Supergirl Defender Of Love

Natasha Romanoff had faced death in more ways than she could count.

Gunfire, explosions, poison, assassins, torture—you name it, she had survived it. But there was one enemy she had never truly learned to defeat.

Bureaucracy.

She glared at the stack of paperwork on her desk like it was a Hydra operative holding a grenade. Her fingers flexed, itching to snap a pen in half. Instead, she forced herself to breathe slowly through her nose.

Focus. For Kara.

It had started with a simple idea—get Kara out of that damned containment room. She was not a threat—well, not to them, at least—not as long as Natasha was the one handling her. Kara needed space, freedom, and a place to stretch her legs without some twitchy male agent eyeing her like she was one bad day away from vaporizing the whole facility.

But apparently, relocating a Kryptonian alien to a S.H.I.E.L.D. guesthouse required more paperwork than assassinating a dictator.

Natasha had spent the last three days waging war with the administration.

Forms. Authorization codes. Psychological evaluations.

There had even been a debate over whether Kara required a pet license, because someone classified her under "non-Earth species".

That agent had received a personal visit from Natasha, and he would not be making jokes for a while.

Now, as she scrawled her final signature with a little more force than necessary, Natasha leaned back in her chair, victorious.

Paperwork… the real enemy.

She smirked. "Bite me, Section 89B."

Meanwhile, Kara Zor-El was conducting groundbreaking experiments in snack logistics.

She lounged on her cot, eyes half-lidded, teleporting pizza slices from across the room directly into her mouth.

"Science," she murmured proudly after every successful bite.

She was getting stronger by the day—the sun in this universe was doing things to her Kryptonian biology she hadn't fully grasped yet. Her teleportation was stabilizing, and there was a constant hum of power beneath her skin, like her cells were preparing for something more.

But right now? Her greatest achievement was not having to walk across the room for food.

A knock interrupted her next pizza-phase attempt.

Natasha entered, clipboard in hand, her face calm—but there was a flicker of something underneath. Satisfaction? Pride?

Kara grinned.

"Oh hey, Pizza Queen. Did you bring more snacks? Because I was thinking dessert this time—maybe teleport in a cake?"

Natasha fought the smile threatening her lips. "Pack your things."

Kara blinked. "What things? I have a pizza box and sarcasm."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Fine. Bring your pizza."

Kara perked up. "Where are we going? Is it a field trip? Will there be lasers?"

Natasha's mouth curled slightly. "Guesthouse. In New York. You're being transferred."

Kara sat up, eyes lighting with excitement. "I'm getting an apartment? I didn't even have to put down a deposit?"

Natasha crossed her arms. "It's a secure S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. Don't get too comfortable."

Kara's grin grew wider. "Does it have cable?"

Natasha gave her a deadpan look. "You'll survive."

As Natasha escorted Kara through the facility, Kara noticed the subtle glares from the other female agents—flustered, jealous, like Natasha had claimed a prize they all wanted.

Kara smirked.

Pheromones were weird, but funny.

"So… what exactly did you have to do to get me out of the space zoo?" Kara asked.

Natasha huffed, but there was pride under the frustration. "Let's just say the paperwork battle was legendary."

Kara laughed. "Oh, I know that struggle. Justice League made me file seventeen reports after I, uh… accidentally vaporized a building."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Accidentally?"

Kara shrugged. "It was being rude. Blocking my view. It knew what it did."

Natasha actually chuckled—a rare, genuine sound that made Kara pause for a moment, appreciating how stunning she looked when she relaxed.

The moment passed quickly, but it lingered in Kara's mind.

The guesthouse was sleek, modern, and deceptively luxurious for a so-called "secure facility."

Kara stepped inside, eyes wide.

"Okay… this is nicer than my last apartment. You sure this isn't a trap?"

Natasha smirked. "Don't get used to it."

Kara flopped onto the couch, arms behind her head. "No promises. I'm claiming this as my kingdom."

Natasha stood by the door, arms crossed, watching her.

Something about seeing Kara so comfortable—because of her efforts—filled Natasha with satisfaction.

She made this happen.

She made Kara smile like that.

And no one else had the right to do that.

Natasha broke the silence.

"There are rules."

Kara raised an eyebrow. "Boo."

Natasha ignored her. "You're free to go out, but within limits. You'll have an agent tailing you at all times."

Kara smirked. "Oh? So you'll be my bodyguard?"

Natasha tensed. "Possibly."

Kara leaned in, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Gonna wear sunglasses and a suit? Whisper into an earpiece, 'The package is secure'? Or—"

"Don't push it."

Kara's grin turned teasingly smug. "You like when I push it."

Natasha narrowed her eyes, but her cheeks betrayed her.

Kara noticed something interesting—the male agents helping move her things were indifferent, professional.

But every woman in the vicinity stole lingering glances.

Natasha noticed too.

Her eyes flicked over each one, cold and calculating, silently warning them:

Back off.

Kara noticed… and she liked it.

High above, Wanda Maximoff watched from a rooftop, shrouded in chaos energy.

Her red eyes burned as she watched Natasha follow Kara into the guesthouse.

Her fingers twitched to unleash hell, but she restrained herself.

Not yet.

"A house? A cage with windows."

She sneered.

"You deserve more than this. And you will have it… with me."

Kara stretched out on the couch, feeling something she hadn't felt since arriving in this world—contentment.

"This universe is weird… but at least the couch is comfy."

She looked over at Natasha, who stood by the doorframe, watching her protectively.

For a second, Kara saw it—the care, the protectiveness… the possessiveness.

And she didn't mind it.

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