Kara sat back on the oversized sectional in her high-security mansion, courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D., stretching her legs out comfortably. The place was practically a fortress—reinforced walls, surveillance systems, and motion sensors at every entry point. Not that any of it mattered. The real security wasn't the tech. It was the seven deadly women sitting around her.
The dining table was littered with pizza boxes, a few empty wine glasses, and the lingering scent of something sweet that Kara suspected had been stolen rather than purchased. Jean, Gwen, Mystique, Rogue, Wanda, Storm, and Natasha were seated around her, eating like this was just another casual night in. And for them, it was.
Jean sat at the far end, flipping through a book without really reading it, occasionally swirling a glass of wine in her other hand. Gwen had kicked her feet up on the table, her posture completely relaxed, idly peeling toppings off her slice and flicking them at Rogue just to annoy her. Mystique sat silent but ever-watchful, her presence always unreadable, her expression unreadable. Rogue, annoyed but tolerating Gwen, leaned back with her arms crossed, chewing slowly and watching everything unfold.
Storm was idly toying with the air, sending small currents of electricity flickering between her fingertips. Her posture was elegant, her presence almost regal, as if she was listening to everyone but above the conversation at the same time. Wanda sat closest to Kara, her fingers tracing lazy patterns in the air, small flickers of scarlet energy forming and vanishing as she effortlessly pulled a fresh slice of pizza toward her. Natasha leaned against the kitchen counter, her knife making faint, rhythmic taps against the marble as she cleaned it with methodical precision.
The conversation was light, easy, and absurdly normal considering who was in the room. Topics ranged from efficient body disposal methods (Jean argued molecular disintegration was best, Wanda preferred interdimensional dumping), the most satisfying ways to emotionally break someone before their death (Gwen had strong opinions), and whether pineapple on pizza was a war crime.
Kara listened, chewing slowly, her gaze flicking across the room, studying them all.
She had known for a while. She had known for months. She just hadn't let herself process it.
Her harem wasn't just overprotective. They weren't simply devoted.
They were psychotic.
Flashback to Sokovia.
She had flown over the ruins one night, expecting silence. Instead, she saw them.
Red portals, flickering open over the rubble, dumping bodies into an enormous, organized graveyard.
At first, she thought it was some random battlefield cleanup. Some glitch in reality. But when she looked closer, she knew better.
These weren't just Sokovian bodies. They were from different places, different conflicts, different unfortunate people who had crossed the wrong women.
She had hovered above, arms folded, watching as lifeless forms disappeared into the earth. There was no hesitation. No remorse.
Because this wasn't some random event.
This was them.
Wanda. Jean. Natasha. Gwen. Mystique. Rogue. Storm.
She hadn't asked them about it. There was no need.
And now, sitting here, eating pizza with them, watching Storm idly charge the air while Gwen debated the best way to manipulate someone into digging their own grave, Kara finally let herself accept what she already knew.
Her harem was made up of killers.
Not occasional murderers. Not only-when-necessary killers.
No.
These women actively and enthusiastically eliminated people.
They weren't stopping.
And Kara wasn't going to stop them.
She took another bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully.
Clark would be so jealous.
That idiot had spent years chasing Lois Lane around like a lost puppy. Still hadn't slept with her. Kara and Bruce used to call him SuperSimp behind his back.
He knew why.
Kara took another bite, shaking her head slightly.
Jean caught her staring and set her book down. "Something on your mind?"
Kara wiped a stray bit of sauce from her lip and shrugged. "Nah. Just thinking about how ridiculous my life has gotten."
Natasha, still sharpening her knife, didn't look up. "Is that a complaint?"
Kara relaxed into the couch, shaking her head. "Not even a little."
Jean gave a slight nod before picking her book back up, and the conversation shifted back to nonsense.
Gwen had some passionate argument about why horror movie villains should be hired for assassinations, and Rogue countered that they had a terrible success rate. Wanda just lazily flicked a hand, sending an untouched pizza box sliding across the table toward Kara.
Kara caught it without thinking.
She stared down at it for a second, then glanced at Wanda, who had already returned to swirling the remnants of her wine glass, as if she hadn't just telekinetically delivered Kara dinner like it was completely normal.
Kara exhaled slowly, shaking her head as she pulled another slice free.
"See?" she muttered, taking a bite. "This is why I don't complain."
Wanda glanced sideways at her. "Because we get you food?"
Kara chewed for a moment, then swallowed. "No. Because I didn't even have to ask and your all hot and great in bed. "
Jean let out a quiet, knowing sound before sipping her wine. Gwen stretched out her arms, murmuring something sarcastic.
Storm gave Kara a long, considering look, her fingers still idly weaving static between them. "You're finally getting it, aren't you?"
Kara didn't answer immediately.
She let herself sit there, let herself process the weight of it.
She had a harem of deadly, overprotective yanderes. They weren't trying to hide it anymore. And she wasn't going to change a thing.
Kara reached for another slice, shaking her head slightly.
Clark was going to be so pissed when he found out.
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