This is every fic I have ever written (and will ever write) on here and the links to them. It will be forever changing. Separated into category of fandom, each fandom will have two subcategories per character (if available): oneshots and multipart. I also have a category for Crossover fics, whether they’re multipart or not. The crossovers will be labeled by the fandoms included. Take note, these are all female characters bc I be ✨🌈lesbian🌈✨ and I write for the women lovers. (A lot of the time I find readers gender to be unspecified and it is noted in summaries and noted before the fic starts) IF a fic is NOT an x reader (not often), it will be labeled as such.
Heres my introduction post if you want to know a tiny bit about me and what I write.
Happy Reading!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the listed characters or fandoms.
I do not write smut.
Crossovers!
TLOU & Supergirl (no ship identified) : Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 (honestly, idk when this is coming) - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Finale
Supergirl:
Kara/Supergirl: Asexual reader - Sad boi song hours - Kara imagine - Winged reader (coming soon)
Alex Danvers: Tattooist -
Lena Luthor: Adopted teen reader - Nightmare
Series!:
The Last of Us:
Abby: Nightmare fic -
Ellie: Comforting Ellie -
Dina: I’m Always Right -
Series!:
Once Upon a Time:
Regina Mills: Diner Dreams - Halloween in Storybrooke
Snow/Mary Margaret: Women with Swords -
Series!:
Avengers:
Headcanon: You got into a fight -
Wanda Maximoff: CONFESS - Shadow - Shadow part 2 -
Natasha Romanoff:
Series!:
Resident Evil (Village):
Lady Alcina Dimitrescu: Beach getaway (coming soon!) -
Bela Dimitrescu:
Cassandra Dimitrescu:
Daniella Dimitrescu:
Donna Beneviento:
Mother Miranda:
Series!:
Here In House Dimitrescu (coming soon!) - Pt2 - Pt 3
The party was in full swing. Drinks, music, and loud conversations blended with laughter.
Another year was about to come to an end, and according to Tony, that was reason enough to throw a party. The compound, it turned out, was just as suited for celebrations as it was for saving the world. Decorations everywhere, tables with food, plates, and empty glasses for guests. A live band played near the dance floor, filling the room with a lively rhythm that made it nearly impossible not to sway along.
The invitation had made one thing abundantly clear— formal attire required.
The boys all varied shirts, but their tailored pants were all alike. Sam, Scott, and Peter all chuckled every time they saw each other. They had somehow shown up wearing almost identical black dress pants despite insisting they hadn't coordinated.
Nearby, Wanda and Vision were discussing whether Tony had hired too many waiters for one party, while Clint was trying to convince Bucky to join him on the dance floor.
"There is absolutely no universe where that is happening," he deadpanned.
"You haven't even heard the next song!"
"I don't need to."
Steve watched the exchange over the rim of his glass, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small smile.
For once, there was no mission briefing waiting around the corner. No emergency alarms. No frantic calls from Fury demanding everyone's immediate attention. Just music, good food, friends. It almost felt… ordinary.
You found yourself smiling as you wandered around the room, exchanging greetings, and accepting a glass of champagne from one of the servers.
Everyone had made an effort, everyone looked good. Tony, naturally, looked like he'd stepped straight out of the pages of a luxury magazine, while Pepper looked effortlessly stunning beside him. Even Bruce had traded his usual cardigans for a perfectly fitted charcoal suit.
Conversation around you continued uninterrupted. The band seamlessly transitioned into another song, yet all of it seemed to fade away when you saw her.
Natasha stepped out as though she'd been carved from the evening itself. The black dress she wore was elegant without trying too hard, the fabric catching the warm lights with every measured step she took. It hugged her figure perfectly before falling effortlessly just below her ankles. Her red hair, usually tied back for practicality, fell in soft waves over one shoulder.
Your brain, usually capable of handling fights, missions, and Natasha's sarcasm, chose that exact moment to stop functioning altogether.
You forgot about the champagne in your hand, about the music. You even forgot you were supposed to blink. There was only one coherent thought left: my girlfriend.
The realization somehow made her even prettier, as if that single word changed everything. Not Natasha Romanoff, not Black Widow, not the world's most intimidating spy. Your girlfriend.
The woman who stole your sweaters, stole the blankets every night despite denying it, left half-finished books scattered around your shared room, and absentmindedly reached for your hand whenever you walked together. The woman who loved you.
She hadn't noticed you yet. You weren't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed, because it gave you a few more seconds to admire her. Your heart, unfortunately, had no interest in behaving. It thudded against your ribs with the same ridiculous enthusiasm it had months ago on your very first date.
Apparently, falling in love wasn't something that happened once. Apparently, it happened over and over again. Especially when Natasha Romanoff walked into a room looking like that.
You didn't notice yourself smiling. Natasha did.
The moment her eyes swept across the room, they found you with the same ease they always had. It didn't matter how crowded the compound became or how many people stood between you— she had always been able to find you.
The second your eyes met, her expression softened almost imperceptibly. Not enough for anyone else to catch, just enough for you.
The corner of her mouth curved upward. She excused herself from the group she'd barely joined and began making her way toward you.
Every step only made things worse. The dress wasn't flashy, it didn't need to be. Natasha had never been someone who demanded attention. She simply… earned it.
The soft fabric moved gracefully with each step, the warm light reflected off the delicate necklace resting against her collarbone.
Your pulse betrayed you. This is ridiculous, you had been dating for eight months. You have literally seen this woman wearing one of your oversized hoodies while reading. Get a grip.
"…You're staring."
The voice beside you made you jump. She was even prettier up close.
The faint scent of her perfume reached you— subtle, familiar, one you'd come up to associate with slow mornings and quiet evenings together.
Your mouth suddenly forgot how language worked. "Hi."
Brilliant. A whole two letters.
Natasha's lips twitched. "That's all I get?"
"…Hi."
She laughed quietly. "I liked the first one better." Then, she gently leaned in, "you've been avoiding me."
"I have not." You answered almost in autopilot.
"I have been here for forty-three seconds."
"You counted?"
"I always count," she slightly raised an eyebrow.
"Of course you do."
"You've been looking at me the entire time."
"…I can explain."
"I'd love to hear it," she countered.
You took a sip of champagne to buy yourself time. Unfortunately, the glass was empty. Perfect.
Natasha folded her arms. "I'm waiting."
"You…" you sighed, "look nice."
One eyebrow lifted, "nice?"
You internally winced. Nice? Really?
Your girlfriend looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine cover and the best adjective you could produce was nice.
Natasha bit the inside of her cheek. "I look…," she tilted her head innocently, "nice?"
"I hate that you're making me elaborate."
"I know."
"You enjoy this far too much," you accused.
"I do." She stepped closer. Close enough that the rest of the room blurred into little more than music and warm lights. "So…" her voice dropped just enough for only you to hear, "elaborate."
You looked everywhere except her face. The chandelier, the dance floor, anywhere.
Natasha gently hooked a finger beneath your chin. "Eyes on me."
That little phrase did things to you. Your gaze snapped back to hers. Mistake. A terrible, wonderful mistake.
"You…" you started again, quieter this time, "are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
The teasing smile faded completely.
You kept going before courage abandoned you. "I thought I was prepared, I knew you were dressing up. I even told myself not to overreact." A small, breathless laugh escaped you. "Then you walked in…" you shook your head, "and I genuinely forgot where I was."
For perhaps the first time that evening, Natasha Romanoff looked genuinely caught off guard. A delicate flush rose beneath the freckles dusting her cheeks. Tiny, barely noticeable, but unmistakably there.
"You…" she began. Then stopped.
You blinked. Had you… broken Natasha's ability to speak?
She recovered quickly— of course she did— but not quickly enough. "I think," she said, clearing her throat, "you're exaggerating."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm really not," you insisted. You reached up, smoothing an imaginary crease from the sleeve of her dress. "I've spent the last five minutes trying to remember how to breathe."
Natasha looked down for a second, shaking her head with a smile that was almost shy.
Almost.
When she looked back at you, her eyes had softened into something so unbearably affectionate that your chest ached. "I wore this dress because I thought you'd like it."
You smiled. "I do."
She waited. "That's it?"
"No." You took her hand, "I love it." Another beat, "I love you in it. And…" you continued, your thumb brushed over her knuckles, "I can't wait to help you out of it later."
Silence.
Complete, stunned silence.
Natasha's eyes widened by the smallest fraction, then she laughed. Not because the line was funny, but because… for the first time all evening, you had finally managed to make her blush.
"There she is," she murmured, squeezing your hand.
"Who?"
"The woman I've been trying to flirt with all night."
You grinned, feeling your confidence return. "Oh?"
"Mhm. And she finally flirted back."
You smiled, "I learned from the best."
Natasha leaned in, close enough that only you could hear the smile in her voice. "I may have created a monster."
"Too late." You smiled against her cheek as the band began a slower song. "I'm your monster now."
She laughed softly, the sound warm and utterly fond. "No," she whispered, intertwining your fingers before guiding you toward the dance floor. "My favorite person."
Somehow, hearing that in the middle of a room full of music and conversation made every other sound disappear.
can I order uhhh clingy natasha with some fluff on the side? thank you
. . . 𝚂𝙰𝙵𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴𝙽 — n. romanoff
Before you, Natasha Romanoff’s mornings were usually going on by routine. The Russian was already up before dawn, swallowing down a glass of water then going for a ten miles run. At her return, she'd shred a heavy bag in the compound gym, shower, and drink her black coffee in silence. She was a creature of early dawn and quiet efficiency.
Then, she fell in love with you.
And suddenly, the fearsome Black Widow discovered a brand-new, highly formidable weakness: the warmth of your arms.
. . . . . .
The digital clock on the nightstand glowed a soft seven forty-two am. The sun was already filtering through the gaps in the blinds — casting lazy, golden stripes across the duvet.
You shifted, gently trying to untangle your legs from the heavy warmth of the sheets, intending to slip out of bed and put the kettle on. But the moment your hips moved more than two inches away, the iron-clad grip around your waist tightened.
A protesting, sleep-heavy groan rumbled against the bare skin of your shoulder blade.
“Where are you going?” Natasha’s voice was a low, raspy purr thick with sleep and heavily laced with her slight Russian accent that only came out in moments like these—a side of her she only let guard down for you.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” you whispered, turning your head to smile at her. “I was going to make coffee. And maybe get a head start on the day.”
Instead of letting you go, she buried her face deeper into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. The redhead's nose was cold against your skin, making you shiver, but her body was like a furnace pressed against your back. She threw a shapely leg over yours, completely pinning you to the mattress.
“No,” she mumbled, her lips brushing your collarbone as she spoke. “Five more minutes.”
You let out a soft laugh, reaching up to run your fingers through her tangled red hair. “Nat, It’s almost eight.”
“Then I need ten more minutes.”
“That's not how bargaining works, Romanoff.”
“I am a master negotiator, I dictate the terms,” she murmured, tightening her arms around you until there was absolutely no space left between you. She was incredibly clingy in the mornings, a sweet, needy contrast to her sharp daytime persona.
She liked to be wrapped around you like ivy, anchoring herself to your warmth.
“What happened to the woman who used to be up and about by dawn?” you teased gently, tracing the line of her jaw. “The one who told me sleeping past six was a waste of valuable training hours?”
Natasha opened one eye, looking up at you through a fan of thick eyelashes. A lazy, incredibly fond smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“She realized that training doesn't hug back,” she replied softly.
“And your morning run?”
“I rescheduled,” she shrugged, kissing the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, making you gasp softly. “I do night runs now. The pavement is cooler, the compound is empty, and...” She paused, trailing her fingers lightly down your arm, interlocking her fingers with yours. “..it means I don't have to miss a single second of this.”
Your heart melted a little.
It was still hard to grasp sometimes—how a woman who had spent her entire life running, fighting, and surviving now fought so hard just to stay still with you. The fact that she had completely restructured her rigid, lifelong routine just to hold you in the quiet hours of the morning was a testament to how deeply she loved you.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes,” she whispered, leaning in to press a soft, slow, lingering kiss to your lips. When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours, her breath warm on your skin. “I am a hostage to this bed. You'll have to stay and keep me company.”
“Well, if it's a hostage situation, I suppose I have no choice,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her close.
The Russian let out a contented sigh, burying her face back into your chest, her hand gently tracing soothing circles on your lower back. Within seconds, her breathing evened out into a calm, steady rhythm.
The coffee could wait. The world could wait.
For now, you happily surrendered to five more minutes, just for her.
The first time Natasha reached for your hand after you started dating, you froze. Not because you didn’t want her to. Quite the opposite, it was because you’d imagined that exact moment so many times over the years that your mind refused to accept it as real.
Natasha had laughed softly, intertwining your fingers anyway. “You know,” she’d murmured, “you’re allowed to hold my hand.”
“I know,” you said with a light blush.
“You don’t look convinced.”
“I’m trying to convince my brain.” At your words, she smiled in that almost imperceptible way that only existed for people she trusted.
“I’ve been trying to convince mine too,” she whispered, squeezing your hand softly.
Years of friendship had built a rhythm between you. You knew how she took her coffee, she knew you hummed absentmindedly whenever you were happy. You could recognize each other’s footsteps in the hallway, each other’s moods from a single glance across a crowded room.
You had been partners. Best friends. Home.
Somewhere along the way, every lingering glance had started lasting a little longer. Every goodbye had become a little harder. Every accidental touch had left an ache that neither of you dared to acknowledge. Until the words escaped.
Dating Natasha wasn’t what either of you expected. You had imagined that, once the feelings were out in the open, everything would become natural.
Instead, everything became more intense. When she looked at you, you noticed. God, did you notice.
She had always looked at you, but now you knew what it meant. Every glance carried affection she no longer had to hide. Sometimes, you’d catch her staring while you cooked or read or talked with the team.
“What?” you’d ask. She’d blink as though she’d been caught stealing.
“...Nothing.”
“Nat.”
“I just like looking at you,” she’d murmur. And suddenly you couldn’t remember what you were saying.
“You can’t just say things like that.”
“I just did.”
You groaned, your cheeks carrying that blush that were always around in her presence. “That’s unfair.”
With a tiny smirk, she’d say “I know.”
**
The strange thing was... you still got nervous. Not around anyone else, just each other.
Sometimes you woke before she did, those mornings were your favorite. Natasha looked younger asleep. Peaceful.
You’d trace invisible patterns in the air above her freckles, never quite touching. It still amazed you that this woman – Natasha, your Natasha – had chosen you.
As if sensing your thoughts, her eyes slowly opened. “You keep staring,” she murmured with that low voice you loved.
“I wasn’t staring.”
She nuzzled into you, seeking your warmth. “Liar.”
“I was... appreciating,” you whispered, shyly.
Her voice was still thick with sleep. “I appreciate you too,” she reached for your hand beneath the blanket.
**
One rainy afternoon, you found yourselves alone in the common room. A book lay forgotten on your lap.
Natasha sat across from you, neither of you had spoken for several minutes. You simply looked at each other.
She smiled first. “What?”
“I still can’t believe you’re my girlfriend.”
Your confession hung in the room, and Natasha’s ears turned faintly pink. “You can’t?”
“I’ve wanted this for years,” your fingers playing with the edges of the book.
“So have I.”
“It still feels...” she nodded before you finished.
“...Impossible.”
She stood and crossed the room, every step seemed deliberate. When she reached you, she rested her forehead against yours. “So,” she whispered, “we’re really doing this.”
“We are,” you whispered back.
“We’re together.”
You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt. “We’re together.”
Natasha closed her eyes. For a moment neither of you moved, the rain tapped gently against the windows. The tower was quiet, the world could wait.
Kate Bishop x Fem!Reader
You're tasked with finding out what happened to Kate whilst she was missing
TW's: Minor descriptions/mentions of violence & torture, nothing graphic 😘
[A/N] AHH so some of you may have noticed I haven't posted for over a week, I explained in response to an ask yesterday but last week my writing motivation was in the gutter, then I had the most incredible weekend of my life so I decided to just have a week off. Then today I was struck with inspo and I wrote a cheeky little Kate fic which I hope you all enjoy! ❤️
You linger awkwardly in the doorway to the medbay as the medics work hard at patching up Kate. She looks rough – Clint had found her just in time after Kate had been missing for eight weeks. Any length of time missing in action is bad, but this was the longest that any Avenger had been untraceable for. Now she was malnourished, badly dehydrated and littered in cuts and bruises. When Clint had lifted her up into his arms, she’d barely registered him or that she was being moved.
Tony puts a hand on your shoulder, “I know you feel uncomfortable about this. But it’s the easiest way.”
You nudge him off your shoulder, the guilt rising in your stomach as you remember why you’re here. Not to support Kate, not to be her friend, but to use your power to shift through her memories, to see what happened to her while she was away. Tony might say it was the easiest way but for who exactly? Kate? You doubted it – this was her trauma and you were going to delve into it without her permission or knowledge. Easier for Tony no doubt to hear the information second-hand from you. There was a reason he hadn’t told Steve about this, knowing the Captain would chew him out if he knew.
You’d protested when Tony had asked but had agreed, probably far quicker than you ought to have. Because a dark, twisted part of you needed to know what happened while Kate was away. You wanted to memorise the faces of the people that had done this to her and hunt them down one by one. If anyone was going to find out what happened, you wanted it to be you. You wanted to be the first, the one who knew every gruesome detail. You wanted to take on the burden of Kate’s pain. Tony might be in this for himself but it would be easier for Kate not to have to relive the traumatic events that had occurred. That was what you’d told yourself anyway.
By the time you’re allowed inside Kate is asleep, hooked up to machines and looking peaceful despite the dark bruises on her face. Tony takes a step into the room but one hard glare from you has him holding his hands up and backing out quickly, leaving you to your work. You turn your attention back down to Kate, running your fingers gently over her forehead to brush a strand of dark hair out of her face. Your gaze turns to her lips, remembering the fairytales you’d read as a child. Maybe one kiss would be enough to fix all of this mess-
You quickly look away, your cheeks burning. Kate wasn’t your girlfriend. Not that it stopped you from thinking about her every hour of the day, glancing at her constantly during training, volunteering first whenever she was looking for a sparring buddy, making sure you sat next to her at the dinner table, or laughing the loudest at all of her jokes, including the particularly cheesy ones. Your infatuation for Kate hadn’t gone unnoticed by anyone except for Kate herself apparently. Unless she just didn’t like you like that but hadn’t wanted to hurt your feelings.
Sometimes though, you’d catch her looking at you, see the way her eyes would quickly swivel away when you caught her gaze, and how she’d wipe her hands on her pants, and you’d wonder if maybe… There was something there after all. Not that it mattered, neither of you was brave enough to make the first move.
Kate was always getting herself into trouble and this wasn’t any exception. As you press your fingers to the side of her head, you’re instantly flooded with her memories – how she’d approached a gang of criminals without any back-up, nobody any the wiser that Kate had intended to do that, how they’d outnumbered her easily, carried her back to their lair. Then the torture began.
It was difficult, but you forced yourself to watch as Kate valiantly refused to give away any information despite what they did to her. It had been horrendous and Kate had screamed and cried, but whenever they began to question her again she’d just purse her lips together and breathe through her nose, fighting the pain, refusing to give anything away. For four weeks she hadn’t cracked until one day, they’d tried a different tactic. One of the men walked into the room and Kate braced herself for the usual blows, for the pain to begin, but they merely held something up for her to see. Kate’s eyes had blinked, slowly coming into focus until they’d landed on a necklace in his hand. Your necklace.
You’d had to come out of her memory for a moment, gently touching the necklace around your neck, the one that you wore every single day without fail, even on the battlefield. It hadn’t been yours – the one the man had been holding. You’d have known if it had gone missing. A good replica maybe, but it definitely hadn’t been your necklace. You look down at Kate’s sleeping face, watching the way her chest slowly rises and falls, before slowly placing your fingers on the side of her head again, letting the memories filter into your own brain.
You’d been young when you’d realised you’d possessed this ability. Your fingers had touched your younger brother’s head while he slept, and your own head had been invaded by his memories, seeing the world through his eyes. It had been difficult to sift through them at first, but you’d taught yourself, secretly practicing on your family every night. One day you’d tried when your Mom was awake, just to see if you could, and she’d pushed you off her, clutching her head in her hands. The look on her face when she realised what you could do would be burned into your brain forever. They didn’t trust you after that. You were locked in your room each night, your power a dirty secret. It had taken you years to admit your abilities to the Avengers.
Your mind focuses on the necklace in the masked assailants’ hand, his voice coming through clearly into your own head, “We have Y/N. If you do not answer our questions… Let’s just say it will end badly for her.”
Kate had taken a deep breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly before rasping out, “I don’t believe you.”
“That is up to you. It’s your choice to make.”
Kate had folded, almost instantly. All their questions had been answered but they still hadn’t set her free. It seemed they almost delighted in tormenting her. Maybe they had a personal vendetta against her, maybe against the Avengers, or maybe they were just evil. One afternoon her captors had taunted her, “It’s your choice Kate Bishop. We can either hurt you, or we can hurt Y/N. What do you want to-”
“Me,” Kate had hissed through her teeth without hesitation. “Hurt me. Just… Leave her alone. Let her go, I told you everything you wanted to know. Please leave her alone. Please.”
Kate had endured torture for weeks, believing she’d been protecting you, unaware that you’d been safe and sound at the Avengers compound the entire time.
When they discovered Kate had managed to cut through one of her bonds, they’d threatened to go to ‘your cell’, to terminate you for her insolence. Kate had cried and begged for your life, so hard that she’d nearly vomited up the little food she had in her system. They’d retightened her restraints and had warned her not to try again or you would suffer. Kate didn’t make any more attempts to escape.
Eventually Kate’s captors had grown tired of their torment and had disappeared, leaving her alone with no food or water for two full days. Kate had been strapped down, unable to move, too weak to even call out for help. If Clint hadn’t found her when he had, she would surely be dead.
Your eyes burn as you remove your hand from her head, your vision returning to the present, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Kate’s chest. Part of you knows deep-down that Kate would’ve been hurt regardless but to know that she bore the pain in an attempt to protect you makes your heart twist painfully. Your hand drops down to her arm, running your fingers down it as softly as possible before taking her hand in yours.
Why had they used you? The obvious choice for blackmailing Kate would’ve been to pretend they had Clint. Maybe they didn’t have anything easily identifiable as his, but Yelena would’ve been an easy choice too - everyone knows how close Kate is to Natasha’s sister. Or even her beloved dog, Lucky. They could’ve picked any of the Avengers, but they’d chosen you. And Kate had crumbled instantly.
“Thank you,” You whisper, knowing that Kate can’t hear you but wanting to tell her anyway. “You shouldn’t have done that but… I would’ve done the same for you. In a heartbeat.”
“Well that’s a relief,” Tony says, running a hand through his hair. “One less thing to worry about. We’re obviously still in the process of trying to find them, but at least we know Kate didn’t give anything away.”
You’re sat opposite Tony in his office, having just given him an edited account of what happened to Kate during her captivity. Although you hadn’t downplayed any of the suffering that Kate went through, you’d omitted the parts where they’d lied to her, had convinced her you were being held captive too. Hadn’t told him that Kate had answered all of their questions, and they’d continued to torment her anyway. In your version, Kate refused until eventually the gang gave up and left her for dead.
You’d find them long before the Avengers did. Although they were masked in Kate’s memories, you’d managed to sift through and find enough identifiable details to track most of them down, which would surely lead you to the rest. And when you found them, their deaths would be slow and painful. Kate’s torture would be a drop in the ocean compared to what you had planned for them.
“I’m not doing that again,” You tell Tony. “If this happens to anyone else, you ask them what happened, or we ask for their permission if it’s too painful for them to discuss. It was a violation and you’re never to ask Kate about it.”
Tony simply nods, watching thoughtfully as you stand and leave his office.
Nobody asks Kate about what happened, and she doesn’t offer any information. At first, you’d worried that Kate would panic, would insist on telling everyone the secrets that she’d told the masked assailants, to let them know finding them should be a priority. But she hadn’t. You’d kept an eye on all internet forums, particularly on the dark web, but everything remained quiet. Whatever they planned to do with the information they’d obtained from Kate, they hadn’t leaked it yet. Not that it mattered – they’d soon be dead anyway, the secrets dying with them.
One evening you keep Kate company while the others are busy, playing a board game with her. Your counter is only a few places away from the end when Kate says quietly, “I know you know.”
You avoid her gaze, slowly picking up the dice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I thought you were- But- You were here the whole time, weren’t you?” You hesitate, keeping your gaze on the board game in front of you before you nod, just once. Kate’s own gaze drops to the blanket covering her legs as she fidgets, “I… I hoped that was the case.”
You swallow hard, “But you still didn’t risk it.”
Kate shakes her head and replies in a soft voice, “No.”
You both sit there in silence for a long moment, neither of you making a move to continue your game before you eventually ask, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why didn’t you ask them for more proof?”
“I’d already lost track of how long I was there and… I was pretty out of it, I was so hungry and tired, and my throat was aching with thirst, everything hurt and… Because it didn’t matter. If there was even a chance that you could’ve gotten hurt, I wasn’t going to risk it.”
“Kate-”
“You would’ve done the same and you know it.”
“I don’t-”
“How long are we going to skirt around this, Y/N?”
Your gaze flicks up to meet hers and there it is – the looks you’ve been giving her reflected in Kate’s own eyes. The longing, the yearning. You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry, “I don’t know if now is the right time-”
“I nearly died Y/N. If this isn’t the right time then I don’t know when is.” Kate reaches out and takes your hand in hers, “Please. You know how I feel about you. You saw it.”
“You- You would’ve done that for anyone.”
“Offered to be hurt to spare someone else? Probably, yeah. But I wouldn’t have sold our secrets out like that. Yelena would kick my ass if she knew how quickly I caved.”
“You didn’t cave quickly though. That’s why they knew they needed to change their tactic.” You squeeze her hand, careful not to apply too much pressure in case you accidentally hurt her. “I just don’t understand why they picked me.”
“Because you’re my biggest weakness Y/N, and they knew it. Knew it even before I did. If it had been Clint or Yelena or any other Avenger in that room, I would’ve held onto those secrets, and not because I think you can’t handle your own, but because I just couldn’t risk it. If it had been anyone else, I would’ve called their bluff but you… God, you…”
Before you even realise what you’re doing, you lean forward and kiss her, relief flooding through your veins when she immediately kisses you back. One of your hands cups her cheek, your other arm moving around her waist, making sure to be careful, so careful because Kate’s still hurt and because you’ve waited so long for this, you want it to be gentle, to be loving. It’s everything you could’ve hoped for, and although it’s slow and soft, it’s also full of longing. The longing you’ve both been feeling for so long, finally coming to the surface.
When you pull away, you lean your forehead against hers, “You still shouldn’t have done that.”
“You can tell me off when I’m feeling better.”
“I wish I had healing powers instead of these stupid ones. Seeing you hurt fucking kills me.” You press a kiss to the back of her hand. “I wish I’d been the one to find you.”
“You’re here now. And you know everything and… You didn’t rat me out.” Kate’s eyes are teary and she blinks quickly. “Everyone’s going to be so mad when they find out. I told them so much-”
“It’s fine,” You tell her quietly. “I already told Tony. He said to keep it between us for now, that he’ll figure it out with Fury, but… You were under a lot of pressure Kate. Please don’t feel bad. He’s not mad at you and nobody else needs to know except for us, okay?”
The lie was worth it just to see the relieved expression on Kate’s face.
“Will you come back tomorrow?” Kate asks.
You hesitate, “I uh… I’ve actually been assigned a mission that begins tomorrow.”
Another lie. You’d requested a week of last minute personal leave which Tony had granted without question; probably still feeling bad for making you sift through Kate’s memories. You were going to begin your hunt, find those motherfuckers one by one until they were all dead. They’d chosen to use you to get to Kate – you weren’t about to let them get away with that.
Kate looks disappointed and you lean over to press another kiss to her lips, “I’ll be back before you know it. I’ll pick us up some ‘Bad Pizza’ and then we can watch a movie together. Maybe you’ll feel well enough by then to leave the medbay and we could… Maybe we could spend the night in my room.”
Kate feels her cheeks heat up at the thought and she can only nod mutely. It makes you smile and you can’t resist kissing her again. “Are you mad?”
“About what?” Kate asks breathlessly against your lips.
“That I looked through your memories.”
“I can’t say I’m thrilled,” Kate admits. “But I’m glad it was you.”
“I only looked at the last few weeks,” You mumble in between giving her more quick kisses. “I promise.”
Exhaustion catches up with Kate and you help her lie down, fussing over her pillow, the blanket, making sure she’s as comfortable as possible before kissing her again. Kate gives you a small, drowsy smile as she allows her eyes to close. You sit by her bed, stroking her hair to help her drift off to sleep, your eyes burning as you remember your plan for tomorrow and the next few days.
Finding the first man would be easy. Incapacitating him, sifting through his memories, finding his shitty friends would also be easy. But the easiest part would be listening to their screams as you tore them apart, bit by bit, slowly but surely. No one messes with your girl – no one.
summary: Kara asks you to babysit Krypto while her and Clark deal with some business elsewhere. Turns out, Krypto has a hard time staying clean.
word count: 3.7k+
pairing: kara zor-el x fem!reader
notes: uhhhh... hello??? this is my first full wlw fic and it's inspired by my own dogs. also, why do the supercousins both have to be so hot?????? i'm dying over here
warnings/tags: no use of y/n, fluff fluff fluff, kara and clark live together, krypto is a menace, bath time!, clark is awkward as usual, idk really know what to tag so yeah
It wasn’t much of a problem when Kara asked you to watch after Krypto while her and Clark handled some super-business elsewhere; you had done it many times before. Kara handed you the keys to their apartment, kissed you and Krypto goodbye, and flew off into the sky with her cousin.
Normally it was simple: you would take a good long walk with Krypto, let him tire himself out as much as possible, and by the time you got back to the apartment he would fall asleep as soon as he laid down.
Except this time he seemed intrigued by the dog park you normally pass by and you decided to make a pitstop, and that’s where it all went downhill. Krypto didn’t want to play with the other dogs, he instead broke free from the leash and started to chase squirrels around the small park, landing himself in mud on more than one occasion.
So by the time you got back to their apartment, you knew you couldn’t let Krypto touch anything. The second the elevator doors opened, you planted both hands on his muddy chest and gave him the kind of look you had seen Kara give him when he tried to bring a piece of satellite debris inside like it was a toy. “No couch,” you warned, already struggling to keep him in place because Krypto was vibrating with the kind of joy only a dog covered in mud could feel. “No bed, no rugs, no flying onto the ceiling, no shaking, and I know you understand me.”
Krypto blinked up at you with wide, innocent eyes, his white fur now several different shades of brown, and then his tail wagged hard enough to thump against the hallway wall. He took one hopeful step toward the apartment, and you immediately tightened your grip on the leash. “Don’t even think about it,” you said, fumbling with the keys Kara had given you while trying to keep his muddy paws from touching the door. “Clark already looks like he’s one surprise away from writing a formal apartment rules list, and I’m not being the reason he has to mop muddy paw prints off the ceiling.”
The door opened, and Krypto tried to bolt inside like he had suddenly remembered every soft surface he had ever loved. You caught him around the middle with both arms, which would have been more impressive if he hadn’t been a super-dog and if your shoes weren’t slipping slightly on the floor from the mud already dropping off him. “Bathroom,” you grunted, practically dragging yourself more than him. “We’re going straight to the bathroom, and you’re not going to act like I’m betraying you, because this is entirely your fault.”
Krypto made a small, offended sound, but he let you guide him down the hall, mostly because you kept one arm hooked around his muddy chest and the other hand clamped on his leash. He kept looking over his shoulder at the living room like he was deeply considering making a run for it, and you kept steering him harder toward the bathroom. “Do not look at the couch like that,” you said, breathless by the time you reached the tile. “That couch has done nothing to you, and Clark is probably attached to it.”
The bathroom was clean in a way that made you feel instantly guilty for what was about to happen to it. Clark’s towel was folded neatly on the rack, Kara’s things were in a little pile near the sink, and there was a bottle of shampoo sitting beside what you were pretty sure was Lois’ hairdryer from the last time she had stayed over and left half her things behind. You stared at the bathtub, then at Krypto, then at the mud already caking around his paws. “Okay,” you said slowly, rolling up your sleeves. “This is fine. This is very normal. People bathe dogs every day.”
Krypto sneezed, which sent a tiny spray of mud onto the lower cabinet, and you closed your eyes for one long second before pointing at the tub. “In,” you told him, using your sternest voice, the one that usually worked when he tried to sniff your food too closely. He stepped one paw into the tub, then another, and for one beautiful moment, you thought he was going to cooperate. Then he lifted his head, looked directly at the shower curtain like it had personally challenged him, and floated three feet into the air.
“No,” you said immediately, reaching up and grabbing him around the stomach before he could drift any higher. “Absolutely not. Kara trusted me with you, and I am not explaining to her that you escaped bath time by using aerial superiority.” Krypto huffed, his paws paddling gently in the air, and you pulled him back down into the tub with a wet squeak of mud against porcelain. “Thank you,” you said, still holding him down with both hands. “You are so brave… but you’re also disgusting.”
You turned the water on carefully, testing it with your wrist first because Kara would absolutely know if you gave her dog water that was too cold or too hot. Krypto watched the stream hit the tub like it was a brand-new scientific discovery, then stuck his nose under it and immediately sneezed again. “Don’t inhale it,” you said, grabbing the detachable shower head and trying to wet the muddiest parts of him. “You’ve flown through space and fought criminals, I know running water isn’t where we fall apart.”
The mud started sliding off him in thick brown streaks, turning the bottom of the tub into something that looked deeply unfortunate. Krypto lifted one paw, stared at the dirty water, and then began trotting in place, splashing water up the sides of the tub and all over your shirt. “Krypto!” you said, trying not to laugh because laughing would only encourage him. “No running in the bathtub! That feels like a rule I shouldn’t have to say out loud.”
He trotted faster, delighted by the splashing, and the water slapped against the curtain, the tile, your jeans, and somehow the mirror, while also making the shampoo bottle fall right into the tub, making bubbles start to form. You reached for his collar, but he ducked his head and spun in a tight circle, creating a tiny muddy whirlpool around his paws. “Stop!” you said, laughing now despite yourself as water dripped down your face. “Oh my god, Kara is going to come home and think I wrestled a swamp creature in here.”
Krypto barked once, sharp and happy, then snapped his mouth toward the bubbles gathering near the drain. You moved the shampoo bottle out of reach just in time, because his attention shifted to it with alarming focus. “No, you cannot eat that,” you said, holding the bottle high above your head while he stretched his neck toward it. “This is not a snack, this is literally shampoo, and I don’t care if it smells like coconut, you are not eating Kara’s shampoo.”
He made another offended noise, then licked a cluster of bubbles off the side of the tub before you could stop him. “Krypto!” you said, wiping bubbles off his snout with your wet sleeve. “You are making this so much harder than it has to be. I need you to understand that this is a five-minute bath if you behave, and a forty-minute bath if you keep trying to consume soap like it’s part of your diet.”
Krypto stared at you, bubbles clinging to the fur around his mouth, and wagged his tail hard enough to send another spray of water onto the floor. You sighed, squeezing shampoo into your palm and working it carefully into the cleaner parts of his fur first. “Your mother is so lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, scrubbing behind his ears while he leaned into your hands like the entire bath had suddenly become his idea.
He seemed to love the ear-scrubbing part, at least, because his eyes went half-lidded and his body finally relaxed under your hands. You took advantage of his temporary peace and washed his neck, chest, legs, and the underside of his paws, rinsing away as much mud as you could before he remembered he had free will. “See?” you said, working your fingers carefully through a stubborn patch of dirt near his shoulder. “This is nice, we can do nice. We don’t have to turn Clark’s bathroom into a disaster zone.”
The peace lasted until you rinsed his back, because the second the water ran down his spine, Krypto sprang upward with a startled bark and hovered above the tub again. Water poured off him in sheets, dripping all over the bath mat and your socks. You grabbed his front legs and stared up at him, soaked from your hairline down. “I swear, if you touch that ceiling while covered in shampoo, I’m telling Kara you tried to frame me.”
Krypto whined softly, not guilty in the slightest, and you used both hands to pull him back into the tub. He landed with a splash that sent water over the edge and across the tile, and you stood there for a moment, dripping and exhausted, holding the shower head like you were negotiating with a tiny god. “Okay,” you said, breathing out through your nose. “New plan, you stand there, I rinse you, and nobody flies unless there is a building on fire.”
He actually stood still after that, though you suspected it was mostly because he liked the way you were scratching under his chin with one hand while rinsing him with the other. The brown water gradually turned clearer, and the white of his fur came back in patches until he looked like Kara’s dog again instead of something that had crawled out of a construction site. You rinsed him twice just to be safe, because if Kara buried her face in his fur later and got a mouthful of coconut shampoo, you were never going to hear the end of it.
When you finally turned the water off, Krypto shook himself before you could stop him. The spray hit you full force, splattering the mirror, the towels, the sink, and probably places you wouldn’t discover until Clark asked about them three days from now. You froze, eyes closed, arms slightly out, while Krypto jumped out of the tub and stood in front of you looking incredibly proud of himself. “Thank you,” you said flatly, wiping water from your face. “That was incredibly helpful.”
You grabbed the biggest towel you could find and wrapped it around him before he got another chance to shake. Krypto leaned into the towel immediately, wagging his tail as you rubbed him down, and you had to admit he looked painfully cute with only his nose poking out. “Oh, now you’re sweet,” you said, scrubbing the towel over his back. “Now that I’m soaked, the floor is soaked, and the bathroom looks like a pond exploded in it, now you want to be adorable.”
He licked your wrist, and you rolled your eyes while rubbing the towel over his head. “Don’t try to charm me,” you told him, though your voice had already gone soft. “I’m immune to that… Mostly… A little.” Krypto shoved his face against your stomach, still wrapped in the towel, and you gave in long enough to kiss the top of his damp head. “Fine, you’re forgiven, but only because Kara loves you and because you’re cute when you’re not trying to eat soap.”
The towel helped, but Krypto was still damp enough that letting him loose in the apartment felt dangerous. You glanced around the bathroom and spotted the hairdryer on the counter, half-hidden behind a brush and a bottle of lotion that definitely didn’t belong to Clark. “Okay,” you said, picking it up and checking the settings. “This is either Lois’ or Kara stole it from Lois and forgot to return it, which is a problem for them and not for us.”
Krypto watched the hairdryer with interest, his head tilting to the side as you plugged it in. “Don’t bite this,” you warned, aiming it away from him first. “This has electricity, and I’m pretty sure even you shouldn’t chew on electricity.”
You turned it on low, expecting Krypto to bark, flinch, or fly straight up again. Instead, he went completely still, ears perking as the warm air blew against his chest. You moved it a little closer, careful not to make it too hot, and his eyes widened like you had just introduced him to the greatest invention Earth had ever created. “Oh,” you said, watching as he leaned toward it. “You like that?”
Krypto took one careful step closer, then another, then he pushed his face directly toward the warm stream of air, his damp fur ruffling back from his snout, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing too loudly. “No, not that close,” you said, gently guiding his face back with your free hand. “You cannot become one with the hairdryer, we need reasonable distance.”
He disagreed, very strongly, apparently, because every time you moved the hairdryer to dry his side, he shuffled after it, pressing closer until his nose nearly bumped the end. You adjusted the angle, and he followed, you moved to his back legs, and he turned so the warm air stayed on his chest. “Krypto,” you said, laughing now. “I am trying to dry all of you, not just the front half of you.”
He wagged his tail, utterly content, and leaned his whole body toward the hairdryer with the kind of devotion he usually reserved for Kara walking through the door. You worked around him as best you could, one hand rubbing through his fur while the other moved the dryer over his back, neck, and legs. He kept trying to scoot closer, and more than once you had to press your palm to his chest and gently push him back. “Personal space,” you reminded him. “You and Kara both struggle with it, actually.”
By the time you heard the apartment door open, the bathroom floor was covered in damp towels, your clothes were wet, and Krypto was sitting next to the tub like royalty, eyes half-closed while you blew warm air over his chest. You were kneeling beside him, one sleeve pushed up and the other hanging wet around your wrist, trying to dry the last stubborn damp spot behind his ears. “If that’s you, Kara,” you called, raising your voice over the hairdryer, “before you say anything, he was brown when we came in.”
There was a brief silence from the hallway, followed by Clark’s voice, cautious and already concerned. “Brown?”
Kara appeared in the doorway a second later, still in her suit, her hair a little windswept from flying and her expression shifting instantly from confusion to amusement. Clark came up behind her and looked over her shoulder, eyebrows lifting as he took in the wet floor, the muddy towel pile, the shampoo bottle sitting safely on the sink, and Krypto trying to inch his face closer to the hairdryer. Kara’s mouth twitched. “What did my dog do?”
“Your dog,” you said pointedly, because that part mattered, “discovered mud, tried to eat shampoo, attempted to flee bath time vertically, ran laps in the tub, and now apparently believes this hairdryer is the best thing on the planet.” You angled the dryer away for one second, and Krypto immediately leaned after it with a soft, needy sound. “See? This is who you raised.”
Kara stepped fully into the bathroom, biting back a laugh as she crouched beside the tub. “Krypto,” she said, and he finally looked away from the hairdryer long enough to perk up at her. His tail thumped against the floor, sending a small splash of leftover water onto the tile, and Kara reached out to scratch under his chin. “Did you behave for her?”
“He did not,” you said at the same time Krypto barked proudly.
Clark made a quiet sound that was very clearly him trying not to laugh, then looked at the water on the mirror and the damp pawprint on the side of the tub. “I’m guessing the dog park was involved,” he said, leaning one hand against the doorframe while staying far enough back that Krypto couldn’t shake water onto him. “That’s usually where these stories begin.”
“The dog park was involved for maybe ninety seconds before he decided the squirrels were fugitives,” you said, turning the hairdryer back toward Krypto’s shoulder. “And before anyone asks, no, I don’t know how a dog with super-speed still managed to land in every muddy patch individually, but he did. It was honestly impressive.”
Kara looked at you then, really looked at you, taking in your wet shirt, damp hair, bare feet, and the stubborn concentration on your face as you tried to keep the dryer at a safe distance from her extremely spoiled dog. Her expression softened in that way that always made your stomach flip, warm and amused and a little too fond. “You gave him a bath by yourself?”
“I had limited options,” you said, trying to sound casual even though Kara was looking at you like that. “It was either this or let him jump on Clark’s couch while looking like a chocolate lab, and I didn’t think any of us were emotionally prepared for that.”
Clark nodded solemnly from the doorway. “I appreciate your service.”
“You’re welcome,” you said, pointing the dryer toward Krypto’s side again while he tried to follow it. “Also, I used the coconut shampoo, and before you blame me, he did try to eat it twice, so honestly I think I handled that pretty well.”
Kara laughed, low and warm, and reached over to scratch Krypto’s damp head. “He likes coconut.”
“He likes consuming things that aren’t food,” you corrected, moving the dryer away when Krypto pressed too close again. “There’s a difference.”
Krypto whined as the warm air shifted away from his face, and Kara’s grin widened. “Oh, he really does like that thing.”
“He’s obsessed,” you said, letting the air blow gently against his chest again. “He has never been more cooperative in his life. I’m pretty sure if we ever need him to sit still during a crisis, we just bring the hairdryer.”
Clark looked between Kara and Krypto, his expression turning thoughtful in a way that made you instantly suspicious. “I don’t think a hairdryer would be standard field equipment.”
Kara glanced back at him. “You carry tiny snacks in your belt sometimes for him.”
Clark straightened a little. “That’s different.”
“It’s not,” Kara said easily, and you pressed your lips together, trying not to smile too hard because Clark looked like he regretted walking into the conversation. Kara turned back to you, her shoulder brushing yours as she leaned closer to inspect Krypto’s fur. “He’s clean, though. You did good.”
“I did good?” you repeated, arching a brow at her. “Kara, I look like I lost a fight with a sink.”
“You look cute,” she said, like that settled it.
Clark immediately looked at the ceiling, as if he had just remembered he was related to one of the people in the room and did not want to be legally present for flirting. You felt your face warm, but Kara only looked more amused. “Don’t start,” you muttered, turning the hairdryer off for a second so you could hear yourself think. Krypto instantly nudged your hand with his nose, offended by the loss of warm air, and you sighed. “You too? Really?”
Kara leaned in and kissed you quickly, soft and sweet, one hand brushing the side of your damp jaw. It was over before you could fully react, but it still made your breath catch in the embarrassingly easy way she always managed. Clark made a strangled sound behind her and lifted one hand to cover his eyes. “Okay,” he said awkwardly, turning his head toward the hallway. “I’m just going to give everyone privacy. Including the dog, apparently.”
Kara pulled back with a grin, completely unbothered, while you tried not to look as flustered as you felt. “You’ve seen us kiss before,” she said over her shoulder.
Clark kept his hand over his eyes. “That doesn’t mean I need to stand in a bathroom and watch it happen next to a wet dog.”
Krypto barked loudly at the sound of Clark’s voice, then shoved his face toward the hairdryer again like he was trying to remind everyone what the real priority was. You huffed out a laugh and turned it back on low, and he immediately settled, eyes going soft as the warm air ruffled his fur. Kara watched him for a second, then looked at you with that same affectionate little smile. “He might like you more than me now.”
“That’s not true,” you said, even though Krypto had fully leaned his weight into your arm and seemed unwilling to move unless the hairdryer moved with him. “He loves you. I’m just the person currently holding his new favorite object.”
Kara rested her chin lightly on your shoulder, careful not to get too close to the dryer, and Krypto’s tail started thumping again as if he had successfully gathered his two favorite people in one place. “Still,” she said, her voice quieter near your ear, “thanks for taking care of him.”
You softened despite yourself, letting the dryer move slowly over Krypto’s side while Kara stayed tucked close to you. “Yeah, well,” you said, glancing at the soaked towels and the disaster of a floor, “next time you ask me to dog-sit, I’m charging extra for mud removal.”
Clark, already halfway down the hall, called back, “I’ll pay it.”
Kara laughed against your shoulder, and Krypto barked once like he agreed. You looked down at him, at his bright clean fur and his ridiculous, blissed-out expression as he tried to press even closer to the warm air, and shook your head. “You are so lucky you’re loved,” you told him, keeping one hand firm on his chest before he could climb into the hairdryer. “And you are never going to the dog park without Kara again.”
SUMMARY: As you try to distract Carol from her insecurities, your own seem to bombard you in one horrible sweep. You confess to Carol that you worry you’re not enough for her when she has the whole universe in her grasp, and she is there to ensure you that to her, you are that universe.
NOTES: Hurt/comfort, major insecurity from Carol and reader, many tears, guilt/grief surrounding Hala stuff, writer doesn’t wholly remember the movies but she’s trying her best, established relationship.
REQUESTED BY: Anonymous.
NAVIGATION | MCU MASTERLIST | KO-FI
The first time Carol calls herself ‘the Annihilator’ in front of you, she says it like it’s a joke.
You are both standing in the kitchen at nearly one in the morning, the lights dimmed, the windows dripping with rain. She has one hip pressed against the counter while she waits for the kettle to boil, shoulders slumped with the sort of exhaustion that settles into bone instead of muscle.
Her suit is gone, replaced by one of your old hoodies and a pair of joggers that hang a little too short on her legs. There is a bruise blooming dark along the side of her jaw that she has not bothered healing yet.
You hate the bruise. You hate every mark she carries back from space like she thinks her body is just another thing to spend.
“You should’ve seen their faces,” she says quietly, staring into the steam beginning to rise from the kettle. “Turns out people get a bit nervous when the Annihilator walks into the room.”
The smile she gives afterwards is thin and strange. Wrong around the edges. Something twists in your chest.
You know the stories. You know what happened on Hala. You know she blames herself in ways nobody else possibly could. There are entire planets that still speak her name with fear threaded through it. Civilisations rebuilding after damage she never meant to cause. Billions of lives tangled up in decisions she made while trying to save everyone.
The awful thing is that she still tries. Every single day.
You move closer carefully, like she is something skittish despite the fact she could split the atmosphere apart with her bare hands if she wanted to. “Carol.”
“It’s fine.” She shrugs one shoulder. “I’m kidding.”
“You’re not.”
Her jaw tightens for half a second. The kettle clicks off. Neither of you move to pour it. Rain taps softly against the windows. Carol looks tired in a way you do not know how to fix. Not sleepy-tired. Soul-tired. The type of tired that settles behind someone’s eyes and changes the shape of them.
“I thought I was helping,” she says eventually, voice rough around the edges. “That’s the worst bit.”
You do not answer immediately. She rarely talks about this. Usually she keeps everything packed away so tightly you only notice the strain when she thinks you are asleep beside her.
“I know.”
“I really thought I was doing the right thing.” Her laugh is quiet and humourless. “Turns out wrecking an empire leaves a mess behind. Who knew.”
You step between her and the counter before you can think too hard about it, hands finding the sleeves of her hoodie. She looks down at you automatically, expression already apologetic, which somehow makes it hurt more.
“You are allowed to regret things,” you murmur. “That doesn’t make you a monster.”
Carol looks away first. The fact she can fly through warzones without flinching but struggles to hold eye contact when someone is gentle with her always gets you.
You smooth your thumbs over the fabric gathered around her wrists. “You spend every second trying to protect people.”
“Maybe I’m just trying to make up for what happened.”
“So what if you are?”
Her throat moves around a swallow. The silence stretches. Warm and aching. You wish, not for the first time, that you knew how to carry some of this for her. That love worked like division instead of addition. Carol holds guilt like gravity. Dense and crushing and impossible to escape once it catches hold.
“You know the worst part?” she says quietly. “People still look at me like I’m some kind of hero.”
You frown. “You are.”
“No.” The answer comes instantly. Sharply. “I’m really not.”
There it is. The thing underneath all of it. Not guilt. Not shame. Fear. You know suddenly, with awful clarity, that Carol thinks love is conditional. That one day you will wake up and realise she is too much damage wrapped in glowing skin to keep holding onto. Your chest aches.
“You saved the Skrulls,” you say softly. “You saved Earth more times than I can count. You help people every single day, Carol.”
“Doesn’t erase everything else.”
“Nothing could erase everything. That isn’t how being a person works.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It isn’t simple.” Your voice catches slightly. “It’s just you.”
Carol finally looks at you properly then, eyes painfully blue even in the dim kitchen light. You can practically see the exhaustion sitting inside them.
You wonder if she knows how carefully you watch her. How every time she leaves Earth you spend days carrying around this low, sick fear that she will realise there are brighter things in the universe than your tiny little life here.
The thought slips in before you can stop it. Tiny little life. You suddenly feel ridiculous standing here trying to comfort someone who has held galaxies together with bleeding hands. Someone extraordinary enough for entire planets to know her name.
What exactly do you offer her? Tea in the middle of the night. Folded laundry. A warm bed. Small things. Human things. Nothing compared to her.
Carol notices the shift in your expression immediately. Of course she does. “What?” she asks softly.
“Nothing.”
“You made that face.”
You huff out a weak laugh despite yourself. “What face?”
“The sad one.” She nudges your ankle gently with hers. “C’mon. Talk to me.”
You should not. The conversation is supposed to be about her. She came home carrying enough pain already. Still, the words press painfully against your ribs.
“I just…” You stare down at the floorboards. “Sometimes I don’t understand why you stay.”
Carol goes completely still. “What?”
“You could be anywhere.” The admission comes out embarrassingly quiet. “With anyone.”
“That’s not—”
“You’re Captain Marvel, Carol.” Your laugh sounds awful to your own ears. Thin and frayed. “You save worlds. Half the universe probably wants to kiss you.”
“I don’t care about half the universe.”
“You say that now.”
Her expression shifts slowly from confusion into something almost wounded. You immediately regret speaking.
“I know it’s stupid,” you say quickly. “Forget it.”
“No, absolutely not.” She reaches for you then, warm hands settling carefully on your waist. “Where is this coming from?”
You shrug helplessly, unable to meet her eyes anymore. “I don’t know. You disappear for weeks sometimes and come back talking about wars and planets and all these massive things and then there’s just… me.”
“Just you?”
The way she says it makes heat crawl unpleasantly up your neck. “You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.”
“You have bigger things to worry about than whether I remembered to go out and buy milk.”
A startled laugh escapes her before she can stop it.
You glare weakly. “See?”
“No, sweetheart, I’m laughing because that is genuinely the saddest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
You try to pull away out of sheer embarrassment, but Carol’s hands tighten instinctively on your waist before you can get far.
“Nope,” she says softly. “You’re staying right here.”
“Carol.”
“Absolutely not.” Her thumbs stroke once against your sides through your shirt. Gentle and careful. “You cannot just say something like that and then pretend you didn’t.”
Your stomach twists painfully. The worst part is knowing none of this is rational. You know she loves you. Carol tells you constantly in little ways that matter more than grand declarations ever could. She reaches for your hand without thinking. Falls asleep draped half on top of you whenever she is actually home long enough to rest properly. Looks at you like something in her chest eases every time you walk into a room.
Still, insecurity does not care about any of that. It creeps in quietly during the long stretches she spends off-world. It settles beside you when another emergency pulls her away halfway through dinner. It whispers ugly little things while you stare at news footage of her glowing above entire fleets like a living star.
You are only human. Painfully, terribly human.
“I know it sounds pathetic,” you mutter.
Carol’s face softens so completely it nearly undoes you. “Oh, honey.”
That almost makes it worse. Your eyes sting immediately. You shake your head once, frustrated with yourself. “You shouldn’t have to reassure me all the time.”
“I don’t have to.” Her voice stays steady and warm. “I want to.”
A silence settles between you. The rain outside grows heavier. Carol studies you for a long moment before lifting one hand from your waist to cup your jaw instead. Her palm is warm. Calloused slightly. Familiar enough to make your chest ache.
“You think I stay with you despite you being ordinary,” she says quietly.
Heat floods your face. “When you say it out loud it sounds awful.”
“It sounds sad.” Her thumb brushes beneath your eye. “Mostly because you have no idea what you look like to me.”
You laugh weakly. “Probably tiny.”
“Definitely tiny.”
A reluctant smile tugs briefly at your mouth before fading again. Carol steps closer.
“You know what my life is like out there?” she murmurs. “It’s loud all the time. Every planet needs something. Every crisis matters. Every person expects me to fix things and half the time I can’t.”
The last part comes out quieter. You feel something in your chest crack slightly around the edges.
“When I’m flying around space,” she continues, “I don’t sleep properly. I forget to eat. Sometimes days blur together so badly I genuinely can’t remember where I am when I wake up.”
Her forehead rests lightly against yours then. “And then I come home,” she says softly, “and you ask if I want tea before you ask anything else.”
Your throat tightens.
“You sit with me when my head’s a mess and never push when I can’t talk yet. You remember every stupid thing I mention in passing. You make our bed feel like somewhere safe instead of somewhere temporary.” Her mouth twitches faintly. “You buy the weird cereal I like even though you think it tastes like cardboard.”
“It does taste like cardboard.”
“You still buy it.”
You finally look up at her properly. Carol’s expression is unbearably earnest. Open in a way she rarely lets herself be.
“You are the only place in the universe where I don’t feel like I have to be Captain Marvel first,” she whispers. “Do you understand that?”
Emotion swells so suddenly in your chest it almost hurts. “You could still have that with someone better.”
Carol actually frowns. “Someone better than you?”
You shrug helplessly. She stares at you for a second like she genuinely cannot process what you are saying.
Then, very quietly, she says, “I think you have this idea that I’m choosing between you and the universe.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No.” Her hand slides down to squeeze yours tightly. “I’m choosing you over and over while dealing with the universe.”
That lands somewhere deep enough to make your eyes burn. Carol notices immediately.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
You hate how emotional you get sometimes. Hate the embarrassing pressure building behind your ribs now, the awful vulnerability of standing in your kitchen trying not to cry because the woman you love is being kind to you.
“I just don’t want you waking up one day and realising you settled,” you admit shakily.
Her entire expression breaks. Not angry. Not frustrated. Heartbroken.
“Oh, baby.”
The endearment comes out so soft it nearly ruins you. Carol pulls you into her properly then, arms wrapping around you with firm certainty until your face presses against the warm fabric of her hoodie. You go without resistance, breath leaving you in a shaky rush the second she holds you close.
“There is not a single person in this universe I could want more than you,” she murmurs into your hair. “Not one.”
Your hands fist weakly in the back of her hoodie.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I do actually, since apparently my partner’s been sitting around thinking I’m one bad day away from running off with an alien supermodel.”
A startled laugh escapes you through the thickness in your throat. “There are probably loads of alien supermodels.”
“Yeah, and they’re all exhausting.” She presses a kiss against the top of your head. “Most of them don’t even make me tea.”
You laugh again, wetter this time. Carol holds you tighter the second she hears it. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to say I’ve got you.
“You know what I think?” she says quietly after a moment.
“What?”
“I think you spend so much time seeing me as this massive thing that you forget I’m just a person when I’m here with you.”
You close your eyes.
Maybe she is right.
Sometimes it is difficult reconciling the woman who curls herself around you in bed with the one who tears through warships in the upper atmosphere. Difficult understanding how both versions can exist inside the same person.
“You’re still extraordinary,” you mumble.
Carol sighs softly. “Sweetheart, I spend half my time at home looking for my own socks.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“It counts.”
You can feel the steady beat of her heart beneath your cheek. Strong and human and real. Not Captain Marvel. Just Carol.
“I don’t need extraordinary all the time,” she whispers after a while. “I need this.” Her hand rubs slowly up and down your back. “This is the bit that matters to me.”
You stay like that for a long time. The kitchen light hums softly overhead. Rain drums against the windows hard enough now that the world outside feels very far away, blurred into streaks of gold and grey. Carol’s warmth surrounds you completely. Familiar in a way nothing else has ever managed to be.
Eventually she shifts just enough to press another kiss into your hair. “You know,” she murmurs, “this conversation started with me having a crisis.”
A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. “Sorry for getting in the way of your emotional breakdown.”
“It’s alright. We can schedule mine for tomorrow.”
You pull back enough to look at her properly then, and the fond little smile waiting on her face nearly knocks the breath out of you. Not some untouchable cosmic force, but just Carol, standing barefoot in your kitchen at one in the morning with a creased hoodie and tired eyes and too much love tucked carefully into the corners of her mouth.
You reach up without thinking and smooth your fingers lightly along her jaw, careful around the bruise there. Her eyes soften instantly.
“You should let me patch that up,” you mumble.
“I kinda like when you fuss over me.”
“I always fuss over you.”
“Exactly.”
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself.
Carol leans into your touch for a second before catching your wrist gently and pressing a kiss against the inside of it. The gesture is so absent-mindedly affectionate it makes your chest ache all over again.
“You alright now?” she asks quietly.
You consider lying for half a second out of habit. Then you look at her, really look at her. At the openness sitting plainly across her face. The patience. The absolute certainty. You find that something inside you unclenches.
“Yeah,” you admit softly. “Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“The insecurity’s still there a bit.” Your mouth twists sheepishly. “Think it’s probably difficult to fix years of emotional issues in one kitchen conversation.”
“I could punch the insecurity for you.”
“I don’t know if I’d be into that.”
“I’ll do it gently.”
You snort. Carol grins faintly, clearly pleased with herself for getting another laugh out of you. The kettle still sits untouched behind her.
“You never made your tea,” you realise.
“Got distracted.”
“By your deeply emotional and insecure partner?”
“By the love of my life,” she corrects immediately.
Your face heats embarrassingly fast. Carol’s smile widens at the reaction. “There you are.”
“Don’t start.”
“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
“You fight aliens.”
“And yet this remains my favourite thing.”
You groan softly and hide your face against her shoulder again while she laughs quietly above you. The sound settles somewhere warm inside your ribs. You think maybe that is what safety actually feels like. Not the absence of fear, but the presence of someone who stays gentle with it.
Carol rubs your back slowly. “C’mere.”
“I am here.”
“More here.”
Before you can ask what that means, she hooks an arm beneath your knees and lifts you clean off the floor. You yelp in surprise, clutching automatically at her shoulders while she carries you out of the kitchen.
“Carol!”
“What?”
“You can’t just pick me up without warning.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
She only laughs again, brighter this time, and your chest feels painfully full hearing it. There have been weeks lately where every smile from her seemed strained thin with exhaustion. Seeing this version of her now, soft and teasing and warm around the edges, makes relief hit you so hard you almost feel dizzy with it.
You realise suddenly how frightened you have been too. Not just of losing her. Of losing this. The quiet little life you have built together between disasters.
Carol carries you into the living room and drops onto the sofa with you still in her lap, one arm wrapped securely around your waist to stop you escaping when you squirm half-heartedly.
“You are impossible,” you inform her.
“Mm. You’re obsessed with me though.”
“Unfortunately.”
She presses an exaggerated kiss against your cheek. “Devastating news, I know.”
You try to glare at her and fail miserably once she starts smiling properly. You love the unbearable brightness of her. The awful stupid selflessness. The way she pretends she carries everything easily when she is actually held together by stubbornness and caffeine and blind hope half the time.
You love her enough that it scares you sometimes. Carol notices you staring.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s the same answer you gave before the crisis started.”
You huff softly. “I just love you.”
The words come out easier than they used to. Still terrifying. Always terrifying. Love feels like handing someone every soft part of yourself and hoping they will be careful.
Carol’s entire expression melts anyway. “Oh,” she says quietly.
You smile a little at her reaction. “Yeah. Oh.”
She looks at you like she still hasn’t quite adjusted to being loved outright. Like every confession catches her off guard no matter how many times you give it. Then she tucks you impossibly closer against her chest and buries her face against the side of your neck for a second.
“I love you too,” she murmurs. “So much it’s actually embarrassing.”
“It should be embarrassing. You’re obsessed with me.”
“Mm, yeah. Hopelessly.”
Warmth spreads through you slowly. Deeply. Easing into places that had been aching for far too long.
The rain continues outside. The flat smells faintly of tea and fabric softener and Carol’s shampoo. Somewhere in the kitchen, the kettle has probably gone cold by now. None of it feels small anymore.
Not the flat. Not the softness of the sofa beneath you. Not the way Carol absent-mindedly traces patterns against your side while holding you close enough that every breath syncs together.
Human things. Important things.
“You know,” Carol says eventually, voice sleepy now around the edges, “I really don’t think you understand how much I need you.”
Emotion catches painfully in your throat again. You press a slow kiss against her temple.
“Maybe,” you whisper. “You can keep reminding me.”
Carol tilts her head back just enough to look at you.
Hi! Could you do a carol dancers x reader where the reader is also an avenger who has been getting a little more reckless on missions and it’s starting to worry carol is getting a little worried. Context and ending up to you
not you, please
summary: at the hands of nagging insecurities and self doubt you begin to get reckless in your missions. which worries your favorite captain, who also happens to be your girlfriend.
warnings: fem!reader, mentions of blood and doubts, carol is worried, angst and comfort
the overwhelming smell of gunpowder and the thick smoke that lingered in the area slowly crowded your senses. but it couldn't distract from the chaos in your mind, that ultimately hurt you more than any bullet ever could. you set your lonely quinjet to fly back to the tower unable to think about being at your mission any longer now that it was over.
you have been an Avenger for a few years now and in full honesty you still found it hard to swallow the fact that tony, and fury, and so many other thought you were enough to be a protector of the world. and while it gave you a second chance at life, gave you people you could call home, and a beautiful, caring girlfriend, you couldn't help but feel like you didn't deserve any of it.
carol had been stationed at earth for three months now. she wanted to get to know the team more and work on her "on-earth fighting abilities" as she said. but for the past few weeks it's been entirely different. she noticed the exhaustion you tuck under your eyes and the way you think you conceal the pain that's settled deep into your muscles and bones, and the way you've been getting reckless on missions.
first it was the black eye on your mission with natasha. you had simply missed a punch when fighting a big , burly man, luckily you were able to take control. then it was the three broken ribs with steve and bucky. you had missed a few jumps and took batons to the ribs instead of blocking them. and finally it was the way you would come home, suit drenched in blood. and she could never tell where foreign blood was soaked up and where yours leaked through. but you would never admit to the visible pain always saying
"im just a little tired"
"im perfectly fine, carol"
as you arrived, friday announced to carol that your quinjet had just landed. she was estatic to see you after three days, in all honesty she had troubles sleeping, not because she thought you were incapable. but because she worried if you had grown too physically weak to keep fighting or had just decided you simply didn't want to anymore. however, her worries were confirmed by the way her heart plummeted to her stomach.
she watch as the jet door opens and the way you could hardly stand, yet you stumbled out refusing help. she could see the way your cheeks now concave into the bones of your skull and how the darkness under your eyes had spread to your whole face. the familiar dark red hue of your suit, dotted with spots of dirt and grime. then her eyes drift to the blood slowly oozing out your leg, but you seemingly didn't notice it.
"oh baby..."
carol pulled you into a cautious hug as you stared at the floor, embarrassed to look her in the eye. she decided you shouldn't walk anymore so she carefully picked you up at took you to the clinic. after hours, helen cleared you to go back to your room and carol cautiously carried you straight to your bed. she finally got a chance to really look at you.
your eyes void of every emotion other than regret and desperation. she could see the red on your waterline that signaled you spent two nights silently sobbing into your hands because your head had told you that you would never be enough. the bruises now highlighted on your skin now that layers of dirt had been wiped away. she brought you your favorite pajamas and delicately helped you change, avoiding stitches and bandages on your abdomen and legs.
she silently sat next to you, slowly pushing your head to rest in the crook of her neck and her other arm gently wrapped around your waist.
"what's going on, baby? i hate to see you like this"
she didn't push, she didn't force you to talk. you shook your head, you physically couldn't speak because if you opened your mouth only sobs would come out. the silence wasn't uncomfortable, carol deliberately kept quiet as to give you space through the stillness of the moment. after a few beats of silence carol spoke
"why have you been so reckless?"
the question might've came off as aggressive to anyone else, but carols soft, calm tone let you know that she was just there to understand, not to judge. she was concerned in a way that made your heart throb, because maybe it meant someone did care.
"i..i just feel like im not enough. and like, like i don't deserve any of this."
carols heart twinged at your whispered confession. it sounded like it physically hurt your throat to speak your insecurities to life, and maybe it did given your battered state. and in that moment carol understood, you hadn't stopped being cautious because you felt like it. but because you had simply stopped caring if you came out dead or alive. she took in a shaky breath as tears brimmed her eyes at your heart wrenching confession.
"if anyone deserves peace and happiness, honey, it's you" gently stroking your hair and laying a knowing kiss on your head. "you don't have to be perfect all the time. you don't have to be strong all the time . you just have to be you and that is enough for me and enough for you... you have this idea that everyone expects the world of you, but you are allowed to fail, baby. and i know you will always get right back up again because that is simply who are are."
you silently sobbed into her neck, grasping at her white tank top as if it was the only thing keeping you alive. and right now, her voice, her smell, her skin, her steady heartbeat might've been the only thing that truly was keeping you alive.
"but i need you to be more careful. you're the one stable thing ive ever had in my life. the way you always look out for me, the way you love and care for me. i never want to see you hurt. not you, please.."
carol calmly rubbed your hands, memorizing the grooves in your knuckles that had fought too hard and rested too little.
"i love you carol." you muttered into her neck, wordlessly playing with the dog tags that hung at her neck, deciding to focus on the person that had only ever showed you kindness and complete adoration.
"i love you more, pretty girl" placing one, two, and three kisses on your head, cheek, and then delicately placing a kiss on your nose, stealing a pained giggle out of you, wiping your tears with gentle hands.
"that's my girl"
once you two settled comfortably in bed carol looked into the eyes of her love, tired eyes staring back at her full of adoration. she held you in her strong arms all night, whispering sweet nothing as she stroked your back.
suddenly it was okay if you failed, because it meant that her stable arms and steady love would catch you, and that was simply enough.
a/n i'm almost confident this request is about two years old but anon this one's for you! but also reminder YOU are enough as you are ily bye
summary: Working as a paramedic in Manhattan means you're used to chaos, but you didn't expect to pull the Black Widow into a quiet alleyway mid-invasion. Natasha is bleeding out and defensive, but when you're the only one steady enough to anchor her through the pain, a localized alien attack turns into an incredibly unexpected connection.
authors note: this is a draft so ntm
masterlist
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The flashing red and blue lights of the ambulance cast long, frantic shadows against the shattered concrete of the overpass. The Chitauri leviathan had been brought down blocks away, but the collateral damage was everywhere.
You snapped your purple nitrile gloves into place, pulling a roll of gauze from your jump bag as you knelt beside a civilian with a nasty laceration. Sirens wailed in the distance, a constant, droning backdrop to the chaos of Manhattan.
"Keep pressure right here, okay?" you told the man, guiding his trembling hand to the wound. "You're doing great. Deep breaths."
"Hey! Medic!"
You looked up at the shout. A fellow paramedic was gesturing wildly toward an alleyway fifty feet away. Through the settling dust, you caught the unmistakable gleam of dark tactical gear.
An Avenger.
Leaving your patient in the capable hands of a triage rookie, you grabbed your trauma kit and ran toward the alley. As you got closer, the figure materialized. Black suit, red hourglass belt buckle, crimson hair dusted with grey ash.
Natasha Romanoff.
She was slumped against a brick wall, one leg bent awkwardly out in front of her. Her breath came in shallow, ragged hitches, and her hands were pressed firmly against her left side, dark blood seeping through her fingers. Despite the injury, her green eyes were sharp, scanning the alley like she was still waiting for a threat.
"Don't move," you said, dropping to your knees beside her. Your voice was calm, a stark contrast to the adrenaline hammering in your chest. You didn't care if she was a world-class spy; right now, she was just a patient bleeding out on your pavement.
Natasha’s head snapped toward you. A low, defensive growl started in her throat, her hand instinctively twitching toward the empty holster at her thigh.
"Easy, Black Widow," you murmured, gently but firmly catching her wrist. "I'm just a paramedic. Let me look."
She stared at you for a tense, agonizing second, testing your grip. Something in your steady demeanor must have convinced her, because the tension bled out of her shoulders and she let her head fall back against the brick with a sharp hiss. "It's... just a graze. I'm fine."
"Right. You look incredibly fine," you replied dryly, already slicing through the side of her tactical suit with trauma shears to expose the wound.
The "graze" was a deep, jagged puncture from a piece of flying shrapnel, bleeding heavily.
"I need to pack this, and it's going to hurt," you warned, pulling out a package of hemostatic gauze. "Ready?"
Natasha offered a grim, bloody smirk. "Do your worst, doc."
You didn't hesitate. As you pressed the gauze into the wound to stop the hemorrhaging, Natasha’s entire body went rigid. Her fingers dug into the fabric of your uniform shirt, her knuckles turning white as she squeezed her eyes shut, a muffled gasp escaping her lips.
"I know, I know. Stay with me," you coaxed, using one hand to keep pressure on the wound while using your free hand to gently squeeze her shoulder. "Look at me, Romanoff. Keep your eyes on me."
She forced her eyes open, blinking through the pain, locking her intense green gaze onto yours. There was a raw, striking vulnerability in them that you were definitely not prepared for. For a moment, the sounds of the burning city seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the cramped alley.
"You have... terrible bedside manner," she breathless, a weak attempt at a distraction.
"Hey, I'm saving your life. You get the premium service for free," you shot back, a small smile tugging at your lips as the bleeding finally began to slow. You quickly wrapped a pressure bandage around her torso, securing it tightly. "There. That'll hold until we get you to a trauma bay."
Natasha let out a long, shaky breath, her grip on your shirt loosening, though she didn't entirely let go. She looked down at your neat handiwork, then back up at your face, a look of genuine curiosity replacing her usual guarded mask.
"What's your name?" she asked, her voice low and raspy.
You told her, checking her pulse one last time. It was fast, but stabilizing. "We need to get you on a gurney. Can you stand if I anchor you?"
"Yeah." With your support, she managed to hoist herself up, leaning heavily against your side. She was shorter than you expected without her boots, but she felt like solid marble.
As you guided her out of the alley toward the waiting ambulance, Tony Stark’s Iron Man armor streaked overhead, but Natasha didn't look up. Her eyes remained fixed on you.
"You're pretty good under pressure," she noted as you helped her sit on the bumper of the rig.
"Occupational hazard," you replied, handing her a clean bottle of water. "Stick around Manhattan long enough, you get used to the alien invasions."
Natasha took a sip, a genuine, amused smile breaking through the ash on her face. She reached into a small, intact pocket on her vest and pulled out a sleek, black earpiece, dropping it into your palm.
"Keep that," she murmured, her fingers lingering against yours for a second too long. "Next time the sky opens up, give me a call. I'll make sure I'm your personal security."
Before you could respond, a S.H.I.E.L.D. transport vehicle screeched to a halt nearby, and a couple of agents rushed over to escort her. Natasha let them lead her away, but she threw one last, lingering look over her shoulder, leaving you standing by your ambulance with a pounding heart and a direct line to the Black Widow.
Kate Bishop x Stark!reader, secretly dating and kissing and getting caught by Tony.
just a fleabag [K.Bishop]
pairing: kate bishop x stark!reader
summary: galas are usually boring, but sneaking away with your girlfriend is far from it.
warnings: none, just some suggestive comments/jokes; brief making out (and getting caught); alcohol references; kate manages to not fangirl over tony somehow
wordcount: 1.6k
a/n: look at that, i managed to write another fic before six months went by! it's a bit shorter but it was weirdly fun to write, even though i still can't tell if i'm messing up kate's characterization or not. let me know if kate's ooc because i have not done my homework (aka rewatched hawkeye in like two or three years). anyway, that's all, hope you enjoy <3
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If there's one thing Tony Stark is know for, it's hosting galas and then finding a way to not show up to them.
It's usually not a big deal. He plans them, spends far too much money inviting people and journalists, and then finds a way to spend the night hiding in the garage, working on his old Iron Man suits. It's a good strategy but unfortunately, it's never shared with you which means while he's off avoiding everyone, you're stuck socializing with strangers all night. On its own, it could possibly be fine, except you also have to spend the night answering questions you have no real answers to and pretending it's not gross to hear so many people drool over your dad.
Though maybe it would be worse to have to see it.
Then again, hearing it is just as bad. Especially when your own girlfriend takes the joke a little too seriously.
"Hey you," Kate greets as she slides up next to you, pretending like you weren't making out in a supply closet less than an hour ago. "Are you sure he's not going to show up tonight? 'Cause my mom keeps telling me to behave."
"I think she's just trying to be helpful to your terrible reputation," you reply, reaching out to fix the collar of her shirt that you absolutely did not mess up on purpose earlier. "That or she still thinks she has a chance of convincing him to let her join the company."
"Probably." She swats your hand away to fix her shirt herself. "Makes no sense, though. Isn't Pepper the one in charge now, anyway?"
You nod. "Unofficially. He just likes being the face of everything for some reason."
The little smirk Kate gets is the only warning you have that she's about to be a little shit. "I mean, you can't blame him, it's a beautiful face."
"You're so gross," you groan.
Your annoyance only makes her smile wider and you suddenly understand why everyone thought the two of you hated each other at first. You probably make quite the picture, her with her stupid grin and you with you glare. Then again, as long as the rumors don't reach your dad, you don't care what people say about the two of you.
"What? It's true." The sincerity in her tone almost makes her comment worse. At least she has the decency of grabbing two drinks from the waiter that walks by and handing you one.
"I guess, but it makes it seem like you're just with me because I share a face with him." You literally shudder at the thought, the cheap champagne doing little to wash away the bad taste the image leaves in your mind.
Kate pulls her signature "thinking about what else to say to annoy you" face, her free hand reaching out to brush your fingers. "No, he's still more handsome."
"Oh, shut up already," you mutter, taking another sip of champagne and letting her fidget with your fingers.
Your annoying archer doesn't seemed deterred by your words at all. "Make me."
It takes a lot of self-control to hold yourself back from smiling. However, your self-control isn't strong enough to stop yourself from reaching out to tug at her blazer and pull her closer. It helps that everyone around seems to be too invested in their own conversations to pay attention to what the two of you are up to. "You're a brat."
She just smirks wider. "You like it."
You take the opportunity to slide your hand under her blazer, fingers tracing shapes up and down her spine just to watch her shiver. "I prefer you on your knees, though."
"I think that can be arranged, Ms. Stark," she murmurs, leaning in closer.
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Bishop."
She's about to reply when the sound of whispers grows too insistent to ignore. You both take a step back just in case before you look around, finding the culprit at the door, with Pepper trailing behind him and a champagne glass in hand, looking unbothered as ever.
"Oh, of course," you mumble under your breath, making sure to take an extra step away from Kate.
"I thought you said he wasn't going to show." Though she tries to put some humor in her tone, she's just as annoyed as you are...mainly because now you have to pretend to dislike each other again.
"Well..." You shrug. "He hates being predictable."
While there might be more to say, it can't be done when all the journalists around start searching for you, clearly waiting for an opportunity to snap a picture of you and Tony. So, you swallow your annoyance at being interrupted and leave Kate's side. As optimistic as you want to be, you have a feeling you won't be seeing her until the end of the night. And that's only if you manage to leave the venue without your dad tagging along.
You can't let those thoughts cloud your mind, though. Especially not when all the vultures around are fishing for the next big story. As annoying as it is, pretending you and Kate are rivals is better than the alternative. The last thing you need is all of New York watching your relationship unfold and hoping for your downfall (because drama is always more entertaining).
That's how you end up spending most of your evening moving around the room, pretending to be interested in whatever dumb conversations people are having. It's exhausting and boring and the second you see Kate move out of the main room and toward one of the side hallways, you don't hesitate to follow.
You excuse yourself from the group you're with and make your way out toward the hallway, pausing to make sure no one's looking too hard.
Something grips your wrist as you walk past one of the many doors and before you can blink, you're pulled inside, a hand coming up to cover your mouth before you can even think to gasp. "Did you miss me?"
Despite the loud sound of your heartbeat in your ears, you relax back into the steady body holding you close. You still make a point of biting at her hand so she lets go. "Yes, but you could have just texted instead of being dramatic."
Her arm tightens around you and when she pulls you closer, you grind back against her hips just because you can. "Oh, but this is so much more fun."
Well, who are you to argue with that?
You turn around in her arms, your hands coming up to cup her face and pull her in. Kate moves willingly, her smile almost distracting you too much to actually kiss her. You've been waiting for hours, though, so you force yourself to focus and give yourself over to the moment...and your ridiculously gorgeous girlfriend.
"Have I ever told you how much I love it when you wear a suit?" You murmur when you pull away, your thumb stroking her flushed cheek.
The brunette pulls a mock-thinking face, her eyebrows furrowing adorably. "Hmmm, I don't remember, why don't you tell me just in case?"
You barely suppress the urge to roll your eyes, choosing instead to kiss her again. If she minds, she doesn't even try to announce it, choosing instead to pull you impossibly closer to her.
Your hands move down from framing her face to slide under her blazer, fumbling blindly with her stupidly tucked in shirt. Kate chuckles against your lips at your impatience, moving back just to tease you.
You're about to complain when the silence between you is interrupted. The door to the supply closet opens abruptly, flooding the small space with sudden light. The enclosed space doesn't give you any room to pull away from Kate and all you can do is brace yourself for the picture that is most definitely going to be taken.
Instead of a bright flash or the sound of a camera shutter, you hear the loudest sigh known to man. "Jeez, kid, you couldn't find a better hiding spot?"
Of course. Of fucking course. The universe has quite the sense of humor, it turns out.
"Oh my God, it's your dad," Kate whispers to you. Unfortunately, because of close you all are, Tony absolutely hears her.
"No shit it's her dad." His eyeroll is far more dramatic than it should be. "You couldn't go home or something? I did not need to see this."
"I'm not happy about this either!" You reply. "You were busy at the bar last time I checked."
His glare is almost amusing. "Hey, I paid for it, might as well take advantage of it."
"Listen, I'm-"
"Not talking to you, Bishop. Really not interested in any details, just get out of here before someone else finds you."
You laugh despite yourself, the embarrassment of the situation melting under Tony's relentless sass. You can't tell if he's keeping things relaxed for your sake or his, but you don't really mind either way. At least he's not scolding you for making out with the successor of a rival company.
"Fine, but I don't want you complaining if someone says they saw me leave before the party's over," you say, your hand finding Kate's and squeezing before she freaks out.
"Yeah, yeah, just get going, kid. We'll talk tomorrow."
"No, we won't," you mumble and earn yourself another glare.
Despite that, Tony doesn't try to stop you when you start walking past him, dragging a blushing Kate behind you. It's not until you make it to the elevator that she finally breathes again.
"Holy crap, that sucked," she says, running a hand through her messy hair. "Do you think he's mad?"
"Probably not, he didn't even try to threaten you."
Summary: After being rescued from the binds of CADMUS, you realise that you would let Alex Danvers show you the world, even if you were hers.
Pairing: Alex Danvers/Sentinel x Fem!Reader
Genre: Fluff/Angst
Warnings: Light mention of CADMUS torture, a serious love for ice cream, stupid Kryptonite, Alex trying to be funny whilst teasing Reader about her species, Disney references to a movie I haven’t seen.
Requested: YES/no (FIRST REQUEST!!!)
A/N: Somebody likes my fics 🥹🥹🥹 The anon who asked didn’t explicitly state if the reader was fem or not but I did see a ‘she’ pronoun in the request so I’ve written it in fem!reader (if you don’t want it fem i can always edit it!)
synopsis: as a photographer for the daily planet, you were almost always at the wrong place at the right time. lucky for you, you can always count on supergirl coming to your rescue. aka two times supergirl saves you and the one time kara does.
word count: 2.4k
warnings: reader almost gets mugged! other than that, i think it should be fine. no mention of y/n or [name]. fem!reader.
author's note: smth short & sweet for my current fave girl before i have to study for my midterm T__T !! she might be a bit ooc but tbf i’ve been up for almost 24 hours so gimme some mercy ..
your resumé had always been a bit lacking before your big break.
you thought that after months of picking up odd photography jobs and working late nights for wedding photos, you’d be able to secure a job at the daily planet. but as it turns out, all you needed was a photo of supergirl in order to impress perry white.
the only downside of your dream job was now you were placed on supergirl duty. for some reason, perry seems to favor your photos of her over anyone else’s.
“you should count it as a blessing in disguise.” lois tells you as she types away at her keyboard.
you scoff. “right. risking my life just so i can pay my bills is a real blessing, lois.” your desk is a mess, photos of supergirl littered all over the place. her in various poses, surrounded by rubble, grabbing a cat out of a tree. “besides, jimmy’s photos of supergirl are just as good as mine.”
“i mean, you’ve never got hurt.” she points out. “not once. plus, think of it as job security.” she looks past her computer’s monitor to focus her eyes on your desk across from hers. “sounds to me like a blessing.”
you look over at her, feeling your stomach erupt with butterflies. “shut up.” you bite, although your tone isn’t serious. “she’s just at the right place at the right time.” you toss an eraser at her. “if i die, so do her glorious photos.” you roll your eyes, remembering perry’s words vaguely.
lois makes a noncommittal noise, rolling her shoulders and stretching in her office chair before returning to her work. “i’m sure she doesn’t plan on letting that happen any time soon.”
you’ve always cut it a bit close. you’ve always written it off as an occupational hazard.
the ground rumbles beneath you as you try to get just the right angle. supergirl’s holding up a building while a few civilians scramble out from underneath it. you adjust the depth of field slightly, snapping a few shots and focusing on her in your viewfinder.
you don’t even notice the building behind yourself starting to topple. within a moment’s notice, the area underneath the building she’s holding up is cleared and she flies towards you. she scoops you in her arms and flies you up towards the roof of a standing building, placing you flat on your feet.
“do you mind holding your pose for a moment?” you ask, stepping back a few feet to focus her to perfect your rule of thirds.
she calls out your name, exasperated.
“no, seriously. this is front page material, supes.” you tell her, even crouching down to get a better angle.
you get one photo in before she’s snatching your very expensive camera out of your hands and huffing out a curse. you smile up at her before raising to your full height. behind her, you can roughly make out the justice gang fighting some robot or kaiju or funky alien. you couldn’t care less, really.
she holds your camera out of your reach. “i’m not always going to be here to save you, shutterbug.” supergirl’s mouth is pinched in the corner of her mouth in disappointment.
“you’ve done quite a good job so far.” you tease, a fluttery feeling in your stomach at the sound of your nickname. you try reaching for your camera to which she only hovers in the air to get it out of your reach.
“just lucky.” she retorts back. she turns around to look at the monster wreaking havoc on metropolis and a sense of urgency surges in her chest. she looks back at you. “don’t let it run out on you.” she tosses your camera back at you. you fumble with it a few times before finally getting a good grip on it.
she gives you a slight nod and lopsided smile before flying off to help the justice gang. not before you snap a few photos, of course.
the next time she saves you, though, you really should’ve been paying attention.
metropolis is nowhere near as crime infested as gotham, anyone could tell you that. but you should’ve been a bit more aware of your surroundings on your daily commute after work.
you hum along to the song playing in your earphones, digging in your purse for the keys to your apartment before you feel something cold press against your back. someone tugs at the wires of your earphones, effectively ripping them out of your ears.
“no one has to get hurt, girly.” the slimy voice tells you. immediately, you raise your arms in the air defensively. you nod incessantly, unable to find your voice in such a moment.
“i’m gonna count to three and you’re gonna slowly drop your purse, alright?” he commands. tears prick at your eyes and you’re about to nod again before you hear a second voice.
“i’d call it more of a tote bag, but i don’t think you’ve got a big enough brain to tell the difference.”
“supergirl?”
supergirl!
“you fuckin’ bet it is.” you can feel the gun pressed to your back start to shake. you hear her footsteps draw closer. “so here’s what’s gonna happen - cause i’m a bit tired tonight, if i’m gonna be honest.”
you turn around to watch the scene unfold, slowly lowering your arms back to your side. the robber, however, is frozen in his spot.
supergirl reaches for the gun, crunching it in her fist before tossing it down the alley she emerged from. “you -” she pokes his chest with enough force, nearly knocking the robber off his feet. “are gonna stop following innocent girls home. you’re going to stop your life of thievery, or whatever you call this, and get a real job. like grownups do.”
she pushes him again, actually causing the robber to fall flat on his ass. “and you’re gonna get lost before i actually get pissed off.” there’s a beat. “do i make myself clear?” supergirl asks, crossing her arms
it’s his turn to nod incessantly. she turns to look at you, gaze softening. “anything else to add, shutterbug?”
you feel that devastating, lovey-dovey sensation in your stomach again. “think you got it all covered, supes.”
she sends a smile your way before looking back over at the robber, who quickly scrambles to his feet and scampers off like a dog with his tail between his legs.
supergirl watches him for a moment, to make sure he really doesn’t come back before swiveling on her heel to look at you. she steps towards you, placing a hand on your arm and a finger under your chin as if she was inspecting you.
“you okay?” she asks, sounding oddly vulnerable.
“now that you’re here.” you smile at her.
when she’s deemed you safe enough, she swats your arm gently with the hand that had been caressing it. “you’ve seriously gotta be more careful.” she huffs out your name exasperatedly - she’d been doing that a lot more often as of late.
“i swear! i swear i will. moving forward, of course.” you nod, feeling a bit embarrassed at her having to save you.
there’s a beat of silence between the two of you, comfortable yet charged. you swear she’s leaning forward before you speak. “were you watching me on my walk home?”
“very presumptuous of you.” supergirl scoffs.
“don’t tell me you’ve got a soft spot.” you tease, a knowing grin on your face.
“i don’t.” she’s not very convincing. “i hear the justice gang. and a cat stuck in a tree. and some other girl getting mugged!” she gasps sarcastically as she backs away from you.
“thank you, supergirl!” you call out to her before she sends a wink your way and takes off.
you cringe inwardly at yourself as you continue fishing in your tote bag for your keys. note to self: don’t listen to music on the way home.
you’d hate to admit it, but you’ve rehearsed this moment more than you would like to admit. clark’s birthday had rolled around since the first time you had gotten hired and of course, you got an invitation.
well, everyone at the daily planet did. but, hey, your invitation was specifically adorned with a supergirl sticker by clark himself.
you weren’t sure why you were nervous. it was just clark’s birthday party. you’d been to plenty of banquets for the daily planet within the short time you’d been hired. for some reason, this just felt a little bit more intimate than you would’ve thought.
you teeter on the balls of your feet as you stare at the door to clark’s apartment. you can hear the faint sound of some pop-punk song you’ve never heard of and laughter. clark’s wrapped present sits in your hands and you have half the mind to leave it at his doorstep and scurry away.
before you can even weigh your options, the door swings open to reveal clark. he’s dressed down from his typical office attire, but still donning a grin as he looks down at you. it’s almost as if he could sense your trepidation.
he greets you by name, placing a warm hand on your shoulder as he ushers you in. “i’m glad you could make it!” clark tells you, voice slightly raised so you could hear him over the music.
“thanks for inviting me!” your smile is a bit forced as you watch him close the door behind the two of you. you hand your wrapped present to him. “i hope you like it.” you chuckle nervously.
he takes it with a smile, thanking you gently before placing it on his coffee table with, what you assume are, the rest of his gifts. “i’m sure you know everyone here!” clark nods, pushing his glasses up with his pointer finger.
he’s about to open his mouth to speak before jimmy interrupts, wedging his way between the two of you. you can smell the fruity scent of beer on him before he even speaks, excusing the two of them to go take some photos.
you nod, wetting your lips nervously before taking a seat on clark’s couch next to the loaded coffee table. you tap your fingers on your knees, looking around awkwardly before someone sits down next to you.
“you look like you need a drink.”
you whip your head towards the direction of the voice. it’s a blonde girl offering you a beer. although you don’t recognize her, she looks oddly familiar. she tilts her head in your direction before waving the open beer in your face tauntingly.
“thank you.” you say, although you huff and take it from her grasp. you take a sip of the beer, grimacing a bit at the bitter carbonation.
“i take it you don’t go out very often.” blondie teases.
“not enough hours in a day to work at the daily planet and have a life, i’m afraid.” you purse your lips.
that earns you a chuckle from her. you’re not sure if it’s the liquid confidence or the simple fact a pretty girl has come to your rescue, but you can feel your stomach flutter with something disastrous.
“kara.” she introduces, sticking a hand out towards you. you blink at it. typically only reporters and businessmen offered you a handshake, but you shake hers anyway. her hand is warm in yours. “clark’s cousin.” ah, must run in the family.
you introduce yourself, taking another sip of your beer before letting your hand fall back down to your side.
“i know.” kara tells you. you squint at her. “i - i mean, clark talks about you sometimes.” she rushes out, almost a bit too quickly.
you nod at her response. “he talks about you too sometimes. mostly your dog, really.” you chuckle.
her smile grows at the mention of her dog. you can only feel it be reflected on yourself, feeling your own nerves settle. subconsciously, you feel your body shift towards hers.
“krypto? ah, he’s just a puppy.” kara fondly explains, waving a hand in the air absentmindedly. you’ve seen the pictures. he’s well past puppy, but you let the pretty girl tell you otherwise. “he means no harm, seriously.”
you spend the rest of the night talking to kara, moving from his couch to his balcony where the air is cooler and you can hear each other much better. the two of you lean against his balcony, backs towards the rest of the party where it’s sealed behind his glass sliding door.
“i feel like we’ve met before.” you tell her in your tipsy stupor, on your third beer of the night while she’s stayed sober.
she swallows thickly, eyes drifting from the night’s skyline back to meet yours. “i think i know what you mean.” kara shrugs, almost mysteriously. you bump your shoulder against hers before letting your head rest on her shoulder. she wraps an arm around your shoulders, letting you lean against her easier.
you don’t know how long you two stay like that, but you can hear the sliding door open behind the two of you. “we’re about to sing happy birthday, you two.” lois’ voice calls out. you almost jump a foot in the air.
“right, we’ll - we’ll be back in a minute.” you offer a sheepish smile. her eyes flicker between the two of you before she squints just the tiniest bit, then goes to close the sliding door once more and head back to the party.
you turn to kara. “we should .. probably ..” you point your thumb in the general direction of the party.
she nods at you, about to head back to the party before you tug at her sleeve. “i, um, wanted to say thank you, by the way.” you start. kara turns to face you. “i was totally content just sinking into clark’s couch and pretending to be busy on my settings app. so. thanks, for coming to my rescue.”
the smile on her face is kind and affectionate. “seems like it’s kinda my job,” she retorts. you blink at her, confused and a bit embarrassed. you open and close your mouth, trying to find the words. “isn’t it, shutterbug?”
this time, your jaw falls open and her smile only grows wider. “c’mon, we can’t leave clark hanging.” she wraps an arm around your waist, the motion way too familiar, as she opens the sliding door and ushers the two of you back inside.
You Make Me Forget I'm Invincible (Lena Luthor x Fem!Kryptonian!Danvers!Reader)
Main Masterlist
Anonymous asked:
heyy
can you do fem!reader with lena luthor where reader is in love with lena’s eyes? like eye contact literally makes reader weak and she knows it and does it on purpose now bc she thinks it’s funny
thanks!
The fire tears through the warehouse like it’s starving.
Flames spit from the windows, curling around broken steel. Smoke billows thick into the sky, painting the sunset black. Civilians are trapped behind the scaffolding, coughing and screaming for help — and then, like thunder, she arrives.
(Y/n) slams into the asphalt hard enough to leave a crater - Kara was busy with another threat, so (Y/n) was alone today.
But she doesn’t hesitate. Not when the smoke stings her eyes, not when the heat lashes at her arms. She’s already in motion — cutting through fire, lifting beams like paper, shielding workers with her body as the ceiling groans above them.
Her cape catches, half-burning. She shrugs it off and keeps going.
A woman screams, pinned behind a forklift. (Y/n) answers by gripping the wreckage and ripping it clean off the ground, metal screeching in protest. Her eyes glow for half a second as she seals a bursting gas line with heat vision.
“You’re safe,” she says, voice low and steady as she cradles the woman in her arms.
The woman clutches her, sobbing. “Thank you—thank you, I didn’t think anyone—”
(Y/n) just nods. Offers a smile. Then lifts off, darting back into the smoke for the next one.
She doesn’t stop until they’re all out.
. . .
The fire finally dies around sunset.
(Y/n) lands on the fire escape outside the apartment she shares with Lena — two floors below her sister Kara’s place — boots scorched, cape torn, the edge of her collar still smoldering slightly. She exhales hard. Smoke clings to her skin, her hair, her ribs. She’s already shedding the adrenaline, but it never leaves cleanly.
Inside, the lights are low and warm. The windows fog gently from the steam rising in the bathroom — Lena must’ve run the shower for her. She doesn’t call out. Doesn’t have to.
Ten minutes later, she steps out fresh — her suit in the sink, her hair damp from scrubbing the soot out, cheeks pink from the heat. She’s in soft clothes now, her favorite hoodie, loose joggers, and Lena’s lingering scent on her collarbone.
Lena is in the kitchen, barefoot with a mug in hand, wearing a smirk like she already knows exactly what happened at the fire. “You’re late,” she says.
(Y/n) groans. “I knowwwwww.”
Lena grins. “Hero.” She brushes a thumb over (Y/n)’s cheek — still a tiny smear of soot there. “Sloppy.”
(Y/n) leans into the touch anyway. “Only for you.”
And together, they take the stairs up — to the glow and warmth of game night, where Kara is already announcing:
“Hey, they’re here! Everyone act normal!”
Which, of course, means absolutely nothing is normal at all.
Game night lives in the bones of Kara’s apartment.
The furniture’s been rearranged just enough to make room for floor cushions and game boxes. There’s a faint smell of garlic bread and popcorn in the air. Someone’s playlist spins lazy jazz through the Bluetooth speaker in the corner. Laughter bounces off the walls, casual and unhurried.
It feels like family — not in blood, but in the earned, tangled kind of way. Soft and noisy and safe.
(Y/n) sinks into it easily.
She’s fresh out of the shower, clean from the soot of the warehouse fire — hair still damp and hoodie sleeves pushed up, Lena’s sweatpants cinched low on her hips. She looks peaceful. Relaxed, even.
Until Lena looks at her.
The first time, it’s subtle. Barely a moment.
Lena’s perched behind her on the couch, her elbow resting on the armrest, watching Winn try (and fail) to explain a custom version of Uno that no one asked for. (Y/n) is kneeling on the floor between her knees, absentmindedly shuffling the deck of cards.
Lena’s gaze flicks down.
Just for a second. Barely a breath.
(Y/n) stills.
Her fingers fumble — not enough to draw attention, just enough to notice if you're watching closely. A hiccup in rhythm. Her eyes lift slowly, hesitantly.
Lena meets them. Unflinching.
(Y/n) blinks once. And forgets whatever she was going to say.
A second later, she clears her throat and drops her eyes. Her ears go pink.
Winn says something about skip cards. Nia makes a joke about space capitalism. The moment passes.
But not for Lena.
And not for (Y/n).
. . .
The second time, it’s Lena's fault.
Totally. Deliberately.
Cards are being dealt. (Y/n) is focused, brows drawn slightly in concentration. She’s just leaned across the rug to snag a drink when Lena shifts forward and rests her chin lightly on (Y/n)’s shoulder from behind — nothing unusual — but her eyes? They’re doing that thing again.
Not teasing, not seductive — just . . . steady.
(Y/n) freezes.
Her hand pauses mid-air. Her breath stutters just enough to notice. She doesn’t move — just stares ahead at the drink in her hand like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.
Lena hums under her breath. Says nothing. Pulls back with a kiss to her shoulder and settles into her seat like nothing happened.
But Nia sees it.
She tilts her head slightly. Her eyes flick between them. Then she quietly nudges Alex with her socked foot under the table.
The eldest Danvers doesn’t react, but she doesn’t not react either.
. . .
The third time happens in the middle of a game of UNO.
Winn slaps a draw-four wild card down and howls in victory. Everyone groans.
“Stacked!” Kara shouts.
“Illegal!” Alex objects.
(Y/n) tries to focus. She really does. But Lena is sitting cross-legged now, one elbow on her knee, cheek resting lightly on her hand, and she’s watching (Y/n) again. No reason. No conversation. Just watching like she’s reading poetry by firelight.
It’s ridiculous.
(Y/n) doesn’t look back this time — she can’t. She glances once and immediately looks away. Her face burns.
“You okay?” Kara asks without looking up.
“Fine,” (Y/n) says too quickly.
Lena raises one brow. Doesn’t speak.
Winn leans toward Brainy and whispers, “Ten bucks says she forgets it’s her turn again.”
“She will,” Brainy answers, without looking up from his cards.
. . .
The fourth time, everyone sees it. No one says a word.
They’re picking teams for the next round — a chaotic trivia-meets-charades hybrid monstrosity of a game Kara insists “builds trust.” Nia is explaining the rules. J’onn is already checking the time.
And Lena?
Lena is sitting on the armrest again, one leg tucked under her, posture perfect, sipping tea like she didn’t just spend the last ten minutes slowly dismantling her girlfriend’s brain with a handful of well-timed glances.
(Y/n) sits cross-legged on the rug again, pretending to look at the rule sheet. She can feel Lena watching her from above. She feels it.
And when she glances up — just a flicker of a glance — their eyes meet.
Lena doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink. Just gazes at her, calm and present and warm.
(Y/n) exhales — a soft, private sound — and immediately looks back down at the paper like it holds the secrets of the universe.
It doesn’t.
Her cheeks are burning.
Across the room, Nia hides a grin behind her palm. Kara pretends to be focused on pouring soda but very obviously glances up at Lena, then back at (Y/n), then down again, lips twitching. Alex is watching from the kitchen island, arms crossed, sipping her beer in the exact way one does when they’ve officially figured it out but aren’t going to say anything — yet.
The energy shifts.
No teasing.
No jokes.
Just quiet, knowing smiles.
Because by now?
It’s a pattern.
One of the strongest women in the room — maybe on the planet — loses her footing every time the woman she loves looks at her.
. . .
The fifth time happens when no one else is looking.
(Y/n) is helping stack the snack bowls in the kitchen. Her sleeves are pushed up again. Her hair’s drying in soft waves, and she keeps pushing it back with one hand while rinsing dishes with the other.
Lena walks past — close, casual — and doesn’t touch her, doesn’t speak.
She just turns her head.
Looks.
(Y/n) feels it and glances sideways.
Their eyes meet. It lasts two seconds. Maybe three.
That’s all it takes.
(Y/n) forgets what she’s holding. The dish slips slightly in her hand. She catches it, flustered, lips parting on a breath she wasn’t planning to take.
Lena smiles softly.
“I’ll dry,” she murmurs, reaching for the towel.
(Y/n) says nothing.
She doesn’t need to.
. . .
The hallway is quiet when they step out of Kara’s place.
(Y/n) closes the door behind them with a soft click, and they start down the stairs together — no rush, their shoulders brushing as they move. The hum of laughter still lingers upstairs, but here, everything slows.
By the time they reach their floor, the air is cooler. Softer.
Their apartment is dark except for the warm glow over the stove. The kind Lena always leaves on, just in case. (Y/n) exhales when she sees it. Like something unclenches in her ribs.
No words are spoken as they drift through their nighttime routine — shedding outer layers, brushing teeth in the soft light, bumping elbows in the hallway between the bathroom and bedroom. It’s muscle memory by now. It's comfortable. It's home.
But Lena’s quiet tonight. And not in a tired way. She watches (Y/n) fold her hoodie at the foot of the bed. Watches her fingers go still. Then finally asks, soft as breath—“What is it that happens to you when I look at you like that?”
(Y/n)’s hands freeze mid-fold over the hoodie. She turns her head slightly. “What?”
Lena steps closer. Still gentle. Still quiet.
“That thing,” she says, tipping her head. “You go still. Your voice changes. You forget what you’re doing. You blush.”
(Y/n) huffs out a laugh, but it’s breathy. Embarrassed.
Lena doesn’t tease. Doesn’t press. Just lifts her fingers and brushes them over the space between (Y/n)’s shoulder blades, feather-light.
“I’m not trying to mess with you,” she says. “I just . . . I notice. And I want to understand.”
(Y/n) exhales slowly. Turns to face her.
They’re close now — inches apart. Night pressing softly at the windows, the faint hum of the city beyond the glass. Lena’s eyes are tired, makeup gone, hair loose around her shoulders. She looks like home.
(Y/n) swallows. Her heart stumbles.
“I think,” she says slowly, “it’s because I spent so long learning how to be unshakable.”
Lena’s brow furrows slightly. But she waits.
(Y/n)’s voice stays quiet. “You grow up under red suns and dark expectations and . . . the way they talk about strength back home? It’s always loud. Always sharp. You learn to hold your breath before someone asks if you’re breathing wrong.”
She meets Lena’s eyes now — lets herself.
“But you look at me like I’m not something to survive.”
Lena says nothing. Just listens. The way she always does.
“I can hold a building up, or stop a meteor,” (Y/n) goes on, voice cracking just a little. “But when you look at me like that? I feel like me. Not a symbol. Not a soldier. Just . . . a girl. Yours.”
Lena reaches out then, slowly, and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.
“I like that girl,” she whispers. “Very much.”
(Y/n) closes her eyes.
And when Lena cups her jaw gently, thumb brushing over the line of her cheek, she melts. Not in the fire-and-smoke way. Not the unsteady, public way. But in the quiet of their bedroom, bare-faced and bare-hearted.
“You undo me,” (Y/n) breathes.
Lena smiles, and this time she does smirk — just a little. “I know.”
(Y/n) huffs a laugh, then leans forward and presses her forehead to Lena’s. Her hands find Lena’s waist, holding her like something precious. Like something real.
They stay like that for a while. Still. Anchored.
Until Lena whispers, “Look at me again.”
(Y/n) does. And she falls in love for the hundredth time that night.
. . .
The next morning is slow.
Sunlight pours in through the windows, filtered gold and soft, curling across the hardwood like it’s in no rush. There’s the faint scent of coffee in the air — sharp, sweet, and slightly burnt. One of (Y/n)’s socks is dangling off the edge of the couch. A half-folded blanket trails from the armrest to the floor.
Lena sits at the kitchen counter with her hands curled around a mug, legs crossed neatly at the ankle, wearing one of (Y/n)’s sweatshirts and no intention of doing anything productive. Her hair is a little messy. She doesn’t care. No one’s here but them.
Across the room, (Y/n) is crouched on the rug by the bookshelf, glasses perched low on her nose, flipping carefully through a half-disassembled graphic novel.
“This one’s different,” she says, squinting at a page she’s clearly read a dozen times. “In this print run, they recolored the background of panel three to be this weird muddy gray — probably to match the animated series design. But in the original, it’s this neon orange that makes the whole page feel off-balance. Which is so good, Lena, because that’s the moment the betrayal lands, right? The whole vibe shifts and your brain catches it before you even know why.”
Lena doesn’t respond.
She just watches her.
(Y/n)’s wearing an old T-shirt with a stretched collar and pajama pants that are too long. Her hair is messy from sleep, hanging slightly in her eyes. There’s a tiny crease on her cheek from the pillow. She hasn’t even noticed yet.
And Lena?
Lena is undone.
Not in the dramatic, sweeping way — not like the firelight gazes of the night before. This is quieter. Deeper. Watching (Y/n) talk with her hands, one sock halfway off, kneeling in a shaft of sunlight, completely absorbed in the thing she loves.
Lena leans her chin into her palm.
(Y/n) keeps going. “They changed the lettering here too, I think. Or at least re-kerned it. Which sounds tiny, but it messes with the rhythm of the dialogue, and if you’ve got super-hearing you can tell. Like. You hear when it’s wrong.”
Still nothing from Lena.
“Anyway,” (Y/n) adds, flipping another page, “I kind of love that the print mistake exists? Like it makes this whole run kind of haunted. A little off. Like a ghost story told in color palette choices.”
Lena still doesn’t speak.
She’s not even pretending to hide it now — the look, the quiet awe.
“Okay, but listen to me,” (Y/n) says, looking up finally. “If you take the second panel from issue eight and overlay it with the splash from—why are you looking at me like that?”
“You light up when you talk about this,” Lena says gently, rising from the stool. “It’s not silly. It’s not small. It’s you. And I love watching you fall in love with something.”
(Y/n) ducks her head, eyes warm. “You’re too much.”
Lena crosses the room and settles behind her on the rug, wrapping her arms around her waist. She presses her cheek to (Y/n)’s shoulder and sighs like this is her favorite place in the world.
Because it is.
“And last night,” Lena murmurs, her voice quieter now, closer, “when you said you feel like yourself when I look at you . . . I haven’t stopped thinking about that.”
(Y/n)’s breath catches; Lena shifts slightly, holding her a little tighter.
“I don’t ever want that gaze to feel like power,” she whispers. “I want it to feel like home. Like the part of you that never has to prove anything.”
(Y/n) says nothing — not right away. But her hand drifts to Lena’s, fingers curling tightly.
“You’re ridiculous,” she murmurs eventually, her voice thick.
Lena smiles against her shoulder. “A little.”
“I love you.”
“And I love you,” Lena says, and leans in to kiss her cheek. “Now tell me more about haunted print runs and font ghosts. I’m invested.”
(Y/n) laughs, and picks up the comic again — completely tangled in Lena’s arms, still glowing in the sunlight, still entirely herself.
i love your supergirl fics 😏 🫶🏼 and i was wondering if u could do a supergirl x reader where it's like smut (whatever you want) but reader gets uncomfortable and they stop and kara is super loving and it ends up being a little comfort and fluff
paced | kara zor-el
summary: you had a bad day, kara’s there to comfort you
word count: 1.2k
tags: fem!reader, angst-ish, comfort, making out but not smut, lots of kisses
so happy to hear you enjoy my work 🥺💞 i hope i did your request service
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It felt like the right thing. Ocean waves lapping to wash the day away. Getting swept into the current of kisses was easy given the day you'd had.
Exhausting, that's the summary of it. Just one wrong step after another leaving shadows that haunted your day. You try your best to let it go, to let today end so you can just start new.
Kara's hands slipping beneath your shirt feels good. It feels refreshing, allowing your mind to just pause. It's nearly impossible to think of anything else when her tongue is pressed into yours and her fingers are working to unhook your bra.
You cup her cheeks, your mouth chasing right after her's anytime you were parted. You're trying to keep up, trying let it all go, trying to be absorbed into her.
Her goal is simple, please you. She had listened to your day, offered words of comfort. When that first kiss had landed it was easy to continue. It's a distraction too obvious to ignore.
But even now the day haunts you. The distraction fails, and it doesn't matter how good it feels to have Kara's fingers undressing you with such ease.
"Kara," your voice quietly pushes through a few kisses. "Kara, wait…"
She catches your upper lip in a quick kiss, mind otherwise occupied on undoing those hooks at your back. "Yeah, baby?"
You press your forehead against hers, not wanting her to leave but needing things to be put on pause. A part of you hesitates to confess, "It's not working. I thought… I don't know, I thought I could get into it."
Her hands immediately stop, palms pressing to your back as she readjusts with a changed goal. Her eyes open, scanning yours so she can find the problem and give the appropriate solution. Your heart's pounding, had been all day.
"Okay." Kara gives a curt nod, her nose brushing yours with the movement. "We'll stop."
Guilt tries to consume you. "Are you sure? I'm sorry to have started something just to flake on it."
"Hey, no." Her hands move to hold your face, thumb swiping over your cheekbone. "No, I'm glad you're telling me. You're not flaking on anything, you're taking care of yourself."
Kara has that smile pasted on her lips. The one that says she's proud. The one that reminds you how much she loves you (though the smile can only show a fraction of that). The one that welcomes your heart to melt into hers because she's got you.
"It was just a lot." Your voice is vulnerable now, and your eyes sting with the threat of tears.
Kara's brows furrow with concern, nodding again to affirm. "Yeah, fuck today." Her voice matches your volume.
You chuckle at her colorful response. Her eyes make sure to catch the way the corners of your lips curl into a smile—even if only for a moment. Her thumb smoothes over your cheek another time, and she relishes the way you lean into her touch.
She speaks the softest you've ever heard her speak, "No, seriously, fuck today. Fuck anything that gets in your way."
In her foul-mouthed softness she presses a kiss to your cheek. You sniffle, closing your eyes and just letting this carry you to comfort. The second your eyes are shut, she's pressing a kiss there too. Then your nose, your other cheek, your chin, that same first cheek again. Wherever her lips could find on your face.
It starts to tingle with how quickly she was moving, inviting laughter to fill your lungs. When you open your eyes again you see her just taking you in. It's not that oh my god, you're so fragile and I have to protect you look anymore, but that oh my god you mean absolutely everything and I have to support you gaze.
"Thank you." You lean forward to return at least one of the kisses, landing on her lips.
Your lips softly click as she returns the kiss. "My pleasure."
She means it. Kara is thrilled to just exist on the same planet with you, so this? It means something to her that she's built this with you. That she is the one you chose to go to even at the end of a rough day. That you sought her out, and she was helping you to just relax.
"Can I just hold you?" Kara asks, her hands moving to your waist. "We can lay in bed, just rotting away together for the rest of the night."
You smile happily at that offer. "That'd be perfect."
She's not forcing it to be fixed, or insisting that tomorrow will be better. She's just letting it be what it is. The day sucked, whatever. You had her now.
Her smile is somehow larger than your own and she covers your face with kisses galore as her hands go to the back of your legs to scoop you up in her arms. Your legs wrap around her waist, laughter allowing itself to be louder now.
She's dramatic with every step of it. Kara finds it to be so easy to be foolish for you. So her kisses continue, quick and ticklish, and she takes just a few steps towards you bedroom before her feet lift off the ground and she flies you both the rest of the way.
You're laughing quiet, her lips brushing your teeth as you smile into her next kiss. "Are you seriously flying us one room over?"
"It's efficient," she lazily shrugs, pressing a longer kiss into your lips before gently laying you down on the bed.
"It's silly," you reply, unwrapping your legs from her but resting your hands on her shoulders.
Kara lowers, her knees on either side of your legs as she lands softly over your body. "Did you just call me silly?" She feigns offense.
You smile, "I absolutely did."
"You'd better take it back." Her voice holds no threat.
"I can't take back the truth." Your fingers reach to tuck her hair behind her ear.
The rest of her hair falls around both your faces like a curtain. "Well, I guess that's true."
"You're giving up that easily, huh?" You tease.
Kara huffs, giving you a tender, lingering kiss before plopping her body right next to yours. "I recognize a losing battle, and I'm a pretty sore loser so I'd might as well quit while I'm ahead."
You hum, turning on your side to face her. "I don't really think you were very far ahead."
"Shhh, baby, let me hold you." She can't stop her grin from spreading, but pulls you into her before you can get too good of a look.
It's easy. Your arm drapes over her waist, your head rests on her chest. Her hand splays over your back and rubs some soothing circles, and her chin rests atop your head. She's warm, and the gentle, rhythmic beating of her heart helps your body know it can relax.
Pretty decent wrap up to the end of an otherwise fucked day.
unchecked unedited because it is late and i am tired, if it doesn't make sense then don't think and just pretend it does!!!
Day 2, @fluffyjuly: natasha romanoff - candlelight, 'you kept this?'
summary: When a mission goes wrong, you and Natasha Romanoff are stranded alone in a rundown safe house, where injuries, candlelight, and terrible wooden animal carvings slowly chip away at Natasha’s walls.
Falling hurt.
Something about gravity dragging you towards earth at what felt like the speed of light was deeply aggravating to the human body.
And maybe speed of light was dramatic, but it definitely felt that fast as you plummeted toward the ground.
And maybe aggravating wasn’t dramatic enough either, because the second your body slammed into the dirt, it felt like your entire skeleton shattered on impact.
You let out a low growl as you forced your palms against the ground, trying very hard not to move too fast and accidentally discover three new broken bones. Every muscle screamed in protest as you pushed yourself into something vaguely resembling a sitting position. As you pulled your leg around, or tried to, you could help let a sharp gasp of breath out.
The pain in your thigh was bright. A sharp, dazzling pain that you were hoping would quickly disappear if you tried really hard to ignore it.
It wasn’t working yet.
You winced, thinking about how spectacularly the mission had gone sideways... from the aircraft malfunction, to the whole being-shot-out-of-the-sky situation, and finally to parachuting into the middle of nowhere.
"Fuck." You heard Natasha's voice mutter from somwhere close by, quickly followed by some crashing and snapping of branches.
"Natasha?" you called, every muscle tensing despite the pain. For a moment, you kept as still as you could, ready to defend yourself if this was some elaborate trick but then she emerged through the bushes to your left.
Alive (thank god). Although she looked pissed.
Natasha held up what remained of the parachute, sunlight streaming through several very obvious bullet holes.
"Tony could really do with working on bulletproof parachutes," she muttered darkly. "What’s the point of this thing if it has three holes in it?"
You grimaced, "It was my fault they got a clear shot-"
"It’s not your fault." She dropped the parachute and clambered through the roots to your side.
"I’m sorry."
She raised an eyebrow, "You’re sorry it wasn’t your fault?" A small smirk lifted the corner of her cheek.
You huffed a weak laugh, "No, I- I just feel bad."
"I’ve seen missions go worse." She shrugged.
"That’s a relief, I guess?"
"Well," she said, slipping back into mission mode, "as long as there are no serious injuries, we find the nearest safe house and sit tight. Couple of days, max. The team will track us."
"Yeah, okay." You nodded, shifting your body slightly to prepare to move. You suppressed the urge to wince.
Nevertheless, her gaze snapped to you, "You're not hurt, right?"
"Yeah, no, it’s all good." You affirmed, shifting your weight again, hoping you weren’t grimacing as obviously as you feared. You’d already felt like you’d fucked the mission in one major way, you didn’t want to be the problem again by creating dead weight.
Natasha paused a second and then just nodded and, with a last quick glance over you, turned around. "Okay. This way. I’m pretty sure we have a safe house somewhere near us. No more than ten miles," She said, adjusting her bag over one shoulder and securing the strap across her waist. "Hopefully it’s warm. If we can stay dry, we’ll be fine for a few days.
You wonkily stood to your feet, balancing yourself and keeping yourself steady, "A few days?" You repeated and Natasha glanced back.
"What? You want out already, princess?"
You quickly shook your head, "No, I'm good, it's fine. It'll be an adventure." She snorted.
"God, you sound like a girl scout. Is that where we're recruiting from nowadays?" She paused a moment longer, shook her head and set off.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
You made it maybe half a mile before your body gave up on pretending.
At first it was manageable. You survived the limping, shifting your weight to the good leg, keeping half a step behind Natasha so she wouldn’t notice the way your breath kept catching. But soon the trees blurred together as dusk settled heavier around you and every step sent another bright pulse through your thigh.
You could definitely do half a mile further.
You could for sure survive another ten steps.
Another five steps would be fine.
Another- Your foot caught on a gnarky tree root and your world suddenly tilted. "Shit!"
Before you hit the ground, a hand caught your arm. Natasha spun fast, steadying you, but the second her grip tightened around your side, the pain shot through your leg so violently that you let a small cry out.
Natasha froze, her eyes narrowing. "What happened?" She snapped out.
You steadied your breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth, before shaking your head, "Nothing." She just stared so you tried again, "Just tripped."
"Sit." She nodded to a felled tree nearby.
You began to protest, "Nat-"
"Sit."
You hadn't known Natasha long but you did know that there was no arguing with that tone. She lowered you carefully against the fallen log and crouched in front of you. Her hands were surprisingly gentle as they moved to your leg, pausing at the torn fabric of your trousers.
"You said you weren't hurt."
"I'm fine."
She pulled the fabric aside and both of you went quiet.
Blood had soaked through almost the entire upper thigh. Not catastrophic but it was enough to make your stomach turn.
Natasha’s jaw tightened. "Bullet grazed you here," she muttered, her hand hovering over your skin, "It's deep."
"It's not too bad." You shrugged, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead.
"Well, it's bad enough."
You swallowed, "I just didn't want to slow us down."
She sighed, frustrated but also concerned, "Yeah, well, you passing out in the woods would slow me down more."
"That’s… fair." You winced, either at her reaction or from the pain, who really knows?
She exhaled through her nose and from her bag she pulled a med kit, a tiny bottle and a roll of bandages. "This is going to hurt."
"Great," You steadied yourself, prepared yourself. And then the antiseptic hit. "Fuck- Natasha!"
"I warned you." She gritted her teeth, ploughing on with the first aid fiasco she'd found herself in.
You swore under your breath and muttered out, "Sadist."
Her hand pressed firmly above the wound to steady your leg. "Hold still."
You clenched your fists, breathing hard while she worked. You could barely watch as she was cleaning, checking depth, wrapping a pressure bandage around your thigh, all with efficient movements.
Eventually, she patted your knee, "All done."
You looked down. "That was your quick fix?"
"We do the proper patch-up at the safe house."
You nodded, embarrassed, "Sorry... again."
"What are you sorry for this time?" Natasha tied off the bandage and started re-packing her bag with a small smile.
"For lying."
Natasha tightened the straps on the bag, clicking the clips closed and finally looked up at you. For a second, all sarcasm disappeared. "Next time," she said quietly, "you tell me."
Then she stood and offered her hand. When you took it, her grip tightened and, even though you were standing again and stable, she didn't immediately let go.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
The safe house turned out to be less of a safe house and more of an abandoned shack. You weren't going to be racing to book a stay here again any time soon. It was one room, it had a leaky roof and a rusted stove that absolutely did not work.
There was a dusty cupboard with six candles, stale crackers, canned beans, and something that might once have been soup.
Natasha looked around once and sighed, "Well..."
You lowered yourself onto the rickety cot. "Five stars."
"Be grateful. It has walls."
"And mould."
"That’s insulation." She dropped her bag and crouched down by what looked like the remnants of a firepit.
The first night was mostly silence. Rain tapped against the roof while candlelight threw soft shadows across the walls. Natasha sat on the floor cleaning weapons with mechanical focus, the gun in her hand glinting every few seconds.
You watched for a while, glad to see a different version of Natasha. A new version that you could store away in your head.
Then your eyes landed on a small pile of firewood near the stove and it sparked an idea - a memory of being younger, sitting in your grandad's lap as he whistled a tune and whittled little figurines for you to play with.
You reached for one of the smaller pieces and your knife. Natasha noticed immediately, "What are you doing?"
"Just passing time." She raised an eyebrow but didn't question any further, not yet anyway. You shaved off a tiny sliver of wood.
An hour later, wood shavings were covering your lap and you proudly held up something vaguely animal-shaped. Natasha stared and stayed silent for long enough that you started to feel a little self-conscious.
"What is that?"
"It’s a fox."
She quirked up an eyebrow and deadpanned, "It looks like a potato with legs."
You gasped. "You just don't see it."
"I have eyes."
The next day you made another and another. Each one just as bad as the last. All the while, Natasha pretended not to care, but every time you started whittling, you caught her watching.
Sometimes when she thought you weren’t looking, the corner of her mouth twitched.
And by the second night, she’d started talking more. It was small things at first, like how she hated canned beans. Or how Tony overengineered everything except the useful things. And then about how Clint somehow survived exclusively on coffee and bad decisions.
You sometimes offered stories back or childhood memories and embarrassing training mishaps.
At some point, without either of you noticing, the silence stopped feeling tense and fragile. Instead, it started feeling comfortable, like you could wrap yourself in a blanket and actually enjoy it.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
"The latest masterpiece, huh?" Natasha hums, taking the little carving into her hands and rolling it over and over deftly.
"Hmm," You respond, slightly wary of her comments the past few days. "It's a-"
"Well, it’s a donkey, obviously." She shrugs, putting it back down and going back to shovelling more food into her mouth.
You sigh, your shoulders deflating slightly, "It’s meant to be raccoon." Natasha drops her spoon with a clank and looks back up to you before dropping her bowl to the side. She slowly reaches across, stretching to get the little carving back into her hands, a small smile lighting up her face.
"A ra- what?! What’s going on with the ears, they’re massive!" She strokes a gentle finger over the 'ears'.
"I thought you were going to be nice!" You protest, wishing you had stopped with the whittling approximately 2 and a half days ago, roughly when you had first realised it was not one of your many talents - and probably never would be.
"I am being nice! It’s just... got long ears. That’s all." She lets her grin grow wider, and glances over at you, looking softer than she has been with you before. You can see as she shrugs it off, letting the grin fall slightly as she clears her throat, "Maybe just get better at it." Nat places the carving back down, this time delicately ensuring it stays on it's little wooden feet.
"I think you still need to work on being nice, just get better at that, you know?"
"I’m nice." She protested, weakly.
"You’re alright, I guess." You caught her eye, sending her a little smile. She smiled and cleared her throat, nodding her head towards you.
"How’s the injury?"
You shrug, still a little ashamed about how you had behaved earlier in the mission, it had been reckless really, "I- yeah, fine."
"If I’m bad at being nice, you’re awful at lying." She rolls her eyes a little, but makes you feel less small now and more like you're in on her joke, "Here let me have a look." She pushes forward, closer to you.
"You don’t need to do that, Nat, just-" Her hands push at the bottom of your sheets, hitching them up to your hip, "Jeez, ask a girl out first."
Natasha's hands paused on the fabric, "We’ve had a candlelit dinner three nights in a row now, I think I’m good." For a second, neither of you moved, and then she looked up.
That dry, teasing expression was still there but her eyes had changed over the last three days. It was kinder, included you more than it excluded you. It was something you could get used to.
She carefully peeled back the bandage. Her fingers were light against your skin now, much gentler than during the first patch-up.
You tried not to react (and failed).
"Still hurts?"
"No... yes. But it's survivable."
Natasha examined the wound, expression focused. "Healing well. No infection."
You nodded along to all the good parts, "That sounds good."
"It is." She nodded. Her fingers brushed the inside of your thigh as she reached for clean gauze.
Your breath caught and she paused, keeping her hand there for half a second too long.
Then a whole second.
Then- she looked up. You were suddenly very aware of how close she was. You could feel the warmth of her body and see the way her hair had fallen loose around her face. You sensed her eyes and how they kept dropping to your lips before snapping back.
"Nat?"
Her thumb brushed once against your skin and then she finished wrapping the bandage and leaned back, breaking the moment. Mostly, "I'm done," she murmured.
You swallowed and nodded, "Thanks." She gathered the supplies, but before she could fully move away, you reached out and touched her wrist. She stopped moving, "Natasha?" She turned, "You really are alright."
She gave you a soft look and a shake of the head, "Don’t ruin it."
You smiled and, for once, Natasha didn’t pull away from your touch. She simply turned her hand and threaded her fingers through yours, just for a moment. Long enough to make your heart trip over itself slightly.
Then, footsteps and voices sounded outside and both of you snapped around to look towards the door. Natasha was already reaching for a weapon.
"Friendly extraction!" a voice called. Tony.
Natasha let out a deep exhale. You just stared at the door, then down at your now-empty hand.
You had been saved.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
It had been a week since you’d been hauled out of the forest and rushed straight to the infirmary.
A week of being on bed rest and of being forced to stay as still as possible, meaning no sparring. A week of physical therapy, painkillers, and endless lectures about 'taking recovery seriously.' just in case.
And, unfortunately, a week of noticing something else. Noticing how Natasha was avoiding you.
At first, you thought maybe you were imagining it and that she was probably just busy, working through some backlogs of mission paperwork.
Maybe you were reading too much into things because your brain had spent three straight days trapped in a tiny shack with her.
When the rescue had come, it had been a grab-and-go situation. There was no time for any kind of chat or goodbye. No lingering beside the mouldy couch and no packing up the last disgusting tins of mystery food.
Just extraction and you were home. You had found yourself warm and safe again. Yet, you were still somehow missing something. Or someone. So when you finally caught Natasha alone near her room, you decided enough was enough.
"Hey, Nat,"
"Miraculous recovery?" Nat grunts in your direction, meeting your eye for a fleeting moment before ducking her head.
"Yeah, I’ll be back to kicking your ass again soon." You let a half-hearted grin spread on your face.
"Sure thing." She hummed.
You let the silence linger for a moment before ploughing on, "I wanted to talk… about the mission."
She dipped her head, avoiding your eye, and cleared her throat, "Well, I should probably be heading to the gym, so-"
"It’ll be quick." You moved to stop her in her tracks, her avoidance tracks.
"I’m busy today, maybe tomorrow?"
You huffed a little, "Are you avoiding me?"
"I- no." She vehemently shook her head before looking in your eyes and softening slightly, "I’m not avoiding you. I’m right here."
You took that information in for a moment, unsure how to respond. She was right (technically), but it didn't sit well with you. You let out a small sigh, letting your eyes travel across her room, anywhere but on her. Otherwise you were in danger of reading into things too far, trying to convince yourself that maybe she still may feel some way or- your eyes caught sight of something on her shelf.
"You kept this?" Your train of thought was interrupted by the sight of a miniature carving.
"Your raccoon donkey? Yeah, it’s a memento, right? A way to remember the mission."
"You don’t strike me as the sentimental type." You murmured, rolling it around between your fingers.
She shrugged, "I like it."
Something warm, and somewhat painful, bloomed in your chest.
You carefully placed it back where it had been, "So we'll talk tomorrow?"
She hesitated, then said, "Or maybe I can do dinner, tonight?" Natasha shrugged and you just blinked for a moment.
"Tonight?" You frowned, "I- okay, yeah. Tonight."
xxxxxxxxxxxx
Dinner turned out to be… confusingly nice.
Not confusing because of the restaurant. Tony had overheard some vague plans and apparently insisted on sending you somewhere 'that serves actual food and not the sad boiled chicken you two probably lived off in that shack,' which had earned an eye-roll from Natasha and a laugh from you.
No, it was confusing because Natasha was being… different.
Not wildly so. She was still herself, she was dry, sharp and effortlessly unreadable to anyone who didn’t know her but you felt that you knew her a little better now.
You noticed the things other people probably missed.
"You’re staring again," Natasha said, cutting neatly into her food.
You blinked, pulling yourself out of your own thoughts, "I’m not." She lifted a single brow and you sighed. "Okay, maybe a little."
Conversation came weirdly easily after that, it was like being back in your own little bubble. Apart from one little thing because you talked about everything except the thing sitting between you.
You covered conversations like Clint’s terrible jokes, Bruce’s increasingly passive-aggressive lab notes, Tony’s inability to respect a budget, the new recruits and even managing a little chat on training.
You managed to talk about anything but the mission, really. Anything but the shack or the way her hand had felt in yours.
However, dessert came and went (delicious by the way), the restaurant had emptied around you but still, neither of you moved to leave.
Eventually Natasha set her fork down and took a deep breath, "You wanted to talk."
There it was.
Your pulse jumped and you cleared your throat a little bit, leaning forward slightly in your chair, "Yeah." and she waited. You looked down at your hands, "When we got back… you pulled away."
There was a long moment of silence and you pushed forward before your courage could leave the restaurant.
"In the safe house, things felt…" You swallowed. "Different."
Natasha tilited her head slightly, a small nod, "They were."
You looked up at her and Natasha wasn’t avoiding your gaze anymore.
"Different how?" you asked quietly.
"It felt... simple." She let out a small sigh and you frowned. She leaned back slightly, considering her words. "In the field, there’s no noise. No meetings. No missions. No people watching. No expectations." Her voice lowered. "It's just about instincts and survival."
"And me?"
A flash of a smile, "And you." Your heart stuttered and she continued, quieter now, "You make things complicated."
That stung a little more than you expected, "Oh."
Natasha’s expression changed instantly, slightly mortified, "No." She shook her head. "Not bad complicated."
You let out a breath as she rubbed her thumb against the side of her glass, "I’m not good at this."
"At dinner?" Youasked, aiming for a little cheeky but her frown just deepened slightly.
"At…" she exhaled, almost frustrated with herself, "this." She motioned between the two of you.
Your lips curved despite yourself, appreciating the honesty but also at your current predicament. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction.
"In the safe house, I forgot to keep distance," Natasha held your gaze now. Your breath caught and she continued, "I didn’t want to forget." She held your gaze, "But I also didn’t want to come back here and realize it was just proximity or stress.... adrenaline."
You stared, "And?" It wasn't going to end just like that, was it?
Natasha reached inside her pocket, pulling out your whittled monstrosity, she gently placed it on the table, "And then I went and kept your ridiculous raccoon donkey on my shelf."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it and she smiled.
"And every time I looked at it," she said, "I wanted to see you."
A week ago, falling out of the sky had felt like the worst thing that could happen to you.
But now?
Maybe falling wasn’t so bad after all.
Especially if Natasha Romanoff was there to catch you.
Wanda watches you like you were made of the stars themselves, the way you finally felt at ease, in the pool, feel the water ripple over every crease of your skin, whilst Nat kept jumping in and out of the pool with sunscreen and a sunhat from 1984.
"Come on just wear it."
"Nat, stop, I'm fine, I-" before you could even swim away Nat had the hat tight around your ears, squeezing your head to the point of popping.
You gazed up to Wanda, who was sat on the side, watching the shenanigans of her wife. Your big eyes pleading whilst you stood in the middle of pool, water up to your chest, with a hat that was far too tight around the middle of your ears, and Nat's fingers rubbing all over you with the sunscreen.
'Please.' You mouthed to the red head, whose legs where stretched out, dipped into the water below.
You loved them both.
You adored how protective they both could be, but since your mental health and plummeted a few months back...well Natasha had gotten a bee in her bonnet, and was over protective now.
More than over protective. It was over baring.
"Nat come on, leave the poor girl alone, she said a relaxing day, not a make me look like a bobble head day."
Nat scrunched up her face, eyebrows knitting together as if Wanda had told her that her pet spider had been killed.
The sun was hot on your back, glimmering in the water as Wanda and Nat seemed to be staring each other down.
Wanda tilted her head slightly, eyes more emerald than usual, from the gleaming sun, her finger tips sparking with red magic. She sighed deeply, placing her bookmark back inside what she was reading, and set it to the side.
She let her self slide gently int the water, like a mermaid, full of magic and intrigue.
"Natasha," Wanda giggled, her fingers pulling at the hat, one, two, three, and she tugged it free from your head "the poor girl was going to have a marshmallow for a brain with how tight this is." her knuckles came to your cheek, caressing your skin, nerves inside your body sparking like fairy dust.
Wanda's eyes glimmered under the midday day sun, following the way you avoided her gaze, your smile reaching your whole face, the need for you against her was clear, as was your need for her.
"Be a good girl, and swim away, I need to have a word with Nat alone." Wanda kissed your wet lips slowly, tongue exploring your mouth, your breath hitched, squeaked was more like it.
You breathed her in, every strand of hair that tickled your cheek, the scent of vanilla lingering, the way her fingers cupped your cheeks and her lips moved against yours.
summary: your little brother discovers your two biggest secrets
contains: spider-woman! reader, peter never got bitten by the spider au, make out, getting caught, non- sexual nudity, feat. peter parker (platonic)
a/n: i think… i miss my wife 💔 kate bishop come home the kids miss u
It was a surprise not to see a single message from your girlfriend when you finally checked your phone. You promised her a cheap hot dog today, followed by a walk in Central Park with Lucky. But New York’s trademark crime problem interrupted your plans, again.
There will be time to apologize and cover her face with kisses later.
Slipping through the open window into the bedroom, you took a quick look around. You wanted to make sure Peter wasn't near. After all, it was his room too.
First came the mask. You threw it on the floor, right between some of your work papers and Peter’s Lego pieces. Then, while unzipping the suit, you tripped and hit with the bunk bed.
"For a moment, I thought you wouldn't..."
Suddenly, you shot a web toward the voice. When you finally turned around, Kate’s right hand was trapped between your web and the closet.
"Is this something new you want to try? Like foreplay or something?"
Her teasing came with that stupid smile you adored, and Kate’s eyes lingered on your half-naked figure. The archer never seemed to miss an opportunity to admire you.
“Idiot,” your rolled your eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Aren’t you happy to see your girlfriend? A welcome kiss would be…”
Once again, Kate couldn't even finish her sentence, since your hands were already on her face, pulling her into a kiss. With no intention of fighting it, Kate just melted against you, resting her free hand on your hip.
“Kate…” you started.
“I know, you don’t have to explain,” she said, gently moving a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I understand, especially now because…”
“I’m Hawkeye,” you finished for her, mimicking her voice.
You knew her better than anyone.
“I don’t sound like that!” she complained
A laugh left your lips before pulling her back to you.
This time, the kiss was deeper. The two of you got lost in it for a moment. The pain in your ribs faded into the background, and so did the fact that her hand was still stuck. At least until it started getting in the way.
A gentle bite on her lower lip made her sigh. Just the way she liked it.
Right now, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist. One hand slipped under her shirt, resting against her stomach. The feeling was enough to distract you completely. Even your spider-sense failed to warn you about the footsteps and voice getting closer to the room.
“Hey, sis, have you seen my—?”
Peter shut the door the second he opened it.
It didn’t take long for him to understand what he had just seen, and panic hit you right away.
Breaking away from Kate, a quiet curse escaped your lips. Your suit was quickly pulled back into place before rushing after your brother.
Your relationship with Kate wasn’t exactly a secret. It had only been three months, so everything was still pretty new. Still, your family had known about your feelings for her long before that.
The problem was that you had been waiting for the right moment to make things official. Having a secret life as a superhero made just made things harder.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Peter yelled, covering his eyes.
“Peter, what you saw…” Panic was clear in your voice.
“No, no, relax. You don’t have to explain anything,” he said with that calm understanding only he had. “I’ve always known. I just didn’t expect to find out like this.”
“T-That I’m a lesbian..?” Confusion crossed your face.
“What? No!” he said. “I already know that! I’m talking about the fact that you’re Spider-Woman.”
“Oh.”
Everything suddenly made sense.
“Well, I was going to tell you. I was going to tell you both things, but having two lives isn’t easy, you know?.”
“It’s okay”
Your brother wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. Resting your head on his shoulder, you found comfort in it.
Maybe you were the one with powers. Maybe you were the older sister. But Peter would always be taller than you.
“Just lock the door next time.”
Peter gently rubbed your shoulder, calming you down.
“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied with a nod.
“And I’m telling May,” he warned.
“That I’m Spider-Woman?!”
“No. About you and Kate.”
“Uhm.. hello? I’m still here!” you heard your girlfriend shout from your bedroom.
