Supergirl Defender Of Love

The cold metal chair was uncomfortable. Not that Kara Zor-El cared much about comfort at the moment. Her body still ached from the Kryptonite exposure—every muscle tight, her usually radiant skin clammy with sweat. It wasn't the kind of exhaustion she was used to. This was the deep, gnawing weakness that only Kryptonite could bring.

Her powers were still there—barely. She could feel them, like a distant hum beneath her skin. But they were dulled, caged. Her body was fighting to burn off the radiation, healing slowly under this world's strange sun.

And now… she was in a box.

A S.H.I.E.L.D. interrogation room, to be precise. Dim lighting. Concrete walls. Surveillance cameras tucked in every corner. And, because someone had a sense of humor, she was handcuffed to the metal table.

Kara glanced down at the cuffs. She could snap them like twigs if she felt like it, even in her weakened state. But for now, she played along. She didn't want to start an interdimensional incident. Not yet, anyway.

The door clicked open.

In walked the most dangerous-looking woman Kara had seen in this universe so far. Sleek black tactical suit hugging every curve, red hair tied back in a tight ponytail, and eyes like a predator's—sharp, calculating, and ready to kill.

Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow.

Kara had read enough dossiers back home to recognize an elite operative when she saw one. And this one practically radiated "I can break every bone in your body, but I'll make it look good."

The folder in Natasha's hand hit the table with a satisfying slap.

"So," Natasha started, voice smooth but laced with steel. "You made quite the entrance."

Kara leaned back, smirking. "Yeah, I have a flair for that. Did you like the crater?"

Natasha's lips twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. "Not my first alien crash site. But you're definitely the loudest."

Kara raised a brow. "I aim to impress."

Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no hostility—just curiosity. She slid into the seat across from Kara, steepling her fingers.

"Name?"

"Kara Zor-El."

Natasha jotted it down. "Species?"

"Kryptonian."

"Purpose?"

Kara hesitated, then shrugged. "Survival. And… I guess sightseeing?"

Natasha didn't blink. "We don't appreciate unannounced tourists."

"Blame the truck."

Natasha raised a brow. "The… truck?"

"Space truck. Hit me. But it honked first."

Silence.

Natasha stared.

Kara stared back.

"…Space truck," Natasha repeated flatly.

"Space truck," Kara confirmed.

There was a long pause. Then Natasha flipped the page in her file, pretending like that made perfect sense.

Kara suppressed a grin. Oh, I like her.

The questioning continued—basic details. Kara kept it vague. Krypton was gone. She had been traveling. Brainiac? Sure, he was a thing. She wasn't here to invade, conquer, or enslave anyone. She just wanted to figure out what the hell this universe even was.

But as the minutes stretched on, something… shifted.

Kara noticed it first in Natasha's body language. The sharp precision in her posture softened. Her shoulders relaxed. She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. Her eyes, once cold and assessing, began to linger.

On Kara's face.

On her chest.

And lower.

Kara tilted her head, curious.

Natasha's breathing changed—slightly deeper, slower. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. A faint flush crept up her neck.

Oh… oh no.

Kara felt it—like a faint buzz under her skin. Something new. Something stirring. Her body was adjusting to this universe, this sun. And it was doing something… extra.

Natasha shifted in her seat. Her hand slid to her collar, tugging it slightly.

"So… Kryptonian," Natasha murmured, her tone dropping lower—husky, almost sultry. "What kind of powers are we talking about? Strength? Speed?"

Kara blinked. "Uh… yeah. That. And… vision stuff."

Natasha's lips parted slightly, eyes half-lidded. "Vision stuff… sounds hot."

Kara's brain short-circuited.

"Uh… what?"

Natasha leaned closer—too close—their faces mere inches apart. Her perfume, subtle and deadly, hit Kara's senses like a bomb.

"Is it just me," Natasha purred, "or is it getting… hotter in here?"

Kara's eyes widened. She felt her cheeks flush.

Oh Rao, this is happening.

Before she could respond, Natasha casually reached for her combat suit's zipper—and pulled it down halfway. The tight fabric parted, revealing smooth, flawless skin and cleavage so powerful it might qualify as a superpower.

Kara's gaze dropped involuntarily.

Cleavage confirmed.

Her Kryptonian brain, capable of processing combat at light speed, froze like an outdated computer.

"Is… is this real life?" Kara muttered.

Natasha smirked, eyes lidded, cheeks lightly flushed. She traced her finger along her collarbone. "I mean… we don't have to be so formal, Kara…"

Kara's mouth opened, but words failed her. This wasn't in any intergalactic diplomacy handbook.

Before she could decide whether to lean in or scream, Natasha blinked hard.

The haze in her eyes cleared.

Realization dawned.

She looked down at her exposed chest, then up at Kara, whose expression hovered between awe and existential dread.

"Wait—what the hell am I doing?" Natasha hissed, zipping up her suit with military precision.

Kara, trying desperately not to laugh, leaned back with her arms crossed.

"Wow. Tease."

Natasha shot her a glare so deadly it could have melted steel.

"That… didn't happen," Natasha said firmly.

"Right. Of course," Kara said, holding back a grin. "Professional interrogation. Got it."

Natasha stood quickly, her usual composure cracked but still holding. She grabbed the file, but her hand trembled slightly. Her eyes lingered on Kara's face for a second too long before she turned to leave.

Kara watched her go, fighting the urge to laugh.

The door slammed shut.

Silence.

Kara exhaled slowly. Her cheeks still burned. Her heart was racing—not from fear, but from… something else. Her body still felt weird, her skin tingling in ways it never had before. Her Kryptonian biology was shifting—adapting to this universe.

And apparently, it was adapting in some very specific ways.

She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers.

"What the hell is wrong with me?"

Her mind flashed back to Natasha's flushed face.

…Not that she was complaining.

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