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spellbound in the night

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Kara loves Halloween. She loves dressing up and drinking cider with her friends; she loves eating more candy than is fiscally responsible, and dumping full-size bars into the hands of adorable trick-or-treaters in her building. Halloween is the best, and almost nothing can dampen her spirits on the subject.

However, a dim, loud, pulsing club surrounded by sloppy drunk people is just about the last place Kara wants to be on any given night, especially the best night of the year. And yet here she is, her glasses fogging up under the cheap dollar-store witch mask and pointy hat she bought when she was asked (ordered) to attend the annual CatCo Halloween party, waiting for it to be socially acceptable for her to leave.

Normally she wouldn’t warrant an invite, as Cat Grant’s assistant. But as of two weeks ago she’s a reporter, and apparently as a reporter she’s expected to make appearances at things like this. It’s almost enough to make her regret taking Lena Luthor’s advice. She hardly knows the woman, but somehow her offhanded words had resonated more than anyone else’s.

Instead of Kara’s costume having the intended effect – to keep strangers from talking to her, and maybe cause Cat to send her home for not fitting the high-class club aesthetic – it only seems to make everyone want to ask what’s underneath the mask. Kara has had to push off a gladiator, a shirtless Winnie the Pooh, and one very drunk cougar in a sexy nurse outfit already, and her patience is wearing thin.

When a ninja turtle (or, more realistically, a guy in yellow boxers and a backpack with haphazard green paint all over his bare torso) seems to be heading towards her with two tequila shots in hand, Kara hits her limit. She ducks away before he reaches her, weaving through the crowd towards an empty standing table at the back and grumbling to herself.

“Not even wearing the mask,” she mutters, trying not to jostle the dancing bodies too much as she keeps a tight hold on her hat. “Leonardo would be so disappointed.”

She’s almost at the table when someone collides hard with her right shoulder, spilling champagne all down the right side of Kara’s cheap costume.

“Jeez, brick wall much?” a female voice to her right says haughtily. But the first thing Kara sees is not the person who spilled on her. Instead Kara’s eyes are drawn to the person helping to keep the spiller upright, whose outfit and demeanour catch Kara’s attention even more than the cold liquid soaking into her clothes. The party around her, so loud and disruptive before, seems to quiet.

The stranger is in a dark pink silk dress, cut perfectly to her body with a Victorian-looking white skirt and a neckline that distracts Kara immediately. She’s also wearing a matching mask over her eyes, the kind you’d see at a masquerade, all pink sequins and swoopy edges. It makes her look mysterious and beautiful, and Kara can’t help but wonder what her face looks like behind it. Her hair is blonde, and done up in a complicated updo – Kara can see through the gaps in the mask that her eyes are a bluish-green, and terribly intense.

They also look vaguely familiar, but somehow Kara can’t place exactly where. Maybe she’s saved this person before?

Kara’s eyes are pulled away from the beautiful blonde vision in front of her, finally, only by the absolute egregiousness of her spill-prone friend’s costume.

“Are you…are you supposed to be Supergirl?” Kara chokes, taking in the costume in its entirety.

Kara can now see that the darker-haired woman who spilled on her is wearing an outfit that, if anything, most closely resembles the one Winn had made for her when she started out – the one she had rejected almost before she tried it on because she felt practically naked. The ‘costume’ has a cape, at least, but it only hits her mid-back. The skirt is tight and much shorter than Kara’s ever was, and the torso is cut to show her midriff, the House of El symbol tiny due to only having a few inches of fabric between the plunging neckline and her exposed abdomen.

As nice an abdomen as it is, Kara can’t help but feel deeply affronted.

“Who else?” the woman says, throwing back the rest of her champagne and leaving the flute on Kara’s table. She looks Kara up and down with a judgemental eye, and Kara stiffens defensively.

“A sexy Supergirl costume? Where did you even get that?” Kara says, folding her arms over her chest.

“I had it custom-made.”

There isn’t a drop of self-consciousness in her face, and Kara opens and closes her mouth silently as she searches for a response. She’d probably look like a fish, if she wasn’t currently wearing a mask. In the end, all Kara can come up with is “I don’t think Supergirl would like it very much.”

It’s an incredibly rude thing to say to a total stranger, but the costume is profoundly unsettling. The woman wearing it luckily looks tipsy and much friendlier than the situation warrants.

“I’m sure Supergirl would appreciate seeing my cleavage,” the woman says airily, kissing her silent blonde friend on the cheek and winking at Kara. The friend rolls her eyes. “How’d you get an invite? Cat Grant throws a pretty exclusive party.”

“I’m…a journalist,” Kara says haltingly. After only two weeks of being promoted she’s still getting used to describing herself as such, and it gives her a little thrill. “Uh…you?”

“Andrea Rojas, Obsidian North.”

It’s thrown out offhandedly, the woman seeming distracted by her friend wiping the lipstick mark from her cheek, but Kara vaguely recognizes the name. CatCo has done a few articles on National City’s well-known women in business and tech, and Andrea Rojas usually comes out in the top three – although, Kara muses, that could certainly change now that there’s some new blood in town. Having met Lena Luthor two weeks ago after the Venture explosion, Kara has no doubt that she’ll soon be topping plenty of lists.

Andrea doesn’t seem to care whether or not Kara recognizes her name. She tosses her hair, squinting at Kara’s masked face. After a second she reaches a slightly unsteady hand out, almost managing to grab the bottom of the rubber.

“Why don’t you take that off so I can see whether we should flirt with you or not?”

“I’m good, actually,” Kara says, dancing out of the way of Andrea’s tipsily-grabbing hand. Having been foiled, Andrea shrugs, her attention immediately diverting elsewhere.

“Whatever. I’m going to hit the bar. Anyone need anything?”

“Red wine,” Andrea’s blonde friend says shortly, as Kara shakes her head in the negative. Andrea gives a two-finger salute, and then she’s gone and Kara is left standing in the middle of a crowded bar with a woman who 1. Is so beautiful that it makes Kara’s palms sweat, and 2. Seems to want to be anywhere but here just as much as Kara does.

The pounding bass makes Kara’s head hurt, so in lieu of anything else to calm her senses she focuses on the heartbeat of the person next to her. It’s beating a little fast, but it still helps.

“So, you and her, huh?” Kara finally says, if only to break the awkwardness. “Cute couple.”

The answer is as blunt as it is swift.

“We aren’t together.”

“Oh!” Kara says, wincing under her mask. “Sorry. I thought, with the kiss and – uh, what’s your name? I’m -”

“Maybe you shouldn’t make assumptions.”

Kara blinks. The second thing she’s heard this woman say since they met is almost more brusque than the first, and while Kara might have made a misstep, she doesn’t think it was anything egregious. Nothing to warrant this kind of shortness, anyways. Even if it’s weirdly exciting to be snapped at by someone who Kara now realizes has a slight accent. The language enthusiast in her wants to dissect that accent, to get her hands in it and feel the way the stranger’s mouth wraps around the words in such a unique way.

She wants this woman to keep talking, suddenly, more than almost anything.

“Did I say something wrong?” Kara says hesitantly, moving a little closer. “If I did, I’m sorry –”

“Why are you wearing that?”

Another short answer, but at least this time the woman is looking at Kara. Even if she’s looking at her as if she’s done something deeply offensive.

“Wearing…what?” Kara asks, looking down at herself. Her costume is cheap, sure – just a baggy black polyester robe, a hat, and a green rubber mask with a warty nose that she keeps forgetting she’s wearing – but it was the first dumb costume she saw at the store, and she didn’t want to spend a bunch of money on something she planned on throwing away the moment she stepped out of the bar tonight.

That.” The woman nods her head at Kara’s general presence, her eyes lingering on the mask. “That costume.”

“It’s Halloween?” Kara shrugs, completely lost.

“Yes, and this is why I hate Halloween,” the woman says, with a little more heat behind it. The heat makes her slight accent more apparent - she almost sounds flustered. “It’s…it’s perpetuating stereotypes.”

For a few long moments, Kara stares at the woman’s steadily reddening face. When she finally opens her mouth, all she can manage is “…what?”

“Witches aren’t like that,” the woman snaps defensively. “It’s irritating that Halloween continues the myth of the evil, ugly hag in the pointy hat, and nobody realizes how annoying it is to -”

The woman cuts herself off, looking frustrated, and turns away. All Kara can see is her back, where a blush is climbing over her pale shoulders. It’s an attractive picture, the graceful arc of her neck and a few scattered moles over pale skin, but still Kara can’t get over the weirdness of the woman’s reaction to a pretty standard costume.

“Well, what are you supposed to be?” Kara says, gesturing at the expensive-looking dress. “At least my costume is obvious.”

The woman turns around again, her eyes flashing with irritation.

“Lucy Westenra.”

Kara frowns. “Lucy who?”

“Lucy Westenra. From Dracula,” the woman elaborates unhelpfully, gesturing at her dress and blonde hair. The only character that Kara knows from Dracula is…well, Dracula, and the name Lucy isn’t ringing any bells.

“Like, Dracula the vampire?” Kara asks. The woman rolls her eyes.

“Yes, from the original book. Bram Stoker. Aren’t you a journalist? Didn’t you major in English or something?”

Now who’s making assumptions?” Kara snorts. The woman’s jaw twitches slightly, an attractive vein in her forehead getting more pronounced; she looks absolutely livid, but there’s also a sort of thrill in her eyes. Like she’s accepted a challenge. And Kara feels it too – a thread of energy between them. It vibrates with every exchanged barb, sending tremors down Kara’s body.

All of a sudden, Kara wants to do so much more than argue.

“Okay, Lucy,” Kara says, using the woman’s self-proclaimed character in lieu of still not knowing her real name, “I know Supergirl –“

“Right,” this Lucy drawls. A single dark brow arches above her mask, and the fact that her eyebrows are black while her hair is blonde is mostly lost on Kara as she leans forward indignantly.

“I do!” Kara insists, to complete indifference. “And she would hate your friend’s costume.”

Lucy’s laugh is light and slightly condescending in a way that Kara is deeply surprised to find only makes her more attractive.

“I’m sure she would.”

“You don’t believe me?” Kara asks, her voice raising over the music.

“If I had a dime for every time since I moved here that someone in this city tried to convince me they know Supergirl personally,” Lucy says, and – okay, fair. Kara has experienced it more times than she can count, saving someone and then having them claim in the media afterwards that they’re close personal friends. But nobody has ever called Kara out on it before, and there’s something about this particular person that gets Kara’s blood singing through her veins. She wants to prove that she isn’t lying. If this is some kind of competition, she wants to win a round.

“Fine!” Kara says, turning abruptly towards the bathrooms. “I’ll go call her!”

In the whirlwind of abandoning her costume in the restroom trash bin in exchange for the supersuit underneath, Kara doesn’t think twice about the ramifications of what she’s about to do before she’s striding onto the dance floor, cape billowing behind her. Lucy’s eyes snap to her immediately, watching her approach with a blank expression – but Kara can see the wheels turning behind her bright eyes.

“Someone here wanted to talk to Supergirl?” Kara says, her voice loud and confident. And for a moment, a sweet and shining moment, Lucy’s façade wavers – but she recovers quickly. Too quickly, in fact – she actually laughs, stepping forward to flick at Kara’s ponytail.

Her ponytail. Oh, no.

In the rush of whatever it is that this woman inspires in her, Kara had forgotten part of her disguise.

“Did you really have a cheap Supergirl costume on under your other one?” Lucy says wonderingly as Kara tugs at the elastic, shaking her hair out hurriedly before anyone else sees it. “Were you just waiting for the opportunity for bad Supergirl cosplay? It’s not even a good one, look at it – it looks nothing like hers.”

Bad cosplay?” Kara says loudly, throwing the hair elastic across the dance floor. She hears it land in someone’s drink, but finds herself not caring. Nobody has ever looked her dead in the face, in the suit, and told her she’s faking. “This is not - I’m Supergirl!”

“I met Supergirl once, you know,” Lucy says derisively, and once again Kara racks her brain for where she knows this woman from. It’s reassuring to know that her weird sense of familiarity isn’t totally misplaced, as apparently they have met, but the details are escaping Kara and the not-knowing is driving her crazy. “Deepening your voice a little doesn’t mean I don’t recognize that you’re the person I was literally just speaking to.”

“Well, I’ve met witches, and the costume was pretty accurate,” Kara fires back, thinking back to what she knew of witches on Krypton. The Children of Juru were pretty much exactly what humans think of as witches, right down to the cackling and evil machinations, and Kara doesn’t see how some human she’s never met could think she knows better.

“Oh, have you?” Lucy says sarcastically, poking hard at Kara’s chest with her index finger. Her short fingernail makes a tap noise against the hard material of Kara’s suit, and Kara can’t help but wish she had done it just a little higher, where the fabric meets her collarbones. She stands firm against the slight push, but the tiny point of impact seems to tingle.


Behind the pink mask, green eyes flash dangerously. Lucy’s hand curls into a fist, she whispers a few words in what Kara thinks is Latin, and the table beside them – along with all the drinks on the surface – levitate a few feet off the ground.

Lucy looks terribly smug as Kara struggles not to look like she’s had the shock of the century.

“Holy crap,” Kara mutters, staring at a slowly-rotating empty shotglass. Whatever magic is crackling in the air is making the hair on her arms prickle and stand on end, and the sensation is weirdly pleasant.

“Tell me again about all those witches you know who wouldn’t be offended,” Lucy says drily.

Kara has to admit, this woman being an actual real-life witch was dead last on her list of suspicions. Her opponent has won this round. There’s only one thing Kara can do - she swallows, reaches over to the empty booth next to them, and lifts the entire thing up and over her head with one arm.

To Kara’s delight, Lucy goes pale. She follows Kara’s arm all the way up to her hand, holding the booth aloft, with rapt eyes – and then she gets flushed, crimson climbing up her neck again until it colours her cheeks. Her chest is almost heaving, her breathing coming hard and her heart racing in Kara’s ears; she looks impassioned. She looks fucking hot.

Either completely unaware of the situation unfolding or not caring, Andrea chooses that exact moment to sidle up beside Lucy again with a drink in each hand. She passes the wine off to her friend before downing most of her own in a single gulp and putting the glass on the still-levitating table, completely unfazed.

“Not to interrupt,” Andrea says loudly, sounding like interrupting is actually delighting her, “but you two are causing a bit of a scene. Where did that weird witch girl go?”

Lucy doesn’t answer, her eyes staying on Kara as she sips her wine. Kara clears her throat.

“She had a, uh…family emergency,” Kara says, keeping her gaze and hoping her eyes say enough – please don’t say anything.

“You’re a much more fun replacement, anyways,” Andrea says, her smile sultry if a little drunken. She leans into Kara’s space, her cleavage on full display, and Kara averts her eyes – landing them, ironically, on her friend’s cleavage instead. “Do you like my costume, Supergirl?”

Lucy’s delicate sipping turns quickly to gulping, and she finishes her wine with a slight cough and a deep wince as Andrea blatantly hits on Kara.

“It’s…certainly taking creative license,” Kara says edgily. Lucy snorts, coughing again. Kara, still holding the booth aloft, finally notices that next to them a group of girls is pointing at it – and when she looks up, Kara can see two purses wedged in the seat cushions.


Andrea seems to take Kara’s lack of interest in stride. She straightens a little, putting a hand on her friend’s arm. “Well, as sexy as it is to watch you two yell at each other, you are harshing the party’s energy a bit. Maybe continue this somewhere more private?”

She raises her eyebrows pointedly at Lucy, who goes even redder than before.

“Sorry,” Kara says, hurriedly putting the booth down so the girls can reclaim their purses. She brushes the dust off her hands, looking around at the dance floor which apparently became an attentive audience sometime in the last minute. “I guess our discussion got a little…lively.”

“I’m sure it’ll get even more lively if you find somewhere with a door to have it out in,” Andrea says, raising her eyebrows and looking back and forth between the two of them. When they both look at her with respective confusion and panic, Andrea rolls her eyes dramatically and turns on her heel.

“Follow me. Do I have to do everything?”

“Follow you where?” Kara calls after her. It falls on deaf ears. Lucy bites at her lip for a second before darting into the crowd after her, and after a moment’s consideration of her sudden opportunity to just get out of here, Kara sighs.

Curiosity might have killed the cat, but Kara still can’t just walk away from one of the most engaging people she’s met in a long time.

Kara catches up with them all the way on the other side of the bar, where Andrea ducks down an empty hallway. Her heels click decisively, seeming totally sure of where she’s headed, and at the end of the long corridor she opens a door clearly labelled staff only and ushers them inside.

“Where are we going?” Kara asks, only to be shushed by Andrea as Lucy follows with a wary look. The room looks to be storage, full of extra cases of various liquors and stacked tables and chairs, and Kara frowns when they’re both inside, turning back to push her way past Andrea again. “This is a closet.”

“Andrea, I know that you think you’re helping, but –” Lucy starts.

“Have fun!” Andrea chirps, before slamming the door and locking it with a resounding click.

“Hey!” Kara yells at the door, but Andrea’s footsteps disappear down the hall and back towards the music. “What the…why would she do that?”

“Because she’s a pushy interferer who knows that I –“ Lucy stops dead before she can finish, pursing her lips and closing her eyes. She lets her breath out in a slow stream, and Kara watches raptly as she leans back against the wall.

Kara could break the lock. Easily. And she knows, now, that Lucy also could easily use a spell to unlock the door. But neither of them makes a move, instead staring at each other from across the room in a slightly calmer approximation of their previous argument. It’s a long stretch of silence, and Lucy seems to want desperately to say something but can’t seem to make herself do it.

Lucy’s heartbeat is even faster than it was before, but she doesn’t look angry anymore. She looks nervous, and Kara watches her reach for one hand with the other as if to pick at her nails before remembering that she’s wearing gloves and dropping them to her sides. White teeth peek out to bite at her crimson lower lip, and Kara swallows heavily.

“I’m sorry about the costume,” Kara finally blurts, when the quiet is too much. When she can’t stand staring into those beautiful eyes for a second longer without blurting out exactly what she’s thinking. “I just really wanted to leave so I could go hang out with my friends, and I thought Cat might kick me out if I wore something dumb enough.”

Lucy blinks at her, slowly. Her hands curl and uncurl in her pink silk gloves, her fingertips rubbing together. The soft sound of it is amplified in Kara’s ears. She wonders, somewhere in the back of her mind, what the silk would feel like on her own skin.

“Andrea’s outfit is stupid,” Lucy replies in a rush, a little breathless and interrupting Kara’s thought entirely. “She wore it as a joke because she knows I think Supergirl is hot.”

I think Supergirl is hot.

That little revelation hits Kara like a slap across the face. Kara isn’t unfamiliar with being desired as a public figure, but usually it’s by people she has negative interest in – overly touchy men or teenagers, particularly. But this is different. This is someone her age, a beautiful, capable, intelligent, fiery woman with powers of her own. And she’s attracted to Supergirl.

Kara realizes, suddenly, why Andrea locked the door. It wasn’t to keep them in – it was to keep everyone else out.

Kara takes a single, hesitant step forward; and as if that step breaks some kind of dam they come together almost simultaneously, Lucy’s hands pulling Kara’s face firmly down until their lips meet in a rushed first kiss that makes Kara’s head spin.

As kisses go, it’s a bit of a mess. Three chairs come crashing to the ground as they stumble backwards together, Kara’s hands darting out to steady a corseted waist and keep them both from toppling over as well. Lucy’s silk gloves are pressed to Kara’s face, firm on either side of Kara’s jaw until they slide inexorably back to clasp around the back of her neck, and the shelf Kara ends up pressing her into must be digging into her lower back. Several bottles of wine fall from the shelf and shatter, leaving shards of glass littered across the concrete.

And yet, Kara doesn’t care. She only cares about the woman in front of her – the taste of her as she presses in hot and tongue-heavy, the shape of her body flush against the front of Kara’s suit, the curve of her waist under Kara’s hands. The smell of her perfume, as strangely familiar as the rest of her, and the breathy little noise she makes when Kara lifts her up and away from the glass, her feet leaving the ground for a moment.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Kara pants, spinning around and pinning her instead to a small section of unoccupied cinderblock wall a few feet away. Lucy moans again on impact, only one of her feet touching the ground again – the other she lifts up near Kara’s hip, and Kara takes the hint. It takes her a second to get her hand past the layers of the skirt to find warm skin, but even with the gauzy fabric in the way Kara manages to grasp her thigh and hitch it up, pressing into the space it leaves.

“Do you want to stop?” Lucy asks, her voice unsteady as Kara nips at her throat. At the suggestion, Kara bites down harder.

“Not at all.

“Thank god,” Lucy breathes, pulling Kara away from her neck and into another deep kiss. Kara can taste salt on her upper lip and lipstick on her lower, and the combination is scrambling her brain. Her senses have dulled down to focus on a single person, muting the party down the hall and the sounds of the city – everything is heartbeats, textures, breaths.

It’s exhilarating, except for one thing.

“But,” Kara says against Lucy’s lips. Lucy pulls back hard, looking distractedly down at what Kara’s sure are wide smudges of lipstick all over Kara’s mouth. But she can only move so far with the wall behind her, and Kara presses their foreheads together.

“But?” Lucy says, hot breath coming in bursts. They’re still sharing space, sharing air, and Kara takes a big gulp of it before she asks her next question.

“What’s your real name?”

Lucy freezes.

“Why do you want to know?” she asks after a few frantic heartbeats, her leg slowly sliding down until her foot hits the floor. Kara gnaws at her lip.

“Is it weird to want to know the name of the stranger you’re making out with?” Kara asks, more genuinely than she’d prefer. “I’ve been calling you Lucy in my head because of your costume, but that’s sort of weird because I have a friend with that name, so - I don’t exactly do this very often. Or…ever.”

The vulnerability seems to calm Lucy down. She echoes Kara, biting her own lip, before seeming to make a decision – she reaches up with slightly shaking fingers and takes off her mask, looking up at Kara with something close to defiance.


She was beautiful with the mask on. But with it off, Kara understands the meaning of the word starstruck. The complete picture of her face is a masterpiece of contrasts; sharp jaw and soft skin, dark severe brows and blonde hair. Kara wants to trace her fingers along the angular slope of her nose, the edges of her downturned lips.

“Lena,” Kara repeats, tasting the name on her tongue. It’s odd, really, that she’s met two painfully attractive Lena’s in the last few weeks – one blonde and one brunette, but still. What are the chances? “That’s a pretty name.”

Lena frowns. She seems to deflate a little, like the confrontation she was expecting didn’t happen, and she laughs a little to herself, drawing a hand across her face and rubbing at her hairline.

“Wow,” Lena mutters, seeming to gather herself again. “Okay. And you, Supergirl?”

It comes out almost as a challenge, and Kara swallows hard. Normally this would be a hard no-go, but she’s answering almost before she realizes she wants to. She trusts Lena, as impossible as that seems considering that ten minutes ago they were yelling at each other. It feels intrinsic. She knows that this Lena is a witch; Lena can at least know her first name.

“Kara. My name is Kara.”

Lena nods, biting her lip. It draws Kara’s attention to her mouth again, and like a magnet her head is dipping back down again. She hesitates as she gets closer, gauging Lena’s interest after Kara ground the mood to a halt, but thankfully Lena’s hand tightens on the back of her neck to keep her from moving away. She tilts her head up, and Kara takes the invitation. She doesn’t kiss Lena yet, brushes their lips together, and she smiles when Lena tries to tug her down in protest.

“You are,” Kara breathes, pulling Lena closer, revelling in the feel of her, “so beautiful.”

Lena lets out an uneven breath against Kara’s lips. Her mouth works like she’s struggling for words, but none come out; it feels almost as if she’s going to protest. But instead Lena, seemingly fed up with Kara staying stubbornly just out of reach, rocks up on her toes to pull herself into a hard kiss. There’s something relieved about it, something desperate, and finally Kara lets herself be drawn in happily.

She could kiss Lena for hours, she’s sure of it. There’s something about the way they move together that feels effortless – the glide of their tongues, their perfect height difference, Kara’s hands fitting like puzzle pieces in the curve of Lena’s waist. There’s nothing about this moment that catches or jars Kara out of the moment, nothing that sparks discomfort or nerves. Nothing at all, until Kara reaches up a hand to sink into Lena’s hair.

Lena, caught up in the sensation of Kara sucking a gentle mark just under her jaw, doesn’t seem to notice until it’s too late. Until Kara has already tugged enough to pull off what it takes her a few seconds to understand is a blonde wig. Underneath it Lena’s hair is a dark chestnut, almost black, and once she realizes what’s happened Lena tugs the pins from it, running a shaking hand through until it falls long and wavy around her face.

The moment the wig hits the floor, the thunderbolt of recognition almost knocks Kara over.

“Lena Luthor?!”

Kara should have known. It’s absurd that she didn’t – while an excuse could be made for the mask Lena was wearing, Lena’s eyebrows are still dark even with the blonde hair, and Kara stared at her maskless face for several minutes before the wig came off. There aren’t a plethora of hot Lena’s in National City; the Lena that Kara has been making out with is Lena Luthor, and somehow Kara was fooled by hair colour.

She understands, suddenly, how people can know both Supergirl and Kara Danvers on a personal level without putting the two together.

“I’m sorry,” Lena says after a few agonizing moments of stunned silence, looking for the first time all night like her confidence is totally gone. Like she’s expecting Kara to storm out, or worse. “I should have said something when I realized you were actually Supergirl. I thought you would recognize me, and you didn’t…I mean, a Luthor is probably the last person a Super wants to be kissing.”

Lena looks so vulnerable, so terrified. So different from the confident witch that Kara has been arguing with, and so different from the woman Kara met in her office at L-Corp two weeks ago who confidently told Kara she should be a reporter. Advice that Kara had immediately followed. She can’t deny that she’d felt something that day, something beyond admiration or respect – when Lena had looked into her eyes and said I’m just a woman trying to make a name for herself outside my family, Kara had been captivated. Mesmerized. As Winn would say, wapow. She had trusted Lena intrinsically from moment one. And clearly, she feels the same way every time they meet for the first time.

If this were an experiment, Kara would be able to say with confidence that falling on her butt for Lena Luthor is a repeatable scientific phenomenon. That has to mean something.

“Please say something,” Lena says, a tremor in her voice. That tremor - and the fear it denotes - spurs Kara into action. Slowly, deliberately, Kara reaches back into the pocket Winn put behind the cape of her suit and pulls out her glasses.

“Glasses?” Lena says, chuckling nervously. “I didn’t think Supergirl wore…”

Lena’s statement trails off into a faint gasp when the glasses find their home on Kara’s face.

“You,” Lena whispers, disbelieving. Kara knows, without her name being uttered, that Lena recognizes her now. “Supergirl is...”

“Me,” Kara finishes quietly. The silence seems to echo, more pervasive than even the rowdiness of the dancefloor in the distance, until Lena speaks again.

“So,” she says finally, with a hesitant smile, “you did become a reporter.”

Kara lets all her breath out, just barely managing to keep it from frosting over Lena’s outfit. Lena does shiver at the accidental blast of cold air, though, and Kara moves closer under the pretense of warming her again.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said,” Kara says, wanting to reach out and rub Lena’s bare arms but not sure if Lena would be comfortable with being touched right now. Lena laughs in disbelief.

“And I had no idea I was saying it to Supergirl. You’re…I mean, you’re the whole reason I moved to National City.”

“I thought it was about your company?” Kara says, her brow furrowing. Lena’s mouth twists, her teeth worrying at the inside of her lip.

“Partially,” Lena admits. Her hands twist together, one thumbnail picking at the other. “I wanted to be a Luthor who could share her home with a Super. Change things. Use my family’s name for something positive.”

Much like their first meeting in Lena’s office, Lena seems to expect to be challenged. Like the way Clark had interrogated her, convinced that a Luthor couldn’t possibly be anything but nefarious. But Kara knew from that first moment that Lena was different.

“Okay,” Kara says, and Lena blanches.


“Yeah,” Kara shrugs. “I don’t think you’re anything like your brother. And to be honest, I’m not much like my cousin. I sort of like the idea of teaming up. Trusting each other.”

Lena swallows hard. What Kara assumes was shock seems to soften into something else, something hungrier, and this time it’s Kara that shivers.

“Is that what we’re calling what we just did?” Lena says, her voice low and rich. It’s a totally different register than it just was, a deeper register that avoids Kara’s brain entirely and lands instead between her legs with perfect accuracy.

Kara tries to laugh, but it dries up at the look Lena is pinning her with. The reminder of what they were just doing – furiously making out, barrelling towards possibly hooking up in the supply closet of an upscale club – sends a thrill down her spine.

“Do you still…” Lena says, and Kara is nodding furiously before she finishes.

“Yeah,” Kara says in a rush, stepping forward again. Lena doesn’t hesitate – she almost jumps into Kara’s arms this time, and Kara holds her up effortlessly as they slip right back into the intensity they abandoned a few minutes ago.

“I can’t believe I’m kissing Supergirl,” Lena pants between kisses, her feet so far from touching the ground that she just wraps them around Kara’s hips. “I thought about it when we met. When you saved me from that drone attack in the helicopter.”

“I thought about it too,” Kara murmurs, whispered like a confession into Lena’s neck. “You were so beautiful. You are.”

Kara doesn’t know if it’s her words or her teeth scraping along Lena’s collarbone that do it, but Lena’s moan is a work of art. Either way, she takes advantage of Kara’s renewed focus on her throat – she reaches up to tug one of her gloves off with her teeth, then pulls the other one free with her exposed hand and drops them both to the floor. Her fingers underneath them are long and blunt and strangely attractive for a part of the body Kara doesn’t usually pay much attention to, and Kara drops kisses down her forearm to the center of her palm before reclaiming Lena’s lips.

Kara wants to hear that moan again. It’s imprinted in her mind now, ever-present like a piece of good music that gives you goosebumps, and experimentally Kara moves her thigh into the space between Lena’s.

Lena arches into it eagerly, moaning loud into Kara’s mouth, and throwing caution to the wind Kara asks the burning question.

“Um. Just to check in - how far are you comfortable -” Kara starts, keeping her thigh perfectly still in case the answer is anything in the realm of ‘slow down’. But Lena arches again, pressing herself into it, and bites hard on Kara’s lip.

“However far you are.”

“I want you,” Kara answers immediately, and Lena makes a noise so loud that Kara is sure it must be audible over the music.

None of this feels real, not the kissing nor Lena’s immediate and enthusiastic consent, and Kara is flat-out terrified to push too hard in case her instincts turn out to be wrong. She presses gently forward instead, and Lena’s heart rate picks up so distractingly that Kara almost doesn’t hear her next words.

“To be clear,” Lena says breathlessly, her hand buried in Kara’s hair to guide her kisses along her jawline and up to her ear as her own lead lolls back against the wall, “we’re talking about sex right now.”

Kara has never been more grateful for someone else taking the reins.

“Yes,” Kara blurts, pulling back to look Lena in the face for this conversation. “If you want. But we can totally just make out if you’re not – I mean, if at any point you want to slow down or stop -”

Lena smiles, her pupils wide and dark.

“I can use my words.”

Lena seals it with a kiss, messy and hot and more passionate than any Kara has ever had, and the relief and pure arousal she feels in response has to be outside the normal spectrum of emotion. But then Lena slips free of Kara’s grip, her feet touching the floor as her hand snakes down between their bodies and presses ever-so-gently between Kara’s legs, and Kara twitches hard.

It feels good, good enough that Kara could easily come just from the pressure if it stayed there, and it’s not quite dangerous yet. Lena doesn’t seem to be hurt, just surprised at the force of it. But Kara knows what could happen if she loses control of herself like that again, and so she hurriedly pulls Lena’s hands up, pressing them into the wall above her head.

“You first?” Kara says, a note of pleading in her voice. She wants to touch Lena, wants to go through with this without ruining the mood by having to explain that her level of control over herself wanes when she’s being touched and she can’t ever let her guard down like that. Just once, she wants normal, whatever that means in this situation. And it’s a testament to how wonderfully they seem to fit together that Lena immediately rolls with it, seeming to understand the sentiment even without the details.

“Okay,” Lena nods, wrapping her hand instead around the back of Kara’s neck as Kara hitches her legs back up. “If you want.”

And god, does Kara want. She’s not sure she’s ever wanted like this, actually – she’s never wanted so hard that she actually takes the lead rather than just being swept along by her partner, trailing wet kisses across and down Lena’s clavicle towards her cleavage and fumbling with the bodice of Lena’s dress only to find that it’s tied on by a network of ribbons behind her back. Since she’s still holding Lena up with one hand she’d have to rip the damn thing to get it off at this point, and Lena seems to find it quite funny when Kara huffs, staring down at Lena’s chest as if it’s a puzzle-box and she can’t get inside to unwrap the prize.

“Here,” Lena says, kissing Kara languidly for a moment while she grasps the top of her bodice and pushes it down a little. The whole thing shifts, moving down her body and revealing -

“That…doesn’t seem very Victorian,” Kara manages to rasp, staring unreservedly at Lena’s two very pierced nipples. The metal glints in the light from the single lightbulb on the ceiling, and when the skin tightens and pebbles under the attention, Kara’s mouth waters.

“I got it done in college,” Lena breathes, her hand curling into a fist in Kara’s hair. She’s raptly watching Kara as Kara stares down at her chest, seeming to thrive on Kara’s desire. “They amplify sensation.”

If that isn’t an invitation, Kara’s a big stupid Daxamite.

Lena makes a relieved noise when Kara eagerly pulls a nipple into her mouth, arching so far forwards that her head cracks against the cement wall. Lena doesn’t seem to notice; in fact when Kara tries to stop to check on her, she pulls so hard on Kara’s hair that it might have actually hurt if she was a human.

“Don’t stop,” Lena manages to choke. Kara is more than happy to obey.

When Kara finally manages to get a hand through the layers upon layers of gossamer fabric that comprise Lena’s skirt to trace delicate lines over her underwear, Lena seems to be at the very edge of her sanity. She rubs shamelessly into Kara’s fingers, reaching one of her own hands down to grab Kara’s wrist herself.

“Still good?” Lena asks breathlessly, her grip tight but stationary for the moment. Kara nods as much as she can without letting Lena’s lips too far away from her own, not wanting to stop kissing for anything – it feels too good, tastes too good to stop.

Kara has always believed in Rao in more of a cultural way rather than spiritual, needing to preserve Krypton’s traditions but unable to fully commit to venerating a god who abandoned her people. But when Lena guides Kara inside herself, opening herself up until warmth and slickness overtake two and soon enough three of Kara’s fingers, Kara is pretty sure she has an acute religious experience. Nothing else could explain the absolute rapture of fucking Lena Luthor, the reverence, the need to worship.

“Supergirl,” Lena whimpers when Kara adds a third, her eyes fluttering shut as she clutches at the digits. “Supergirl –”

“Call me Kara,” Kara pants, desperate to hear her name in that voice. Her real name. “Please.”

Kara,” Lena moans, louder and even less restrained than before, and it all but melts Kara’s brain. Lena’s eyes open again, and her gaze locks on Kara’s like a tractor beam. She makes sure Kara is in the moment with her, holding Kara close to her as she does what she asks. “Oh god, Kara –”

“Lena,” Kara moans right back, lost in Lena entirely. She’s falling into those eyes, so full of affection and desire, and when Lena twitches around her fingers Kara doubles her efforts. Clearly Lena responds to words, too. “Lena, god, you feel so good. I can’t believe I get to do this. I want you to – to -”

Lena whines wordlessly even when Kara can’t quite finish the sentence, her head pressed back against the wall again. She’s on the edge, Kara can feel it in her hand as much as she feels it in the air, and Kara wants more than anything to make her feel as good as humanly possible. Whatever that takes.

“What do you need from me?” Kara asks, keeping her pace while Lena rocks into her. Lena’s rhythm falters, then, a clear hesitation before she starts it up again, and Kara knows there’s something there. There’s something Lena wants, and even without knowing what it is Kara wants it too.

“Tell me, please, Lena, I just want to make you feel good,” Kara murmurs, feeling Lena tighten. “Whatever you need, I’ll do it. I…I want you to come. I want to make you come.”

That seems to unlock something in Lena. Her hips move faster into Kara’s hand, harder but more erratic than before, and her pale skin is red and flushed with both exertion and embarrassment.

“I can’t,” Lena finally chokes, clinging to Kara’s shoulders. “Not here –”

It’s strange, but even with only those four words, Kara understands what Lena means. What she wants, what she’s afraid of. And the thought of it is so good, so fucking hot, that Kara knows exactly what she wants to do.

Lena’s knees almost give out when Kara puts her feet back on the floor, but Kara keeps holding her up by the hips even as she sinks to her knees and gathers the fluffy mass of Lena’s skirt up and out of the way. The whispered fuck Lena lets out when she realizes Kara’s intent is guttural, and it only makes Kara that much more determined to press her mouth between Lena’s legs and curl her fingers tightly upwards.

The result is almost instantaneous. As if Lena really has been holding herself back she gasps at the first touch of Kara’s tongue, clamping down on Kara’s fingers as she realizes what Kara is doing and what she wants.

“You don’t have to,” Lena says insistently, even as she spreads her legs so wide that Kara only has to move forward a little to scoop them up under her shoulders.

“I want it,” Kara admits, pressing her fingers into and her mouth onto Lena. She’s surrounded by the smell of her, the taste of her, the softness of Lena’s inner thighs pressing into her cheeks. The tickle of fine hairs, the uneven texture of faint stretchmarks and the somehow incredibly hot sensation of a stiletto digging into her back.

“Kara,” Lena gasps, her voice trembling in time with Kara’s thrusts. Every utterance of her name is in a higher register, each going right to Kara’s clit, and she wants to see how high Lena can go. “Kara, oh! Right there, right there, fuck, Kara, Kara –”

Kara’s rhythm hasn’t faltered, just changed direction to press shallow into Lena’s front wall instead of deep, and the tension in Lena’s body has pulled so tight that Kara has to put significant effort into moving them. She’s a line about to snap, and Kara only has to lick a single hard line up to her clit and apply a heartbeat of suction before she finally breaks.

The first warm gush of release half-misses the intended target of Kara’s mouth, dribbling down her chin and onto the front of her suit, and Kara has never given less of a shit about the logistics of suit-cleaning.

Lena is all that matters. Lena’s overwhelmed cry, the two following waves that fill Kara’s mouth, and the vice-grip Lena inadvertently has on Kara’s fingers are vastly more important. And with every wave, Kara swallows gratefully. She isn’t sure what she expected in terms of taste – she did this entirely on base instinct, following her own desires and the bare basics she knows from researching human anatomy – but it’s far better than she could have expected, and swallowing it isn’t a necessity but a pleasure. A reward. Something she absolutely, definitely wants to do again.

She moves away when Lena seems completely spent only to wipe her face a little, mindlessly letting go of Lena’s skirts in the process, and in a whoosh of falling taffeta she ends up completely engulfed.

After a second of stunned silence, in the same heartbeat, they start to laugh.

“Happy Halloween,” Kara quips, the mental image of Lena’s huge skirt with two Supergirl boots poking out the bottom making her laugh even harder.

“Shoot,” Lena giggles, trying in vain to excavate Kara from her fabric prison. “Sorry, I think I’m still – my hands aren’t working very well.”

“I’m not going to apologize for that,” Kara says, muffled slightly under the layers. In the end Lena just sinks to the floor, leaning against the wall while the skirts eventually pulling up and over Kara’s head, and Kara shuffles closer to hook Lena’s shaking legs over her own. She has a craving for closeness, and since cuddling on the storeroom floor is probably unsanitary, she’ll take what she can get.

“I have to say, I wasn’t expecting that,” Lena admits, avoiding Kara’s eyes in a way that seems almost shy. She seems a bit ashamed of her own body, and Kara squeezes her thighs firmly.

“I’m full of surprises. I told you I’d be into whatever you needed.”

“Hm,” Lena says, biting the inside of her cheek. She finally looks up, meeting Kara’s eyes with a playfully quirked brow. “Who knew Supergirl liked to swallow.”

Kara snorts, a loud and disruptive sound that she might have been embarrassed about with anyone else. Lena just seems to find it endearing. “Supergirl didn’t know that Supergirl liked it, until just now.”

Lena seems surprised by that, but there’s a visible shiver of something else that goes through her, too. Curiosity, maybe. Delight. It makes Kara want to fly them both to a place with a clean horizontal surface to continue the conversation.

“Well, you fucked my legs into jelly,” Lena says, her smile just a little bit mischievous, “but if you straddle me I can definitely -”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Kara interrupts hurriedly, wanting this moment to last just a little longer before the explanations begin. “With my strength and everything, receiving is usually a bad idea. Especially here.”

“You don’t receive?” Lena frowns, tilting her head. Kara sighs, settling next to Lena against the wall and accepting her fate.

“No, I do sometimes. I just don’t usually…you know,” Kara edges, fiddling with the cuffs of her suit sleeves. “It requires a certain loss of control to let go like that. And when I can crush a car with my bare hands, I don’t really want to test what I might do to my partner if that happens. So.”

“So, you’ve never had an orgasm?” Lena clarifies. She doesn’t sound judgemental or weirded out, but simply curious and interested.

“Just not with a partner.”

“Do you want to?” Lena asks point-blank. Kara blinks silently for a moment. It’s a fair question, and it actually takes a minute of thought to answer.

“I think so?” Kara says, imagining for a moment what it might be like. To have Lena touch her, to receive any kind of pleasure without fear of shattered bones or broken bedframes. Lena’s fingers on her clit, maybe, or inside her. Her mouth, even. The thought makes the throbbing below her belt even worse than it was before. “I mean, yes. Yeah, I would. But it’s not exactly logistically possible.”

Lena hums thoughtfully, the fingers of her right hand drumming into the palm of her left. She looks a bit too concentrated, like she’s formulating some kind of idea, and Kara clears her throat awkwardly.

“You’re, uh. Not gonna tell anyone, right?”

Lena looks at her, eyebrow raised again as she’s distracted from whatever thoughts she was so concentrated on.

“That you got on your knees for me?” Lena says, a hint of cheekiness in her voice. Kara snorts.

“No, not– that’s not what I meant!” Kara says quickly, chuckling. “I didn’t mean about…you know, this. I meant about…about who I am.”

“Oh,” Lena says, looking like she’s just once again remembered that Kara Danvers and Supergirl are in fact the same person. “Right. No, I won’t. Of course, I won’t.”

There’s nothing dishonest about Lena’s tone, and now that she’s cleared the air Kara relaxes a little.

“Good,” Kara says, sighing. “My sister is going to kill me for doing something as stupid as forgetting to take my hair down, but at least I accidentally revealed my identity to someone trustworthy, right?”

Lena smiles, inclining her head. “And you won’t tell anyone either?”

“That Lena Luthor has her nipples pierced?” Kara quips. Lena laughs, her dimples flashing, and smacks her lightly on the shoulder.

“That I’m a witch.”

“Oh!” Kara says, taken aback for a second. Apparently, Lena hadn’t been the only forgetful ones. A few too many revelations in one night. “I…had forgotten about that, to be completely honest. I won’t tell.”

“Looks like we were both distracted,” Lena admits. She picks up Kara’s glasses from where they must have fallen sometime after they started kissing, fiddling with the hinges. “Do the glasses actually work?”

“They worked on you,” Kara points out. Lena makes a face.

“I was distracted by your terrible costume.”

Kara laughs, finally getting to her feet and pulling Lena up by the hands. “I already apologized!”

“I expect many more apologies,” Lena says, dusting off the back of her skirt. It’s an exercise in futility – with all the dust in here, the white fabric will probably be forever slightly off-colour – but her gloves are at least mostly clean, and Lena slips them back on.

“Um. If you want to,” Kara says, wiping her hands on the pants of her supersuit, “my apartment is pretty close to here. I mean, it’s a little far – but I can fly. If you want…more apologies.”

Lena pauses, her smile growing a little bit wicked as she realizes that Kara is being genuine.

“And if I came with you,” Lena says, tracing a silk-gloved finger over the crest on Kara’s chest, “would you be open to trying a few things?”

“Like what?” Kara says, a bit unsteady. Lena’s voice has gotten all low and predatory, and it’s making her knees shake a bit with possibility.


It takes a second, with the distraction of Lena’s hungry expression, but Kara realizes the implication soon enough. She’s vulnerable to magic. Maybe, with magic, Lena could…

“And what would you…use magic for?” Kara says, her voice getting high and breathy as Lena’s gets low and powerful. Kara can almost imagine that voice wrapping around spells, low chanting as Kara releases control.

Kara is learning more and more about herself with every passing second.

“If you’re interested, I can think of a few tricks to keep you from hurting me,” Lena says, hooking her hand into the collar of the suit and tugging experimentally. Kara lets herself be pulled and pushed slightly, and Lena seems delighted by the submission. “You gave me one of the best orgasms of my life, and I’d love to return the favour.”

Terribly proud of herself and speechless at the possibilities, Kara nods.

Andrea doesn’t look at all surprised to see Supergirl leading a disheveled Lena outside – in fact, she looks perfectly expectant. She just blows Lena a kiss, and gives Kara a flirty little wave and a wink.

“Did she really wear that costume because you think I’m hot?” Kara says once they’ve stepped into an empty alley. She almost wants to kiss Lena again right here, but the call of a soft bed and a naked Lena is enough to keep her on track.

“Yes. I think if we hadn’t hit it off she might have tried to scoop you up herself, but she knows when to admit defeat,” Lena admits, as Kara sweeps her into an easy bridal carry. She gasps a little at the show of strength, and Kara can’t help but preen when she hears the rapid beat of Lena’s heart. “Oh. I forget, sometimes, how strong –"

Kara grins down at her, and Lena rolls her eyes, her cheeks tinged pink.

"Oh, don't be so smug."

As Kara soars towards her apartment, where she fully intends on exploring the rest of the piercings her x-ray vision inadvertently picked up on Lena’s body, she knows one thing with even more clarity than she did before she came to this party.

Halloween is the best.