MCU WOMEN x READER

Combat, I'm ready for combat | Kate Bishop

summary: meeting Kate was one thing. Accepting her into your life was another. But was it for the better, or the worse?

warnings: some descriptive injuries, alcoholism, mentions of death.

author's note: this story is from my other mcu book but i'm gonna publish it here as well!!

this is set around four years after the snap happened. Kate is somewhat of a vigilante who runs around New York City trying to bring justice to the streets. And one night, she takes refugee in a bar where Zara Parker (reader) works.

(let me know if you want a part two!!)

I worked really hard on this so I hope you guys like it as much as I do <3

The rain thumped loudly against the windows lining the walls. The happy guests that had previously been seated across the bar had all found their way out—going home before the storm got too out of hand.

I was busying myself with cleaning glasses—contemplating whether or not I should close up early—when the door swung open and a young woman walked in. The first thing I noticed was the weapon in her hands. A bow. Arrows scattered out from the holster on her back, some of them getting tangled in her black hair. When she passed I was certain I saw a raw cut on her forehead, but it was too hard to tell when her gaze was glued to the ground. She took a seat at the end of the bar and inspected everything around her. If I wasn't mistaken, she let out a breath of relief before she called on me.

I placed the glass I was cleaning where it belonged and dried my hands on the dishrag hung on my apron. I noticed I was correct when I stood opposite her. Not only was there a cut on her forehead, but, it was one on her cheek too. Her lower lip was bursted as well and, her right eye spotted a fading black-eye.

I'd seen worse, but it didn't take away from the unease I felt when inspecting all her injuries further.

She must've felt uncomfortable under my stare so she motioned with her head to the menu board and spoke, "An old fashioned, please." When she turned her attention back to me I gave her a nod and a small smile before leaving her be to make said drink.

I made swift work and placed the drink in front of the young woman a few seconds later. She gave me a tiny, grateful smile, and without any warning, my stomach turned at the sight of her. She looked so small and fragile. Broken. Not wanting to have to clean up my own puke, I swiftly made my way over to the booths and tables in the bar with a rag and disinfection in hand.

I've worked in this bar for almost a year now but I'd never seen the young woman before. She must've stumbled onto this place by accident like most of our customers. It's a small, family owned bar, and it hasn't gotten the advertisement it needs in order to be put on the map. But it worked, seeing as our facility wasn't meant to fit hundreds of people.

Working here for the past year has been like therapy for me. It was difficult at first—I had expected that—but as time went on, each shift got a little easier—until they were no longer straining at all. Temptation still strikes now and then, but after months and months of back and forth, I won't let myself indulge. Not again. I can't. I refuse.