The story of a Kryptonian family

“Who’s coming?” Alex asked, his voice still ragged from the orgasm and sheer disbelief.

Karen smiled, a golden gleam in her compound eyes, her antennae curling slightly toward him as if scenting his confusion.

“My daughter,” she answered casually, as if checking the time.

Alex blinked.

"Daughter?"

He’d always assumed Power Girl and Supergirl were cousins, sisters, or some vague “Kryptonian family” thing the media tossed out in joint interviews without ever clarifying. But the naked woman before him—translucent wings, golden skin—looked twenty-five to twenty-eight. Supergirl, he was certain, couldn’t be older than eighteen.

"Power Girl is a mom. Supergirl is her daughter. And I… just fucked her mom."

The thought struck like lightning. The lingering heat in his groin mixed with a chill of panic.

The holographic screen flashed again.

DISTANCE: 1.2 KM – ETA: 3 MINUTES

Karen rose from the couch with inhuman grace, wings humming softly. Alex’s cum still glistened between her thighs, dripping onto the polished ice. She leaned down, kissed his forehead quickly, and whispered:

“Don’t move, my king. Mommy’s going to greet her daughter.”

Then she vanished in a flash.

Kara Zor-El streaked across the Arctic sky at supersonic speed. The air sliced like ice blades, but her Kryptonian skin barely registered it—only a rough whisper that prickled the fine hairs on her forearms. Below, the Arctic Ocean stretched in a blanket of fractured plates, black cracks like scars on the planet’s skin. The low northern sun, orange and weak, painted the ice pale pink, reflecting off her cape and making it billow like a banner of fire.

She’d spent the afternoon in Metropolis: first rescuing Mrs. Morrison’s kitten from a tree on 5th Avenue, then putting out a warehouse fire on National Avenue. Nothing world-shaking. Just “normal rookie superhero” stuff.

Six months. Only six months since she’d taken up the Supergirl mantle.

Before that, she was just Kara Danvers: first-semester journalism student at Metropolis University, daughter of Jonathan Danvers and Karen Starr.

Her mother’s image flashed crystal-clear in her mind. Karen, standing in their downtown Metropolis apartment kitchen, wearing the “World’s Okayest Mom” apron Kara had given her for her thirty-ninth birthday. It was a joke—Karen Starr was forty-two and looked like a twenty-five-year-old model. Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders, and her eyes—identical to Kara’s blue—shone with pride and worry every time her daughter went out on patrol.

Kara’s father had been Jonathan Danvers, the family’s anchor for years. A Metro Star reporter with callused hands from old typewriters and a laugh that filled any room. He’d met Karen at a rival press conference between the Daily Planet and Metro Star. She covered science; he covered crime. They’d argued in City Hall’s press room over the ethics of publishing a defeated villain’s photos and personal info. He offered her coffee. She accepted. A year later, they married in a simple ceremony at Centennial Park—Lois Lane as maid of honor, Clark Kent as best man.

Kara was born nine months later in a private clinic funded by Kane Enterprises. Her first cry shattered the delivery room windows. Doctors called it an “acoustic phenomenon.” Karen and Jonathan just looked at each other, knowing the truth.

She grew up between two worlds.

At home, she was Kara Danvers: the girl doing math homework at the dinner table while Dad edited articles and Mom reviewed LuthorCorp and STAR Labs reports. She learned to make lasagna with her father, fold laundry with her mother, laugh at both their terrible jokes.

In the Fortress of Solitude, she was Kara Zor-El: the first Kryptonian daughter born on Earth, trained by her mother in the secrets of their physiology. She learned to fly at five, heat vision at seven, how to hold back her strength so she wouldn’t break her human friends’ toys. Karen taught her to control Arctic breath by blowing perfect snowflake stars.

Everything had been perfect.

Until Brainiac Queen.

Three years ago.

The invasion started on a Tuesday morning. Kara was in high school chemistry when the city alarms blared. The sky filled with green skull-shaped ships. Brainiac Queen, a sadistic world-collector, had decided Earth was her next trophy.

Her mother went out as Power Girl to stop her, alongside other heroines who joined the fight.

Fifteen-year-old Kara stayed home, watching live news. She saw her mother battle above the Metropolis bridge, fists glowing with solar energy.

Then she saw the beam.

A green energy lance that pierced the building where her father worked.

It collapsed in slow motion, crumbling onto the street as cameras rolled.

Karen screamed—a cry that shattered glass for miles.

The battle lasted three days. In the end, Brainiac Queen was defeated, her ship destroyed, her consciousness trapped in a Kryptonian containment bottle. But the cost was steep.

Jonathan Danvers was one of 3,247 casualties.

Her mother spent months in the Fortress, locked in the meditation chamber, crying ice crystals that piled like snow on the floor. Kara visited every day after school. She hugged her. Listened to her punch walls. Watched her stare into nothing, blue eyes dull for the first time in her life.

Kara was fifteen and had to be the adult.

She cooked. Cleaned. Went to therapy. Lied at school that her mom was “on a work trip.”

But she came back.

A little over a year ago, Karen smiled again.

They ate dinner together. Watched movies in the Fortress, curled on the crystal couch under thermal blankets. Trained. Were mother and daughter again.

It wasn’t like before. It never would be…

Karen didn’t laugh as easily. Her hugs were tighter, like she feared Kara might vanish. Training was harder, like she needed to ensure her daughter could survive anything.

But it was good.

Kara smiled as the glowing ice dome appeared in the distance.

"Gonna tell her everything. The kitten. The fire. Maybe even ask her to teach me a few tricks again."

She accelerated.

The Fortress loomed larger.

Its crystal spires rose like ice spears, reflecting the aurora in violet and green. Arctic wind whistled between the structures, a chorus only Kryptonians could hear.

Kara slowed, hovering meters from the main entrance.

And then she saw her.

A golden figure floating before the entrance.

Naked.

With antennae.

With her mother’s face.

Note: Jonathan Danvers is basically Jonathan Carroll, only with the last name Danvers.