#dc imagine

[sweetnrblog]

texts with bf!jason todd

(nsfw in a few ones!!)

[sweetnrblog]

redhood’s gf moodboard

[honey-snail]

I have this little headcanon that Tim Drake takes your last name after marriage. Mostly because he really freaking loves you and finds it more practical. He's always changing his name anyways.

But I think he gets SO much more pathetic about being in love when he's sleep deprived.

Like he's been working the same case for fourteen hours, some new villain trying to make a name for themself. Dick keeps telling him to go home. Jason tells him that they'll take over for a couple hours, so he can get some sleep.

Tim ignores both of them until his forehead finally drops onto the keyboard.

A few seconds pass.

Then, very quietly, very much whining: "I miss my wife."

Dick immediately starts laughing. Jason nearly chokes. Tim lifts his head just enough to glare at them, except his eyes are all glassy and red from exhaustion and his mouth does this tiny miserable wobble pout that makes Dick laugh even harder.

"Oh my god," Dick wheezes. "Are you gonna cry?"

"No." Tim's voice cracks just a little, squeezing his eyes shut to prevent a tear from slipping.

Jason LOSES IT.

"Holy shit, he's actually gonna cry."

"I'm tired," Tim snaps, which would probably sound more threatening if his eyes weren't starting to water. "And I miss my wife. Can you two shut the fuck up?"

Absolutely not. Dick has his phone out. Jason crouches beside Tim making his fist into a mic, "Timothy, can you tell the camera how long it's been since you last saw your wife?"

"Fuck off, Jason."

"Was it hours?"

Tim puts his face back on the keyboard and groans.

"Six."

Dick is crying laughing now.

"Six hours?!"

"I LIKE HER."

Of course they send you the video. Telling you to come get your man before he cries himself to sleep.

[spideyysenses]

SETTLE DOWN

kara zor el x reader

❜୧ about: kara sees you around kids once and decides that she wants to put a baby in you

❜୧ wc: 1.7k

❜୧ warnings: mdni this is shamless smut. breeding kink & strap use, kara being demanding as hell.

❜୧ an: for anon i hope this is good i sort of blacked out writing it

❜୧ translations: sinto - beloved, khuhtiv zrhemin - my wife, zrhueiao - pretty (taken from various forums and the kryptonain dictonary online.

The restaurant, usually a peaceful oasis away from the hectic nature of her life, is busy today. Your fingertips running across her palm soothes her, it always soothes her, makes her shoulders relax from their tense position. You’re talking about your research again, eyes lit up as you describe what you’ve been reading, and Kara’s smiling softly at you as you do.

“‘cuse me.” A tiny voice rings out. You both whip around to see the small child in question, probably five years old, and you frown. Kara’s frozen in her place as she looks at the small girl, because although she tries talking to kids never comes easy to her. 

You however, you’re slipping from your chair and meeting the kid at eye level. “Yes sweetheart?” You murmur voice that tender tone she adores hearing. 

“I’m lost.” The kid mumbles. “Can you help me find my table?” You nod. 

“Do you mind if I hold your hand so I don’t lose you?” You ask carefully, and slowly the child in question nods. You lead her back to her table, and Kara can hear the relief of the parents in question who didn’t even realize she snuck off to use the washroom in the first place while they contended with their other fussy children. 

When you return to her you’re smiling, eyes soft, “You’re good with kids.” Kara notes as if it’s a revelation to her. Her eyes round with emotions she’s not sure she can express right now.

“Yeah, I always sort of wanted them.” You admit absentmindedly and then freeze. “Sorry…” You say suddenly. “I know that’s a serious conversation. I’d figure we’d have it at some-point. It’s not a deal breaker… I just always thought it’d be nice.”

Kara’s quiet. “We’ll talk about it.” She assures you, squeezing your hand in hers, because seeing you like this makes her heart do something odd. 

You two don’t find the right time to talk about it since, but that doesn’t mean the idea doesn’t linger in Kara’s mind, because it has. In fact sometimes it’s all she can think about. Is you pregnant, her… and she makes up her mind in that way she does when she knows what she wants.

She’s got that look in her eyes when she comes home one night, as she comes and wraps her arms around your waist, that tells you she’s in the mood to be demanding tonight. 

“Khuhtiv zrhemin.” She says as she kisses just below your ear, and you hate how your body gives into her without a second thought. You can feel it makes her smile against your skin.

“Rough day?” She groans in response, head tilting against the back of yours, and you come to rest your hands against hers. “That bad?”

“Yes.” She says. “I wish I could get drunk on this stupid planet.” That makes you smile. “But then again,” her hands roam lower onto your bare thighs, “perhaps all I need is you.”

“I was going to start dinner soon…” You object.

“We’ll order something later.” She grumbles as she pushes up your shirt. “So don’t act like that’s a reason for me not to have you right now. It’s clear you want this too.”

You body shivers as she trails her fingers across your thighs. You always want Kara, that’s the terrible thing in a way, the way she’s got you hooked around her finger. The way you’re hers so completely. The way she can have you whenever she pleases.

“At least take me to our bed please.” You whine at her. You’ve been the victim of one too many bruises on your stomach when she’s in a particularly demanding mood and takes you against the counter.

She huffs against the back of your neck. “Fine sinto, because you asked nicely.” She replies as she lifts you over her shoulder.

“Kara!” You chide, but there’s laughter in your tone as she carries you to your bedroom. She plops your down onto your bed, and moves between your legs. Kara, hearing the heavier beating of your heart only smirks at your reaction.

“Soaked for me?” She teases. Your face gets warm, but you meet her gaze nonetheless in the way you know she likes.

“For you? Always.” You reply softly, and she groans a little, her fingers pushing into you gently. When you see her shift you notice what she’s wearing underneath her pants, and it makes you heart pound. “Are you…” 

She smirks. “Yes.” She says. “That desperate for my strap already? Or can I work you up first?” You let out a stuttered breath, as you try to relax back against your pillows. She hums satisfied you’ve listened, and continues to pump her fingers in and out, going from two to three to get you ready for her. Her fingers occasionally showing attention to your throbbing clit in the process.

“Kara.” You beg her. You really do loathe this woman sometimes and how fast she can work you up. She just grins down at you as if seeing you squirm is her favourite thing in the world—and it is, but she knows you’ll whack her if she admits it.

“Almost.” She says firmly, watching as her fingers get more and more slick with each thrust. Enamoured by the way your hips twist as if to try to escape her pleasure.

“Please.” You beg her. She hums, and bends down to give a few lingering kisses to your thighs before slipping out of her own clothing. She’s been waiting for this for days now. 

“You ready?” She murmurs, and you nod your head. She slips into you easily, first thrust gentle as always, and you let out a little moan as she does. “Feel good?” She asks you, but her cocky grin tells you she doesn’t need you to answer. “Like it when I fill you up?”

Your cheeks still flush. It doesn’t matter how many times Kara speaks to you like this, they always will, and she loves it. “Y-yes Kara.” You stutter out as she begins to quicken her pace, and she feels your hands come to press against her back. 

“Been thinking about this all day.” She says, voice thick. “You distract me too much zrhueiao.” You look up at her with a tiny little smirk.

“Don’t blame me I’m not—” You begin to pout, and she gives you an extra sharp thrust, causing you to stop mid sentence as you moan. 

“That’s what I thought.” She grins, satisfied with herself, and to keep you from arguing with her further she kisses you hard. Kara’s almost never gentle with you when she’s like this, her kisses demanding as her tongue slips past your teeth. 

You groan as she finds a rhythm that makes you clench around her each time. “So good.” She praises as she separates her mouth from yours, her lips finding your neck next and leaving a tiny mark there. “Swear I’m going to put a baby in you.”

You stop, surprised, but curious because something about her words makes the coil in your stomach tighten even more than the way her fingers reach down to give your clit attention. “Oh yeah?” You ask.

“Yeah,” she groans as if the mere thought is enough to make her come undone for you, and you tug at her hair again to make her look at you. “Can’t stop thinking about it. Ever since that dinner…” Your eyes widen a little at her admission, but the growing pace of her thrusts are making your head swim. “Wanna’ fill you up just like this.”

“Fuck.” You whimper as she purposefully thrusts deeper. It makes your thighs clench around her a little, and she’s grinning down at you. 

“Does that make you wanna’ cum for me even more?” She asks. “The thought of me filling you up?” You gulp, and let out a stuttered whine, but her hand grabs your chin and forces you to look at her. “Words now.” She demands. 

“Yes.” You admit to her cheeks so flush it feels painful to look at her. “Yes god yes.” You admit. “Please Kara…” You’re nails are digging into her back, and even though it doesn’t hurt her she feels content. She loves how you try to pull her closer, as if you can’t stand the distance. “God I’m so close…” You plea, and she thrusts harder as she watches your legs begin to tremble.

She knows by now the certain hitch to your tone, and the rhythm of your heart that means you’re about to cum for her. “Come on cum for me.” She murmurs, as her lips find yours, but you tilt your head back and her lips find your chin instead. 

When you stop, chest heaving as it tries to settle, Kara doesn’t pull out. She just starts again, and you look at her with that look. “Kar I’m spent.” You whisper, breath still uneven. “Baby—”

“I know you have at least one more in you, and if you don’t then tell me red.” She says. You give her a look, but you can see she means it. The pleasure that’s begun to fade is already ramping up. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

“You know,” you whine, “you can’t actually put a baby in me—”

She nips at your neck and you curse. “There are ways. I’ve read about them.” You screw your eyes shut. She’s back to thrusting hard, pace relentless, as if she could actually get you pregnant by sheer determination alone, and your back is arching upwards. “You’d love that wouldn’t you?” She husks.

You can’t reply, as you work hard to keep yourself from moaning so much, but Kara hates it when you try to stifle your noises, so she thrusts so hard you feel her touch your cervix. “Ohmygod baby please—”

She’s triumphant at the little noises you let out. “Please what?”

“Let me cum.” You beg. “Cum with me.” 

She does, her own hips now stuttering after a while, bangs clinging to her forehead a little although you brush them out of the way gently. “Do you really want a baby?” She asks you as she kisses your lips before flopping down beside you.

“Yes.” You murmur sleepily. “Obviously you do.” You tease.

“The thought of you with a tiny half-kryptonain does make me feel some kinda way.” She admits. “Plus the thought of coming home to you like that…” You can see the words she wants to say, they’re the words that come to your mind before you can help it, and you whack her. She only laughs. “Next time we do this,” she whispers, “I’ll make sure it’ll actually work.”

[bigfatbimbo]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ thinking about pegging the Riddler… How he would have to be so horribly overworked and exhausted to even consider saying yes to the initial proposal. But he would get so cock drunk so fast, whining and crying on your strap like you were his whole world and life line. Don’t bother asking him any riddles, he can barely form words. Stick to simple questions like “Who do you to belong too?” He’ll know the answer to that one. maybe he’d even call you mommy

[shadowsndaisies]

lemon lavender shortbread cookies

main masterlist

brightest of lights masterlist

synopsis: BOL CH 4: after having dinner there the night before, alfred encourages you to come back again for his birthday. jason’s just a little nervous, because alf is his favorite, and he doesn’t want to cause a scene on his day. but you? you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

wc: 4.5k

an: here we go! chapter 4 of the bol series! featuring alfred's birthday!

Jason stirs his coffee in slow circles. It’s still early in the morning, and the apartment smells like toast, eggs, and the faintest hint of burnt butter. You're leaning against the kitchen island, mug tucked against your ribs, hair still damp from a quick shower. Your movements are relaxed, the kind of soft shuffle that can only be born in sleepy mornings.

Jason's got a soft smile on his face, left over from his birthday the day before. It was late when you both got back from the Manor, but that didn't keep you from ending the day on the sofa. You laid together, in that close way that really only existed in the odd quiet hours, and watched Pride and Prejudice, eating through a box of Haägen-Daz bars, pointing at things with the popsicle sticks you were left with.

"What'd you decide on?" Jason asks, flipping a pancake and bringing you back to the current moment.

You can't help but quirk a brow, "He’s already seen me bleed out, Jase. Think he’ll forgive a sub-par gift?"

"Absolutely not. He’s still offended Tim once got him a Batman mug."

That earns a soft snort from you, "noted."

Jason smirks, passing you a plate, "so?" he prods.

You roll your eyes but smile, accepting the breakfast, and pushing yourself to sit up on the counter. You wince a bit as your body contorts against your stitches, and Jason sends you a warning look, but you continue to smile innocently, as you settle and tuck in.

"Well, actually, I was thinking I might make him something," you admit.

"What?" Jason pauses, and for a second, his full attention is off the stove, and on you.

"Lemon lavender shortbread cookies to pair with this specialty blend of earl grey that I found in Chinatown last week," you finally concede.

"You're gonna bake?" Jason’s still staring with an awe filled look.

You were a skilled baker, your grandmother had been a formally trained patissere chef, and since the woman had practically raised you, you'd picked up a few skills of your own. You didn't bake often, it led to nostalgic feelings that often left you... unmoored. But every so often there's an occasion special enough to call for it.

More often than he'd like to admit, Jason's found you baking after hard missions. Tough losses, near misses, trying to make something good in the midst of all the bad cloying to you. He always understood. Keeping you quiet company, and forcing you to stop when your hands started shaking too bad.

"Figured with all the effort Alfred puts into feeding your family, I can make him something in return," you shrug, pointedly focused on your eggs and pancake, ignoring the way Jason was staring at you.

It's that stupid gentle look, that makes you want to spill every single thought you've ever had.

"He'll love it," Jason finally says.

Your lips twitch up, and you let out a sigh, "I could use a sous chef," you hint after a few moments of silence.

"I'd be honored," a warm hand lands right above your knee.

You're forced to look at him then, his hair a curly mess atop his head, eyes soft, his hand is warm, and you can feel the callouses against your skin.

You let it linger… just for a second, and then you let out a breath and roll your eyes, shoving Jason back with an open palm. “Your pancake is burning,” you mutter, and he whips back around.

“Oh, shit.”

...

“You know,” Jason says from his perch on the counter, legs swinging slightly, “for someone who practically begged me to be their sous, you glower everytime I so much as think about touching something.”

You glance at him with a smirk, wrist deep in sugar and flour. And it’s a sight, all big and bulky, in shorts that are borderline sinful around his thighs, and a Wonder Woman sweatshirt that Steph had gifted him last night— which he’d giddily tossed in the wash as soon as you guys got home. His curls look so soft today-

“You really could just let me help you,” he adds on.

You force yourself to stare back down at the dough you’re forming and clear your throat, “I don’t recall begging. And if I remember correctly, the last time you helped me in the kitchen, you nearly burned your eyebrows off.”

Jason grins. “It’s only a fire hazard if you don’t know how to flambe, and I know how to flambe. Plus, Alfred would revoke my kitchen rights if I ever burn down any kitchen. And at the moment, Duke, Damian, and I are the only ones with kitchen rights, and I refuse to lose to them.”

“Well, as long as our intentions are clear, Chef. Now pass me the lavender, will you?”

He reaches over, but after a beat, he shifts, holding it just out of reach, “say please.”

You narrow your eyes, “Jason.”

He dangles the herb like a cartoon villain, “Pleeaaase?” he goads.

You huff, toss a bit of flour in his direction. He pretends it hits him like a gunshot, over dramatic as always, as he tumbles off the counter, clutching at his chest and keeping the lavendar in his grip balanced the entire time.

You roll your eyes, wiping your hands on a rag, and pick up a lemon, “lavender. Now. Or I swear I’ll zest this lemon onto your pillowcase.”

Jason laughs, finally handing it over, “one might interpret your threats of violence as a love language,” he says a playful smirk on his lips.

You hum, focused on measuring, using the back of your spoon to swipe the excess, “one could make that interpretation,” you muse.

“Yeah,” he says so casually you almost miss it, “pretty bold of me, huh?”

You pause your measuring for just a moment. “Maybe just bold enough,” you offer softly.

The beat of silence stretches—not uncomfortable, but charged in that way things sometimes are with him.

“Well, you know me. Never met a limit I don’t want to push,” he shrugs, clearing his throat.

The moment breaks, and you smile despite yourself, “I think that’s the exact warning you gave me when I moved in.”

Jason watches as you knead the dough together with deft hands, sleeves rolled up and brow furrowed in concentration. He doesn’t say anything else. Just studies the way a few locks have slipped loose from the messy bun at the back of your head, the soft crease in your nose when you focus, the calm that settles over you when your hands are busy and your thoughts quiet down. You’ve got some flour on your cheek, but all it does is add to your charm.

“You’re staring,” you murmur without looking up, you always seem to know when he’s looking.

“I’m observing,” he counters, not bothering to move his gaze away.

You glance up at him, amused. “Well, observe that if this batch comes out wrong, I’m blaming you.”

“I’ll take full responsibility,” he says, hopping down from the counter to grab the baking tray. “But only if I get to eat your tragic failures.”

“Bold request,” you scoff, scooping dough with practiced hands, “I would never subject your delicate sensibilities to my failures,” you add.

“I don’t think you could make something I wouldn’t eat,” Jason snorts.

You flick a bit of zest at him. “Wanna help me roll these out.”

“See? You do need me.”

“Maybe,” your lip quirks, always, you think privately. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

Jason grins again, pulling off the sweatshirt before coming around the counter.

“Too late,” he winks, reaching for the rolling pin and giving you a gentle shoulder bump.

...

When the oven timer dings, you nearly rip the mitts off the hook.

You’d spent the entire time while the cookies were baking over-analyzing your process. You’d washed the dishes wondering if you’d over worked the dough, or if you’d let it chill long enough.

Jason watches from his spot on the stool, sipping the last of his coffee as you open the oven with more intensity than is strictly necessary. Wincing a bit at the ominous little creak the door gives, he was going to have to take a look at that later this week. A blast of warmth escapes as you pull the tray out and set it down carefully on the trivet.

You stare at them, lips tugging down.

Jason waits, watching as your wring your fingers together, waiting for them to set for a few minutes. The kitchen smells downright delightful with the notes of lemon and lavender in the air, as you eventually start moving the shortbread's to your cooling rack. Though Jason notes your frown has not yet dissipated.

You continue to stare, expression unreadable as you take one of the cookies and snap it in half. There’s a bit of a snap, but it looks clean and crumbles in your fingers as you stare down at it.

He can see it on your face that you’d already made a decision as you half-heatedly bring a piece up to taste.

He leans forward, “Well?”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “They’re absolute rubbish.”

Jason blinks, “What?

You point at the tray with the sort of resigned despair usually reserved for funeral eulogies. “The edges are too brown, the texture’s wrong, the lavender’s too subtle…”

Jason snorts, already reaching for one. They look and smell incredible, like the ones you’d see on an add or a professional’s blog, picture perfect, he thinks, stuffing the cookie in his mouth. “oh fuck,” he says around his mouthful of shortbread, “they’re delicious.”

You swat at his hand as he reaches for another—he dodges easily, plucking more shortbreads off the rack anyway.

“Jason, they need to cool before—”

He takes another bite.

Your eye twitches as you cut yourself off.

He chews slowly, eyes closing just slightly. “Oh, no,” he says, mock-serious. “You’re right. These are trash. Burn the kitchen down, you’ll never recover.”

“Stop it,” you huff.

“I’m doing this for you. You can’t possibly let these exist. I’ll eat them all. Every last one. No one has to know, don’t worry.”

You throw the closest thing you can at his head— an oven mitt. He catches it easily, still munching on another cookie.

“They’re not balanced,” you argue, hands gesturing as your frustration mounts. “They’re meant to melt, not—crumble like regret.”

Jason blinks, then grins. “Is that what they taste like? Regret? Huh. I always assumed it’d be less lemony.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “I should’ve started with the lemon sugar, and I should’ve zested over the sugar bowl, that way the oils would land on the sugar. The flour was off—I used the metal scoop instead of weighing it. Rookie mistake,” you grumble, glaring in betrayal at the cookies on the rack.

Jason finishes a fourth cookie and speaks around the bite. “Babe. I would eat these off the floor.”

You stare at him like he’s got two heads.

“They’re incredible,” he promises you.

That earns him a scoff and he frowns watching as you reach for the bowl again, muttering something about “adjusting ratios” and “fixing the butter-to-flour balance.”

Jason stands, crosses the kitchen, and places a hand lightly on your arm, just as you’re pulling out the scale.

“They’re really good,” he says, quiet this time. “You’re just panicking ‘cause it’s Alf.”

You sigh.

“That’s the problem,” you mumble. “Alfred will know the difference between a sub-par shortbread and an excellent one. I refuse to put a shitty shortbread in front of the British Butler who can make a perfect tea service in less than an hour and still have time to polish his shotgun to gleaming perfection.”

He squeezes your arm gently, looking at the clock, “so we make another batch. We got time,” he says gently and you nod, taking a breath. “But we keep this one. For scientific purposes,” he adds on, reaching over for another cookie.

You roll your eyes and huff, “Fine. You can have the regret cookies.”

Jason grins like he’s won something, “I will cherish every one.”

...

Jason watches you from the other side of the counter, arms folded, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as you mutter under your breath about lemon/lavender ratios.

“You know, I don’t think you get this focused when you’re patching me up after a mission.”

You don’t bother looking up, “That’s because you bleed on my throw pillows.”

“For someone who usually bakes to decompress, you’ve gotten awfully worked up,” he counters.

“I am not worked up,” you argue.

“You’ve elbowed me out of my own kitchen, threatened me with a dough hook, and you’re vibrating.”

“I just want them to be right,” you say, exasperated, as you finally move your gaze from the dough and back to Jason. “Alfred deserves—I don’t know! More than mediocre cookies with a lopsided bake.”

Jason rounds the counter, gently plucks the zester from your hand, and bumps your shoulder with his.

“They’ll be perfect. He’ll love ‘em. Because they’re from you. He woulda’ loved the first batch.”

You blink, a little thrown at the sudden calming effect his words seemed to have. “Stop being sincere, you’re throwing off my mania,” you huff as you grab the zester back.

“I’m sorry our years of friendship are conspiring against you,” he mocks.

You spare a few seconds to glare at him before shooing him back out of the kitchen again.

...

You’re staring down at the empty mixing bowl, hands on your hips, jaw clenched. The second batch of dough is sitting in the fridge, chilling. The first batch rests nearby on the cooling rack, half-eaten, because Jason has no self-control.

But you aren’t laughing. You’re tense. He sees it in the way your shoulders curl in, in how your eyes are bouncing from the recipe card to the bowl to the oven thermometer like the world might end if you blink wrong.

Jason walks over, slower than usual, and leans a hip against the counter next to you.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“This was supposed to be easy,” you mutter, eyes fixed on the bowl. “Just a simple family recipe. I’ve made it before. But now everything feels too much or not enough, and the butter’s too soft, and the lavender might be stale, and what if he hates them, or worse, what if he’s polite about them?”

Jason waits a beat before gently reaching out, doing his best not to laugh in the face of your frankly ridiculous panic, instead focusing on brushing flour off your cheek with the back of one knuckle.

“Okay. First of all, the lavender’s not stale, you and I both tasted it. Second, I am not polite and I’ve eaten half of the so-called disaster tray. Third…”

He takes your hands, flour and all, and wraps them lightly in his.

“Take a breath.”

You blink, “I am breathing.”

“You’re panicking and calling it breathing.”

You glare at him, but your hands stay in his.

“Jason,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, just as softly. “You want it to be perfect. You want him to feel seen. To feel appreciated.”

You nod once, too fast.

“But he already does. These cookies? They’re just a bonus.”

You sniff and blink too quickly, “You’re annoying when you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” he corrects, then tilts his head. “But I’ll accept annoying if it gets you to stop looking at the flour like it personally betrayed you.”

You let out a shaky laugh, and he squeezes your fingers once before letting go.

“Now,” he says, nudging the bowl with a grin, “what say you and I tackle the Not-Rubbish Batch together?”

You finally smile, small but real. “Fine. But you’re on sprinkling duty.”

Jason mock-groans, already reaching for the sugar, “Shoulda’ known this was a trap.”

The scent in the kitchen is exactly right. Lemon bright and warm, lavender soft in the air. You slide the last tray out of the oven with more care than Jason’s ever seen you use on anything but him.

He sidles closer while you plate the best dozen, tilting his head to admire them—and you.

“What’s the verdict, O judgmental one?”

You arch a brow at him, tired but satisfied, “they don’t look horrible,” you relent. Jason smirks, and your eyes level into a glare, “Don’t say ‘I told you so,’ it’s smug.”

He shrugs, amused, leaning down to you a bit, “I am smug. You’re just—”

You shove a cookie into his mouth before he can finish. “Here. Chew on that instead of your ego.”

Jason takes the bite, still grinning, even as he mumbles, “Worth it.”

...

The biscuits are secured under the seat of Jason’s bike, along with his gift, wrapped with clean folds. Your arms are wrapped around his waist, your helmet resting against his back. You’d left the kitchen a little worse for wear than you’d prefer. You’d caught Jason’s wince at its state, but promised you’d clean up once you were back later in the evening.

“Stitches?” is the first thing he asks as you both pull the helmets off.

“They’re good,” you promise.

He squints at you.

You roll your eyes, and pull up on the side of your brown leather jacket and the white sweater you had on underneath.

Jason smiles at your easy agreement. His fingers skim your side causing your nose to scrunch.

“Cold,” you mutter when he glances up at your expression.

“Sorry,” he says, though he’s still smiling at you as he pulls your gauze to the side.

“You know, some might consider this an invasion of privacy,” you note, looking down at Jaosn’s hands as he analyzed each stitch.

“One could make that interpretation,” he teases, throwing your words from this morning back at you.

You roll your eyes, scoffing.

“They look good,” he finally decides, pulling your sweater back down.

“Can we go inside now?”

“Yes, lemme grab the gifts,” he nods, lifting the seat.

You hold your helmet in one hand, decorated with constellations, painted on one night when you couldn’t sleep. Your fingers trace over the constellation of Orion, eyes flickering to Jason.

“Hey,” you say suddenly.

“Yeah?” He asks.

“I’m really proud of you, you know?” The words slip past your lips, while your mind lingered on thoughts of the warrior the constellation was named after.

Jason freezes, one hand holding the gifts, and the other about to push the motorcycle seat back down. He turns his head, and you see the flush peaking at the tips of his ears. You can’t help the fond smile that takes your lips as he slowly pushes the seat. He turns back to you, clearing his throat and tugging a bit at his collar.

“I-uh…” he starts but cuts himself off.

“I mean I’m proud of you pretty much every day,” you add, realizing where he was stuck. “But today? Today I’m proud of you for being here, even though I know you’ve spent more time at the manor in the last week that you have in the last three months.”

Jason drops your gaze, and then he turns to look at the Manor itself.

He shakes his head, and runs a hand through his hair, “Family, right?”

“Right,” you nod, looping your arm around his.

His lips quirk on the ends. Not quite a smile, but it’s enough for you to see him, Jason. He turns to stare at you. “Let’s do it,” he finally says, and begins walking forward, pace just slow enough for you to match.

...

You’re welcomed in by Stephanie, who does her best British accent, dressed in a three-piece suit, and emulates Alfred’s posture and mannerisms to the best of her ability.

“Steph, thats a nice suit,”

“Thanks. I stole it from Tim’s closet like a month ago, and took it to a tailor.”

You can’t hide the snort this time around. It gains you a roll of the eyes from Jason and a bright beam from Steph.

“It’s kind of freaky,” Jason murmurs low to you, behind her back, as she leads you forward.

“I fear we’ve underestimated her,” you concede.

Jason snorts, “doubtful.”

You hide your smile behind your hand as you both arrive in the kitchen.

She leads you both into the kitchen where you find the rest of Jason's siblings seemingly hard at work. It’s a full ensemble. Dick’s on a counter pulling out the nice dishes and plates, Tim’s moving what must be the catered meal (you wouldn’t trust any of them in a kitchen…. maybe Damian… maybe), and Steph slipped out of her Alfred persona and was crouched in front of the oven.

“Quite the production,” you say softly.

“Well, none of them should be trusted to make more than a bowl of cereal,” Jason reminds you and you can’t help but quirk a smile.

“What about her?” you ask, nodding your head at Stephanie.

“Steph’s got an exception.”

“Oh?”

“Brownies.”

“She can bake?” you ask with a small smile.

“No.”

“Jason.”

“Only brownies, nothing else.”

“Your family never ceases to surprise,” you snort.

He sends you a dubious look but shrugs, before handing you the gifts and moving to help. Jason moves easily in the kitchen. You can almost imagine the teenage version of him trailing after Alfred.

You hold Jason’s gift and the small tins that make up your own as you watch. Its only a moment later when you feels someone come up behind you.

“Hello, Damian,” you greet softly.

“Tt. There's no feasible way you could have known it was me,” he argues, stepping in line with you.

“Process of elimenation,” you smirk.

He rolls his eyes, though eventually peers at the gifts in your hands, shooting you a questioning look.

One you choose to ignore, to his annoyance and your joy.

“How is your injury?”

You tilt your head, “It’s fine, your brother is just overly cautious.”

Damian snorts, and looks offended a second later for allowing such a sound, much to your amusement.

“Todd is rarely cautious, overtly or not.”

“Guess I’m just special then,” you shrug.

“Perhaps so,” is what Damian finally offers up.

You had meant it, in part as a jest, but Damian doesn't argue and your eyes flick back to Jason who's arguing with Tim about proper serving dishes, and you know it’s true.

"High praise from the peanut gallery," you mutter, smiling.

...

Dinner’s less chaotic than most gatherings. Alfred insists on a proper meal, real silverware and polished glasses. The table is full—Bruce at the head, the rest spread out, You're sat beside Jason, across from Steph.

You sit and listen as everybody exchanges stories. Jason stays on the edge of a few conversations, as if he’s afraid to jump in. Part of you recognizes that he may have never heard a few of these stories, that he hadn’t been there.

You let your knee bump his whenever he gets a little too quiet. His knee presses against yours as his shoulders relax. It’s halfway through a story Dick’s telling, about how Alfred has always shouldered more than necessary, and to his credit, he’s doing a good job of talking around what was being shouldered at the time this story took place. Picking and choosing his words carefully enough, but everyone in the room could read through the lines. After someone had gone away.

Your knee presses to his again, and this time as it pulls back, his hand drops to it. Warm and calloused as he holds your knee in place. You blink, turning to him slightly, and when you see the tense line of him, you purposefully look back to Dick. Letting Jason ground himself, with a hand on your knee and your attention elsewhere.

...

It’s not until the meal is done, and dishes are picked up when you manage to catch Alfred alone in the hallway. Everyone has started migrating to the sitting room with their cups of cocoa. Stephanie, Jason and Duke arguing over peppermint sticks versus marshmallows versus whipped cream.

You gently hand him the tin of cookies, and the other of tea. "Lemon Lavender Shortbread," you tell him softly, almost shy. “I thought they'd pair well with this blend of Earl Grey I found.”

Alfred peers down at you over his glasses. Opening his the shortbread tin.

You hesitate before adding, “they were my grandmother’s recipe.”

There’s a subtle ease in his shoulders as the gentle scent hits him, “I assure you, I shall thoroughly enjoy them."

You smile, a little nervous as he closes the tin. You nod, preparing to go join the rest, but he stops you with a gentle, "Miss (Y/L/N).”

"Yes?"

He smiles, rare and genuine. "It’s no small feat to become part of this family. They can be quite loud and appear daunting, and sometimes, despite the number, they can be lonley. It is a kind thing, isn’t it? To be seen, to be known?”

You blink, caught off guard.

“It is, I think, my only wish; that they should all find someone who will know them.”

You stare at him, a few moments longer, “You’re a little too insightful, for my mental stability, Alfred.”

The olderman offers you an amused smile, one hand gently squeezing at your shoulder, “it comes with time and age, my dear,” before he walks away.

Jason is waiting for you on the couch by the time you make it over there.

“All good?”

You turn to Jase, eyes tracing over blue-green eyes, the white streak of his hair, the small scars that litter his face. The bump on his nose from where he’d broken it too many times for it to ever be straight ever again.

“Yeah, Jase. Alfred liked my gift.”

Jason offers you a bright smile, the charming boyish one that warms you from the inside out every time he turns it on you.

“Told you,” he smirks, bumping your shoulder.

Yeah, you did.

...

everything tags: @butterfly-skinnylegend

dc taglist: @batarella @escapenightmare @uh-oh-howd-i-get-here @seamlessepiphany @ye-olde-trash-panda @snake-in-a-flower-crown @11om

bol taglist: @mxtokko @myxticmoon @pink-panda-pancakes @luvelyxp @arestemper @c-losur3 @boobilater @mercuryathens @atomicpeachmaker @midnightridercassie @casiiopea2

[spideyysenses]

YOU LOVE TO GIVE IN

kara zor el x sugar baby!reader

❜୧ about: after a rough day at classes you just want to give in and not have to think for a while, thankfully kara is all to happy to oblige!

❜୧ wc: 2k

❜୧ warnings: subby!reader, dom!kara, mommy!kara, headspace, fingering

❜୧ an: this is for anon! it can be read by itself, but it is apart of a new series that i'm working on that's an au where kara is fully a sugar mommy, so if you enjoyed let me know! slightly proof-read.

❜୧ translation: sinto - beloved, kir chahv - little one (taken from various forums and the kryptonain dictonary online.

The sound of boots against hardwood make you perk up from where you slump into the couch, and Krypto perks up with you. Your fingers tighten in his fur as you hear the clink of her keys, and the rustling of her coat, and you wait in anticipation for her to round the corner. 

When she does you can see the wear of space on her shoulders, and you have the instant impulse to go and help her relax, but your head feels so heavy today as your textbooks lay out before you. Classes were long, and you haven’t seen Kara in a couple of days, and nothing went your way. You fought all day to withhold stubborn frustrated tears as your mind felt gooey and vacant. 

A finger, stern and guiding, under your chin makes you look upwards. Kara can tell by the way your body sags into her that you’re in one of those moods, those moods she secretly loves, because you’re oh so pliable for her. Your usual need to be stubborn and independent giving way to your desire to be cared for. 

“Hi baby-girl,” she murmurs as she meets your lips. You hum against hers, letting her set the pace of your kiss. “How are you?” She asks. 

“Fine,” you whisper as your eyes ghost back towards your textbooks. Kara knows by the slight increase of your heart rate that you’re lying to her, and she trails her finger from under your chin to the side of your cheek and pushes so you’re forced to look back at her. 

“Come now sinto,” she says lowly as the Kryptonian word falls from her lips easily, “what’s one of our rules?”

This only serves to make the heavy feeling in your head worse, focus slipping from the growing thoughts in your mind to only her. “I don’t lie to you.” You tell her, voice so soft it makes her smile sweetly at you.

“That’s my girl.” She praises. “Now, tell me what’s wrong?” You give her a slight pout of your lips, because you don’t want to have to think right now. The more she speaks, voice low and demanding of your attention, the more you want her to take the reins from you. 

“Bad day.” You finally supply. “Everything sucked and I missed you.” You let the extra pout in your tone be known, because you hate when she’s away from you. The first time she went she forgot to tell you about it, and lets just say she was paying for it for weeks.

“I know you did,” she says gently, “but you know I have to go.” You sigh, but nod. She breaks away from you and it causes you to whine a little. “You’re feeling heavy today aren’t you?” She teases, but it’s gentle in the way that Kara is with you. You gulp, and frown at her, but she’s sitting down beside you and tugging you into her lap so you’re facing her. “Don’t try to fight it.” She murmurs as she kisses your temple. “You had to be so in control these last few days. I’ve got you.”

You let your eyes flutter shut as you rest your head against her shoulder. She makes an approving noise as you do, hand coming to rub your back. “Work okay?” You ask her, and you feel her chuckle underneath you.

“Yes,” she says, “nothing for you to worry about. Is this what you’re stuck on?” She says as she leans forward, your arms wrapping around her neck to steady yourself, and you huff as she picks up your textbook. “Mhm, the proper methods for recognition post colonial findings.” She chimes. “That’s heavy.”

You hum. “It is, and today in class I just couldn’t retain anything.” You’re getting sulky, but Kara doesn’t mind that you are, in fact she wants to push you just a little further. She wants to break down all those stubborn walls you keep up, and make you fall apart for her. “I tried.” You whimper.

“I know you did, you always give it your best, but sometimes that brain of yours just needs to shut off for a little while yes?” You bury your face deeper into her shoulder and she chuckles. “So shy when you’re like this. I love it.”

You huff. “Of course you do.” You quip, and it makes her exhale sharply as she takes the back of your neck and forces you away from her. You instantly make a petulant noise trying to hide away again, but Kara doesn’t let you.

“Why must you always be so stubborn?” She groans as she lets her hand move to your chin, her fingers digging into either side of your face. “Give into me kir chahv.” Her eyes, blue and commanding make you cave. She always makes you cave when she’s like this, so firm yet sweet, and it makes your lip tremble. 

“Too much to do.” You complain to her, and she chuckles as she leans forward and kisses you.

“What do you have to do?” She asks.

“Answer emails, read the next chapter, make us food.” You chime and Kara rolls her eyes.

“Such minor tasks. You really don’t need to do them right now.” As you hide away in her neck you let your teeth graze her skin to let her know that you do. She pinches your side in warning. “Behave.” She commands. “Fine fine, I’ll do them.”

Your eyes widen. “Kara—”

“—what? You think I can’t answer a couple of emails on your behalf and read you a chapter.” You notice she skips the cooking part of it. “I’ll order us your favourite takeout.” She says, pulling out her phone, this makes you grumble a little but she ignores you. “Mhm, what are we feeling?”

You know she really isn’t asking you, truly, when Kara gets like this she never asks. Only checks in when she knows she needs to, but that’s not now, you’re content like this. With her making all the choices, even if you find it hard to let yourself slip to this place you relish in it. “We could do Tutto’s.” She says. 

You don’t even make a noise just let yourself feel the steady rise and fall of your chest. Normally, you’d argue with her. Tutto’s is the most expensive Italian restaurant around here, and you hate when Kara spends that kind of money on you. But tonight she’s in control, and you can tell that your lack of argument pleases her. 

She doesn’t ask what you want, she knows it, and instead merely reaches for your laptop next. “Which emails?” She asks you, slipping into that tone of voice she gets when she means business.

You laugh softly. “It’s just to a group member sending them the link, and then one to my prof asking for extra time. You’re not taking down a smuggler ring or something.” She snorts at you, but finds your pinned messages and begins to type them out.

“You’ve got jokes huh?” She teases as she does so, and you kiss her neck in gratitude. Kara’s quick to take care of it, and it makes some of your stress evaporate. Then she’s shifting you. “Food’s here baby.” She murmurs.

“No.” You say with a little groan. “No stay.”

“Our food will get cold.” She says firmly, and goes to remove you from her lap, but you don’t let her. 

“Don’t care.” You complain, and Kara exhales deeply through her nose. Her hands become stern around your waist. “Kara—”

“Don’t whine. I can hear your stomach.” She says and then she forces you off of her. You feel your arms wrap around your stomach in clear displeasure as she goes off. Krypto gives out a whine as if to echo your feelings, and you hear her scoff. “Don’t start with me too Krypto.” She says, although her tone is teasing. 

She comes back with the takeout in hand, plops it onto the counter as she goes and gets bowls and forks. Her hand wrapping around the fridge handle she peers over at you. She rolls her eyes at your sulking, although again, she adores it. You get so clingy like this, and Kara almost never wants it to end. If she could make you this needy always she would. 

“Drink?” She asks you. You don’t say anything, looking at her as she vanishes behind the fridge door. “There’s your favourite soda, lemonade, or water.” She skips over the beer options she knows she’s going to partake in herself for the taste. “Which one?” You don’t answer. You know what you want. You know that Kara knows what you want. “Answer, or you’re getting water.” You let out a noise of complaint. “Fine.” She mutters and you hear her remove the pitcher.

“Kara—” You complain. 

“I know you’re feeling heavy but you still need to communicate when I ask you too.” With a little huff you meet her gaze, which has come out from behind the fridge to look at you.

“Lemonade please.”

“There you go,” she says as she pours you a glass. “Was that so hard?” Her voice is a little condescending and you give her a look with big glassy eyes. 

“Mean.” You say, and she grins at you.

“Oh you think I’m mean?” She says as she comes over with your food. “Trust me I can be meaner.” Your lip juts out, but you decide not to inspire her to make good on that claim. Instead you just eat with her beside you. When you’re done she cleans up, occasionally looking back to see how your eyes are drooping low.

When she comes back over and takes you in her lap again this time she makes you rest your back against hers. “Read now?” You ask through sleepy words. 

“I don’t think so. You’re about to fall asleep. We’ll read tomorrow.” She assures, and kisses your shoulder and neck. You begin to open your mouth to complain but Kara slips her fingers around, and under your sleep shorts. You let out a little gasp as you feel her cool fingers against your warm skin.

You instantly push into her, but she stops you. “Please.” You beg her. 

“I set the pace here.” She reminds softly. “You just take what I give you.” She says as her fingers dip further into you. She grins at how wet you are. “Just soaked.” She teases and you give her a noise of protest. 

It dies in your throat when she crooks her fingers just right, pushing against that sweet spot you like as her palm presses against your clit. She works you up in the way you swear only she can, and you feel your body begin to tremble a little. 

“Please Kara—”

She sighs. “That’s not my name kir chahv.” She says and yanks away her fingers. You let out a whimper, trying to grab her wrist, but it doesn’t work. Kara of course can overpower you at a moment’s notice. Her fingers trace patterns across your thighs and you wither a little in her grip. “Come on say it for me.”

You’re too down deep to care about the way it makes your cheeks flush. “Mommy.” You beg her. “Please.” 

Her lazy grin turns triumphant. “There you go.” And her fingers start again, you pushing against her hand as much as she allows you too. It doesn’t take her long to work you up, and she doesn’t even make you ask her for permission like she normally would. She lets you come undone for her with a moan as you rest back against her. “Good girl.” She breathes satisfied with herself. “Come on we both need sleep.”

You hum as she turns you so you can wrap your arms and legs around her as she stands. She runs you both a bath, and then helps you get changed into new clothes. “Thanks mommy.” You whisper as she curls into bed beside you.

“You’re welcome.” She murmurs. “Now, stay all sweet and subby for me okay? Then tomorrow we can spend the whole day together.” 

Your lips can’t help but lift at the thought of this, because that’s exactly what you need.

[spideyysenses]

LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU LEAVE HIM

kara zor-el x best friend!reader

about: you're the first person that makes metropolis feel worth it to kara, and she's fine being your bestfriend, even though she swears she can do a better job at loving you than your shitty boyfriend jimmy olsen.

wc: 3.7k

warnings: a bit of yearning, not sure if i did enough yearning, some slight angst in the form of arguing.

an: for anon!, i hope you enjoy! i have never done friends to lovers before, so, sorry if this doesn't live up to your wonderful request. as always only slightly proofread.

Kara’s legs swing from Clark’s desk as she waits for him to finish up whatever meeting he’s in. Her ears still ring with the constant noise of the city, she hates the smell, and she finds that everything her cousin shows her with enthusiasm only grates against her grief in painful ways. 

She perks up however when she smells something new and delicious, eyes instantly searching for what it may be, and landing on you. You’re in a tee that’s covered in something white and dusty, and jeans equally as messy, and in your right hand rests a container and a small box. 

Despite being taken with the smell Kara can’t tear her eyes away from your face. The angle of your jaw, the slope of your nose, eyes that glint in the sunlight of the Daily Planet’s office, and a smile that makes her chest do an odd flip.

You fly past her as if you’re running late for something, but end up stopping merely a couple of feet away at a different desk. Jimmy Olsen’s desk to be exact, and Kara’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. It’s not that she dislikes Clark’s friend, he’s just… 

Your eyes are moving around the office, the containers now sitting on the desk, and your gaze settles onto her. Kara can feel her face warm, yet another new feeling she isn’t sure she likes, and when your eyes widen in clear surprise she feels almost too aware of herself.

“Sorry!” You exclaim. “I didn’t see you there. Gosh, I just got so focused and then I…” You trail off sheepishly. “Did you just start working here?” You ask.

Kara’s about to answer you, how she’s not sure since her English still isn’t that good, but as she opens her mouth Jimmy appears. He moves past you as if avoiding touching you, and then looks down at the food in question.

“Hey,” he greets, “thanks.” His lips find your cheek in a lightening fast peck, and Kara’s frowning before she can school her reaction. “I forgot my lunch at home.” He continues on as he settles down into his chair and starts to dig in without so much as a thanks.

“No worries babe.” You murmur, but Kara can hear your heart beat pick up as if you don’t entirely feel that way. “How’s work?” Jimmy just shrugs his shoulders, and you turn back to Kara with an apologetic glance. ‘Sorry’ you mouth to her, as if his behaviour is your fault, and she has to withhold the scowl she wishes to show.

“Oh,” Jimmy says, “That’s Kara, Clark’s cousin.”

Your face lights up in a way that suggests immediate warmth, and Kara knows it’s probably because you know Clark, but for a second she imagines perhaps it’s just for her. You move around Jimmy, grab something from the thing you brought, causing him to complain, and hold it out to her. 

It’s the thing that smells so good, and Kara takes it with round eyes. “I made enough for the office!” You say as he continues to grumble. “It’s good, I swear, it’s sort of my thing.” Kara knows her puzzled expression won’t fly, she’s supposed to be from a different country not a different planet, so she merely nods.

Luckily Clark saves her. He beams when he sees you and you beam back. “Clark!” You say, as your arms wrap around the tall man. “Brought you guys muffins along with Jimmy’s lunch.” Clark’s eyes sparkle, and Kara infers that said muffin must be what she’s holding in her hands.

“Gee, you didn’t need to do that.” Clark says as he goes to get one. “But I’ll never say no to your  baking you know that.” He then turns to Kara with a wide grin and nods her on. The minute she tastes your baking, her eyes light up so much that it’s almost comical. 

“Wow.” The word still feels weird on her tongue. “This is…”

“Delicious.” Clark supplies quickly enough to seem like he’s playing off his cousin’s reply, and not supplying her with a word she doesn’t have yet. You flush under their collective praise, while Jimmy is back to focusing on work. 

Kara can tell Jimmy’s treatment of you annoys Clark, but he doesn’t comment on it. Just continues to smile at you. “You coming to the house party?” He asks you finally and you nod enthusiastically.

“And miss hanging out with you and Lois no way!” You tease. “Will you be there?” You’re asking her, and Kara stumbles for a moment. She wasn’t thinking about going to be honest, she was going to make some excuse up to Clark about why she wouldn’t be there, but she suddenly wants more time listening to you. 

“Yeah.” She says, and watches as Clark’s eyes go big with surprise. “I’ll be there.”

You’re the first one Kara searches for at the party, eyes roaming around until they rest on you, you’re sitting on the couch laughing, but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes quite enough. She weaves through the crowd of people, practically pushes someone out of the way, and plops down beside you.

You smell nice, it’s weird that she notices, but you smell like flowers. It makes Kara relax, the stench of people and beer dissipating. When you turn to her it’s with a wide smile once again, and she swears if you keep doing that her chest will begin to ache. 

“You came!” You say, voice warm and excited just as it was at the office, and she nods. “I’m glad. I could use another friend.” 

“Me too. Moving here was…” She begins to say something, but finds that once again she doesn’t have the words. “I liked your muffin.” She adds.

You grin. “Really?” You ask if shocked. “I’m glad. I’m a baker, at a local bakery here in Metropolis. I moved from Gotham actually because well it’s Gotham…” You continue on, and Kara can barely keep up with the rate you’re telling her things. You’ll stop every once in a while and wait for her to supply similar information about herself, and Kara does her best to answer you. 

Really she just likes the sound of your voice, like it’s melodic and soothing, and she quickly realizes that this party won’t be enough. She needs to see you again, because returning to her horrid sense of normal isn’t an option now that she knows there’s you. 

So, she gets the name of the bakery from Clark. Goes numerous times a week just to see you, you’re always more in the back, coming out to reload their selection of pastries and breads, but when you see her you always stop. By the third week of this routine you roll your eyes at her playfully.

“You could have just asked for my number,” you tell her, “instead of wasting your money on overpriced baked goods.” She nods, unsure what else to say, and takes the number from your hands. She doesn’t tell you that the food doesn’t feel like a waste when it tastes so good, and it comes paired with your face. 

And all the while the feeling in her chest doesn’t lessen at all. She wonders if it ever will. Every time she sees you her stomach does a soft twist, a thudding of her heart that’s profound and scares her at first. 

When she tells Clark about the weird sensations, making sure not to mention you, he merely laughs. It’s soft, never patronizing, but it annoys her nonetheless. “Those are feelings Kara.” He says as if that makes sense.

“I know,” she grounds out, “but what feelings?” This causes his grin to grow. 

“No, like feelings.” He says. “You know like I feel for Lois.” This makes Kara’s face warm when she realizes his implication. “That’s a good thing!” He adds, but she’s turning and trudging off because she certainly doesn’t want Clark talking to her about love. 

It’s not like she doesn’t know what love looks like, her parents were in love, but all the while on Argo she never felt it. There was never someone who made her feel this way before. It annoys her, and it doesn’t go away. It actually gets worse as you text.

Each conversation you have makes Kara feel less alone. You admit that Metropolis although wonderful has felt lonely, and Kara tells you the same. It’s like you’re the first person who understands that the hole in her chest can’t just snap shut with a new place, no matter how wonderful, and it eases her. 

You ease her. It’s your laugh, it’s your voice, it’s your easy and enthusiastic nature. It’s like a balm to her temperament, and to your credit you seem to like being around her just as much. But the more time you spend together the more Kara notices. 

She notices Jimmy. Jimmy who ignores you half the time, leaves you sitting on the couch with her at parties while he flirts with the other woman there. He hardly ever says thank you, never returns your affection, and with each slight Kara gets more frustrated. Jimmy doesn’t deserve you. 

“Why do you like him?” She asks you after months of being friends, and you hesitate. She hears your heart rate pick up again, as she runs patterns across your palm. You shiver into her, and it makes her smile just a tad. She tries not to think about making you shiver like that in other ways. 

You’re friends. Kara likes being your friend. Sure she’d love if you were more… if that soft smile and gentle hands were hers like they are his, but she accepts that you don’t feel the same. “I don’t know.” You finally say, and that makes her frown. “He’s charming.”

She scoffs. “He’s an idiot.” This makes you laugh.

“Well that too. We can’t always help who we love Kara.” You say, and then twist to look at her face. “Why? Do you secretly like Jimmy?” She makes a face that tells you just how little that statement is true, and you’re laughing again. It makes her beam. 

Clark quickly notices how attached you two are, where you go Kara goes, where Kara goes you go. He’s happy really, that you’ve found an actual friend aside from him and Lois, and he loves the way you seem to ground Kara for a moment. It’s like with you she’s found a reason to like this planet. Although he never tells her that in fear that it’ll drive her away again.

You become inseparable. After every bad mission, which you still don’t know the truth about, Kara seeks you out. She’ll fall beside you on your couch as you watch TV, placing her head in your lap, and hum in satisfaction when you begin to detangle her hair. 

After every long day at work you’ll fall beside her on her couch and prop your feet in her lap expectingly, and Kara always caves. She’ll watch you sigh and tilt your head back over the arm of the couch, jaw relaxing as she rubs the pain away. And you’ll always joke about her fingers in a way that makes her flush. 

She loves the routine, the sense of normalcy, the affection you bring as if it’s second nature. When she’s with you she feels a little at home. 

Six months into your friendship and she starts to tell you about her parents, about her favourite dishes, and she watches as you watch with warm eyes and caring hands.

Your fingers will brush across her jaw every time it begins to tremble, and you’ll assure her that they’re never really gone, and then hold her. 

For her first birthday on earth you make her one of said dishes, saying you pieced it together best you could from all the little details she’s mentioned, and even though it doesn’t really taste the same she still cherishes it.

She cherishes how your skin feels warm when you brush against her. She cherishes how you make her whole apartment seem brighter. She cherishes you like you’re the sun that replenishes her and not the big floating yellow orb in the sky.

And that scares Kara just a little, because she can feel the way everyday with you makes her love you more. And she knows that you love Jimmy. 

After all Kara’s the one you go to. She’s the one you cry to when Jimmy sleeps with someone else, and you’ll tell her it’s fine because you were never exclusive, but she can tell it hurts as if you were nonetheless. She’s the one who picks you up when he ditches your date again. The one who watches your kind gestures and endless love bounce off of him like it’s not worth it.

She’s given up on telling you to leave him, because it seems like no matter what he does you’ll always go back, and that hurts her the most. You don’t even need to choose her, but Kara doesn’t know why you won’t choose yourself.

“He sucks. Any guy would want you.” She says as you nestle into her shoulder. “Or girl.” She adds, knowing you swing both ways.

“Yeah.” You’ll reply, but your voice will crack when you say it.

Kara tries to make you realize just how much you’re worth. She pays for your lunches, will be there in a flash when you need her, and she does it all without ever asking for anything in return. Because you’re the thing that keeps her afloat. Your friendship. 

She can’t ignore however how it hurts. How she watches you leave late at night with a frown on her face because she wants ten more minutes in your arms. She can’t ignore how it makes her chest ache to see you kiss him, to hold him, to call him babe, knowing full well that she’d treasure each one ten times more. She tries not to let that pain and jealousy ruin your friendship. She needs you even if you never return her feelings.

But it happens one night, you have this baking show thing that you’ve been dreaming of going on, and Jimmy agrees to take you. Expect he forgets, again, and Kara’s rushing last moment to get you there.

“Don’t say it.” You whisper as you drive. “I know.”

“If you know then why don’t you leave him?” She says as her fingers tighten against the wheel of the car. You flinch as rain drips from your hair.

“I can’t Kara.”

“You can, you just don’t want to.” You flinch at the bluntness of her words. “You could do so much better! If only you’d choose—” Me.

She doesn’t say it and you don’t answer. “It’s not that easy.” You say again. “Sometimes we accept… sometimes people get afraid to move onto better.”

“That’s stupid.” She mutters and you throw her a look. Usually her blunt nature is something that comforts you, but tonight with your emotions all over the place it only hurts.

“No it’s not.” You argue back.

“It is! You’re hot and kind and talented and warm and you could make anyone fall in love with you! And instead you pick the one guy who will never love you!” She snaps at you.

“Stop the car.” You say. She looks over at you. “Just stop the car Kara I can walk the rest of the way!” 

She scowls. “It’s raining and you’ll ruin your supplies. Don’t be an idiot.” You bite your lip hard. “You’re just upset that I’m right.”

“No, I’m upset because you called me stupid.”  You return. “And what does it matter to you anyway?” You continue and that makes her clench her jaw.

“Well I’m the one who has to hear it every-time you come crying to me because your boyfriend is trash.” She says sharply. “I’m not the bad guy for wishing you’d have some self-respect!”

You visibly recoil, and Kara regrets it immediately, she reaches out for you but you yank away. 

“I’m so sorry Kara that I can’t be you. Perfectly confident and aloof all the time! Some of us feel like shit about ourselves!” You snap back and it makes her grit her teeth, because you know that isn’t fair. 

You both lapse into uncomfortable silence, and five minutes later when she pulls up you get out. Kara can see the tears in your eyes.

“Fine well if that’s how you feel about me then you don’t have to worry about it anymore! I’ll leave you be!”

“Fine! Leave me be and go crawling back to Jimmy. When he hurts you for the thousandth time it won’t be on me!”

Kara bangs her head against the steering wheel as she hears the tiny sob you give out as you leave, but doesn’t know how to apologize. She’s never been great at it, saying sorry, and she’s still upset. She’s upset when the next day you ignore her and fawn over Jimmy. She’s upset when you don’t text her for a couple of days.

She wants to reach out, but her pride won’t let her no matter how much she misses you. She wants you to need her as badly as she needs you. She wants to know that these feelings in her chest aren’t one sided.

Little does she know really that they’re not. You hide them well from her, you always have, but from the first day you met her you were drawn to Kara. The way she’s so effortlessly confident feels intimidating to you. 

To you Kara can do anything she puts her mind to. She has the resolve to be mean when she has to be, but to still somehow be good. It all seems so easy for her.

And when you’re with her it feels easy for you too. Like Kara makes you feel bigger than you normally do. Like she stops those anxieties that run in your head.

But you doubt Kara likes you like that, because deep down you feel so… bland. It’s why Jimmy doesn’t care for you like that. It’s why he uses you. You know this. You can’t help but internalize it. Your own fear that you’ll never be good enough. And Kara all but affirmed it in that car.

That you have no self respect. You cave first. You text her after two days apologizing for your fight. You give the same old excuses for Jimmy but Kara doesn’t answer. You doubt Kara cares to hear them.

It takes her six painful days to crack. For six days she holds strong, and doesn’t reply to your texts or your calls. She takes the space she so desperately needs, and assures herself that in someways you need it too. That changes when it’s thundering outside, and you show up at her apartment building looking like a stray cat. 

When she opens her door your eyes are big and round in that way that makes Kara instantly cave. She merely steps aside and lets you in without word. You make your way over, shivering a little, and she rolls her eyes. 

“Here,” she says, “change. You’ll get sick like that.” You wince, but allow her to guide you to her room to get a different t-shirt and pants. When you’re done changing you head out to her couch to see she’s sitting in the chair across from you. 

Kara expects you to take a seat, sink into her couch cushions as you normally do, but you stand before her still trembling. “Y-you were right.” You say weakly, lip trembling as you do, “I stay with Jimmy because I’m scared, and I still am, but I… our friendship is worth more to me then him. I just… I’m scared sometimes Jimmy is the only one who will love me.”

Her eyes widen for a moment in total surprise, and she blinks, before she feels you drop yourself into her lap and wrap your arms around her neck. She feels your chest begin to rise and fall with sobs, and her hands instantly begin to rub your back. 

“But he doesn’t actually love you.” She whispers.

“I know.” You reply. “But what if I never find someone—” You begin to worry, and Kara can only sigh.

“You’re so dumb.” She says and you give her an upset look.

“Hey it’s not dumb it’s just…” Trauma?

“Someone already loves you.” She says.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah I know you and Clark and Lois love me like friends but—”

And then Kara’s acting without care for what it may do, her hands cradling your face, as she brings her lips to yours. She feels you still for a moment, can taste the salt from your tears on her lips, and sighs into it like she can finally fully breathe right.

She waits for you to push her away, to tell her that you’re disgusted by her advance, but you’re kissing her back. Lips so desperate it puts her kiss to shame, as you push her backwards. She feels it knock the breath out of her somehow.

“How long?” You ask between kisses. “How long have you felt this way?”

She gives you a sheepish look as you pull away. “From the day I met you.” She replies honestly. “It’s always been from the day I met you.”

You stare at her wide eyes. “And I’m the idiot?” You snap at her, and then you’re whacking her. “Oh my god you’re so frustrating! Why didn’t you say anything!”

“Because,” she says as she reaches for your lips, “you were with Jimmy. Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“Because I didn’t think…” You stop. “I didn’t think I was good enough for you to like me like that.” She stills. “I would have left Jimmy in a heart beat you know.”

She sighs softly. “I’m sorry then. For not telling you sooner.” She says as she kisses you again and again, all over your face, “I’ll make it up to you.”

A week later when you head to the daily planet to pick her up after her check in Clark, Jimmy waits for you to head to him, but his eyes go wide when you bypass him and go straight to your new girlfriend. Who can’t help but give him a cocky grin as she kisses your lips.