FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS.

your eyes might roll back into your head for a second at the cold press of metal, but you’re very much back in the room when she bites down and murmurs low. your whole body is on fire. you can feel yourself pushing back against the toy, desperate and greedy, a strike of humiliation rocketing through you because you’re lena fucking luthor and a super is fucking your ass like it’s nothing.

( the indifference is a turn on. you like it when she forces you to wait. when she won’t touch you until you’ve begged enough, until you are out of your mind ready for her to fuck you into a coma. you want her hands everywhere, want her inside you, you want to feel every inch of her taking you and making you hers. you want to belong to her, to be owned, to be used. )

she could do more damage, leave darker bruises on your body than any piece of leather you own, but the visual would be remarkable. your fists clench in the sheets again. one of your heels has fallen off, her shirt that you’re still wearing has slipped off on shoulder and is trapping the blood flow to your arm but you don’t give a single fuck.

“please – baby – i want it-”

                “slow.”   you rake your nails over the small of her back and you are acutely aware of the size of this thing - you don’t want to hurt her by pushing too hard, too fast. you want to eke it out, to hear her whimper into her sheets and to watch her thighs tremble when she tries to keep herself up. lena pushes back, but you don’t let the plug breach her for a moment. (you watch her, with a special kind of reverence that you hold only for her - this is a new side to her. something that you - never thought you’d see properly. you love her, and the way that she does things, and the way that she lets you in enough to show you this. you know how much that must’ve taken.)

“you’re so needy.”   you push on the toy with the flat of your hand, curling fingers over the edges of the base so you have a firm grip. it’s long, and it’s wide, and you - are so fucking in love with this woman for trusting you enough to do this. you have to apply a little more pressure, but under your hand, it’s a constant press of fingers against the metal.

“let me in, baby.”   your free hand drops between her thighs again, rubbing small circles over her clit as you watch the cold metal slowly start to sink inside her.

you beg her to go faster, to ruin you. you beg and beg and beg and somewhere amongst it please daddy slips out and you are far too gone to notice or take it back. your knees slip wider and you think if she presses any harder on your clit you might cry.

reaching back with both hands, your grab your ass and spread it for her, hoping the visual of putting yourself on such display will encourage her to force it in a little faster. you say it again - please daddy - and choke a moan into the mattress as your hole stretches just that bit more, just that bit past where it was a moment ago.

god, it’s so overwhelming, the way she tells you you’re always good for me and the hard slap of her hand against hot skin, the burn off her touch as she spreads you out on display, her fingers on your clit that skyrocket you to the edge so fast you barely know what’s happened. you love her so much. no one else could do this to you, there is no one else you would trust like this. kara - whatever version of her that fucks you and leaves you a wet, ridden mess - is heaven sent you’re sure of it and the snap of her cape, the brush of her hand between your legs, only certifies the feeling.

the drawer is mostly things you haven’t shown her before, still hesitant to give over your more intimidating fantasies. there are an array of clamps for your tits and clit, some connect by a loop at the centre and some just sit on their own. there are riding crops and a paddle. a selection straps and vibrators, most of them much larger than what sits in your ass right now, one of them wide and ten inches long, equipped with a pump meant to be filled with lube or fake cum (you can picture kara filling you and making you lick up what drips out of your well fucked holes and shiver). there is a collar with a chain that attaches to a hook which ends in a large ball. it’s designed to fit in your ass and force your back into an arch, choking you if you dared let the visual drop.

finally, there is an array of plugs and while the sizes vary, there’s only one you haven’t tried yet. it’s huge and made of metal, wide and longer than any of the others, bordering more on being just a metal dildo than anything else. you haven’t taken that before. you aren’t sure what she’s going to choose (all of it? none of it?) but you tremble with the possibilities all the same.

“anything you want –”

you expect there to be one or two things - a vibrator and a harness that you’d know your way around more, but the blind fumble just reveals a side of lena that you haven’t been privy to before. your hand leaves her cunt, and you shift from kneeling at the edge of her bed to over to the drawer.

anything you want. oh, boy. (there’s a lot in there. you notice the crops - only the finest leather, you’re sure - and the toys that look bigger than anything you ever thought could go inside her. you count the clamps, one, two, three - wait, that third one goes… rao. you’re sure your hand could do more damage than the paddle that you spot, but your mind is on fire with the possibility of what you could do to her if you were allowed in the drawer.)

“you’ve tried all this?”   you glance back over at her - spread like that with her cunt on display - and you make a quick decision. lena says she can take more, so you pick the largest plug and some lube. (it’s heavy in your hand. you compare it to what sits in her ass already, and your teeth snag your lower lip, before reaching for a set of clamps that you may or may not use - you haven’t decided yet - but mostly, you feel too far away from her.)

you’re back over, one hand smoothing over the red print on her ass. you’re slow when you ease the plug out of her ass, leaning down and pressing an open-mouthed bite on one of her cheeks. (you use enough lube that you’re satisfied the new toy isn’t going to hurt, or- at least - you think it’s going to hurt less, because holy god, it’s big, and when you just press it against her, your own breathing hitches in the back of your throat.)

( the indifference is a turn on. you like it when she forces you to wait. when she won't touch you until you've begged enough, until you are out of your mind ready for her to fuck you into a coma. you want her hands everywhere, want her inside you, you want to feel every inch of her taking you and making you hers. you want to belong to her, to be owned, to be used. )

she could do more damage, leave darker bruises on your body than any piece of leather you own, but the visual would be remarkable. your fists clench in the sheets again. one of your heels has fallen off, her shirt that you're still wearing has slipped off on shoulder and is trapping the blood flow to your arm but you don't give a single fuck.

you’ve had sex. a lot of sex, actually; in your office and in her office and on countertops and changing rooms and even once in alex’s bathroom when kara promised they’d look after her plants while she was away for the weekend. but you haven’t done this and it’s never felt so intense, you’ve never felt so on edge when you’re hardly being touched, the slow pace and wrecked voice doing fucking incredible things to your body without even trying. if only national city knew.

( there’s definitely a porno out there somewhere with a badly-costumed supergirl and a discount t.k. maxx version of you getting fucked very similarly. it doesn’t compare to the real thing – how could it? all that power to do anything she wants and instead, she chooses to be here, sliding into you slowly. )

a choked i can be good escapes and because you want to prove it, you push back against her hand once more and lift your ass higher, arching your back tighter, legs spreading just that bit more to put yourself on display.

“in the drawer – i can take more – if you want me to.”

you’d let her do anything she wants to you and it’s only punctuated by the sharp inhale at the first smack, the sting ricocheting up your body with lightning efficiency.

“you’re always good for me.”   you offer it because you know what it does to her – lena would try anything if you asked her to, and god, that’s hot – you follow the first smack with another, wanting to watch the way the pink, hot handprint blooms on her skin.

you press your hand between her thighs, spreading her cunt with your fingers – it’s more out of curiosity more than anything. you want to feel her – how close she is, how wet she is, how much this is doing it for her with your rogue use of expletives that never really escape from your mouth if it’s not in the bedroom.

“you’re so pretty.”   your thumb rubs a couple of little circles into her clit when you push the plug in nice and slowly, but you’re determined to stop. lena said she’d cum without it, and you move your fingers so the tip of your index just barely brushes against the hood of her clit.

the drawer is mostly things you haven't shown her before, still hesitant to give over your more intimidating fantasies. there are an array of clamps for your tits and clit, some connect by a loop at the centre and some just sit on their own. there are riding crops and a paddle. a selection straps and vibrators, most of them much larger than what sits in your ass right now, one of them wide and ten inches long, equipped with a pump meant to be filled with lube or fake cum (you can picture kara filling you and making you lick up what drips out of your well fucked holes and shiver). there is a collar with a chain that attaches to a hook which ends in a large ball. it's designed to fit in your ass and force your back into an arch, choking you if you dared let the visual drop.

finally, there is an array of plugs and while the sizes vary, there's only one you haven't tried yet. it's huge and made of metal, wide and longer than any of the others, bordering more on being just a metal dildo than anything else. you haven't taken that before. you aren't sure what she's going to choose (all of it? none of it?) but you tremble with the possibilities all the same.

this should feel shameful, dirty, on display for national city’s homegrown hero except it doesn’t because every time a voice calls out to you to stop this before it goes any further (too late), another voice soothingly reminds you that this is kara of all people. sweet and kind kara who would never hurt you, would never tell you that it’s wrong or stupid or ridiculous. and judging by the way she stares and touches you with a reverence you’re utterly unused to it doesn’t seem as though she wants to stop.

kara drags the toy out and presses in with a single slow thrust and it rockets a thrill up your spine, makes you shiver, heart beating in your clit. with a groan, you force your hands up and above your head to fist into the sheets. you want her to make you come and if this is how she does it, so be it.

slick sounds fill the room, lube and arousal mixing at the crease of your thighs and cunt; you can’t help but push back against the plug as kara fucks you with it.

“– no. not unless i want it to – not the biggest i’ve had –”

“so the question is,”

rhythmically, you ease the plug backwards, cautious of both the size and the shape as you play with it – you don’t want to hurt her. not like this – and you push on the base until it’s nestled between her cheeks again. you work up a rhythm, slow and easy, feeling the resistance in the way it’s dragged out and pushed back in. god, she’s hot.

“can you cum from me- fucking you in the ass like a good girl, or do you need me to touch your- cunt too?”    this is all supergirl. you intuitive enough to see what lena needs, all sprawled out waiting for you, but she wants you in the suit and cape. she wants the authority of national city’s hero taking her like this, and- well. under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t even imagine saying anything like that, but the way she looks is going straight between your thighs.

( there's definitely a porno out there somewhere with a badly-costumed supergirl and a discount t.k. maxx version of you getting fucked very similarly. it doesn't compare to the real thing -- how could it? all that power to do anything she wants and instead, she chooses to be here, sliding into you slowly. )

a choked i can be good escapes and because you want to prove it, you push back against her hand once more and lift your ass higher, arching your back tighter, legs spreading just that bit more to put yourself on display.

"in the drawer -- i can take more -- if you want me to."

shit, shit, shit – it’s so good and you’re so close and she sounds fucking wrecked when she finally, finally steps into your bedroom. “yes, fuck, please,” you stutter out. your fingers slip against hot skin clumsily when a glance tells you she’s still in the suit, cape blood red in the low light and billowing behind her, all deep dark blues, pupils blown wide.

(there is a stark contrast between supergirl and kara and the person stood behind you now, staring at your ass like it’s a goddamn meal, is most definitely supergirl. stoic, windswept, smelling faintly of smoke and rain.)

“kara –?”

it’s only then that you feel the actual weight of the plug. the base is thick, wide, and your hand shifts to it the moment she gives her consent with a bitten lower lip. god, she’s rao-damn hot and the way she grips around the base just makes her  fucking groan when she slowly eases it out of her ass a little.

“this is so big.”   there’s a way her ass grips onto it that even kara doesn’t want to fight against, and while one hand works steadfast, the other splays over one of her cheeks and grabs a handful.

kara drags the toy out and presses in with a single slow thrust and it rockets a thrill up your spine, makes you shiver, heart beating in your clit. with a groan, you force your hands up and above your head to fist into the sheets. you want her to make you come and if this is how she does it, so be it.

slick sounds fill the room, lube and arousal mixing at the crease of your thighs and cunt; you can't help but push back against the plug as kara fucks you with it.

you send a quick fire back yes and in your head it’s desperate, wanton, makes you subconsciously shift your hips up against what you’ve got inside you. you can almost picture the moment she will see you. face down on the bed, ass in the air. the tension in your body is a bow string just waiting to be plucked in all the best ways, thighs shaking with the effort of keeping yourself up, fingers slipping over your clit messily.

(you want to be fucked - no two ways about it - whatever way she chooses, rough or slow or however. it’s why you sent the photo in the first place.)

you don’t think you can stop until you’re told so for now, you wait and moan into the mattress underneath you.

you’re over as soon as she sends it – it’s quickly checking alex’s phone and then heading straight for lena’s penthouse without a second thought. she has her balcony window ajar as normal, and you slide in and make a beeline for her bedroom.

“hey.”   god, she’s so fucking hot. she rocks into the plug that you thought you imagined for a split second, and you see the way her fingers work over her clit in the meantime. she was waiting for you. oh, rao.

you sit on the bed next to her, hands practically grabbing at the air but- you have to ask, because you’re so fucking caught up in the fog-

(there is a stark contrast between supergirl and kara and the person stood behind you now, staring at your ass like it's a goddamn meal, is most definitely supergirl. stoic, windswept, smelling faintly of smoke and rain.)

@unwynd

the picture was an accident. a total accident. innocently sent if it weren’t for the content of it all; kara’s shirt, barely held together by a single button, black lace underwear caught halfway down your thighs and just a hint of red bottomed heels at the very corner like a thumb held over a lens. and of course, the focus of utter debauchery: a clear silicone circle snugly set in the cradle of your ass, hinting at where it might be fitted and how deeply, how wide.

you send it and don’t think twice about the outcome except that you see the two blue ticks and get radio silence. for roughly ten minutes you wait, before a text comes through from…alex?

well. it’s nothing if not effective.

It’s a normal evening – National City is abuzz with life and movement that’s a little too suspicious to let go, and you’re two buildings away from a very-potential-crime-scene when the picture comes through. If anything it’s more incriminating, and you feel your hand slam closed around your phone a few seconds after you realise what sits at the base of her ass. Oh holy–

All that’s left is a shattered screen that blunts itself against the skin of your palm and splinters onto the ground below. Oh heck. That’s… a lot. Lena does a lot. You sweat and she sends you suggestive pictures in the middle of your job.

I’ve got to go, uh - Alex, can I borrow your phone?

It’s into the ear piece and you know they can hear you, because you swoop back around and swipe the phone from her without much conversation:

          TO LENA: it’s Kara i broke my phone can i come over?

(you want to be fucked - no two ways about it - whatever way she chooses, rough or slow or however. it's why you sent the photo in the first place.)

you like it when she gets possessive, calls you honey, hands wandering and attention laser focused - it’s a very specific thrill that comes with knowing what those hands can do and how hard they can be or how lightly they can caress. your neck throbs painfully for a moment. (your counterpart had asked about it, though not from you of course, and you eavesdropped on the girl scout sputter through a she wasn’t very nice to you response that made you snort.)

“your fascination with screwing virgins is lost on me, but i suppose i can see the appeal of untouchable.”

the code glares like it’s mocking and goading and telling of nothing but failure, look at what lena luthor can’t figure out, your fingernails rattling over the metal bench. you’re annoyed. it’s been less than twenty four hours but you’re annoyed you can’t crack it, annoyed that despite knowing how it all works - parallel universes and timelines and reality breaks - it just won’t click. every gear in your brain is turning, teeth clicking.

your eyes glance over to the dry marker boards that are covered in complicated physics; our handwriting is the same you notice idly.

her fingertips brush over the tattoo on your thigh. ( small, hidden, illicit. it had hurt and she made sure to press against it at every given opportunity while it healed. it’s kryptonian and she won’t tell you what it means, though you suspect it’s her name. )

“ultimately unhelpful.” the harder you stare, the more annoyed you get. you nod at the sweater. “she studied nuclear physics, not theoretical.”

“mm, wasn’t lost with you though. reckon the lena here’s waiting for the right one too? i’m sure we could show her a thing or two.”  or more, really. you know the superbitch could hear you from half way across the city, but it’s no fun for everything to be so one-sided… lena should get a stark reminder of who she belongs to in any timeline… whether she realises it or not.

“supergirl is a walking advert for teenage abstinence.”    teenage, because you can’t see anyone over the age of fifteen wanting anything to do with a girl with a uniform with a skirt… like that. where are the pigtails to complete the picture?

“– but lena looks as fresh as you did the day we met. except without the sweater. and the boardroom confidence.”  and by that, you mean bruise-free. she looks a while off coming up with your strangers on a train plot, but then again… lex isn’t the boot-licking philanthropist he seems to be back in your world. you glance over the tablet before rolling your eyes and lolling your head back.

"perhaps it's supergirl who could do with being taught a few things." you have to press up onto your tiptoes to cancel a flashing warning on a screen (the tech they have in this world is outstanding and it hardly surprises you to see familiar l-corp logos in the corners of the operating system home screens; your counterpart must be a consultant, or have a contract of some kind) and it parts your legs for just a second, accidentally on purpose. "from what i gather, these two have a - contentious relationship. a falling out over something i didn't listen to."

you look at her over your shoulder with a smile.

“oh, did you not enjoy the little excursion they took you on? i’m honestly surprised they haven’t got you rescuing cats out of trees and walking old ladies across the street.”

( that’s a hilarious image; your brute of a lover, pebble-stepping some octogenarian across a sidewalk. she hulks into the room with something to prove as always and god, if you ever left like that without even so much as acknowledging her – well. the reminder would be quick, painful and decidedly unpleasant right up until she changed her mind about the whole thing. )

the counterparts are trying so hard, you’re surprised they haven’t shared an aneurysm.

“she’s fine.” you wave a hand at the door, looking back to the tablet the two of you have been running simulations on. “a little more flexible on what constitutes suitable work attire,” you say with a droll and spiteful look to the raggedy alma mater sweater draped over a chair. “but ultimately alright. agent danvers is your sister in this universe - and not a complete closet case, so that’s fun.”

you let an annoyed sigh huff out at the glaring red code that barrels up the screen and drop the tablet. “did you learn anything useful from carol brady’s ghost and the least relevant backstreet boy?”

“agent danvers can go die in a fucking pit for all i care.”   she will only ever be just that - it started fine. she was just one of them, and you were behind two metres of lead and a low-emitting kryptonite cell that you used to feel ache and pain in the back of your neck if you stayed in one position too long. you remember your deo. you remember your chains, and your capture and everything that led you to do what you did. (if you can’t burn the people who hurt you, then what’s the point?)

“MIT. very impressive, even for this timeline.”   you sit down next to her and run a hand up the inside of her thigh. (sometimes you’ll sit like this - an ever-present remember of who she belongs to - and you glance back up at her.

“i’m not doing anything to a cat in a tree that doesn’t involve kicking it. same goes for the pensioners. nature made them old, honey.”   you take a quick glance over the tablet at code you barely recognise - it’s a good thing lena’s the brains and you’re the brawn, because the less you have to think about this, the better.

"your fascination with screwing virgins is lost on me, but i suppose i can see the appeal of untouchable."

the code glares like it's mocking and goading and telling of nothing but failure, look at what lena luthor can't figure out, your fingernails rattling over the metal bench. you're annoyed. it's been less than twenty four hours but you're annoyed you can't crack it, annoyed that despite knowing how it all works - parallel universes and timelines and reality breaks - it just won't click. every gear in your brain is turning, teeth clicking.

your eyes glance over to the dry marker boards that are covered in complicated physics; our handwriting is the same you notice idly.

her fingertips brush over the tattoo on your thigh. ( small, hidden, illicit. it had hurt and she made sure to press against it at every given opportunity while it healed. it's kryptonian and she won't tell you what it means, though you suspect it's her name. )

dialogue prompts from family of origin by cj hauser.

i’d like to go home.

why do you care what these people think?

it’s just beyond me who you think you’re trying to impress here.

i don’t feel sad.

most of the time it’s better to never find out anything at all.

do you need help?

what are you doing out here?

i made you a cake.

you’re showing off.

i’ll tuck you in.

you’re not going to apologize? or explain?

you’re really not even going to talk to me?

why couldn’t you sleep?

sometimes you should scream.

i want to scream right now.

you don’t know about me.

tell me a story.

why didn’t you just tell me?

i thought you left.

you did good.

will you forgive me for not noticing?

nothing is worse than listening to people talk about their dreams.

we can go home.

there’s a difference between what’s true and what people will believe.

sometimes i think i’ll just become a hermit.

i’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for.

i think we should stay.

what are you going to do when you get home?

i’d definitely prefer it if you stayed.

i’ve always loved this house.

stop rewriting history. i hate it when people pretend pretty things about the past.

i thought it would be nice to spend some time as a family.

everything good is weird.

yell all you want, it’s good for you.

funerals aren’t really for the dead, anyway. who cares what they want?

@unwynd

you’re careful with what you say around your counterpart. for the most part it’s refreshing to talk to someone on your level again - with lex dead, the only people left are either too scared of you to argue or too scared of your quote-unquote oversexed henchman to dare prove you wrong - but you steer the conversation away from you and your life any time the topic crops up. 

 ( she asks about the company and your family, huffs a laugh at the gossip you placate her with and frowns at the similarities you draw between her and lex; you gather he’s less insufferable in this universe but also, unsurprisingly, very dead. )

you hate her little m.i.t. sweater that she shows up - so goddamn unprofessional - and you hate the soft cadence to her voice when she says i met kara danvers a few years ago and you hate that she brought you clothes to change into, so thoughtful, so generous. you tell her you had sex seven feet away from lex’s dead body and she looks at you like she wants to vomit. good. she leaves not long after that, rushing past your kara (black suit, steel-eyed) without really even looking at her. 

         “shame. and here i thought we were getting along so well.”

“please, you wouldn’t get on with anyone who tried to talk to you.”    she’s as done up as ever, and most of the time, she’ll end up in a situation that looks the exact opposite. this-world’s-lena doesn’t even look at you as you leave and you turn to watch as she ushers herself out of the door.

“did she say anything interesting or was it just gormless drivel?”   you can’t see lena being incompetent in any world - maybe you just have too much faith in her, for who she is to you, but you don’t know who she’d be if you’d never met her before now. from what you gather, this world has a very linear sense of right and wrong, and you both sit on the wrong spectrum like two mosquitos who never asked to be here in the first place. there’s a spare sweater that this-lena left on the couch, and yours doesn’t even bother changing into it.

“kal-el is possibly even worse in this timeline, for what it’s worth.”   they’d both been trying to change you - dragged you out to a burning building that feels like nothing more than saving tadpoles from drowning. (tadpoles, because they’re as minuscule as one-cell organisms without brain cells or basal functions over eating, shitting, fucking. how drab.)

( that's a hilarious image; your brute of a lover, pebble-stepping some octogenarian across a sidewalk. she hulks into the room with something to prove as always and god, if you ever left like that without even so much as acknowledging her -- well. the reminder would be quick, painful and decidedly unpleasant right up until she changed her mind about the whole thing. )

the counterparts are trying so hard, you're surprised they haven't shared an aneurysm.

"she's fine." you wave a hand at the door, looking back to the tablet the two of you have been running simulations on. "a little more flexible on what constitutes suitable work attire," you say with a droll and spiteful look to the raggedy alma mater sweater draped over a chair. "but ultimately alright. agent danvers is your sister in this universe - and not a complete closet case, so that's fun."