him, with his tailored suits, glasses that were sleek and comfortable, yet he’d sit with you at the campus table, a chili hot dog in his hand as he’d ask you, “so, what’s the deal-lio?”
But you’d never say it. The way your life seemed so mundane. Eat, sleep, class, study. That’s all it was. Pretend till it hurt. Smile, giggle, compete with the other sorority girls, train pledges, day in and out. For four more years.
In an act you could only describe as defiance, of some kind, you turned from the sleek car, arms folded, heading to the train.because number one it was a form of transformation you never were allowed to take as a child, all the germs and violence, and it was a big finger to your mother. The train station was quiet, the sun just beginning to set, you payed the fee, and found the seat at the very back. You sat with your head against the glass, eyes vacant, watching the swindles of trees as they passed, onto the city, blurry lights and all.
The calm rhythm of the train lulled you to some sort of calm, and soon the train stopped, you pulled your head up and saw it was your stop. With legs tired and protesting the whole way you lugged your backpack back onto your shoulder, walking out into the cool air that smelt of dirt and wind too stale. The walk back to campus grounds was tiring, and you couldn’t wait to get to bed, to sink into the sheets, and forget.
But life, like always seemed to backhand you on purpose. Your shoelace slipped, and you went tumbling onto the campus grounds. Quite harshly. The minute your face met the pavement and pain seemed to be all you felt, rushing fast and possessively and ugly and cruel you laughed. Chuckled onto the floor, a sick feeling weld in your gut, into the very recesses of your heart, the laugh was not filled with joy or any sense of jubilation. But instead filled with pain, rejection, and longing. Longing for a life were you chose your path. Not others choosing for you. Of wishing you didn’t care so much about your mother’s expectations.
Tears slid down your face, hitting the bare concrete, and you lifted yourself up on your knees, wiping the blood that trickled down from your nose, landing on your dress and onto the pavement.
That’s when you had caught it. The single paper that had flown down directly across from you. Waving the wind, like it was personally calling out to you.
With a dejected laugh, you willed yourself to pull the paper up, and what met your eyes was, ‘HERO FOR HIRE’ in black sharpie ink, filled in with intention and deep attention to detail, like the brush strokes of the sharpie had been done with infinite care, it was quickly followed by, ‘wrongs righted. Bad guys beaten- no crime too small to crack, no villain to villainous to vilify’ hundreds upon hundreds of students had passed by this poster, day in and out, some had questioned it, but you also knew none had ever really used the line. And teachers and professors had simply yanked the posters away, “again? Who’s putting these up?” They’d growl between their fifth cup of coffee.
But the words, ‘wrong’s righted’ stuck with you, your hands, now bruised with slick skin that had met the concrete and decided to split the skin, ached as you moved to take the piece of paper in your hands, reading the rest with careful eyes, like this was more important than any test, any acedemic you had ever done.
‘Let me solve your problems for you’
‘Terminal Do-gooder, wants to do good for you’
‘Cheap rates, great results, call-‘
The number listed below was local, you knew that much, that whoever was behind this line, wither it be young boys trying to be Superman, in which case you’d never call again and berate yourself for even entertaining the idea, or someone who actually did have the ability to help, because the poster spoke of nights done crafting the poster, maybe sitting down on the couch, using their time and energy to create this poster. You sighed, still sitting on the floor, same position as when you fell, and with a sigh, because what could you possibly lose?
You dialed, or punched in the the numbers on your mobile.
The line rang, crackling at the edges, you got up, brushing the debris from your legs, and moving to sit down on the concrete staircase, phone in hand.
Each ring made your heart flutter, made you feel even less sure of yourself, made you feel stupid, like a fool, like a child believing in superhero’s-and right when you were about to end the call, with a dejected scoff and a “you are such a stupid girl-“ echoing off your lips before making the sad trail back to your dorms, the phone call answered,
The time stamp reading, 0:10
Meaning somebody was on the line
Your mouth dried, and you struggled to swallow, akward in every situation it seemed, even months being in the sorority house couldn’t solve.
“This is Kara Zor El, are you safe?” The voice was as soft as silk on a cold day, pleasing to the ears, spoken with real and true intent, like this wasn’t just some prank office or boys with no sense of direction. It was a girl’s voice, and the question itself made you halt.
Safe. Were you safe? You were, physically, the campus was safe, the stairs you sat on were safe, the dorms just a few feet were safe, but your mind was a palace of perilous thoughts. Going too fast to control. Your mental state might as well have sat in front of a shrink.
“I’m safe in the sense of where I am” the words left your lips in a tumble, first of unsurety, and second of certainty.
The girl hummed, soft, maybe approving? You weren’t sure, but then she spoke, “but not in your mind? In your heart?” The words again hit you like a train, and it felt comforting, that someone somewhere, knew what you were thinking, it was startling, for sure, but freeing, because no one, had. Not your sorority sisters, not your professors, nor your parents, but this girl did.
“My heart is even far less sure of myself. It’s like-I’m living my life, I’m doing everything I’m suppose to do-I’m getting grades that are good, great even, but it’s like theirs no achievements. I’m pretending everyday to be sweet, and energetic when in fact I could care less. I’m rushing a stupid sorority I wouldn’t have even came near if it wasn’t for my mother. And my mother-she looks at me, and sometimes I worry she doesn’t see the real me.”
You were crying now, not loud, or frantic, or chest heaving, but tears that slid down your cheeks, dropping onto the concrete staircase. You didn’t wipe them, just sat, one hand holding your mobile, the other looking at the water fountain that sat across from you, campus fountain that drove the water into a cylinder, beautiful, yes, but even that seemed to lose its colour.
“And the real you, would that make her lose her top?” The girl, Kara, you hadn’t remembered her name till now, and your brain copied the voice, held it in your hands, familiarized it, it was said calmly, but with a tinge of humor, and you couldn’t help but scoff, a laugh,
“She’d lose her shit. She’d stomp and whine and tell me what a pathetic loser I am, what a joke, she’d say I would never amount to anything” the words themselves were like a spear, meant to hurt, but you didn’t take the time to dissect them, instead you used the humor like a balm.
“You sound like a total narc. A total freakazoid” Kara spoke, forming the words into a form you could process, with humor and something like fondness? Or maybe acceptance?
You chuckled, wiping your tears off your cheek, “you wouldn’t say that if you could see me. I’m dressed like a peacock. All pastels and pink hair bands and nails the colour of cotton candy. It’s revolting” you emphasized.
Kara sniggered, the sound light and airy, “you wouldn’t dress like that naturally?” It was a teasing tilt, and you found yourself blushing, “god no! Never! My mother’s been dressing me since I came out of her damn wound. I looked like a senators child! Pigtails and-“
“Oh not the pigtails! The horror!” Kara spoke, laughing over you, “you poor little thing. Again I say, a freak”.
Your heart seemed to calm, the once racing, butterfly affect gone, and you simply listened to the fountain, and everything seemed, ok, for now.
“If I could dress how I would like, it definitely wouldn’t be in dresses, or bright pink or purples. It would be in ripped jeans, a band t-shirt, maybe some jewelry, like those sword earrings I saw once at the mall, my mom took one look at them and simply walked off.”
“Emo at heart? A girl I can understand. Now you’re talking my language” Kara spoke, shifting, and you imagined her moving, and then a muffled, “krypto, sshhh, go get your ball” muffled between the phone.
“Every girl is emo at heart. I suppose if I was feeling adventurous I could do a smart skirt and a smart blouse, tights, maybe a necklace”.
“I’d support that look. You own converse?” Kara spoke, and you nodded, but then spoke, “red. The one pair my dad bought for me. He took me to my first concert, didn’t tell my mom about it. They still fit. I’m uniquely small”
Usually that would cause some sort of teasing, from all your friends, because you were smaller than them, not enough to really cause any head tilts or anything, but enough that they glared down a bit when they’d talk to you.
You expected the same, some comment meant to humor you, but Kara simply hummed, “perfectly formed. Must be nice. All your clothes still fit. The smallest people have the most personality.” The way she said this, made you think she was thinking about someone, and for a second, you didn’t like that, it soured your stomach, but then you snapped out of it, you didn’t even know this girl.
“Sounds like you’re talking from experience”. Wither the words had any bite to them you didn’t know, but Kara chuckled, “yeah. I had a friend once, Ruthye Knoll, she was this little thirteen year old, but she was strong, and brave, you know, you remind me a bit of her”.
The compliment made your cheeks red, but you smiled, “and that’s a good thing?”
“That’s a great thing. Practically a gold medal in great things”
You’d never been told that before, and so you took the words and put them in a safe place, because even though you didn’t know Kara, she was kind enough to say them. Some sort of savior. Or just simply, a good person.
“How much do I owe you?” You spoke, “this call is going on 45 minutes” it felt like ten, but between your thoughts and Kara’s it was almost an hour, you were doing rates in your head, moving back to the poster, which Kara must have heard through the phone, because she spoke, “nothing. You owe me nothing. I just put that on the posters for a more professional standpoint. But-I don’t actually make anyone pay”.
Your brows creased, like you found that funny, because you did, but also it was extremely kind.
“What are you a business major? Financial? Accounting?” You fished, and Kara simply stayed quiet, “clinical Psychology. But nice guess” she stated.
“Oh, so you’re smart smart-clever” you spoke, “like, I’m going to become a doctor clever” you stated but Kara laughed at that, “oh god no! Me a doctor? Dream on. This is-this is something that I’m doing to help make me a better person”.
That in itself made you smile, wide, and stupidly, “seems to be working. Making you a better person. You sure helped me. D-do you make those posters yourself?” The question was simple, but you held the phone tighter, Kara spoke, “yeah. I do. I’m not great at art or anything, but I figured a personal touch is nice. I don’t get many callers. And when I do, I try my best to match their needs. Usually they just want to talk, some are lonely, some just want advice. Others want me to beat up some narcs” you don’t know if it’s a joke, because Kara sounds dead serious, but you take it as one.
“You get many callers?” Do you talk to them as easily, as freely as me? You want to ask, but you quickly stomp the thought.
“I get a few now and then. But it’s not a business. It’s just-something my cousin thought of. He said he wanted me to become connected to my emotions. Apparently I’m emotionally constipated, whatever the hell that means”
Again you laughed, and Kara beamed, you were about to say something else, when your phone buzzed, your mother on the other line, you sighed, of course she’d call and ruin the moment, Kara sensed it, somehow, “got to bounce?” She said it in a way that made you think she was disappointed, like she actually enjoyed the conversation. Enjoyed you.
“Yeah. It’s just my mother. She can sense I’m enjoying myself.”
Kara smiled, her grey eyes alight, “well, I’m glad you are. Were. I-I hope to hear from you again. If-if you need any advice”. Communications line open. Green light.
You nodded, “totally-yeah, I’ll call again. I’ll bug you to death” you teased.
Kara chuckled, “oh, I doubt that.” And then the phone clicked, the line dead. It took you a minute to rise to your feet from the stairs, but once you did, and you walked the small route to your dorm, a smile on your lips, too wide, too knowing, like you had just opened a can of worms.
You went to sleep that night confident in the fact, that somehow, your life was not meaninglesss, sure it wasn’t what you wanted, but if was, would you have been able to call Kara? And end up feeling so seen? So heard? Understood?
Even your roommates had eyed you with odd eyes at seeing you smile so wide and head to bed early.
Kara stayed on your mind for weeks after.
You had called once, not wanting to rack up too much data because your mother would raise eyebrows if she payed the phone bill and noticed that one single number in a sea of other scam phone calls or a simple call home. Kara had answered upon the first ring, and you could tell by the way she spoke, that she had a rough day. For one, her voice was lagging, tired, not necessarily sluggish, and you had asked point blank, “are you drunk?” To which Kara had seemed a bit offended, but relented, “I had one drink. Just one. The day I had was a crappy one. Trust me, if you could understand what I mean…you’d know”.
You had wanted to press on further, but ultimately decided against it. You spoke of nonsense and just random things that made Kara laugh, you never asked more than she gave. You learned Kara liked old films, and record players, that she liked slushies at midnight (cherry red only, blue on hangover day) and that she wore a trench coat everyday without fail.
She learned you enjoyed piano, and secretly wanted to play bagpipes. That had made her laugh.
After that phone call, life got busy, as life tended to do. You woke up the next morning with your sorority leaders letting themselves into your dorm, standing over your bed, and nearly giving you a heart attack. You had gotten up so quickly and with a squeak it was pathetic, “can you guys please knock!! Geez!! Warn a girl! What the hell co you want?” You had asked, half asleep.
Jessica, your president had eyed you like you were a waste of her time, like she had only admitted you because your mother begged and payed (which she had) “I think you mean good morning! What can I do for my favorite leaders?” She spoke, too enthusiastically and smiley, saccharine in a way that was too sweet.
When you didn’t say it back, just eyed her with sleep eyes, she sighed, “I need you to stand at the sorority table in the main hall today. Give out flyers for our next rush. And good candidates only-“
Your eyebrows rose, “wait, that’s an all day job! I only have a few classes, and it’s Friday, I was going to visit my father-“ my father who I haven’t seen in weeks-
“Thank you so much!” Jessica spoke, loudly and proudly, before turning her back and walking off, the door’s hinges creaking as she left. You were just a pawn. This was just school-a paper you needed to get a mediocre job that would make you into something-
That’s what you told yourself.
The day was spent in lectures, long ones, professors seeking to think Friday was a great time for new content, your leg shook every lecture, pen in hand, biting the tips, and finally last lecture finished and you made your way begrudgingly to the main hall, putting up the stupid sorority boards and having to smile at all the girls who passed. Some looked interested, it was usually the girl’s that looked like you, (pun intended) some girl’s eyebrows creased as they passed, some hid behind their friends who had dared them to rush, others came up to you and took the lead in asking how to rush and what gpa you needed.
You stayed calm, answering every question as best as you could, writing down the names of the girl’s who were real contenders, handing them pamphlets, by the end, you were fatigued, irritated, and ready for a long nap. You were putting away the boards, writing down the name of the last girl, who had by the way looked at you like you were in need of help, which maybe you were, or had been, but still, she talked to you like a child, like you were some bimbo in charge of rush because that’s all you were trusted with-
The sharpie pen stayed stuck in your mouth, the pen moving in rapid moments over the rush week candidates, you were just into writing her pretentious name, Susan, something, Susan, Williams, was it? When your eyes subconsciously caught the Miu Miu leather boots, and you sighed, “if you’re interested in rush week I suggest wait for next week when we’ve got a different rush registration member because I’ll tell you this-I am not all smiles so if you want smiles you’ll wait-“ the words were muddled over the sharpie in your teeth
“Wow, you know, putting a voice to a face was easier than I thought. This image” you eyes widened, sharpie in your mouth still, the pen in your hand stilled, because your brain, knew that voice. Your eyes rose, and you her.
Kara stood with a confidence that made your cheeks blush, her hair, which was gold in the sun, bronze in the lighting now, laid loosely and curly, her face was otherworldly, beautiful, natural, with hints of gold near the eyes that brought out the marble blue color of her eyes. The trenchcoat was a fashion statement, it laid loosely over her blondie t-shirt (music taste was superior) but what made you pause, was the dog that was by her side, a white dog whose tail spun every which way.
How could you be so dense???
The clues were all around, the dog named krypto, the cousin who had offered advise, Superman…
“You failed to mention you were supergirl” is what you let out, calm in movements, putting the pen down, and the sharpie, trying to stand tall, but feeling small under her form.
Kara’s lips moved up in a charming way, but calm, disarming, “you never asked. Besides, the hero line is suppose to anonymous. You know, not my circus, not my monkey’s type of thing”.
You nodded, once, twice, “well in this particular case it seems you’ve sought the monkey out. What can I do for you? You don’t look like the sorority rush type-“ you offered, a bit nervous, now that you were speaking to Kara. Face to face.
Kara chuckled, shaking her head, “no, I’m not. I’d rather drink acid than be in a sorority. I’m actually here because, well-“ you watched as Kara’s foot tapped, her blue eyes swirling like she couldn’t quite pick up on the action, “ok-I didn’t actually have a plan. I just wanted to see you. I knew you were part of a sorority so I sort of just came her by luck and then I saw you across the hall and knew it was you, because well, it was, and-yeah”.
Krypto for his part barked right after, making you laugh and cover your mouth, “well it seems krypto vouched for you”.
Kara rolled her eyes, hands in her pocket, “can I tempt you to leave campus for a while? Maybe a milkshake or some other sugar concoction will be tempting enough?” Kara’s eyebrows rose, hands in pockets, and for once she looked less like a kryptonian who could split you in half, and more like a regular 23 year old girl in university.
You took a moment, twirling your hair, “gee-well-I guess I could make time for you in my busy schedule”. Kara’s lips twitched, once, then twice, a grin she held back, “it’s settled.”
Your heart was a dancing instrument, flitting here and there in rapid movements as you walked beside Kara, krypto close at your heels, preferring to stay close to you, rubbing up against your leg and whining when you didn’t scratch behind his ears. Kara wasn’t physical, she did t reach out or try to hold your hand, but she did grab onto your shoulder when a crowd had come in view, across the campus to some odd burger joint you hadn’t tried.
Her arm was cold, the leather jacket meeting the skin of your neck, her fingers laying loosely over your shoulder, not quote touching, but ghosting. She held you close, krypto walking in front of you guys, like a tour guide in front of the crowd.
As soon as the crowd had dispersed Kara’s hand fell away, but only to open the door for you, which made you blush even more. Krypto trotted along and picked a booth, sitting and waiting, licking his mouth, like he knew he would get something if he was good.
Kara ordered, even ordering for you, which you found old fashioned, “and the lady will have-“ she had spoke, and you had found it charming. Once the shake and fries were ready and given to Kara, who held both of them as you navigated to the booths, you sat.
She placed the fries in front of you, then the shake, two straws, “you don’t seem like the type to eat fast food” she concluded, and you nodded, taking a fry, “you would be correct on that. I didn’t develop a taste for it. My mother made clean healthy food…kale salads and sweet posts or soups and it was hell”.
Kara chuckled, lips attached to the straw, and you averted your eyes, “but every now and then I’ll get a pizza from that shack down the street, after a hard final or just-a hard day. It usually helps”.
Kara nodded, “I get shakes and fries after I’m on off world for a while. Space food isn’t exactly five courses”.
You nodded, “right. So…you’re supergirl..and you’re a student? At my university?”
The words must be funny because Kara chuckles, head tilted, eyes alight, “yeah, your university. I-I didn’t know what to do with myself. I lost myself for a while, and-and Clark helped. He said I should do something worthwhile besides being supergirl, so, I picked psychology.”
You sat and talked for hours, till the sun was calming, and Kara had graciously offered to fly you home, to your parents estate, but you had shook your head, and then after about ten minutes had relented, because you were just a girl, and Kara was strong and to feel her arms woven around you, cupping the back of your legs, it was selfish and perhaps a bit hormonal.
Kara had picked you up softly, arms woven around around your figure, “don’t worry. You’re as safe as the president in these arms. Perhaps even safer” she had gave you a flirty wink and then lifted off so fast you squealed and held tight to her. Nails digging into her clothes.
The air, cold and fresh and achingly beautiful was what you felt, Kara laughed, “you can look now. And remember…I got you”. Her voice was sweet and calm and you finally opened your eyes, and when you did, it was beautiful. Like a painting. Beautiful greenery, buildings, trains, people as tiny as ants. It was breathtaking, and you felt like for once, a little girl again, so curious and excited. Gleeful.
“You look beautiful right now. I mean..you are beautiful. But-“ Kara fumbled, and you turned your head, and Kara’s eyes were dark and deep and a blush on her cheeks, and then she leaned in, and you closed your eyes, and then her lips met yours.
It was sweet, her lips meeting yours, soft and sweet, just a playful curious tangle of lips, and you invited it, fingers swooping in to cup her jaw, cascade over her cheeks, the ridge of her neck which you held between delicate fingers. Kara’s lips deepened the kiss, till her tongue brushed over the seam of your lips, and you gasped, a soft sound, a sound full of hunger, and Kara whimpered, and then her eyes opened, and a flash of red enveloped them, and after a second, she pulled away, breathing hard, “that was not supposed to happen but I’m glad it did”.
You had kissed Kara Zoe El high up in the clouds.
Kara had set you down in front of your parents gates, setting you down softly, fingers on your hips, and then she kissed you on the forehead, “call me tonight? If you can? I’ll just be at home..with krypto…” she spoke, and you nodded, “of course”. You kissed her one more time, pulling her neck, and mapping out her lips, searching, wanting more, but krypto’s nuzzles made you loose focus and you giggled as you pulled apart.
“Bye Kara” you had spoke, hiding behind a blush and entering the password into the gate and gone you were.
From then on, life had gotten quite shinier. You took things with stride, your mother, her lack of affection, it still stung, but you’d get to go back home to Kara’s apartment and climb onto Kara’s lap and kiss her senseless. Your father had met Kara, in a rather odd way, with you on her lap, Kara’s hands underneath your shirt, at least you had a shirt-and your father had turned and spoke, “I’ll give you a moment”.
To say you were a mess was valid, Kara for her part laughed it off, and met your father with ease. Like she wasn’t just cupping his babygirl’s ass like her life depended on it.
But your father liked Kara, and that was enough.
Kara met you outside your classes, glasses on, trench coat on, krypto eagerly running into you and licking your face.
You waited for Kara after missions, sometimes she’d leave for days and days, and you’d wallow in her apartment, sleeping in her clothes, in her bed, sending her pictures that made her text back, “not funny. Cruel” with an unhappy face.
And when she’d get back, she’d usually shower, and then spend the rest of the night with her face beneath your thighs, eagerly licking and taking everything she could. She’d flip you on your stomach, fingers disappearing inside you, lips meeting your jaw, your lips.
Your mother had taken an interest in your sudden mood shifts, “what has gotten you so happy all the time?” She had asked, and you had shrugged, “I’m just doing really well in my classes”. Or I’m in a relationship that is making my life better and getting so many orgasms my life is perfect.
Kara made you feel like a princess. She gave you roses on your birthday, took you off world, once, and you two had danced the night away, drank quite a bit, you made out, she fingered you in the bathroom, while you whined into her mouth, and then after more dancing, you had spewed vomit all over her shoes.
Kara had laughed, “well at least you aimed for the floor” she had spoke, tipsy herself, but never to tipsy to not take care of you. She wiped your mouth, and brushed your cheeks, “no embarrassment. I once committed on this guy’s face, yeah, krypto and me had to double team him”.
You met Clark one day after classes, he stood with Kara, waiting for you, it seemed, and Kara’s eyes had lit up and Clark had teased her because she slapped his neck, hard, and he had winced, “did you just visit a yellow sun?” He had spoke, but when you had gotten closer he had smiled that Superman smile, big and wide and calm, and sweet.
“Well if it isn’t the lady who stole my cousins heart. Clark Kent. I’ve heard so much about you.” You shook his hand, and the rest was history.
You were invited to Lois’s birthday party, hung out on weekend with Lois and Clark, sat on Kara’s lap as you played board games, which usually ended with Kara throwing you off her in a bid to scream match with Clark.
Months went by, and you finally got the courage to do the one thing you wanted to for a while. Drop out of the sorority. Be your own person, finish school, get your degree. You spoke to Kara about it, and she had agreed, “whatever you want. It’s your life my love, reach for the stars”.
And so you did. You talked to your father, and he had gave you advice, and finally you had done it. You filled out the paperwork, and handed it to Jessica with a smile, and a the finger. She had gaped at you and angrily cussed you out, but you didn’t mind.
Graduation was looming, a couple months out, and you were finally feeling like this could be a forever thing. And so was Kara, she was supergirl, but she was also your girlfriend. And hopefully soon, your wife.
Kara had bought a ring, a beautiful ring, and Clark had cried when she picked it out. She hid it for months, and finally on your second anniversary, proposed. You cried, she cried, krypto head butted you, but it all seemed right.
Fast, yes, two years was fast, but after Kara had seen so many things and knew life was precious, she had seen what she wanted, and gone for it. From the first call, you crying on the steps, to now. You had agreed to wait a year or two, a long engagement, but it was enough.
Your mother had shown up after hearing you had dropped out, she had yelled and screamed and said so many things that use to make you squirm, feel less than, but this time, you had simply told her you loved her, but your life was yours, simple, effective. She had left screaming and crying and calling your father.
“That lady can scream” Kara had commented, and it was so funny and true to the fact that you had erupted in giggles.
“I guess your wishing you hadn’t taken my call now you?” You teased, poking her stomach, Kara only laughed, moving to crawl over you, lips meeting yours, “never”.
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