ravenforce

[ravenforce]

heyy could i request marvel bingo with Natasha x fem!reader with “it was all a bet” but with a twist? so it’s like tony bets that the r and natasha can’t pose as a married couple for a mission without their feelings becoming real? If you don’t like that idea feel free to do whatever you want! Thank youu

NO PRETENDING NOW

⤷ NATASHA A. ROMANOFF

ᯓ★ Pairing: Natasha A. Romanoff x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance

ᯓ★ Word count: 7.4k

ᯓ★ Summary: Assigned to pose as Natasha’s wife on a mission, you never expect the lines between act and reality to blur. What starts as undercover roles turns into real feelings neither of you can deny. After one night changes everything, you return to the compound knowing your life will never be the same.

ᯓ★MARVEL Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ TW(s): Internalized sexuality denial, small spicy scene (consensual, first-time with a woman)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The conference room smells faintly of burnt coffee and Stark’s cologne, sharp and expensive, the kind that sticks to the back of your throat. You sit with your arms folded, trying to look more awake than you feel, and you’re half-listening as Steve flips through the mission brief on the screen. Words like "infiltration," "secure intel," and "deep cover" float past you, all routine until Natasha’s name shows up next to yours on the projected file.

"—which is why the two of you will be the primary operatives," Steve says, glancing your way, then to Natasha, who sits with her legs casually crossed like this is just another Tuesday. For her, maybe it is.

You blink, straightening in your seat. "Wait. Us?"

"That’s right," he confirms, like it’s no big deal, like this isn’t the first time the two of you have ever been paired up for something like this. "You’ll be posing as a married couple."

The room goes quiet. For a moment, the only sound is Tony sipping loudly from his coffee mug, the obnoxious slurp designed to fill the silence.

Married.

The word sits there in the air, heavy and foreign, settling against your chest in a way that makes your pulse skip. You glance at Natasha, but her expression doesn’t flicker — she’s the picture of unbothered, maybe even slightly amused, as if the idea of pretending to be your wife for God knows how long is nothing more than a line item on her to-do list.

"Married," you repeat, just to be sure your brain isn’t short-circuiting.

"Yup," Tony chimes in, leaning back so his chair creaks, that shit-eating grin of his growing wider. "New identities, new rings, matching couple tattoos if you really want to sell it. I hear Vegas has some nice ones."

You open your mouth to protest, to ask why the hell it has to be you and Natasha, but Steve cuts in before you can build a sentence. "The targets only deal with other couples. They’ve got an entire social network of 'perfectly ordinary' married business partners. We’ve tried approaching them as buyers, suppliers, even security consultants. The only people who get close to the inner circle are the ones who look like they’ve got their personal lives wrapped up in a nice, boring, domestic bow."

"And you think we look domestic," you say, dry.

Natasha tilts her head, glancing sideways at you. "You clean up well."

The heat rises uninvited to your cheeks, and you quickly glance away, pretending to reread the mission summary on the tablet in front of you, but the words blur together. Married. To Natasha. For weeks, maybe months, depending on how long this mission drags.

Tony leans forward, elbows on the table. "I’ll do you one better," he says, voice practically dripping with mischief. "I bet you two can’t last the whole op without one of you catching real feelings."

Your head snaps up, and you glare at him. "That’s not how this works."

"Sure it is," he counters, all easy charm. "I’ve seen enough movies. Undercover couples, confined spaces, emotional vulnerability, a few candlelit stakeouts... hearts start doing stupid things. Science."

You scoff. "That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."

Natasha doesn’t answer immediately, just picks up her coffee and takes a slow sip, watching you over the rim of her mug. There’s a glint in her eye — that same playful, knowing look she gets when she’s already figured out how a fight is going to end before it even starts. She sets the mug down, smooth and deliberate.

"Maybe Tony’s right," she murmurs.

You whip your head toward her, fully prepared to tell her where she can shove Tony’s bet, but she’s not even looking at you now, fingers absently twisting the thin bracelet on her wrist, like she’s just making conversation.

Steve clears his throat, pulling the room back to the task at hand. "This isn’t about your feelings. It’s about getting inside the target's compound, staying invisible, and gathering intel. Keep your personal lives out of it."

"Not a problem," you mutter, leaning back in your chair.

But the thing is — your chest is still tight. Your palms still feel clammy. Because somewhere deep down, under the layers of self-control and well-practiced denial, you know Tony isn’t making that bet for his own entertainment. He’s making it because everyone else sees it. Maybe even Natasha. Everyone but you.

And maybe the most dangerous part isn’t the mission at all. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re starting to wonder if Tony’s right.

The briefing ends, but your thoughts don’t.

You’re the last to leave the room, lingering by the table, fingers tapping against the cool metal surface like the rhythm might steady your head. Natasha stays, too, but she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move to leave. You feel her eyes on you before you hear her voice.

"Cold feet already?" she asks, soft, a little teasing.

You glance at her. She’s standing with her arms folded, leaning against the wall, relaxed in a way that makes it obvious she isn’t worried. Not about the mission. Not about pretending to be your wife. Probably not about the bet, either.

"I don’t get cold feet," you reply, a little sharper than you mean to.

"Sure," she says, pushing off the wall, closing the distance between you in slow, measured steps. "You’re just thinking about the wedding dress."

The corner of her mouth quirks up, and your stomach flips — that same damn reaction you’ve been trying to ignore since the first time she smiled at you like that, months ago. Maybe longer.

"I didn’t realize the mission came with vows," you shoot back, trying to sound unaffected.

She stops close enough that you catch the faint scent of her perfume — clean, sharp, with a hint of something darker underneath. "We’ll improvise."

You should walk away. You should say something smart and sarcastic and get the hell out of the room before your thoughts spiral any further. But you don’t move. You don’t say anything. You just stand there, letting the silence stretch between you, letting her look at you like she knows. Like she’s always known.

"See you at the fitting," she murmurs, brushing past you, and you’re left standing there, pulse hammering in your throat.

The next morning is a blur of fake IDs, forged marriage licenses, and wardrobe fittings. Stark’s tech team spares no detail — new credit histories, social security numbers, medical records. Matching bands that sit heavy on your left hand even though the metal is light, and it feels strange, wrong, like you’re wearing someone else’s life.

Natasha doesn’t flinch once.

She slides the ring onto her finger like it belongs there, like this is all just another role in her long list of identities, and maybe for her it is. But every time you catch the glint of gold on her hand, it sends your brain into another loop, because pretending to be married is one thing. Being close to her every second of the day, sharing a bed, a house, little intimate domestic details you’ve never shared with anyone — that’s something else entirely.

You tell yourself you can handle it.

You’ve lied to yourself about worse.

That night, the team gathers in the common room. The mission clock starts tomorrow, and Tony’s already got the scotch out, pouring generous glasses for anyone who wants them. You sip slowly, the burn of it a welcome distraction, until his voice cuts through the low buzz of conversation.

"Still taking bets, by the way," he announces, swirling his glass lazily. "Anyone else think our happy couple won’t make it out without falling head over heels?"

Rhodey groans. "Jesus, Tony."

But the seed’s been planted, and the others aren’t immune to curiosity. Even Steve looks faintly amused, though he tries to mask it behind a long sip of water.

"I’m serious," Tony insists, turning toward you now, eyes sharp under the humor. "You think you’ve got nerves of steel, but even the best cracks under the right conditions. I’ve seen it happen."

"I’m not the one you should be worried about," you mutter, trying to sound confident.

Natasha, lounging on the other end of the couch, lifts an eyebrow. "No?"

Her voice is light, but there’s something behind it — something that makes your chest ache and your throat go dry all at once.

"No," you repeat, steadier now, because admitting the truth — even to yourself — isn’t an option. "I know how to keep my feelings in check."

Tony lifts his glass in a mock toast. "Famous last words."

The conversation drifts, but the bet lingers, unspoken and heavy. You know Tony well enough to realize he’s not going to let it go — not until he’s proven right. And some part of you, deep down, is terrified that he will be.

Because if you’re honest with yourself, the feelings have been there all along.

You’ve just been too scared to name them.

You don’t sleep the night before the mission.

The ring digs into your finger every time you turn over, an alien weight, like your skin hasn’t accepted the lie yet. The apartment’s quiet except for the occasional hum of New York traffic bleeding through the windows, but your mind is too loud for the silence to soothe you. Images of the mission cycle on repeat — false smiles, fake dinners, pretending to be Natasha Romanoff’s wife in public and, worse, behind closed doors.

You tell yourself you’re just being thorough, that the mental rehearsals will help you slip into character once you land. But you know better. The unease isn’t about the mission.

It’s about her.

When the morning comes, you meet her at the airstrip.

Natasha’s already there when you arrive, leaning against the sleek black SUV that’s going to carry you both away from the world you know. Her hair’s pulled back, her casual clothes pressed and perfect, and her duffel slung over one shoulder. She looks like she’s done this a thousand times. She probably has.

When her eyes flick over to you, her mouth curves slightly at the corners, but there’s no teasing in it this time. Just quiet acknowledgment.

"Ready, Mrs. Romanoff?" she says, voice low, only for you.

The name knocks the air from your lungs for a second, sharp and unexpected, even though you knew it was coming. You recover fast, but not fast enough to miss the glint of something amused — or maybe something softer — in her gaze.

You clear your throat. "As I’ll ever be."

The jet’s engines hum to life as you climb aboard, and the reality of it finally locks into place. Once you land, there’s no out. No ‘just kidding.’ No walking it back. You’re her wife until the mission says otherwise.

The flight is quiet, comfortable in the way only practiced professionals can be, but the silence between you isn’t empty. It’s full of unsaid things, unacknowledged tension, the unspoken history you’ve both worked so hard to sidestep until now. You don’t talk about Tony’s bet. You don’t talk about the way her shoulder brushes against yours as you sit side by side, or how your pulse jumps every time it happens.

You focus on the mission.

You have to.

The house is tucked away in a wealthy, suburban neighborhood just outside D.C. White picket fences, manicured lawns, two-car garages — the kind of place where the neighbors are nosy and the barbecues are mandatory.

It’s picture-perfect. So perfect it makes your skin crawl.

SHIELD set up the paperwork weeks ago. The house is "yours" now. New names. New jobs. A fake history built brick by brick. You’re supposed to be recent transplants from Chicago, moving here for a fresh start. Married three years. No kids. "Madly in love" — the profile says so, clear as day.

The moment you step inside the house, the air shifts.

You drop your bags in the entryway, glancing around. It’s fully furnished, every room dressed for the part. Two toothbrushes already waiting in the bathroom. A coffee maker with two matching mugs. The bed, large enough to be convincing, sits in the master bedroom with crisp, untouched sheets.

This is where the real mission begins.

Natasha moves through the space like she’s already lived here for years, checking windows, doors, security feeds. You stand by the staircase, hands still gripping your bag like it’s the only real thing left in the world.

She glances over her shoulder at you.

"You can breathe, you know," she says lightly.

You exhale, slow and unsteady, and let the bag slip from your fingers.

"I’m fine," you lie.

Her lips tilt up, not calling you on it. She doesn’t have to. She walks past you, close enough that her shoulder brushes yours again, and you wonder how long it’ll take before you stop noticing every time she touches you.

The first few days are the easy part.

Neighborhood introductions, casual smiles, hand-holding when the eyes are on you. You learn the script — where "you met," the inside jokes "you share," the story of "your honeymoon" that Natasha tells with such perfect ease it almost convinces even you.

She’s good at this. You expected that. What you didn’t expect was how natural it feels when her hand slips into yours on cue, how your body starts to memorize the rhythm of it, how your heart doesn’t seem to understand the difference between the role and reality.

The nights are the hardest.

The bedroom is too quiet. The bed is too big. And she’s there, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off her, but not close enough to touch. You lay awake, night after night, the ceiling fan whirring overhead, your mind circling the same impossible thought:

What if Tony’s right?

A week in, the first phase of the mission finally begins.

The targets — the Callahans — host their monthly couples’ mixer, an event designed to vet potential new members of their inner circle. Suburban espionage at its finest. You dress the part: tasteful jewelry, a sleek cocktail dress, heels just tall enough to make you feel unsteady even though you’ve been through worse.

Natasha helps you zip the back of your dress. Her fingers graze the bare skin of your spine, light and unhurried, and you feel the contact like a matchstrike down your nerves.

"You’re tense," she observes.

"Thanks for the update," you reply, dry.

Her hands pause at the small of your back. The air between you stills, heavy, before she leans in just slightly, her lips brushing your ear.

"You’ll be fine," she says. "I’ve got you."

The words settle in your chest, soft and dangerous.

You wonder if she means them for the mission or for something else entirely.

The Callahans are exactly the type of people who wear fake smiles like armor. They host in their sprawling backyard, wine glasses in hand, laughter that’s a little too loud, compliments that sound rehearsed. You and Natasha fall into step effortlessly, her hand on your waist, your laugh just the right amount of affectionate when you introduce yourselves as "Nat and Y/N Romanoff."

Every time you glance at her, she’s already looking at you.

Every time your hand brushes hers, your skin buzzes like a live wire.

You start to forget the lines between the role and the truth.

It’s Natasha who anchors you through it, steady as always. She whispers little observations against the shell of your ear, her fingers idly tracing along the curve of your waist, playing the part of a lovesick wife so perfectly that, for a moment, you let yourself believe it.

And that’s the problem. You believe it too easily.

The car ride home is silent, but not empty.

Her hand rests on your thigh, casual, but her thumb moves in slow circles against the fabric of your dress, absent-minded or intentional — you can’t tell anymore. You don’t move away. You just sit there, staring out the window, pretending the flush in your cheeks is from the wine and not from her.

The days bleed together after that.

Breakfasts in a sunlit kitchen, brushing shoulders while you pretend to fight over who gets the last cup of coffee. Grocery trips, hands entwined. Laughing at something on the TV you’re not really watching because she’s lying too close, her head tipped back against your shoulder.

It’s so easy to fall into the fiction.

But every time you let your guard down, it feels less like fiction.

And that’s when the real danger starts.

It’s two weeks in when the mission takes its first sharp turn.

The Callahans extend an invitation — dinner at their private estate. Intimate, exclusive. A sign you’ve earned their trust. It’s everything you’ve been waiting for, the real start of the operation, and yet the thought of another night playing house with Natasha feels more dangerous than any weapon you’ve ever faced.

You dress carefully. So does she.

The drive is quiet, both of you braced for the night ahead. But as you pull up to the wrought-iron gates, Natasha’s hand slips into yours — not for show this time, not because anyone’s watching.

Just because.

Your fingers tighten around hers, and for once, you don’t let go.

The night is a blur of wine and veiled threats. The Callahans’ smiles stretch thinner the longer the evening drags on, and the more questions they ask about your marriage, the more you feel the walls closing in. Natasha, as always, answers effortlessly. Her hand rests on yours on the dinner table, thumb stroking slow, grounding you through every half-lie, every false story.

And the scariest part isn’t how convincing she is.

It’s how convincing you feel.

When you finally get home, the air between you is taut and heavy, stretched thin from the night’s performance. You kick off your heels, moving to the kitchen, fingers fumbling for a glass of water, but she doesn’t let you slip back into distance.

Her voice is quiet behind you.

"You were perfect tonight."

You turn, leaning against the counter, heart still thudding too hard against your ribs. "I’m just doing my job."

She steps closer, the space between you shrinking until her hand comes to rest against your jaw, her thumb brushing your cheekbone, the gesture soft and deliberate.

"Sure," she says, voice low. "If you say so."

The moment lingers, unspoken but undeniable, before she finally steps back and leaves you standing there, throat dry, the glass still empty in your hands.

You lie awake that night, staring at the ceiling, and for the first time you wonder if the lie’s already won.

Time does strange things on this mission.

The days stretch long, soaked in the kind of domestic quiet you’ve spent your life avoiding, and the nights feel shorter, heavier, loaded with unspoken tension that hums beneath every shared glance and every brush of fingers. The house you’ve been planted in feels less like a safe house and more like a cage the longer you’re in it, but the strangest part is — you don’t want to escape.

Or maybe you just don’t want to escape her.

The Callahans invite you over more often now. Casual drinks on their patio, afternoon barbecues, double dates with other couples from the neighborhood, the kind of social life designed to dig its hooks into your cover until the fiction starts feeling real. Natasha makes it look easy. You tell yourself you’re just following her lead.

But each day makes the act harder to separate from the truth.

You’re sitting on the Callahans’ back porch one warm Saturday afternoon, sunglasses perched on your nose, glass of wine balanced loosely between your fingers. The conversation hums around you, harmless on the surface — vacation plans, new furniture, which country club is worth the membership fee — but the subtext is always there, coiled beneath every perfectly polite smile.

You feel Natasha shift beside you before you see her move.

Her hand drapes lazily over your knee, thumb grazing the inside of your thigh in a way that looks casual to anyone else, but sets your pulse hammering behind your ribs. You tilt your head just slightly toward her, enough to catch her mouth tugging into the faintest smile.

One of the Callahans — Evelyn — leans forward, resting her chin on her hand, studying you both over the rim of her glass.

"You two are sickening, you know that?" she says, voice light but sharp at the edges. "Still looking at each other like it’s the honeymoon phase."

You force a smile, your throat dry, but Natasha’s voice slides in before yours can.

"Guess we’re just lucky," she says, turning her head toward you, her eyes holding yours, steady and unblinking.

And then she kisses you.

It’s soft, easy, the kind of practiced affection couples build over years, but it steals the air from your lungs all the same. Her lips move against yours with the barest hint of pressure, long enough to convince the audience, short enough to leave you wondering if it meant something more.

When she pulls back, her thumb brushes your cheek, lingering for a heartbeat too long.

You laugh, the sound brittle in your own ears, and glance back at Evelyn, who looks vaguely amused, swirling her wine.

"Disgusting," she teases.

"Can’t help it," Natasha murmurs, her voice low enough that only you can hear. "It’s the company I keep."

The conversation drifts on, but you don’t hear much of it after that. Not with your pulse still roaring in your ears, not with the ghost of her lips still lingering on yours.

It doesn’t stop there.

After that afternoon, the casual affection becomes part of the routine. Little things at first. Her hand finding yours on the armrest during dinner parties. Her fingers brushing against your jaw when you laugh at something, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Lingering glances. Private smiles. Lips pressed to your temple when the others aren’t looking — and sometimes when they are.

The strange part is how natural it starts to feel.

Like your body is learning a new language, one you’ve never let yourself speak before. One that feels terrifying and safe all at once when it’s her.

At night, the space between you shrinks.

You still lie on opposite sides of the bed, but the gap isn’t what it used to be. Some nights your hands brush in the dark, knuckles grazing, and neither of you moves away. Sometimes her breath is close enough to stir the fine hairs on your cheek. Sometimes you fall asleep wondering what it would feel like if you closed the distance.

Sometimes you wake up wondering if you already did.

Another week passes.

The mission threads itself deeper into your bones. The Callahans grow more comfortable around you. Their conversations become more relaxed, less guarded, but the danger sharpens in the spaces where they lower their smiles. You catch little fragments of the real reason you’re here: encrypted shipments, payments routed through shell companies, names that don’t appear on any official record.

You and Natasha are close. So close you can taste the finish line. But the closer you get, the harder it is to ignore the fact that the mission isn’t the only thing changing.

It’s a Thursday evening when Evelyn invites the two of you for drinks, just the four of you, no other couples, no pretense of neighborhood charm. The conversation is sharp, deliberate, the subtext clear — this is the final vetting. The last test before you’re allowed fully inside.

Halfway through the night, Evelyn leans back on the plush sofa, swirling her whiskey, eyes trained on you both.

"You know," she muses, "I’ve always been good at spotting fake couples."

Your spine stiffens, but Natasha doesn’t even blink.

"Is that so?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.

Evelyn’s lips curve into a knowing smile. "Mhm. Most people don’t even realize when the act slips. There’s always a tell. A moment when you forget to hold hands. Or your gaze doesn’t follow when they leave the room. The body knows, even when the mind’s trying to lie."

Her gaze flicks to you, sharp and assessing.

"So tell me," she purrs, "what’s your tell?"

You don’t get a chance to answer, because Natasha leans in and kisses you.

There’s nothing casual about it this time. It’s deliberate. Slow. Her hand cups your jaw, guiding your face toward hers, and her mouth moves against yours with the kind of quiet certainty that makes your head spin.

When she pulls back, her voice is soft but steady.

"We don’t have one," she says simply.

Evelyn hums, swirling her drink, and after a long moment, she leans back with a satisfied smile, like she’s found what she was looking for.

"Good answer."

The conversation moves on. You’re not sure how. You’re not sure when you start breathing again. But the whole drive home, Natasha doesn’t speak. And neither do you.

When you get back to the house, you stand in the dark of the entryway, the front door clicking shut behind you, your heart still racing.

"That was risky," you say finally.

Natasha’s standing by the staircase, her expression unreadable. "It worked."

"Yeah," you murmur. "It did."

She starts up the stairs, but her voice floats back to you before she disappears from sight.

"You kissed me back."

And you can’t argue with that.

The next day is quiet.

You go through the motions. Morning coffee, light conversation, casual touches. The routine you’ve spent weeks perfecting. But the air between you feels different, stretched thin and humming with something you’re not ready to name.

By the time night falls, the silence is suffocating.

You stand in the bathroom, brushing your teeth, staring at your own reflection like you might find answers there. You don’t. You never do.

When you step into the bedroom, Natasha’s already lying on her side of the bed, one arm tucked beneath her head, eyes half-lidded but awake. Watching you.

The space feels smaller than usual.

You slide under the covers, lying flat on your back, staring at the ceiling.

"Nat," you say, barely above a whisper.

She hums, a soft acknowledgment, waiting.

"You didn’t have to kiss me like that."

A pause. Long. Heavy.

Her voice is quiet when it finally comes.

"I know."

You swallow, your throat dry, heart pounding in your chest. "So why did you?"

You feel her shift beside you. Closer. Close enough that her hand finds yours beneath the covers, her fingers sliding between yours, warm and steady.

"Because I wanted to," she says.

And for the first time in weeks, you stop pretending.

The mission doesn’t slow down, but the lies do.

Every day you spend in that house, every smile you fake for the Callahans, every staged moment of affection you put on for the world outside — it all starts to blend into something you can’t separate from the real thing. The glances aren’t rehearsed anymore. The touches linger longer. The kisses, when they happen, aren’t always part of the job.

And the scariest part is you don’t care.

You’re not sure when it happens, exactly. Maybe it’s the night you fall asleep tangled together, her breath warm against your neck, her hand resting low on your waist. Maybe it’s the morning you wake up and her lips press against your bare shoulder before you’ve even opened your eyes. Maybe it’s every moment in between.

But at some point, the mission stops feeling like the dangerous part.

And your feelings start to do the rest.

You know the mission is almost over.

You can feel it in the way the Callahans act around you now — the easy smiles that no longer hold suspicion, the conversations that slip from surface-level charm into quiet confessions. You’ve done your job. You’ve won their trust. Any day now, the op will reach its end, and the files you’re after will be in your hands.

But the thought of the mission ending doesn’t feel like victory.

It feels like loss.

Because when the mission ends, the world snaps back into place — and this, whatever this is between you and Natasha, will disappear with it.

That night, the air inside the house is heavy. Too quiet. The kind of stillness that presses against your chest and makes you restless.

You’re curled on the living room sofa, barefoot, wearing one of her old T-shirts — part of the cover, you told yourself at first, but the comfort is real, the way it smells like her is real. Natasha sits on the other end, one leg tucked under herself, thumbing through her phone without really looking at it.

It’s late, but neither of you moves to go upstairs. The TV plays some muted documentary you stopped paying attention to twenty minutes ago. You sip your wine slowly, trying to drown the nerves coiled tight in your stomach.

She notices.

"Talk to me," she says softly.

You glance over at her, meeting her eyes, the glow of the TV catching the warm flecks of green in them. The words stick in your throat, the weight of everything you’ve spent weeks burying pressing too hard for you to swallow.

"You keep looking at me like that," you say, your voice low and a little shaky, "and I’m going to start thinking you mean it."

Her lips twitch, just slightly, but her gaze doesn’t waver.

"What if I do?" she murmurs.

The room tilts. Or maybe it’s just your heart, tripping over itself. You set your glass down, your fingers unsteady, and force yourself to breathe. The silence stretches, the space between you shrinking without either of you moving.

"You’ve done this before," you say. It’s not a question.

"Done what?"

"This," you gesture, your voice softer now. "Falling for someone during a mission. Blurring lines. Pretending until it stops feeling like a lie."

Her head tips to the side, studying you like she’s seeing through every deflection, every wall you’ve ever built.

"I’ve had my share of mistakes," she admits. "But this isn’t one of them."

The words settle deep, heavier than you expect. Because you’ve never let yourself think about it in those terms — not the mission, not her, not yourself.

But here you are. And here she is. And there’s nothing left between you but the truth.

You stand, legs unsteady, crossing the space to her, your heart thudding so hard you’re sure she can hear it. When you stop in front of her, her hands reach for your hips, guiding you gently into her lap. You straddle her, your hands curling against her shoulders, your forehead resting against hers.

"This is different for me," you whisper. "You know that, right?"

Her hands slide along your waist, steady and slow, her touch grounding you.

"I know," she says quietly. "I’ve known since the beginning."

And then her lips find yours.

It’s soft at first — a question, not a demand. Her mouth moves against yours with unhurried care, coaxing you to relax into the moment. You kiss her back, tasting the unspoken promises in the way her lips part for you, the way her hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair.

When she deepens the kiss, your heart stutters, and a soft sound escapes you before you can stop it. Her other hand traces the curve of your back, anchoring you against her, your bodies fitting together like the final piece of a puzzle you’ve spent your whole life pretending didn’t exist.

When she finally pulls back, her breath is warm against your cheek.

"We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to," she says softly.

You shake your head, your voice a whisper. "I want to."

Her thumb strokes along your jaw, slow and patient. "Are you sure?"

And you are. Even if your chest feels too tight, even if your hands shake a little. Because it’s her. Because it’s always been her.

You nod.

She kisses you again, slower this time, deeper, her hands guiding you gently. She doesn’t rush — she never does. Everything about her is patient, steady, like she understands the way your mind is spinning and knows exactly how to quiet it. Her lips trail from your mouth to your neck, soft and lingering, and your body arches toward her without conscious thought.

When she stands, lifting you easily in her arms, you let out a breathless laugh, your hands clinging to her shoulders.

She carries you upstairs, the house silent except for the soft sounds of your breathing, the pulse pounding in your ears. The bedroom feels different when you step inside, like the walls themselves are holding their breath.

She lays you down on the bed, hovering over you, her hand brushing your hair back from your face.

"You okay?" she murmurs.

You nod, your voice barely steady. "Yeah."

Her lips curve into a soft smile, one you’ve never seen from her on a mission before. It’s real. All of it is real.

Her hands map your body slowly, tracing the lines of your figure like she’s memorizing every inch. Clothes slip away, layer by layer, and every brush of her skin against yours sends sparks through your veins. She takes her time, coaxing every sound from your lips, reading your body like a language you never knew you could speak.

It’s overwhelming. But it’s perfect.

And when she finally makes you fall apart beneath her hands, beneath her mouth, you don’t feel scared. You don’t feel unsure. You feel safe.

You feel wanted.

When it’s over, you lie tangled together in the soft dark, your head resting against her chest, her fingers idly tracing patterns on your back.

"I’ve never..." you start, your voice soft, unsteady. "With anyone. I’ve never done this. Not like that. Not with—"

"A woman," she finishes for you, voice gentle. "I know."

You tilt your head, looking up at her. Her expression is open, unguarded, and there’s no judgment in her eyes. Just quiet understanding.

"I didn’t think it’d ever happen," you admit. "I didn’t think I’d ever want it to."

Her hand brushes along your cheek, thumb stroking the corner of your mouth.

"You just didn’t meet the right person yet."

And you think, maybe, that she’s right.

The next morning, the mission ends.

It happens quietly. Efficiently. The intel drops into your hands on a flash drive, the Callahans none the wiser, and SHIELD pulls the plug before the sun even sets. There’s no fight, no fireworks, no dramatic farewell.

Just a text.

Extraction in 2 hours. Pack light.

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the message, your chest heavy. Natasha’s quiet as she folds the last of her things into her duffel, her movements precise, practiced. But when she glances over at you, her eyes soften.

"You okay?" she asks.

You nod, even though you’re not sure. "Yeah."

But you both know the truth. The mission ending isn’t what’s making your hands tremble. It’s the question you’ve been avoiding since the moment you let her touch you.

What happens now?

She crosses the room, standing between your knees, her hands resting on your shoulders. You tip your head back, meeting her gaze, searching for something — reassurance, an answer, anything.

"This doesn’t have to be the end," she says softly.

Your throat tightens. "You don’t have to say that."

"I’m not saying it because I have to." She leans in, brushing her lips against your forehead. "I’m saying it because I want to."

And for the first time, you let yourself believe it.

The compound feels like another life when you step back through its doors.

No more matching coffee mugs. No more sunlit kitchen mornings. No more pretending to be Natasha Romanoff’s wife.

But the space between you doesn’t snap back the way you expected.

She still stands close. Her hand still brushes yours when you pass each other in the hallway. Her glances still linger, heavy and unspoken, and yours do too.

And when Tony greets you both in the briefing room, all smug and self-satisfied, you know he can see it written all over your face.

"Well, well," he drawls, folding his arms over his chest. "Look at you two. Almost makes me wonder who owes who money."

Natasha’s mouth curves into a knowing smile, her gaze flicking to yours for a split second before she answers.

"Let’s just say," she says, voice smooth, "the mission was a success."

And as her hand brushes yours under the table, fingers curling lightly around your own, you know it wasn’t the mission she meant.

It was everything else.

The days after the mission feel like waking up from a long, strange dream.

Everything’s back to normal on the surface: briefing rooms, morning runs, mission debriefs, shared dinners with the team that taste like old habits. But underneath it all, something lingers. Something warm and unfamiliar.

She lingers.

Natasha doesn’t push. She never does. She just waits, steady as gravity, her presence as easy and quiet as it was back in the safe house — only now there’s no act to lean on, no neighborhood barbecues or suburban smiles. Just you, her, and the weight of everything unsaid.

You find yourself looking for her more than usual. Not because you need to. Because you want to.

And every time your eyes meet hers, you feel it all over again. That night. Her hands, her mouth, the way her voice had wrapped around your name like it was something precious.

You’re sitting on the compound’s rooftop three nights later when she finds you. The air is cool, the city stretching quiet and endless beyond the edge of the building. You hear her before you see her — the soft scuff of boots on concrete, the familiar weight of her presence sliding in beside you.

Neither of you speaks for a long moment. The silence isn’t awkward, though. It’s comfortable, the kind that sits between two people who already know the conversation is coming, but neither wants to force it.

Finally, she breaks it, voice low and careful.

"You’ve been avoiding me."

You glance at her, meeting those sharp green eyes, and even now — even with everything that’s already passed between you — she still makes your heart trip over itself.

"Not avoiding," you say softly. "Just… thinking."

Her lips twitch at the corner, but there’s no judgment in her expression.

"About us?"

The word sits heavy between you. Us.

You nod, looking back out at the skyline.

"I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I’ve never done this. Not like this."

Her hand moves, slow and unhurried, resting on top of yours. Her thumb strokes the back of your hand, steady and warm, grounding you the way she always does.

"You don’t have to know," she murmurs. "You just have to want to."

You let out a quiet breath, one you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

"I do."

And just like that, the tension slips from your shoulders.

She shifts closer, her knee brushing against yours, her fingers sliding between your own.

"So do I."

The simplicity of it knocks the air out of your chest. Because for all the nights you spent lying awake, trying to make sense of your feelings, trying to pretend they weren’t real — she’s known. She’s always known. And she’s never once rushed you.

You tilt your head, studying her in the soft moonlight, and the question tumbles out before you can stop it.

"What happens now?"

Her smile is slow and easy, but her gaze is steady, unwavering.

"Now we stop pretending."

She leans in, her hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheek. The kiss is soft, unhurried, tasting of unspoken promises. When she pulls back, her forehead rests lightly against yours.

"Now I get to take you out on a real date," she says, her voice low and teasing, "and kiss you like I’ve been wanting to since day one."

Your breath catches, heat curling in your stomach, your body leaning into hers before you even realize it.

"And here I thought you were already doing a pretty good job at that."

Her fingers trail down your neck, her touch featherlight but loaded with intent.

"That was just the warm-up, sweetheart."

The flush rises hot on your skin, but you don’t pull away. Not this time. You tip your head slightly, giving her the silent invitation you’ve been too scared to voice for days.

She takes it.

Her lips find yours again, deeper this time, slow but certain. The kind of kiss that’s meant to undo you, and it does. Your hands tangle in her hair, pulling her closer, your body arching into hers as the kiss turns hungrier, the space between you dissolving.

When she finally pulls back, both of you breathless, her voice dips lower, her thumb tracing lazy circles on your thigh.

"I want this to be real," she says. "Not just a mission. Not just one night. You. Me."

Your chest tightens, but this time it’s not fear. It’s hope.

"Okay," you whisper, voice soft but steady. "I want that too."

And just like that, it’s decided.

She leans in again, pressing a kiss to your neck, slow and lingering, making your stomach twist and your breath hitch. Her hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt, palm splayed against your skin, and the warmth of her touch sends sparks through you.

"Then let me take you inside," she murmurs against your skin. "Let me remind you exactly how real this is."

Your heart stumbles, your body answering before your voice does, your fingers tightening in her hair, pulling her mouth back to yours.

The kiss is all heat and wanting, all slow teasing and quiet desperation, the rooftop air cool against your flushed skin. When she finally pulls away, her breath is ragged, her eyes dark and hungry.

She stands, offering her hand, and you take it without hesitation.

The walk back to her room is quiet, your hands laced together, the air between you humming with unspoken promises.

The moment the door clicks shut, her mouth is back on yours, her hands framing your face, holding you steady as your world tilts around her. Your fingers fumble at the hem of her shirt, and she lets you take your time, guiding your hands, her patience making your heart ache.

When her shirt slips away, you step back for just a second, your gaze roaming over her, equal parts nerves and awe. She watches you, her lips curving into the softest smile.

"You’re allowed to look," she teases, her voice low, sultry, but tender underneath. "I’m not going anywhere."

You close the space between you, pressing your lips to her shoulder, tasting her skin, your hands finding their way along the curve of her waist. She shivers beneath your touch, and the quiet, breathy sound she lets out sends heat pooling deep in your stomach.

She takes her time with you, undressing you like it’s an art, like every piece of clothing is a boundary falling away. When you’re finally bare beneath her, stretched out on her bed, her body covering yours, her lips brushing along your throat, the nerves melt away — leaving only want.

Her hands map the shape of you, relearning you, coaxing every soft sound from your lips with each lingering kiss, each slow slide of her fingers. And when her mouth trails lower, her lips and tongue replacing her hands, your body arches into her without shame.

It’s different this time. Not rushed. Not born from the mission’s pressure.

It’s real.

And when you fall apart beneath her, breathless and shaking, her name the only thing you can manage, you realize you’ve never felt more wanted, more known, more safe.

After, you lie tangled together in the quiet, her fingers brushing lazily along your bare arm, your cheek resting on her shoulder, your heart still racing.

"So," you murmur, your voice low and sleep-heavy. "Does this make you my girlfriend?"

You feel her laugh more than you hear it, soft and warm against your skin.

"If you’ll have me," she says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You tilt your face up, meeting her eyes, your smile soft and unguarded.

"I already do."

She kisses you, slow and sweet, her fingers threading through yours under the sheets.

And for the first time, there’s no pretending. Just you, her, and the beginning of something real.

help I hope this Makes sense...

[ravenforce]

Okay, I hear you. Anyone else want me to write another chapter of this? Comment, if you do. 🫢😂

Broodier than Barnes

Prompt: “You should totally do one where the R is like emotionless and hates everyone and everything Wanda, Natasha, and Carol see them playing with puppies”

Requested by: @wynter2aron

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Carol Danvers x Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Word Count: 2029

Warning/s: None

A/N: Hey love! I’m sorry it took a while for me to post again. I’m currently sick and couldn’t really think straight. Not sure how this panned out, I’m sorry if this totally sucks.

Keep reading

[ravenforce]

Okay, you guys. I hear you. I'm working on Stark Legacy!

xx

Raven

Hey there beautiful people.

I have a question. Is there anyone interested in me finishing some of my open fics? I know it's been years but if I'm to write again, which one would you like me to finish.

I would like to also open myself for requests again. Any new ships you recommend I board? Hit me up.

xx

Raven

[ravenforce]

Hey there beautiful people.

I have a question. Is there anyone interested in me finishing some of my open fics? I know it's been years but if I'm to write again, which one would you like me to finish.

I would like to also open myself for requests again. Any new ships you recommend I board? Hit me up.

xx

Raven

[ravenforce]

Hello, beautiful people. I'm alive! Back from the dead, and just checking in. How are y'all? I'm sorry I left so many series' open. Are anyone still interested in reading them if I continue?

Also, I have drabbled on this idea since my hiatus and I'd like to know what you guys think.

Of course, as you know, due to copyright I would have to change the names and some details of the story. I'd really like to know if this is a project worth pursuing.

Anyway, that's about it. Let me know what you guys think.

X Raven

[ravenforce]

Are you gonna continue the Starks Legacy story? I know its been awhile but id love to see where it goes from there,with the only one R needs to win over now is Wanda.

Hi, I'm alive. Sort of.

So sorry to have been on hiatus for a long time. So much has happened. I wanted to continue writing, and maybe I should to channel this pain in my heart. (I lost 2 of my cats to Feline Calicivirus).

Let me watch some Wanda materials to be reacquainted.

XX Rave

[ravenforce]

YOU'VE KILLED ME! Ithaca was just WOW. Manhattan was SO SO GOOD! I have no words.

Hi. No dying please. I'm still gonna post a Manhattan update. Soon. Somehow.

Ps. to everyone that's reading this, I'm sorry I haven't been here in awhile. With lockdowns lifting slowly, I'm thrown back to work/s. 😭 Forgive me, y'all.

[ravenforce]

Thank you so much @wannabe-fic-reader and @spacelesbianalex 🧡 and everyone who read See You In A Minute, it's my best fic yet.

Also I'm really sorry that I haven't been online much, nor updated Manhattan and Stark Legacy. Been swamped with so much work since but I intend to finish those story when I receive divine providence. I've started the plot for Manhattan 10, actually.

Love,

R.

Alright I need help!

I’m looking for a fic and I’m startin to trip about not being able to find it.

It’s a Natasha x Reader series. In which, R takes Tony’s place in the snap and sadly passes away. Natasha ends up having hers and R’s daughter and there’s slight CarolNat in it. In the end R is brought back to life by the symbiote(Venom) and Hela!

That’s a really shitty description of an amazing fic but I need to find it.

[ravenforce]

Alright. Since, I'm not writing, here's a brilliant work you should read. 😍 It's brilliant! I can't wait for more. ♥️😍

All Over Again - Chapter 1

Summary: What was lost can be found. - DC & Marvel AU

Pairings: Lena x Reader ; Implied Natasha x Reader ; Platonic!Avengers x Reader ; Platonic!Superfriends x Reader 

Warning: 18+ Smut, Language, Violence

* * * * * *

Sighing, you splay yourself out on the grass, looking up at the distorted view of the sky as the red leaves of the tree above you sway. The gentle breeze sends a chill over your skin but it’s much too calming for you to move.

“Am I going to have to start carrying jackets around with me again?”

The familiarly sultry voice meets your ears over the sounds of nature. It makes your heart thump faster like it always had but this time an ache accompanies it. Her joking tone holds an underlying nervousness and you have to resist the urge to scoff at the drastic change in your conversations together. 

Keep reading

[ravenforce]

are you sure? So, I can end it here?! 🤔😂

Manhattan 9

Word Count: 6711

Summary: Lou dug her own grave, now she has to lie in it. What would Lou do? Selene’s not just a pretty face. Could she really get the reader back or is really too late?

A/N: Here you go, lovely people. As I have said, this will chapter is Selene x Reader centric. I guess I’d have to say, it’s a little angsty. :)

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you decide to read it. xx

Parts: 1 |  2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

***

You spent the rest of the night between entertaining guests and sticking by Selene’s side. Lou desperately wants to talk to you, but she couldn’t get you alone nor catch your eyes. The Heist has known you both long enough to sense the charged energy between you two and leave it alone until it’s an appropriate time. Around midnight you’ve reached your limit, you couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Lou anymore. It felt suffocating to learn the truth and think that you could have saved yourself the heartache if she only gave you a chance. 

“Excuse me,” you said politely as you approach Selene who was in conversation with Debbie, Lou, Daphne, and Rose. They all smiled and said hi to you too. You caught your girlfriend’s eyes and without even prompting her so, she excused herself to talk to you in private.

“They’re so in-sync with each other,” Daphne happily gashed like a teenager, earning a pinched from Rose. “Ouch,” she whispered.

Rose not so subtly cocked her towards Lou before sipping from her glass of wine. Lou looked at Daphne. She can’t really begrudge her friends for rooting for you. She knows that she dug her own grave regarding the matter and the time has come to lie on it. “Sorry,” Daphne whispered while rubbing her arm soothingly. 

“It’s okay. She’s moved on. I’ve moved on, too,” Lou answered tentatively. LIAR. She gritted her teeth, knowing how unconvincing it is, even to her own ears.

“You guys don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. You’re allowed to be happy for her. I am happy for her.” LIAR.

Continuar lendo

[ravenforce]

This reaction tho. ♥️♥️♥️

Manhattan 9

Word Count: 6711

Summary: Lou dug her own grave, now she has to lie in it. What would Lou do? Selene’s not just a pretty face. Could she really get the reader back or is really too late?

A/N: Here you go, lovely people. As I have said, this will chapter is Selene x Reader centric. I guess I’d have to say, it’s a little angsty. :)

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you decide to read it. xx

Parts: 1 |  2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

***

You spent the rest of the night between entertaining guests and sticking by Selene’s side. Lou desperately wants to talk to you, but she couldn’t get you alone nor catch your eyes. The Heist has known you both long enough to sense the charged energy between you two and leave it alone until it’s an appropriate time. Around midnight you’ve reached your limit, you couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Lou anymore. It felt suffocating to learn the truth and think that you could have saved yourself the heartache if she only gave you a chance. 

“Excuse me,” you said politely as you approach Selene who was in conversation with Debbie, Lou, Daphne, and Rose. They all smiled and said hi to you too. You caught your girlfriend’s eyes and without even prompting her so, she excused herself to talk to you in private.

“They’re so in-sync with each other,” Daphne happily gashed like a teenager, earning a pinched from Rose. “Ouch,” she whispered.

Rose not so subtly cocked her towards Lou before sipping from her glass of wine. Lou looked at Daphne. She can’t really begrudge her friends for rooting for you. She knows that she dug her own grave regarding the matter and the time has come to lie on it. “Sorry,” Daphne whispered while rubbing her arm soothingly. 

“It’s okay. She’s moved on. I’ve moved on, too,” Lou answered tentatively. LIAR. She gritted her teeth, knowing how unconvincing it is, even to her own ears.

“You guys don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. You’re allowed to be happy for her. I am happy for her.” LIAR.

Keep reading

[ravenforce]

Will you still love me after chapter 9 though? 🤭

Manhattan 7

Word Count: 4999

Pairing: Lou Miller x Fem!Reader, Background Platonic Avengers x Fem!Reader, Platonic Oceans 8 x Fem!Reader

Warning/s: Too many time jumps. 

A/N: I’M SORRY.

Parts: 1 |  2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 8 | 9

Keep reading

[ravenforce]

HOLY SHIT @emilyprentisswife is done reading M9 already. 🤯

Are you? 🤭😏😉

Manhattan 9

Word Count: 6711

Summary: Lou dug her own grave, now she has to lie in it. What would Lou do? Selene’s not just a pretty face. Could she really get the reader back or is really too late?

A/N: Here you go, lovely people. As I have said, this will chapter is Selene x Reader centric. I guess I’d have to say, it’s a little angsty. :)

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you decide to read it. xx

Parts: 1 |  2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

***

You spent the rest of the night between entertaining guests and sticking by Selene’s side. Lou desperately wants to talk to you, but she couldn’t get you alone nor catch your eyes. The Heist has known you both long enough to sense the charged energy between you two and leave it alone until it’s an appropriate time. Around midnight you’ve reached your limit, you couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Lou anymore. It felt suffocating to learn the truth and think that you could have saved yourself the heartache if she only gave you a chance. 

“Excuse me,” you said politely as you approach Selene who was in conversation with Debbie, Lou, Daphne, and Rose. They all smiled and said hi to you too. You caught your girlfriend’s eyes and without even prompting her so, she excused herself to talk to you in private.

“They’re so in-sync with each other,” Daphne happily gashed like a teenager, earning a pinched from Rose. “Ouch,” she whispered.

Rose not so subtly cocked her towards Lou before sipping from her glass of wine. Lou looked at Daphne. She can’t really begrudge her friends for rooting for you. She knows that she dug her own grave regarding the matter and the time has come to lie on it. “Sorry,” Daphne whispered while rubbing her arm soothingly. 

“It’s okay. She’s moved on. I’ve moved on, too,” Lou answered tentatively. LIAR. She gritted her teeth, knowing how unconvincing it is, even to her own ears.

“You guys don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. You’re allowed to be happy for her. I am happy for her.” LIAR.

Keep reading

[ravenforce]

Holy shit. Now I want Apfel Strudel and I'm continents away from it. Should I make one? 🤔

Thanks for the tag, @waitingfortheendtocome ! For a treat, an Apple strudel for you and Manhattan 9 is up. 😂

tag your friends who you think deserve an apple strudel magically conjured to the foot of their bed in the middle of the night I’ll go first

@demoness547 @tribblemakingalicorn @thegirlinsideherhead @eating-mooncakes @insanesincethe1640s @lula-vacker @evelinaproserpina @an-absolute-travesty @motherrussia69420 @didyouputyournameinthegob @enoch-vantas @simonablossoms @notalert I haven’t interacted with some of you guys at all but yeah you guys deserve magical apple strudels

clarification: the apple strudels do NOT intend to do any harm to you omb they are literally there for your AMUSEMENT and ENJOYMENT /j

[ravenforce]

Manhattan 9

Word Count: 6711

Summary: Lou dug her own grave, now she has to lie in it. What would Lou do? Selene’s not just a pretty face. Could she really get the reader back or is really too late?

A/N: Here you go, lovely people. As I have said, this will chapter is Selene x Reader centric. I guess I’d have to say, it’s a little angsty. :)

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you decide to read it. xx

Parts: 1 |  2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

***

You spent the rest of the night between entertaining guests and sticking by Selene’s side. Lou desperately wants to talk to you, but she couldn’t get you alone nor catch your eyes. The Heist has known you both long enough to sense the charged energy between you two and leave it alone until it's an appropriate time. Around midnight you’ve reached your limit, you couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Lou anymore. It felt suffocating to learn the truth and think that you could have saved yourself the heartache if she only gave you a chance. 

“Excuse me,” you said politely as you approach Selene who was in conversation with Debbie, Lou, Daphne, and Rose. They all smiled and said hi to you too. You caught your girlfriend’s eyes and without even prompting her so, she excused herself to talk to you in private.

“They’re so in-sync with each other,” Daphne happily gashed like a teenager, earning a pinched from Rose. “Ouch,” she whispered.

Rose not so subtly cocked her towards Lou before sipping from her glass of wine. Lou looked at Daphne. She can’t really begrudge her friends for rooting for you. She knows that she dug her own grave regarding the matter and the time has come to lie on it. “Sorry,” Daphne whispered while rubbing her arm soothingly. 

“It’s okay. She’s moved on. I’ve moved on, too,” Lou answered tentatively. LIAR. She gritted her teeth, knowing how unconvincing it is, even to her own ears.

“You guys don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. You’re allowed to be happy for her. I am happy for her.” LIAR.

***

“Is everything alright, love?” Selene asked the moment you two are out of earshot. She reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear even before you can respond, making your heart flutter happily despite everything. 

“Yes. Everything’s okay.” All things considering, you thought to yourself. 

“But?” Selene asked with a cheeky smile on her face.

“But…” you paused obnoxiously longer than necessary to get a rise out of your girlfriend. Selene merely rolled her eyes at you playfully, making you laugh. “…I’m exhausted. I’d like to head out.”

Selene’s face instantly softened. It’s not your first event together, and had Lou not dropped the truth bomb on you earlier you would be staying all-night-long too, but the truth is heavy. You met her eyes as she takes you in for a minute. The same look that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

The kind of look that says, she understands that seeing the woman you once love can’t be easy for you. The kind of look that says, she understands your exhaustion is more than just bone-deep but soul-deep too. She smiled and the look morphed to one that says, it’s okay and that she can man the fort for the both of you. 

“I’ll text the driver to meet you upfront,” she said softly while caressing your cheeks. You leaned into her touch. “In the meantime, come, say good night to your friends.”

“Do I have to?” you whispered like a petulant child as you walk hand in hand back to the Heist. 

Selene laugh at your childishness and bumped your shoulders softly. “Of course. You wouldn’t want to be rude, do you?” 

You sighed, knowing you can’t win against the woman when she’s appealing to your work etiquette. Selene laughed again when she caught you putting your work face on before you reach the group. 

***

By the time you got back, the Heist is already complete and accounted for. “Hey!” Constance and Nine yelled immediately when you sidled up next to her. You smiled as Nine plants a kiss on the side of your head, trying to get make Selene jealous but the woman’s pointedly ignoring the touchy and flirty nature of your relationship with the tech girl. 

“Everything alright?” Debbie asked. 

“Yes. This one has to leave now, though. It’s past her bedtime,” Selene teased. You just rolled your eyes at her as everyone laughs. 

“I need my beauty sleep, mommy,” you fired back, making your girlfriend turn scarlet. Two can play that game. Tammy choked on her drink, while Nine and Constance are in the middle of a coughing fit after snorting their drinks instead. 

“Nonsense.” You smirked at her when you heard her voice waver. “You look beautiful no matter what.” Selene tried to regain the upper hand in the conversation but she knew deep down you won that round. 

“Sap,” you said before using your right hand - the hand that Selene wasn’t holding - to fish your phone from your dress pocket. “It’s Hans, he’s upfront.”

“I’ll walk you.”

You turned to the Heist with a tired smile. “Thank you for having me,” you said softly to everyone before going around and giving everyone a hug. 

“I wish we could keep you, baby.” Nine looked over your shoulder to look at Selene who started blushing again. You laughed over your friend’s shoulder. “Stop,” you warned before smacking her ass playfully, making the Heist erupt in laughter again. 

Lou was not delusional enough to expect a hug but it still stings when you skipped giving her one. You did, however, wished her a good night. She downed the rest of her freshly refilled scotch as she watches you walk away with your girlfriend laughing. You and Selene moved with the fluidity that comes from years of being together, and Lou is beyond envious. 

She should have been the one making you laugh.

She should have been the one holding you when days are rough.

She should have been the one waking up next to you every morning, and the one you go to bed at night. She should have been the one kissing you and holding your hand. She should have been the one standing proudly next to you as you reach for the stars.

She should have been the one. 

She sucked in a deep breath when she heard Debbie whisper, “I know it hurts but get yourself together.”

***

The sun is almost peaking through the cracks on the hotel curtain when you felt Selene climbed in bed and bury herself in your back with a loud groan. Despite just falling into a pitiful sleep then, you couldn’t help but smile at the comforting weight of your other half. 

”You never stay until the morning for these things. What changed?” You whispered while subconsciously moving closer to your girlfriend. Amidst her sleep-deprived state, she caught on pretty fast to what you were doing. She immediately wrapped her arms around you, making you her precious little spoon. 

“I couldn’t pass up the chance to bride your friends for embarrassing stories about you.” She laughed before planting a soft kiss on your bare shoulders. Selene inhaled the faint smell of your favorite olive lotion. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am the epitome of grace.” You said it with so much conviction, Selene had to let out a belly laugh that rocks both of you in bed. You opened your eyes slowly and turns your head towards her with a pout. “Something funny?”

“Nothing.” Selene kissed you then. She didn’t care if you have morning breath, or that you taste like a lot of scotch. She kissed you and kissed you and kissed you until both of your lips are swollen. You were almost panting when she pulled away.

The soft moment was broken when the continuous notification on your phone registered in your ears. You groaned when your girlfriend plopped down on her side of the bed. “You should probably get that. It might be important.” 

“It might not be important,” you countered, making her smile. 

“It might be work.” 

“Buzzkiller,” you teased before rolling out of bed to check your phone. Selene follows your every movement with rapt attention. She watched your bare legs as you bent down to retrieve discarded articles of clothing on the floor. She watched you as you lean against the console table while your phone boots. She watched you frown down on your phone as you scroll through your notifications.

“Something the matter?” 

You took your eyes off your phone to look at her lounging on the bed, looking so comfortable. You’re tempted, highly tempted to shut your phone, and crawl back to the safety, warmth, and familiarity of Selene’s embrace. “Nine and Tammy’s inviting me to lunch.” 

“And?”

“And I don’t know if I want to go.” Selene cocked an eyebrow at you. “I’m still tired but I miss those two.” 

“And they miss you, too.” You sighed, chewing your bottom lip softly in thought. “Besides, it’s just lunch. I’ll probably still be here when you get back because I feel like hibernating right now.” 

You laughed. God, you love how Selene knows what to say at the exact right time. “Fine,” you relented. You typed a quick affirmative to your friends before hopping in the shower. 

When you got out of the shower, fully dressed and ready to go, Selene’s already asleep with your pillows stuck under her cheeks. You tiptoed quietly towards her sleeping form. You leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. 

“I love you,” you whispered before leaving.

Selene waited until she heard the door shut before inhaling deeply. “I hope you always do,” she whispered before sleep finally took her under.

***

“There you are!” Constance yelled when she spotted you at the doorway to the back patio of the restaurant. Everyone flinched at her volume.

“Here I am,” you said calmly before kissing the top of Tammy’s head. The blonde smiled and pulled the chair next to her for you. You sighed internally, you should have known it will be a team lunch instead of just you, Tammy and Nine. Everyone looked glorious even with a hangover especially your Lou.

You tried to stop the feeling as you watch her behind your very dark wayfarer. She’s wearing black jeans, black turtleneck, and black leather jacket. Her blue blue eyes stands out in her all-black ensemble and they look so tired and sad. She’s pointedly not looking at you, and you tried to deny to yourself but it hurts all over again. And even then, even with all the hurt bubbling up inside you, you still fucking miss her the most.

“Y/N/N?” Nine’s voice shook you out of your reverie. You hummed before turning your face towards her. Nine looked at you with a smirk on her pretty face as if to say, stop drooling. “I was asking, what will be having? From the menu, preferably.”

You kicked her foot, making her curse under her breath. Only then did you realize the staff that was standing across from you, behind Daphne. Instead of picking up the menu, you looked at the guy and asked, “I’ll have your greasiest burger, and your tallest glass of coffee with two shots of vodka, please. Thank you.”

The staff jutted your order on his notepad with a nod. Constance, Nine and Amita let out a playful wolf whistle at your choice. “Dang girl,” Nine started to say. “I thought London made you all prim and proper.”

“You can take the girl out of the city but you can’t take the city out of the girl.”

Everyone laughed, even Lou cracked a smile. All your reservations flew out of the window after the caffeine and the alcohol fully kicked into your system. Conversation flowed more easily around while waiting for the food. You exchanged stories from two years passed and for a moment, it felt like nothing hurts and everything will be alright.

Until Amita slipped up and misplaced her filter after her second glass of Jack coke. “Oh, Y/N, we’re so glad you’re able to get past the whole dramatics.”

It’s like time stood still.

It was a sunny summer afternoon in New York City but it felt like the temperature dropped to zero.

It’s like everyone at the table were holding their breath and the city sounded like you’re hearing it from underwater.

“Oh shit,” you heard Amita whispered. It effectively brought you back to the surface. “Y/N -”

You held up your hand. “You all knew?”

They threw worried glances at each other and it pisses you off even more. They knew.

“Sweetheart -” Tammy tried to reach you but you flinched away from her.

“It’s not their fault,” Lou said as she wring her hands on her lap. “I made them swore on our friendship. I’m sorry.”

That grated at you heavily but you learned from Selene not to show your emotions in public. “They’re my friends too.”

That simple statement broke everyone’s heart. You stood up, threw your napkin on the table and tried to leave. Lou stood too though. “Don’t be mad at them, please,” she begged for her best friend’s behalf. She knew that she couldn’t stand it if she cause a fall out between you and everyone too.

You turned on your heel to look at her. Debbie silently thank heaven for booking the whole patio for the group. No one else has to witness this debacle. “I’m not mad at them. I’m mad at you. Not only did you not give me a chance but you had to make our friends lie too.

Lou wanted to argue but you were on a roll. “Is it safe to assume that the Avengers knew too?” You asked, your heart running a mile a minute. With everyone’s silence, you found the answer. Of course, they knew too.

“If you truly believed that there was nothing I could have done to make our relationship work, I would have accepted your decision eventually. Heck, I would even take a simple, ‘I’m really not into long-distance’ than this elaborate scheme that involved way too many people.”

You took a deep breath then continued. “Yes, I would still be heartbroken but maybe, it would have been easier to put myself together.”

You let out a mirthless laugh. “But it wasn’t enough to just break my heart, you had to rip my soul too.”

“I didn’t think -”

“Yes, you didn’t think,” you cut her off. “Because if you did, you would have remembered the night you took me stargazing in Ithaca and I told you how I was left by my parents when I was a child, how I bounced from one foster family to another because somehow, they always find a defect in me.”

In that moment, you looked so small. She wanted to round the table and hold you as you heave from the weight of the emotions you were carrying but she couldn’t. She knows that you wouldn’t let her.

“I told you my history. I showed you my trauma.” You took off your wayfarer and everyone can see the tears collecting in your eyes. “Yet you still chose to break me the exact same way.”

***

You can hear voices, you can feel a soft hand holding one of yours but you couldn’t see. You forced yourself to open your eyes and you immediately shut it again once the bright florescent light assaulted your eyes.

“Hey.” You slowly opened your eyes again when you heard Selene’s voice greeting you. She’s smiling but you can see the worry in her eyes.

“Hey. Where are we? What happened?” You croaked out. Selene reached for a glass of water with a straw with her free hand and made you drink. You obliged because you’re parched.

“You’re in a hospital. You blacked out on the street,” Selene explained. “What happened?”

For a moment all you could do was just blinked up at your girlfriend. Frankly, you don’t know what happened. All you can remember was what went down at the restaurant and the immense need to get away as fast as you could. A doctor walked in and smiled at the two of you.

“Great, you’re awake. I’m Doctor Mike, I’m your attending physician.”

Selene smiled and shook the doctor’s outstretched hand. Selene asked what your prognosis was. Dr. Mike smiled and assured her everything’s alright. “Fatigue and dehydration caused her blacked out,” the doctor explained.

“Great. Can we go home now?” You asked as enthusiastic as you could. Selene gave you a soft glare.

The doctor chuckled. “Unfortunately, you had a mild concussion when you bumped your head in the pavement. So, we would like to keep you here overnight.”

“I’m fine. I can just sign a waiver, right?” You tried to argue with a frown. Doctor Mike glanced at Selene before excusing himself to, as he said, let you discuss it in private. Selene sat on the chair next to your bed.

“One night, my love. It’s all I ask,” she said while lazily flipping through a magazine you know she doesn’t care about.

You laid back down and stared at the white ceiling with a deep sigh. “Fine,” you said with an adorable pout that Selene can’t help but crack a smile. You glanced at her when she stood over the side of your bed.

“Do you mind if I step out for a couple of minutes?” She asked while caressing your cheek.

“Actually, I do mind. You know I hate hospitals,” you whined.

“I know, I’m sorry. I won’t be long, I promise.”

You dropped your shoulder in a shrug. You didn’t even ask her where she will be going. Knowing Selene, you assumed it's probably work.

***

You were listlessly flipping through the channel on the TV in your private room when you heard a knock on your door. After the restaurant debacle, the throbbing stitches over your right eyebrow, being forced to stay in a hospital then left alone puts you in a very sour mood.

“Hey.” You heard as the door opened to reveal the Avengers. 

Great, you thought. You’re not mentally and emotionally prepared to see them too. One by one, your friends piled inside your room with tense shoulders and tight smiles. 

“Breath,” you said in lieu of a greeting. “I’m not sure this hospital has enough bed if you all faint too.” Everyone laughed awkwardly. You watch them shuffle on their feet as they try to find the right words.

“We’re sorry, Y/N.” Nat couldn’t handle the silence anymore. “It wasn’t our secret to tell.” 

She’s right, it wasn’t but it doesn’t mean it hurts less though. “I know. It still sucks nonetheless.” 

Thor stepped up and walked over your bed. He reached down and took your hand. “We are awfully sorry for what our sister did. We’re equally sorry for making you feel like we took sides,” he said earnestly. 

Loki took your other hand in his. “It wasn’t a question of loyalty,” he swore. “It simply wasn’t our mistake to correct. Still, please, forgive us.” 

“We only got you back. Please, don’t hate us,” Maria pleaded. “We’re really really sorry.”

You couldn’t stop the tears that flowed down your cheeks like waterfalls. You pulled Thor down first because he was holding your more dominant hand and you let him smother you in a bear hug. When he pulled away, Loki dived in your arms immediately. Then he stepped away to let the girls pile around you in a group hug and you held on to them. There’s so much hurt going around, you don’t wanna drag the pain of the past any longer.

“Alright, ladies. Step away from the patient, please. Let me hug my best friend too,” Tony sassed as he playfully tears Nat, Carol, Wanda, and Maria away from you. Everyone laughed at his theatrics. Tony wiped the tear tracks on your cheeks with a soft smile. 

“Are we going to be okay?”

You smiled back at him. “We are okay, T. We’ve survived worst,” you assured him.

Tony grinned before leaning down and giving you a kiss on the crown of your head.

***

With tearful apologies out of the way, you found yourself lounging in bed with Tony who made you scoot over to one side of the single hospital bed so he can fit on the other with you. The bed was too small that you had to cling to him and rest your head against his chest.

“I can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?” Selene suddenly spoke from the open door, surprising everyone. She looks breathtaking even in simple jeans, a white satin blouse, black boots, and a messy bun.

Tony fell off his side of the bed when Selene walked confidently inside the room. You laughed before Selene caught your lips in a searing kiss. For a moment, the world faded away and nothing exists except you and your girlfriend.

Thor cleared his throat. “I guess that’s our queue to leave,” he said with a faint blush on his cheeks.

Selene smiled against your lips before pulling away. “Ah, little Odin. Sorry to interrupt your little get together but Y/N needs to rest now,” she said playfully as she walks towards the door and holds it for them. Everyone gave you a quick hug and a promise to hang out once you’re discharged before piling out of the room one-by-one.

“Thanks for keeping her company,” Selene whispered as your friends pass by her. Everyone just smiled politely at her.

When it’s just the two of you, Selene took her sweet time closing the door. She smiled when she turned back to you. “What did you do?” You asked as she unpacks the takeouts in front of you.

“Can’t I buy my girlfriend dinner?” She asked with a faux pout and you laughed heartily.

“Well. You only buy me dinner when you’re feeling guilty,” you teased.

“You know that’s not true.”

It’s not. Selene’s a very busy person but she takes you to dinner regularly. Either as her plus one on some important PR meeting or just because she missed you on a particularly long and hard day. When you’re lucky, she even cooks for you.

“Did you buy something expensive and unnecessary, totally blowing our monthly budget out in the sky?” You asked, squinting your eyes at her suspiciously.

“No, Y/N! I’m not guilty and no, I didn’t blow out our budget.” Selene laughed. “I just missed you today.”

“Sap.” You threw a piece of meat from your taco at her. Selene gasped in mock offense before throwing a piece of lettuce at you from her salad. You laughed but didn’t retaliate, knowing that if you do, there will be more food to clean up on the floor than food to eat.

***

After dinner, Selene took care of all the disposables and brought you water along with the medicine you have to take before going to bed. After taking them, you scooted automatically on one side of the bed so Selene can lay with you.

“Turn around,” she said as she undoes the buttons of her blouse.

“I’ve already seen you naked, See.” You complained while you do as you were instructed.

Selene climbed in bed with a laugh. “I wasn’t shy, idiot. It’s so I could do this,” she said as she wraps her arms around your torso and pulls your back flashed against her chest.

“You’re wearing a shirt,” you mumbled. You’re a little lost in the sensation of her steady arms and warm embrace.

“You didn’t expect me to go naked in a hospital, right?”

“It’s not fair! I’m naked under this gown.”

“Well, you’re a patient. I’m not.”

You could only smile at the easy banter between the two of you. It has always been the way with Selene. She held you tighter as she put her chin on your shoulder.

“Did something happened?” she asked in a whisper. You sighed heavily.

“Lou never cheated on me.” There’s no point beating around the bush. You have no other choice but to tell her because you never lie to each other. It was an established rule between the two of you. No matter what, no matter how small, no matter how painful it would be to hear. You two simply don’t lie to each other. “And everyone knew.”

A heartbeat passed. Then a minute, Selene held you motionless against her. If you focused hard enough, you could almost feel her heart pounding.

“See?” You wanted to ask if she’s okay or if she fell asleep.

“Can you elaborate?” She asked softly, and you didn’t have the heart to decline.

In an outsider’s eyes, your relationship may seem built on fun and flirty banter. Indeed it is, but it’s also founded in friendship, respect, and painfully honest conversations much like the one you’re about to have.

Selene walks into people’s lives like a storm, sucking everyone in her orbit. She’s used to getting anything and anyone she wanted until you. She thought you were playing hard to get when you declined her invitation to dinner the first two times. On the third, she just had to know why you wouldn’t go out with her. When she found out that you’re still heartbroken, she found herself offering you something she never offered any other woman she’s attracted to before.

Friendship.

Selene heard all of the stories. From Maria to Nat and Carol to Lou. Selene braised herself one more time for another night holding you as you speak about the woman. She listened even if it was the last thing she wanted to do.

She didn’t realize her mind drifted until she felt your finger smoothing the crease in her forehead. She tried to hide it, but you can see fear behind her eyes. She wets her lip nervously before speaking like that’s gonna help her get the words out easily.

“Change of plans?”

A heartbeat.

“No.”

You answered way too fast for her liking. You know you did, but you’ve thought about it. You loathe to admit it, but ever since you’ve seen Lou again you’ve been wondering what it’ll be like if you’re not committed to someone else. But you are, and to an incredible woman at that.

“No,” you reiterated. “I’m yours, See. If you’ll have me.” Selene regarded you for another few seconds before she grinned and pulled you to her chest.

Selene is an intelligent woman. She understood that asking you to stop loving Lou is impossible. She understood the depth of your love for the woman. She also understood that at that moment, you choose her. And that’s all that matters to her.

***

“I’m yours, See. If you’ll have me.” 

Lou bit her lip to prevent herself from crying right in front of your hospital door. Your door was left ajar enabling her to overhear the tail end of your conversation with Selene. 

Why did she even come? What’s the point? She thought to herself as she stood frozen like an idiot in front of your door. Thankfully, it’s beyond visiting hours. No one else, except the nurses she bribed to allow her through, to see her.

The point is you love her. After two fucking years, you still love her. She thinks she’s going crazy talking to herself in her head. 

I do but she’s with someone else. 

So? Nothing’s set in stone, Lou. They’re not married. 

But -

Butt? 

She sighed as she watches you safe and warm in Selene's embrace. 

Someone lowly cleared her throat. She looked to her side and see a nurse, smiling next to her. “Are you a friend of the patient?” she asked cordially before glancing inside your room. “They look perfect together, don’t they?” 

Are you just gonna stand around moping, watching her in the arms of another like a fucking loser? Or are you gonna up your game, appeal for mercy, and beg her to see that she still belongs to you. 

Lou gave the nurse a tight smile before turning on her heel and walking away. When the air hits her face, she turned towards the night sky and sighed. She doesn’t think it’s appropriate to call now after barely calling all her life but she’s beyond her pride now. She needs all the help she can get.

“Help me get her back,” she pleads to God, to the universe, or whoever is out there listening. 

***

Your overnight stay in the hospital ended up being a two-night stay because your girlfriend wouldn’t let you walk out of there without a full bodywork up. You were discharged two days after, without anyone from the Heist coming over to visit you. You were both relieved and disappointed if you’re being honest. How you manage to sustain two opposing ideas at the same is beyond you. But instead of making yourself crazy thinking about all of it, you decided to just relish the space as much as you could. 

You wanted to drag Selene back to London the moment you were discharged, but much to your dismay, the woman has found some business to work on in the city. On top of that, she’s adamant to keep you resting for at least another week. And to makes matters worst, she also enlisted the help of the Avengers to keep an eye on you when she’s away to deal with the business she won’t talk to you about. 

“I don’t need babysitters,” you whined while she was getting ready for her meeting one afternoon. 

“Darling, they’re not babysitters. They’re your friends. I thought you’re all cool?” Selene asked as she put the last touches on her makeup. 

A week passed before Selene found out that leaving you in the ‘care’ of the Avengers is a mistake. One day, she went home earlier than expected to find you sprawled on top of Thor, wrestling the guy for eating your last gummy bear.

“I’m never leaving you alone with your friends,” Selene said with a slight shake of her head the night prior. You laughed as you lounge on the bed, waiting for her to finish her nightly routine. “Would you like to come to my last meeting tomorrow?” 

Nonetheless, you nodded at her as she leans against the doorway between the suite and the bathroom.

“Oh no!” You gasped dramatically.

“What?”

“I have nothing to wear.” Selene rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, woman. I only brought one black dress and I already wore that to the art opening.” Your faux whining only made Selene giggle harder. “What if we bumped into a guest that evening and they saw me wearing the same dress twice. They would think I’m recycling outfits.” 

Selene full-on laughed at that. “We can’t have that, can we?” She kisses your cheek when she sat down next to you on the bed. “Alright, let’s go shopping tomorrow.” 

“Must we? Can’t we just have Simon bring dresses over?” Selene smacked you with a pillow in your face, surprising you. 

“Well, we could. Have you not insisted that we can dress ourselves and leave our dear stylist behind for this trip.” 

You plopped down and stared at the hotel’s ceiling. “Biggest mistake of my life,” you whispered. 

You ended up being fashionably late to dinner because someone got hot and bothered by your outfit, and having sex on the outfit you’re trying to pull off is a bit of work. 

 You walked through the restaurant holding hands, and you fought the impulse to pull away when you saw that you’re headed in a private area with a long table with the Heist and the Avengers. You plastered a smile on your face as you approach. 

“Hello ladies and children,” Selene greeted before pulling up a chair for you next to Tammy. “Sorry, we’re late.” 

Tammy smiled at you nervously, and at that moment you didn’t have the heart to deny her. You leaned towards your blonde friend and kiss her cheek. “Hi,” you said with a genuine smile. Tammy sighed and reached for your hand under the table, which you held without question. You then smile at everyone including Lou. They took it as an opening for reconciliation except for Lou. 

Lou has a sinking feeling in her stomach that she couldn’t explain. She drunk her glass of wine as she watches you banter with your friends. She’s not ready to see you yet. She hasn’t formulated a plan to get you back. She’s not ready, yet. 

After sharing pleasantries, placing orders, and glasses of wine poured, you couldn’t hold your tongue any longer. “So,” you started, and everyone immediately turned their attention to you. “Selene said this is a business meeting but the Avengers are here too. So, what’s happening exactly?” 

“Partly, yes it’s a meeting,” Debbie confirmed. “But partly, it’s just dinner since you might be coming back to London tomorrow.”

You scrunched your eyebrows together. “Might?” 

“Well, love. It’ll be up to you.” Selene’s smile was both nervous and hopeful. Selene took your silence as her queue to continue. Apparently, the business she has been working on the past week was a partnership with the Heist, and she wanted you to be her representative in New York. 

Your mind’s running a mile a minute. You can come home. You can work with your crew again. You can be close to your friends again. Wait. Pause. 

Every eye is on you, but you can only look at your girlfriend at that moment. Selene reached out and took your hand. “My home is where you are, silly. I’ll move to New York if you accept the offer,” she said like she just read your worried thoughts.

Lou gritted her teeth that earns her an elbow from Daphne. For a moment, she dared to hope that it was the opening she was waiting for. That the universe is continuously working in her favor. “But you love London,” you say. 

“I do, but I love you more,” Selene replies with a cheeky smile. 

Again, for the nth time that night, Lou had to choke down on her impulse to make a gagging sound. “Okay,” you said with a blush and smile on your face. Lou loathes to admit it, but happy does look good on you.

Everyone smiled, cheered, and congratulated you. Nine tapped her glass with a fork to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s have a toast, shall we?” 

You were about to reach for your glass too when Selene stood up. “Before that -” 

You watched her awkwardly shuffle on her feet. She never does that, not in public at least. “ - I would like to make you another offer,” she says as she looks at you. 

You lean back on your chair. “Go on,” you prompted with a smile. Hoping that it’ll help calm her down. Lou tensed up in her seat. Selene was silent for what seems to be the longest minute of your life.

“Y/N - “ For the first time in a long time, Selene is out of the right words. She cleared her throat. “We have a problem.” You frowned at that.

“I’m not sick of you, love. I’m pretty fucking in love with you it turns out.” The table giggles but you two paid them no attention. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” 

The giggling stopped immediately. Lou’s heart dropped in her stomach. “Oh shit,” you heard Daphne, Nine, and Tammy whisper, but you couldn’t turn away from Selene. You had tunnel vision, and all you can see is her movements. You watched as she reached inside her pocket and procured a black velvet box. 

She popped the lid open. You followed her hand, as she gently put the box down in front of you. 

“Will you marry me?”

-

Taglist:  @kaytoopio @marvelfansince08love @marvelb00kwolf @shycucumbersandwich @subject7creed @theprassebox​ @confessionsofawritingdork​ @gaytrashgoblin​ @cup-of-stars​ @natasharomanoffswife​

[ravenforce]

7K+ words. I think some priming needs to be done. M9 will be a whole lot Selene X reader than Lou X Reader. I'm sorry, I know you came for Lou. you can skip M9 if you want but I think it's integral to the whole plot.

Also before you kill me for making you wait forever then saying it's a Selene X reader chapter. please remember, this is the face of Selene.

hahaha.

WIP: Manhattan 9

890 WORDS

For Scene 1

There are basically 5 “scenes” in every fic. 

How long do you think this part would be? LMAO. 

[ravenforce]

I don't write for Cordelia but I enjoy reading this gals work. Show her some love. I'm pumped up for this story already. ♥️

Lie To Me (1)

A/N: Yep, another multi-part fic. Yep, no one asked me about this too. Yep, it’s still about Cordelia Goode x Reader. Yep, you can still ask or suggest stuff in the ask box.

Tag list: @ravenforce @cordeliasflowergirl @athenamgh @stevenuniversetanzanite​ @germansarechill​ @chonisbestmistake​ @alurous​ @coconutlipss​ @saucy-sapphic​ @ghiblitearss​  @emilyprentisswife​ @thats-my-peach​

Fuck!

This was the 6th time today that Cordelia tried to perform the re vera falsum - false reality. It shouldn’t be this hard especially now that she’s the Supreme. Somehow she can still find ways to fail and prove to her mother that she will never be as good as her.

re vera falsum is the careful alteration of reality, undetected by other witches. This must have been the last spell her mother used on the axeman before she sent him to his literal death. This is also the reason why she insists - obsessed - with learning how to do it.

She towered over Zoe, who willingly volunteered, and put all her intent into it. Her hands above the head of the seated witch, she began the incantation.

“re vera falsum,” her voice echoed in her head. She thought of a simple scenario where Zoe will think she ate hotdogs instead of cereals this morning.

She dropped her hand and asked Zoe, “What did you eat this morning?”

Please say hotdogs.

Say hotdogs.

Hotdogs.

“Cereals.”

Shit.

“Cordelia, you don’t have to try so much with this spell.” The young witch reassured her.

Make this the 7th time she failed today.

“I just think it would be valuable for the witches to learn this spell,” she reasoned. Zoe knew it was only one of the reasons her Supreme strive so hard but she’ll never voice it out.

“Okay,” Zoe paused to think for a while, “Well, I remember seeing in our records that there’s a witch in New York that specializes with this particular magic.”

Cordelia stiffened for a bit, trying to remember all of the witches who reside in the Big Apple. Someone who has the ability to alter reality without being as powerful as Fiona.

Y/n!

The charismatic witch who is often mistaken as Fiona’s daughter, due to her natural charm and self-confidence. The ambitious lady who walked out of the coven to achieve something bigger than casting spells and memorizing potion recipes. The frank, rational, and witty [y/n] who never called back nor gave a reason for leaving.

Cordelia excused Zoe, in order to think about her next course of action. It has been years since she last thought of you. She doesn’t even know why you left or why you suddenly stopped talking to her. One minute she was inviting you to her wedding then suddenly you were leaving the coven.

She sat in her office the whole day, trying really hard to get some work done but you keep entering her mind. The sly smiles you wear when you ace a spell the first try. The stolen glances she takes whenever you’re not looking. The aromatic whiff of your perfume that she can inhale whenever you’re close - too close. The kiss.

Oh, that kiss during New Year’s Midnight.

Cordelia can swear she died, flew to heaven, and came back during that time. What a way to start the new year? Instinctively, she bit her lip trying to remember the sensation of that encounter years ago. The way your lips fit or how she let out a moan ten seconds into the kiss. The more she thinks about it, the more hot and bothered she gets.

“Delia,” a voice took her out of her little trip down memory lane.

She composed herself and faced the voice, which turns out to be Zoe, standing by her office doorway.

“The girls are all settled in their rooms,” the witch continued. Cordelia thanked her, assuming that she’ll leave already. “Have you thought about the New York witch?”

“What?” the Supreme was caught off guard with the question. She was definitely thinking about the witch but not the way her council would imagine.

“Yeah. I think I’ll go see her,” she replied haphazardly. Did she even think about this?

Oh, she was thinking all right but definitely not that.

“Okay,” Zoe cheered. “Don’t worry. Queenie and I will handle the girls tomorrow.” She then bid her good night.

She didn’t say tomorrow, right? Suddenly, every part of Cordelia feels excited to meet an old lov friend.

—

The bright sun rays shone through your office in the middle of a New York day. Honestly, your kind of day. You just closed a multi-million dollar shipment deal and you deserve to celebrate.

You were just going over some papers that need to be signed by the end of the day when you felt a sudden surge of familiar power. Familiar but stronger. You looked up to see a blonde, whom you’ve never seen for years. Vowed to never see is actually the phrase to be used here.

“Hi!” The intruder greeted.

“Did you transmute here all the way from New Orleans?” you threw a disappointed look her way. She bit her lip and meekly nodded. You thought that old habits must die hard. “That’s risky,” you simply replied then continued your paper checking.

She took several steps forward before speaking again, “I need your help, [y/n].”

“No,” was your immediate response without looking up.

“You haven’t heard what I was going to ask?”

You annoyingly looked up to see her staring at you, quite intensely. “Do I have to?” She gave you a smile so familiar that you knew it means ‘of course’. “The last time I helped someone from that coven, I almost died.”

You didn’t mean to treat her with animosity but the sudden intrusion and lack of boundaries really put a dent on your good day. This is Cordelia. Your friend. You almost killed someone for her once upon a time. You just can’t help but use a brash attitude to hide the old feelings that are trying to claw its way out.

“Fiona,” you heard the witch mutter. You hummed in agreement.

“Called me last year and said she needed a place to stay in the metro.” You began to tell the story when she sat down on the chair in front of your desk. “I offered her one of my condo units but she insisted that she wants to stay with me. So we had fun for three straight days,” your face now turning sour, “up until the last day where she tried to kill me moments before she left.”

“I’m sorry about that,” the breathtaking witch in front of your said.

“So, no.” You once again declined. “I won’t help you with whatever it is.”

“But you always say yes to Fiona,” she commented that felt more like an accusation.

“She’s the supreme.”

“I’m the supreme now,” her voice becoming higher.

“That’s different,” you replied, matching her voice. “You don’t have the same hold over me.”

“Then what does she have on you?” She stood, hoping to show dominance in the conversation.

Now, you’re really annoyed. If there’s one thing you don’t like, it’s being bossed around especially on your turf. “I’m not gonna tell you and it’s best for you to get out.” You stood up walked towards the door.

Suddenly, you heard the door locked and the glass panels darkened. The sun rays now replaced with the dim lights of the 4 lamps in your office corners. You stopped midway, ready to send her flying against the wall. Glass panels be damned.

“You are going to teach me re vera falsum and you’re going to do it now.” She firmly said. You audibly chuckled at the thought.

In your years of friendship at the academy, you were always the dominant one. She follows or agrees. She would speak her mind but later on admit that you were probably right. She’s straight even back then. Always knowing what’s black and white, while you prance around the grey area quite often. To see her today, after years of no contact, with absolute conviction and ready to fight her ground excited you a little bit.

You faced her again, this time with a smug grin on your face. You took your sweet time taking her in. The flowy dress that hugs her curves. The blonde hair that cascades past her shoulders, probably only blow-dried. Her hands are folded into fists. Her face clearly shocked by the sudden exhibition of her powers.

Cordelia is always well kept, thinking being prim and proper would get her mother’s approval. She spent most of your days together controlling her powers, not letting it get the best of her. Perhaps the only time she played outside her own rules was when she married that son of a bitch. Knowing how she hates being dismissed by her mother, you know the next words coming out of your mouth will piss her even more. A game that definitely excites you in more ways than one.

—

Cordelia demanded something. If it were any other witch in her academy, they would have given it to her already. This time, however, she can’t just get her way. It’s [y/n], after all. The only person who knows exactly how to push her buttons, and hopefully pop them off.

Delia, stop!

“You went through all that trouble just for a spell?” You said, breaking the silence. Cordelia swallowed hard. Hearing the voice you most often use with your lovers directed at her got her pressing her legs together. “It’s not a skill for every witch.” That seductive, low voice of yours take her 9 years back when she would love herself to sleep with you in mind. It’s not helping that you have a predatory look on your face as you come closer.

“I’m not every witch,” she replied almost in a trance.

“No, you’re not.” You pin her against the desk. “Tell me, Delia,” your stare alternating between her eyes and lips, “what would happen if I say no again?”

It was a challenge. Cordelia knew that. At this point, she’s no longer present but rather lost in your perfume and the way you hover over her. She can feel your breath on her skin and was about to k-

*ring* *ring*

Your phone office rang, interrupting whatever it was that she was about to do. She shifted in her foot, trying to regain what’s left of her sanity. Cordelia came here for a reason yet somehow that reason is slowly going out of the window.

You reached for the phone without breaking eye contact with her and pressed the speaker button. “Miss [y/n], just reminding you of your 2:30,” your cheery assistant’s voice echoed through the room.

“Lily, cancel all my meetings for the rest of the day,” Cordelia remained transfixed on your face. “And make sure I’m not disturbed.” You didn’t give the other person a chance to respond as you end the call swiftly.

You returned your whole attention to the Supreme, who is not feeling so supreme right now. Pinned against your desk and allowing you to have this effect on her. A specific kind of heat coursing through her body.

“You were saying?” You teased, knowing full well that you saw how she almost lunged forward earlier. You licked your lips that caused Cordelia to gulp once again today. “It’s okay,” your voice returning to its normal range. “Turns out I have all day.”