#highkey need dat

paring: kara zor-el x fem!reader summary: You really shouldn't let her in. But when she's standing outside your door after two weeks, can you really turn her away? genre: fluff, suggestive

“Nu-uh, not this time.”

The smile that had greeted you when you first opened the door didn’t falter with your rejection. If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve sworn it actually grew.

Actually, you did know better and it definitely did.

“I’m here to apologize,” Kara puts her hands up. Her hair is disheveled and the ruffling of her trench coat is the only sound drifting across the currently desolate street your apartment door faces. This late at night, it’s only her and the wind.

She opens her mouth to continue but you know exactly what’s going to follow.

“Again,” you finish for her.

“Again,” her eyes cast down as she bites her lip. Any other night, you would’ve found the disarming coy act cute. Tonight, you find it annoying.

“Two weeks.” Usually, you’re never this short with her. You’d let her in, she’d spend the night and you’d talk and talk over breakfast.

She’d discuss her esoteric adventures far beyond the planet you both called home now and all the never ending complaints she had about her cousin.

“It’s like, I get it, you’re Superman.” she’d start while brushing her teeth, using her hands to gesture wildly, getting toothpaste foam all over your sink and mirror (which you made her clean up after her rant). “but oh my god, I don’t care that everyone on this planet thinks you’re perfect, can you just relax with all the self-righteousness.”

You’d listen and laugh as she continued her attack on Mother Teresa in Spandex (her words.)

“I mean, he does have a point, didn’t you say you’d hang up the intergalactic club hopping?”

She’d leave the bathroom a mess and make her way over to you on the couch, plopping next to you as you finished your coffee.

“You know, you’d both get along great,” she’d grin, eyes squinting as she’d lean closer to you. “I bet he also makes his journalist girlfriend brush her teeth before kissing her in the morning.”

“Girlfriend?”

She’d ignore it, kissing the quip away as she moved on top of you while you reached your hand out and prayed you’d locate the coffee table to put your cup down with your eyes closed.

One of her hands would reach up into your hair and she’d lay you both down on your old sofa.

“It’s not like I’m ever gone for more than a couple days” she’d say and you’d feel the minty fresh breath intertwine with your own as her hand began making its way down your stomach. You’d be late for work, again, but you didn’t care.

“Plus,” she’d tilt her face playfully and deliver her signature line, “distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

Yeah, tonight, you were annoyed.

“Two. weeks.” You repeat, pausing between words this time for dramatic effect. Your recent flare for drama no doubt influenced by the last couple months you’d spent with her.

You don’t know if you have a right to be upset. It’s not like you two ever labeled your relationship and Kara was never one to be tied down by frivolous things like commitments or gravity.

Her trips to other planets were frequent and spontaneous but she was right, they never lasted more than two days and she’d always make sure your apartment was the first stop she made when she returned, a verbal and physical apology in tow.

But two weeks without a word from her and your heart went way past fond and straight to annoyed.

One week ago, she’d already be inside, her coat decorating your bedroom floor. Four days ago, you would have forced her to grovel a little harder than usual before giving in. Two days ago, however, you decided you deserved a little more than getting ghosted by an alien.

Kara puts her hands in her pocket and leans back on her heels, “I lost track of time,” the grin returns to her face along with a familiar glint in her eyes.

“Let me in and I’ll make it up to you,” she moves to go past your frame, still leaning on the front door, and into your living room, a habitual movement built from months of practice. You curse yourself for being so easy in the past, enabling her little cycle of disappearing, apologizing, and weaseling her way out of making any actual changes in her behavior.

“I said nu-uh,” you shift to stand in her way, blocking her from entering. You were aware if she wanted to it wouldn’t take more than a fraction of her strength to move you aside but it was really more for effect. “Do I need to say it in Kryptonian?”

God, you were so mad that you wanted to let her in, but this time you had to have some self-respect, even if she did look really hot hungover.

She pauses and you hope she senses you’re being serious this time. She straightens her back and her teeth show as her grin becomes a smile, “You don’t even know how to,” she says with a teasing lilt. Note to self: good at fighting, bad at picking up hints.

“I’m serious, Kara.” You hope your tone and furrowed brows do the trick and get your message across this time, “two weeks and not a word? I’m not letting you in, go home.” You gesture out into the empty street, trying to turn her away as soon as possible.

You feel it’s only a matter of time before she says the right combination of words and your door opens just enough for her to finally make her way inside.

“Okay okay, I hear you.” You doubt that. She withdraws her hands from her pockets and runs them through her hair, the action doing little to calm the strands. It’s almost reflective from the light that eminates from behind you and you would be lying if you said you hadn’t missed her. Her hair, her laugh, her jokes, even that stupid fucking trench coat she refused to hang on your coat rack (“It just looks sooo much better on the floor.”)

“What can I do to make it up for you?” Kara asks, a faint air of seriousness coming over her.

“Apologize.” You keep your request brief.

“Well,” she darts her eyes around before looking back at you, “I’m trying to, but you won’t let me in.” Her words come out a little too teasing for your liking.

You cross your arms, “No, a real apology.”

She pauses, the words likely seeming foreign to her. Beyond the cheeky I’m sorry’s and whispered half-promises to not disappear again between kisses, Kara was not prone to earnest expressions of wrongdoings.

You doubted she even saw her road trips as something she had to apologize for. But she was here and if she really wanted you to let her in, which you reminded yourself you shouldn’t do anyways, she’d have to truly and sincerely apologize for leaving for two weeks and not letting you know.

You might not be her girlfriend but you sure deserved more than no signs of life followed by a midnight booty call. You were proud of yourself and even if she turns around and leaves like you claim you want her to, you stood up for yourself and didn’t give in.

She stares at you for a few seconds, but you’re not making eye contact anymore, choosing to stare at the door handle you probably shouldn’t have turned when she knocked in the first place.

“I’m sorry I was gone for two weeks and didn’t let you know, it was shitty and you deserve better.”

So here’s the thing.

When you imagined this in your head, back when you said you definitely weren't going to let her in, it took a lot more back and forth before she even acknowledged that 1) you were hurt 2) she was the reason for it and 3) you were owed an apology.

You truthfully hadn’t expected her to own up so quickly. Can you really blame yourself for finding her sincerity so fucking attractive.

You surely can’t blame yourself for moving aside and gesturing with your head for her to come in.

She smiles and reaches for your face with both hands, chilled thanks to the cold wind that’s been nipping at you since you opened the door, takes your lips into hers, and replaces the cold you felt just moments ago with a new heat that reminds you exactly what you missed most these past two weeks.

It’s a messy kiss but you can taste her apology on your tongue, and that’s all you need to fully abandon your previous stance.

She breaks the kiss and takes your chin in her hand, giving you a playful peck, lingering, before making her way inside and straight to your bedroom, a route she knows well.