#thirsty lena

[marinawolf]

Lena Is Down Bad (Supercorp)

by marinawolf

Lena gets knocked the fuck out by a flying car door because she’s too busy thirsting over Kara to run away from the chaos. A short, funny (?) fic.

Lena navigated the street with Kara, trying to keep up with the conversation as they walked back to the office. But her usually focused mind was currently on vacation and her brain seemed to have booked a one-way ticket to a thirst town. The reason? Kara fucking Danvers and that blue shirt. In that light blue button-down, Kara wasn't just walking; she was parading around like a mobile museum exhibit on the art of making Lena's brain short-circuit.

The top buttons of her shirt were undone, and her sleeves were pushed up to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of biceps that could make even the most stoic person weak in the knees.

Each flex of Kara's muscles turned Lena's attempt at coherent thought into a stumbling mess. And it didn’t help that Kara was an animated talker. The way her arms were moving, and fucking flexing, Lena worried that those sleeves were about to rip. The poor things were clinging on for dear life and Lena found herself torn between concern for the fabric's well-being and a wholly inappropriate wish that, just maybe, the fabric might surrender to the sheer strength on display.

Lena’s love life had been in a Sahara Desert-level dry spell of late, and Kara looking like this didn’t help matters. Her crush on Kara was usually easy to hide but dammit, those muscles would be her undoing. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Kara’s arms.

Suddenly, Lena lurched as her heel got caught in a crack on the sidewalk. Her coffee cup tumbled out of her hands, and she felt herself fall backwards, only to be grabbed by those very arms. She looked up at Kara’s blue eyes and almost swooned. Kara righted her, and laughed “be careful” before casually going on with the walk while Lena struggled to remember how to breathe.

And then when the guys with big guns and super strength suddenly stormed the street, Lena barely registered the danger. Why? Because Kara, ducked into the alley and ripped off her shirt. Naturally, Lena's brain clocked out for a moment.

When Kara pushed her into the alley with a stern “Stay here”, Lena's focus remained steadfastly fixated on Kara.

Kara’s muscles were on full display as she threw punch after punch and Lena was more turned on then ever.

And oh god, Kara’s thighs in those tights- Lena wanted those thighs wrapped around her. And when Kara effortlessly crushed a gun to smithereens with her bare hands, Lena couldn’t help but wonder what else those hands might do…

So obviously Lena didn’t register Kara’s shout of warning until it was too late, and the flying car door smacked into Lena’s face, knocking her the fuck out.

—

Blinking against the pounding in her head, Lena awoke to find herself in Kara's apartment. Kara stood before her, arms crossed.

"Oh, thank Rao," Kara breathed out as she knelt down to grab Lena’s hands, her relief evident, “You’re okay.”

"What happened?" Kara inquired, concern etching her features. "You were just standing there, frozen.”

Lena groaned inwardly, already knowing where this was headed.

"I was distracted," she muttered accusingly, casting a side-eye at the source of her distraction.

Those muscles were shaping up to be the greatest threat to Lena's well-being.

[asamiontop]

The mark of an excellent engineer is predicting the unpredictable. Anticipating how a user might misuse or abuse a product before they’ve ever laid eyes on it. Preempt the mistakes and the fringe use cases and design them into insignificance with failsafes and redundancies.

Lena is, by all accounts and conferred degrees, an excellent engineer. She designed the anti-kryptonite suit to withstand, well, everything. It’s built to handle abuse ranging from unplanned space flight to close contact with a nuclear warhead.

Most engineers don’t exactly take into account how their product might inadvertently abuse them, however. And in that respect, Lena is no better than the rest.

She watches Supergirl peel off that technically perfect helmet, not a splash of sickly green on her golden skin, and Lena expects to feel triumphant. Proud. Accomplished.

Instead, she feels affronted. There’s no other way to describe the physically oppressive tightening in her chest when the hero shakes out her hay-colored hair, helmet in hand. The headpiece comes off, gorgeously windswept curls tumble out of it, and Lena gapes as her last remaining brain cell goes up in smoke.

It’s like a goddamned motion picture. Down to the way Lena’s jaw hinges open, slack and completely outside of her control. Blonde waves cascade over the armor Lena hand-built for those broad shoulders and all her insides collectively squeeze. A wayward strand catches on a passing breeze and alights on a delicately flushed cheek, framing Supergirl’s handsome jaw. Lena huffs—at this point it’s just offensive.

She’s bordering on furious with herself for not considering the obvious danger in her design (irritatingly perfect hair, an ill-advised sapphic crush, and a glorified motorcycle helmet do not a productive match make). Unintentional harm or distraction to anyone—wearer or not—is simply an unacceptable failure mode in battle. Of course her irritation isn’t enough to keep her from raking her eyes appreciatively over everything that her suit emphasizes on National City’s beloved Kryptonian.

Lena’s debating alternative head coverings in her mind—throat still dry, eyes still roving, fingertips still itching to learn how soft those golden waves truly are—when Supergirl glances her way. She smiles and it’s like the sun catches on all of her at once. Light glints off her suit (Lena’s suit, that she made for her), illuminates her hair, dances in her smile and suddenly Lena understands why people worship her as a god.

The super is radiant as she walks over. “Lena,” she breathes, tucking the helmet under one arm. Lena’s sheer disgust with this entire cliché is the only thing that keeps her from moaning outright at the way her name sounds from that mouth. “You saved me.” Supergirl’s blonde head ducks bashfully and—oh, she gets to be cute now too? How dare she. A chuckle rumbles through the crest that Lena placed on her chest. “Again. You saved me again.”

Crystal eyes lock on hers and Lena’s awareness of anything outside those deep, searching blue flees her entirely. Struck dumb, Lena holds Supergirl’s gaze, chin lifted, until the hero finds whatever she’s looking for.

An irresponsibly cocky smirk curls at the corner of Supergirl’s mouth. It pushes her a step closer and the proximity shoots a wave of instability through Lena’s knees.

“Is there any way I can repay you?” The super says, voice low. Lena wonders briefly if she’s been transported to the set of a low-budget porno. As if on cue, her brain fires off three filthy responses in rapid succession. This cannot be happening. She swallows hard to keep those thoughts sequestered in her head where they belong.

Possessed by some force greater than herself (perhaps Luthor composure, roaring through her veins from a family she normally loathes to emulate), Lena straightens. One of her eyebrows arches and Supergirl’s smile grows.

She bites the inside of her lip thoughtfully and watches in delight as the Kryptonian stands up a little taller, expectant.

“There’s no need, Supergirl,” Lena purrs, right on script, reaching out to swipe her thumb over a smudge on the suit’s chest plate. Keen eyes track the movement, so Lena allows her touch to linger. She retracts her hand slowly and meets the hero’s eyes once more. They are eager, focused entirely on her, and a shiver of satisfaction bolts through Lena at the attention.

With a heavy flutter of her lashes, she drops her voice. “But now that you mention it, I would love to get my hands on that suit of yours.” She pauses, allowing the implication to swell in the air. “I have several ideas…” she casts her gaze down the Kryptonian’s front and up again, “for improvements I’d like to make. If you’d allow me, of course.”

Supergirl’s eyebrows near her hairline as she stutters, “Y-yeah, totally,” her voice a whoosh. Then she shakes her head, sloughing off her apparent stupor, and her grin is back in full force—sexy and blinding at once. “Seeing as this is your creation, I’d say I’m all yours.”

She pierces Lena with that clear-eyed stare. “Actually. Are you free right now, Miss Luthor?”

Lena bites down a smirk and savors the goosebumps that tickle the back of her neck. She nods once, quick and to the point. Supergirl’s smile blooms across her face, replacing the self-assured swagger with such genuine delight that Lena is battered twice with attraction and endearment. She mirrors the hero’s expression and loops her arm around the elbow offered to her.

They turn to leave at a leisurely pace, ignoring the long-suffering voice of Agent Danvers yelling after them.

“Hey. Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going?! Ka—Supergirl! That suit is DEO property! Hey! Hey! Don’t you walk away from me!”

Supergirl laughs, eyes never leaving Lena’s as an agitated “motherfucker” echoes in their wake.

[returningwriter]

Late Night Gym Surprise

Lena goes to the gym sometime during let’s say season 3 or 4. Trust me this isn’t about canon and discovers all sorts of things about Kara Danvers. Yeah, this is Lena being a thirsty girl and was inspired by this edited pictured ( Credit to account: @Zor-ELuthor) 

Lena stepped into her local gym late in the evening with her black hair tied up, wearing her black leggings and purple baggy top and with matching leg warmers on. Not that she came to this gym often, but her day had been extremely frustrating, and she'd felt like working out some aggression on the heavy bag here and this gym was small and often empty.

But what greeted her in the empty gym shocked and pleasantly surprised her in equal measure. It was Kara Danvers in a white sports bra, low-riding grey sweatpants shorts that showed of her hipbones and a pair of well-worn high-tops bench-pressing what looked to be every weight plate in the gym. 

Ducking out of sight, but she was unable to rein her curiosity and kept watching the blonde beefcake of a reporter in the floor to ceiling mirrors as Kara grunted each time she pushed the slightly bending pole up and down.   

The blonde's washboard abs were sucked in and her strong back was arched off the bench. Each upward push caused the pole to bend slightly and the sight of the beads of sweat running was down Kara's glistening forearms, biceps and triceps at each full-extension made her gasp. The blonde’s grip on the pole was tight and her knuckles were white with the occasional vein popping out on the back of her hand. She shouldn’t be spying on Kara like this, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the woman.

After ten repetitions the blonde dropped the pole down with a loud clang and sat up breathing heavily and Lena felt herself rubbing her thighs together. With Kara stretching with her arms above her head she could see swollen biceps, cut triceps and perfectly defined deltoids flexing and relaxing and then the blonde ran her hands through her messy and sweaty hair. A movement that pushed out her chest and she had to look away for a moment to catch her breath.

Why was Kara here by herself? Did she come here often? How was the girl so strong? How long had Kara been a gym goddess? All those thoughts ran through her mind, but she was quickly distracted by that heavenly body again. Until now she’d never seen Kara exposed like this and she was pretty sure she was drooling.

Grabbing a white towel Kara wiped the glistening sheen of sweat from her face and then greedily chugged from her water bottle with her long elegant neck extended and moving with each gulp. The sight gave her all sorts of ideas. Lena Luthor, you're perving on your best friend! The voice of her conscience shouted at her but was quickly silenced by her innate curiosity. 

Unable to look away she watched as Kara fixed her crooked glasses and started pulling the weight plates of the pole with a frustrated grunt. Then the muscular blonde started loading up another pole on the floor for what she guessed would be deadlifts.   

She knew that she shouldn't be watching this, but she couldn't look away. This was a revelation! It would seem that underneath her unassuming reporter outfits, Kara Danvers was a rippling mountain of muscles. Lena liked! Though she did admit to the muscular blonde right now being responsible for a considerable drop in her usual high IQ. 

Breathing in and out a few times, Kara shook out her arms and jumped up and down energetically to hype herself up. But nothing on the blonde bounced, it was all firm and fit. Then the blonde took a hand full of chalk and clapped her hands together. In the process creating a big white cloud of powder before squatting down with a butt that you could bounce a dime of pushed out in her direction. The strength of the fabric in those shorts was nothing short of amazing. 

She could see the muscles in Kara's back and shoulders bunching up and then straighten. The woman's quads and calves flexed and glistened with trails of sweat and she tried to pretend that she was simply admiring Kara's form. Probably the biggest lie she’d ever told herself in her entire life.

Kara kept her back straight and her head facing forward throughout as she lifted the heavily loaded bar using her defined legs and driving her hips forward and shoulders backward. 

She watched in awe as the blonde lifted what had to be nearly five hundred pounds from the floor in one smooth motion. Seeing Kara standing up straight she was reminded how tall and imposing Kara Danvers really was as the muscular blonde started explosively lifting the pole again and again and she was transfixed at the sight. 

With the floor to ceiling mirrors providing her a perfect back and front view, she could see that sweat was pouring down Kara’s beautiful face. The blonde’s defined arms glistened, and those ripped abs flexed which each breath the blonde took. A stream of sweat was running down the blonde’s spine she observed and on top of that, Kara Danvers had legs like steel and an ass that wouldn't quit, and she realized she was both flushed and heavily turned on. 

All too soon in her humble opinion, it was over. The pole hit the floor with a loud bang and again she watched Kara dutifully put the weight plates away but she was more focused on how the blonde’s white sports bra was soaked with sweat after that workout and how the now dark sweat-stained grey shorts were clued to the girl's lower body.

Grabbing her towel and water bottle from a nearby bench Kara drained the bottle in one big gulp and swung the towel over her shoulder. Then she was finally caught gawking at this vision of perfection and she froze like a deer caught in the headlights.

But instead of becoming shy and reserved like she expected Kara to react. The blonde made a muscle with her right bicep, flexed it, winked at her and then strode toward her with a distinctly non-Kara-Danvers’ like swagger and with a smirk on her sweaty face. 

Stopping only to push her wide open mouth shut with one finger that burned against her skin. Kara winked at her again and left without a word. Leaving her behind looking stunned and feeling turn-on beyond belief. In her mind, Kara was no longer Kara Danvers CatCo. reporter and her friend. 

No, the blonde beefcake was now Daddy Damnvers! And Lena wants!

Did I write this entire ficlet to repost that picture? Maybe?

Did I write this entire ficlet to use the phrase Daddy Damnvers that someone used to comment on my story today? Oh hell yes!

Update: I wrote a second part, which I posted over on A03 because I don’t want the hassle of making my Tumblr adult content. If you want the smutty conclusion head over to this handy link right here