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tacobacoyeet · 7 days ago

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nothing (but love) for you | t.d., p.z., a.d. | part 1

part 1 | part 2

a/n: THIS IS AN AU!! tashi does NOT get injured and patrick is ALSO at stanford. scenes that you recognize from the movie are inspired by the original screenplay, so they may not be exactly as you remember. this is the longest thing i've ever posted on tumblr and i kind of hate but but i also kind of love it. this is NOT the end of the story, part 2 is in the works! i hope you all enjoy!

warnings: SMUT 18+, cursing, a lot of anger, suicide mention, unspoken feelings, manipulation, tashi duncan is mean (i'm sorry)

“Fuck.”

That’s the only thing Art Donaldson manages to utter when he watches you step onto the court, modestly waving at the crowd. He almost didn’t notice Tashi. He wouldn’t have, honestly, if it weren’t for the way the crowd’s volume seemed to multiply when she entered. Technically, she was the whole reason he was there—well, Patrick all but dragging him back to the stands after their doubles win, both boys with glass trophies in one hand and lukewarm hot dogs wilting slightly under the Atlanta sun in the other.

Patrick talked about Tashi like she hung the moon and the fucking stars. To be fair, she deserved it. She may as well have. “You don’t get it, man. You’ve never seen her in person. She’s in another league.”

“You mean her game?” Art’s brow furrowed. He didn’t understand why Patrick was talking so animatedly about this girl.

“No. I mean she’s the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.”

The boys watched you and Tashi nod at each other across the court. They were too far up to see the way your lips quirked into a smirk as you locked eyes with the girl—an unspoken promise of what was to come. I mean, she was your best fucking friend. Of course, you’d see her tonight. You were sharing a hotel room.

Your number 4 ITF World ranking wasn’t far from her number 1. It was barely visible in the way you two rallied, that neon yellow ball flying across the court fast enough to give any particularly attentive crowd members whiplash as they attempted to follow it, necks craning.

Both boys could feel their shorts growing tighter with each little grunt that escaped you and Tashi. The swish of your tiny skirts, the sweat trickling down your faces, the eyes you’d make at each other after a particularly nasty move. There was far more happening on this court than just a tennis match. No… this was a scene crafted by the hands of Aphrodite and Nike themselves.

You took set 1.

Tashi took 2 and 3.

It’s after the filthy spin you send Tashi’s way to win set 4 that Patrick’s hand flies to Art’s thigh, gripping it tightly. “Holy shit,” he remarks like he can’t believe his eyes. “I take it back. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Art moves his trophy to hide the uncomfortable tent in his shorts. “Yeah. This isn’t even tennis, anymore,” he breathes out.

Patrick’s eyes are locked on the court. “Fuck, no,” he scoffs like Art has just said the stupidest thing in the world. “Dude, this is porn.”

The same thought is running through both boys’ minds later that night as they watch you and Tashi on the dance floor. Her royal blue dress flies out around her as you twirl her, her silky brown waves tickling your face as she playfully grinds against you. Her face is plastered on the Adidas branded banner on one side of the party, hanging above a decorated table with her singles trophy, which is sat directly in between yours and her glass doubles trophies, your medals hanging on either side. Your runner-up trophy is there too. Just off to the side, so as to not mess up the symmetry. Of course.

“She’s gonna turn her whole family into millionaires. They both will,” Patrick remarks as he takes in the banner. Adidas Celebrates the Champions of Tomorrow. “I’m surprised Y/N is even here. I’d kill myself before I showed up to a party after losing a match like that.”

Art lets out an unamused scoff. “Shut up, man. If I can be at your parties every time you beat me, then there’s no reason for Y/N not to be here. She played like a beast. It was anyone’s game. And she took the loss so… graciously.”

“Oh, she took something, for sure. I thought they were gonna kiss after the last set,” Patrick remarks.

It wasn’t a totally outlandish suggestion, honestly. When Tashi sent that final hit, the ‘killer backhand’ that sent the tennis ball bouncing just barely in the corner of the white lines, far too fast for you to calculate, the whole crowd was expecting you to smash your racket. Cry. Curse her and her family into generations beyond her time. Not for you to both cross to the center of the court, pressing your foreheads together for a split second to whisper something the audience would never hear. Not a show of sportsmanship. Of companionship. Of love.

Art snorts. “You’re a freak.”

“Yeah, and Y/N’s a model citizen. They’re both pillars of the community. I’d let either of them fuck me with a racket. Probably both.” Patrick’s back to watching you and Tashi dance with each other. Now it’s you who’s jokingly twerking on her, both of you all smiles and girlish giggles. He doesn’t spare Art a glance.

A little while later, you’re taking a breather in a secluded corner of the party while Tashi takes pictures with her trophy. You let out a quiet, grateful breath as the cold, bright orange soda coats your dry throat. You sigh as you feel the carbonation crackle its way through you, but your moment of solace is interrupted when you notice two boys approaching you, an air of attempted swagger surrounding them that’s almost as artificial as the fruit flavoring in your drink.

They try to introduce themselves, voices stumbling over their own names, but you stop them.

“I know who you are,” you reply, a timid yet level smile on your face as you shake their sweaty hands. “Zweig? And… Donaldson?” your brow furrows as you clarify their names, a little apologetic that there was a delay in your recollection. “Fire and Ice, right?”

“Oh my god.” Art looks like he could die on the spot.

Patrick keeps his cool. “In the flesh.”

You smile at his response, opening your mouth to ask a question— but Tashi approaches from behind you, beating you to it.

“Which one’s which?”

“What do you think?” Patrick’s countering her question before it’s even fully out of her mouth. A beat passes. You make awkward eye contact with Art across the crackling gaze that Tashi and Patrick share. It makes you itch.

“So, you two are—”

“Both of you—”

You look down at the grass for a moment, an awkward chuckle escaping you as your voice overlaps with Art’s. “Go ahead.”

“I was just gonna say that you two were fucking incredible, today.”

“Thank you,” Tashi replies before you can choke something out, a hint of surprise flashing behind your eyes. He was the only person who had praised both of you. At least, without your half being a backhanded compliment, or an afterthought of a comment wrapped in a pity-colored bow.

“No, really,” he pipes up again. “It wasn’t even, like… tennis. I mean, I felt bad for you.” There it was. He knows he probably shouldn’t have said it, but you brush it off easily.

“Oh, don’t,” you let out a short chuckle. “I’m only here to be her faithful doubles partner and for the leftovers from her brand deals.” You gently nudge Tashi’s shoulder with your own. She smiles at your comment, shaking her head a little as she tugs you a little closer to her. All four of you look back up at Tashi’s poster as one of you tries to think of something to fill the awkward silence.

“So,” you manage to spit out. “Stanford this fall, right? For both of you?”

Patrick smirks at that. You weren’t lying about knowing who they were. “Yeah, how’d you—”

“They mentioned you. Both of you, when I was accepting my offer. Same for Tashi.”

“You’re not going pro?! Why?” Patrick looks away from you and back to Tashi, his eyes bugging out of his head. That one stung. A little.

She’s opening her mouth to respond, but she’s interrupted by her father pulling her away for more pictures. “Later,” she mutters with a clipped smile at the two boys, trailing her fingers down the inside of your wrist as she lets go of you.

You make small talk with the boys for as long as you can, but it’s not easy trying to talk to them when it’s obvious that they're more focused on Tashi than you. At least, Patrick was. You chat politely with them for a little while longer before you manage to think up a good enough excuse to get away. Art isn’t even able to spit out a proper goodbye, he’s too busy staring at you, desperately trying to burn every pore, every molecule of your face into his memory. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t doing the same to him.

For some reason, they linger. Well, you know the reason. She's the one who allows the four of you to be lazing on the beach. You stare wistfully at the cigarette perched between Patrick’s fingers, the smoke curling around him and teasing you. Tashi gave him the same look she used to give you when he offered one. She refused for both of you. Not that you would have said yes—that was a non-negotiable when you two became doubles partners. Smoking was a thing of the past, for you. Except for when you managed to sneak away from her.

“So, why are you so obsessed with going pro?” Tashi asks Patrick.

“I’m not. You’re just obviously good enough to go. Probably both of you. So why not?”

A thin smile crosses your face. “Tennis isn’t forever. I’d like to have skills beyond hitting a ball with a racket.” You cross your ankles, legs stretching across the sand. “If it’s such a big deal to you, then why aren’t you going pro?”

Patrick rolls his eyes, shoving the quiet blonde next to him. “His fault. I’m gonna go pro as soon as I can, though. Hitting a ball with a racket is a great way to avoid getting a job.”

Tashi’s firing a retort before you can even register his comment. “See, that’s your problem. You think tennis is fun. Screwing around, expressing yourself. It’s why you’ve still got that serve.” She says it with such disgust, that it gives you flashbacks to all those times she’d involuntarily start coaching you. Every comment about your focus, your forehand, your emotions. It haunted you. But it made you better. She made you better.

“It works,” Patrick replies, shooting a smirk at Art. He looks away, his eyes locking with yours.

“Yeah, but you’re not a tennis player. You don’t even understand what tennis is.” Tashi’s firing back at Patrick and even though he seems to be welcoming it, you can’t avoid the second-hand embarrassment. You shoot Art a meaningful look, as if to say, we’re not both like this. He grins.

Patrick’s leaning toward Tashi now. “What is it?”

She looks over at you. “A relationship.”

“Is that what you two had today?” Art tilts his head to the side as he asks. Cute.

You grin at him. “Of course.”

“We were actually playing tennis,” Tashi adds. “We understood each other completely. So did everybody watching. It was like we were in love—”

You tense. She doesn’t miss a beat.

“—Or like we didn’t exist. We went somewhere… really beautiful, together.” You’re both looking at each other, now. Art and Patrick stare. They can’t decide if this passing moment is too awkward for them or if it’s the hottest thing they’ve ever seen.”

Art speaks. “How long have two been… together?”

You flinch a little. Tashi laughs. “We’re not.”

There’s another beat as both boys visibly sag with relief.

“I should probably get going before my parents come looking for me,” Tashi says. She stands, looking down at you. “You coming?” It’s phrased like a question, but you know it’s actually an order. You stand as well, brushing the sand off of yourself.

“It was nice meeting you guys,” you smile at the boys. “We’ll see you at Stanford, I guess.”

You start walking away, but you’re stopped as Patrick calls out to you. “Wait! Do you guys have Facebook?”

“Yeah, here—” you reach for your phone, but Tashi is quick to grip your wrist.

“What?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“He’s trying to ask for your number. Which is what I’m also doing… right now,” Art chimes.

“You want both of our numbers?” You ask.

“Very much so,” he replies.

“We’re not here to home-wreck,” Tashi says.

You look at her. You wanted their numbers. At least Art’s. You were still trying to get a feel for Patrick.

“We don’t live together,” Art replies.

Patrick’s quick to add. “It’s an open relationship.”

“Also, Patrick has a girlfriend.”

“I don’t,” he glares at Art. “Come hang out with us later. They put you up at the hotel in Flushing, right? We’re in room 206.”

“Don’t you guys have a final tomorrow?” You can’t help but ask. “Shouldn’t you be, like, preparing, or something?”

“Eh,” Patrick replies. “We both know how it’s gonna go.” Art glares at him. You know exactly how he feels.

Tashi smirks at them, amused by the interaction. Her hand hasn’t left your wrist. “Goodnight.”

It’s later that night that you and Tashi are sitting in a little circle with Art and Patrick on the floor of their messy hotel room. Tashi gave you a little speech, on the way, about why you couldn’t give them your Facebook just yet, and how you needed to make them sweat. You weren’t stupid, you didn’t need her to explain it. But you let her, anyway. You always melted at the tone she’d take with you, the softness in her gaze as she’d teach you. It meant she cared. About you. Not just tennis. That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

Art passes one of the Budweiser cans over to you before you ask another question. You’d been there, chatting idly for at least 30 minutes, not to mention the extra seconds that you and Tashi spent giggling outside their door, listening to them scramble around after you knocked.

“So, how’d you guys meet? Preschool? Mommy and Me classes? You seem close.” You sip the lukewarm beer, resting against the back of the bed.

Art and Patrick look at each other, laughing. “The Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy,” Art replies, a poorly hidden eye-roll accompanying his mocking tone.

“Bunk-mates since we were 12,” Patrick adds. Cute. “You never thought of doing anything like that?” he asks, his eyes flitting between both of you. “I mean, you had to have met somewhere.”

“The free tennis camp our local high school offered when we were in elementary school, actually,” you reply. “We didn’t grow up in the boarding school tax bracket.”

“Yeah,” Tashi adds. “And neither of our parents would’ve wanted us coming of age in a place like that.”

“Why?” Patrick asks. “What were they afraid of?”

You shoot him a look, gesturing around at the four of you. Everyone laughs.

The awkwardness starts to fade after that, and soon enough, you find all four of you in an animated conversation, two empty beer cans on the floor between all of you. You’re having a laughter-filled chat after Tashi tells the story of your first kiss, the way you were so scared, so nervous the whole time. You laugh about it, now, but you’d be lying if you didn’t feel a little twist in your throat every time she told the story, portraying you like a stupid little duckling who could barely stand on your own feet without her help. That’s not how it was. That’s how Tashi liked it, though.

Art interrupts the peals of giggles with an idea of his own. “We should play a game.”

“Like what?” you ask, the grin still on your face.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, looking around the room. “Like… spin the bottle. Or spin the ‘beer can’, I guess.”

“Dude,” Patrick knocks him on the shoulder. “We’re not 12.”

“No, let’s,” Tashi interjects. “That’s cute.”

Tashi’s approval shuts Patrick up immediately, and then one thing leads to another, and then all of a sudden Art and Tashi are making out while you and Patrick are directly across from each other. She’s devouring him, towering over him on her knees as she cups his cheek, his back arching as he bends to her touch. His hand slides gently down her thigh, gripping just under the hem of her shorts to pull her closer. Patrick rips his gaze from them for a moment just to look at you. He doesn’t bother to conceal the tent in his shorts. He’s itching.

“Do you want to—”

Tashi’s too occupied with Art for you to bother asking her for permission. “Please.”

And then you’re in his lap, the quietest of whimpers escaping you as he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth before slipping his tongue into your mouth, exploring like he’s on a mission. He’s not slow or gentle by any means. It’s like he’s trying to kiss his way through you, like he’s the river forming the Grand Canyon, finding each little crack, each little thing that makes you gasp against his lips, molding you into a mess just for him, your hips helplessly grinding against his.

You’re so lost in him that you almost don’t notice that Art and Tashi have detached, and the blonde boy is now laying wet, sloppy kisses up your throat, along your jaw, inching closer and closer to mash his lips against Patrick’s. Tashi tugs your face away from Patrick so she can lock her lips onto yours, and you melt into her. It’s familiar. She tastes like the sweat lingering on your skin after every evening of running drills together. She tastes like every stone-cold comment she’d make about your form, your serve, your skill, that she’d throw in between kisses. She tastes like marschino cherries and 88% dark chocolate. She tastes like your entire fucking life. Because she’s always been there. She always will be. She never wants you to know a life without her—not because she loves you, not because you’ve spent nights behind closed doors, begging her to tell you that her feelings weren’t all in your head—but because you were good. At tennis. Good enough to be her partner, good enough to give her a real fucking challenge. But never good enough to win. Never good enough to win her.

Tashi stops Patrick before he can slide his hand past the waistband of your shorts, pulling you up from his lap gently.

“Okay,” you whisper under your breath, chest rising and falling a little heavier than normal. “Well, goodnight.” You wave awkwardly at both boys, because what else are you supposed to do when you're being dragged away from a potential foursome?

“Wait!” Patrick says. “What about your numbers?”

Surely she’d let you now, right? Wrong.

“I told you,” Tashi says. “We aren’t homewreckers.”

Art locks eyes with you. “Please.”

The level of desperation in his voice matches the one in your chest. You want him just as bad.

Tashi looks at you, and then back at them. She laughs.

“How about this? We’ll be at your match tomorrow. Whoever wins can text me.” She shrugs as she says it. It hits you in the gut. Now that she was getting famous, being wanted… what were you there for? Other than to make her look better, more untouchable?

You watch as Art’s shoulders drop, while a bright smirk lights up Patrick’s face.

“You can beat him,” you mutter softly, your eyes on Art’s. “You should.” You almost don’t want to say it, because it’s not you that they’re vying for. It was never you. Not for brand deals and endorsements, not for the match-winner predictions, not for anything.

“Are you saying you want me to?” He asks.

“She’s saying you’re not getting my number if you don’t,” Tashi replies.

“Well, what do you want?” Art asks, his eyes flitting between both of you.

You sigh, answering for Tashi. The same thing she would say to you every time you asked why she didn’t want you. “She wants to watch some good fucking tennis.” Tashi misses the disdain in your voice as you say it. Art doesn’t.

With one last condescending “goodnight,” from Tashi, she’s dragging you out of their room. The moment the door slams shut, though, you’re tugging her arm, pressing your ear up to the door.

“Remember when you said you’d let me win?” Art’s voice is muffled through the door.

“That was a lifetime ago,” Patrick replies. You can almost hear the smirk in his voice.

“But what about my grandma?”

“I hope she has a fucking stroke.”

There’s a low thud, followed by a pained groan from Art. You and Tashi grin at each other.

It’s later that night when you’re in your hotel room, Tashi’s slow breathing being the only noise filling the small space. Your fingers were still coated in her, the taste of her still on your lips. She never would’ve shown it to them, but she was just as wet as you were after leaving the boys’ room. The moment you were back in your own room, she was pulling you down, coaxing your head between her thighs.

“My girl, aren’t you?” She murmured, her fingers carding through your hair. You moaned against her in response, lips latched to her clit as you worked your middle and ring finger in and out of her. “So sweet. You know, if you put this much effort into practicing your tweener, maybe you would’ve won, earlier.”

You pretended like you couldn’t hear her. She laughs at her own words—the thought of you actually beating her was a pipe dream.

You adjust your fingers to find that sweet, spongy spot inside of her, the one that always makes her let out the softest little whimpers when you hit it. It’s the only time you ever feel like you’re the one in charge. But you both know that she still is. Neither of you needs to say anything about it. It’s evident in the way that you eat her out until she’s exploding on your tongue, and she reciprocates by saying, “Don’t forget, we’ve got court time tomorrow morning at 6,” before she rolls over and turns the lamp off before falling asleep.

It was always like this. You’d do anything for Tashi. Every time you got on the court with her, every time you locked eyes or fingers or lips, you fell for her all over again. She’d parade you around like you were her cute little puppy, but she always knew exactly where the line was. She molded you into being hers, but she was never yours. Tashi Duncan didn’t belong to anyone. You used to admire her for it—her free spirit, her determination, her power. But… too much of anything is bad. Admiration becomes resenting. But, maybe Art and Patrick would be good for you guys. It would help to step outside the box that was just you and her, right?

---

The Stanford Athletics Cafeteria is buzzing with the usual lunchtime noise—clattering trays, the hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter from a table full of exhausted athletes. You and Art are sitting at your usual spot near the window, halfheartedly picking at your food, waiting.

Tashi and Patrick are late. Again.

You know exactly where they are. Running drills. Tashi had dragged Patrick to the courts before the sun was even up, and he’d gone willingly, just like always. Patrick had that kind of energy—relentless, restless, always moving toward the next high. And Tashi? Tashi never stopped. Never slowed down. Not for you, not for anyone.

Art stabs a fork into his salad, expression a grin playing on his lips. "I give them five minutes before they storm in here like they just discovered the cure for cancer."

You breathe out a short laugh, stirring your drink with your straw, eyes flicking toward the cafeteria doors as if willing them to appear. It’s always like this—waiting. Waiting for Tashi to be finished with whatever she deemed more important than you. Waiting for Patrick to fall into step behind her like a well-trained soldier. Waiting to see if today is the day something shifts. If she sees you sitting here and realizes what she’s about to do.

The doors slam open, and like clockwork, they’re here.

Tashi walks in first, her expression sharp, jaw tight. She’s still dressed in her practice gear, hair pulled into a messy ponytail, sweat cooling at the nape of her neck. Patrick follows a second later, far less affected. He’s buzzing, the post-drill high still clinging to him, sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. He slides onto the bench next to Art, stealing a fry off his plate without hesitation.

Tashi drops into the seat across from you with a dramatic sigh, leaning back like she’s trying to keep herself from physically vibrating with irritation. You don’t even have to ask before she launches into it.

“This is a waste of my time.”

You glance at Art, already bracing yourself. Here we go.

Tashi gestures vaguely with her hand, like the entire concept of college athletics is beneath her. "It’s too fucking easy. The competition? Not even close to what we’re used to." She scoffs, shaking her head. "The only matches that are even remotely worth playing are our practices."

Patrick, as expected, nods along. “Yeah, I mean—duh.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "We could be playing at a whole different level right now. The only thing keeping us here is, what, some obligation to a school that’ll replace us the second we’re gone?"

Tashi points at him. “Exactly.”

You frown, stomach twisting. Art just crosses his arms over his chest.

Then Tashi delivers the real blow: “So if we win the championship this year, I’m going pro.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Patrick grins like he’s just won the lottery. "Fuck yeah. Let’s all do it." He leans forward, excitement radiating off of him. "Seriously, why wait? We win, we go pro. The four of us."

You and Art exchange a look. “No way,” you say at the same time. Art lets out a short, incredulous laugh.

Tashi blinks, her head tilting slightly. She wasn’t expecting that. Not from you.

“What?” She laughs, but there’s a thin layer of confusion beneath it. “Come on, Y/N.” She leans forward, all charm, all ease, like she can just fix this with a few well-placed words. “This is us. It’s what we’ve always wanted. It’s what we’re supposed to do.”

You hesitate. Because that’s exactly how it’s always been. Tashi decides, and you follow. No questions asked. No hesitation. But this time, you shake your head. “Not yet.”

Tashi’s smile tightens. "Why not?"

You exhale, feeling the weight of the moment settling over you. “They recruited all four of us. We can’t just bail after one semester.”

Tashi gives you a look. “Yes, we can.”

Patrick scoffs. “Y/N, come on. You could easily go pro right now.”

It’s meant as a compliment. It doesn’t feel like one.

Art leans back in his chair, expression unreadable. “You’re really just gonna leave?”

Tashi shrugs. “Yeah.”

And that’s when it really hits you.

She doesn’t even care that this means you won’t be together anymore—not just as a doubles team, but as… you and her. This is the first time since you were kids that you won’t be at her side. And she’s fine with it.

Maybe she always assumed you’d follow her. Maybe she just never thought about you at all.

But instead of letting it go, she shifts—just slightly, just enough for you to feel it. “I mean,” she continues, tilting her head, her voice softening into something almost pitying, “I get it. The pro circuit is brutal. You have to be able to keep up. And, you know—” she waves a hand vaguely in your direction, “—you still have some weaknesses you need to work on.”

Your stomach drops. “Excuse me?”

Tashi shrugs. “I mean, your second serve still isn’t aggressive enough. And your net game—” she clicks her tongue, shaking her head like she’s disappointed in you. Like she’s coaching you. “It’s probably better for you to stay, actually. You wouldn’t want to get out there and just… flounder.”

The air in your lungs turns sharp like it’s been knocked out of you. Art visibly tenses beside you. Even Patrick stops chewing, sensing the shift in the air. You stare at Tashi. Really stare at her. And for the first time in your entire life, you wonder if you’ve been blind this whole time. Because she’s doing it on purpose. She couldn’t convince you to follow her, so now she’s making sure you question yourself instead. She doesn’t like that you didn’t just fall in line. She doesn’t like that for once, you said no. And for the first time, something different sparks inside you.

Not admiration. Not longing. Not even resentment.

Something closer to rage.

That night, you’re in Art’s dorm room, the air thick with something unspoken. He’s already on you the moment you sit on the bed, hands sliding up your thighs, thumbs pressing into your skin like he’s mapping out every inch of you. It’s familiar—effortless in a way that doesn’t need thought.

Except you’re not here, not really.

His lips find the curve of your neck, dragging slow and warm along your pulse. His hands slip beneath your shirt, fingertips teasing over your ribs. “You good?” he murmurs, voice low, lips brushing against your skin.

You hum in response, but it’s absent, distracted. Your mind is still in the cafeteria, still locked on Tashi’s voice, the way she had said your name like she pitied you.

Art pulls back slightly, studying your face. “You’re thinking.”

You blink, snapping out of it just enough to meet his gaze. “No, I’m not.”

He scoffs, trailing a hand down your spine, fingers pressing at the small of your back, urging you closer. “You are. You get all stiff when you’re thinking too hard.”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it off, but he’s not wrong. You are stiff, not melting into his touch the way you usually do.

Art leans in again, pressing a kiss just below your ear, voice dropping lower. “What’s in your head, Y/N?”

You sigh, tilting your head slightly, giving him better access without thinking. “Nothing.”

His teeth scrape lightly against your skin, not quite biting, but enough to make you feel it. “Liar.”

You exhale, pressing your hands against his chest, pushing him back just enough to look at him properly. He’s watching you with that same unreadable expression from earlier—except now, there’s something else. Something heavier.

“She needs you where she wants you,” he murmurs, thumb stroking a slow, lazy line along your hip. “She doesn’t like that you said no.”

You go still.

He waits, watching it sink in. Watching you process the thing you’ve been avoiding since lunch.

Your throat tightens. “And you? Where does Patrick need you?”

His fingers flex against your waist, just for a second. If you weren’t looking, you might’ve missed it.

“Wherever he puts me.” There’s no bitterness in it. No anger. Just fact.

Your stomach twists, something ugly settling in your ribs. Because you get it. Because you’ve spent your entire life letting Tashi decide where you belong, too. You swallow hard, fingers curling against his chest. “You don’t mind?”

Art doesn’t answer. Instead, he shifts, pressing you back against the mattress, his weight settling over you, warm and solid. His mouth finds yours, slow but insistent, like he’s trying to pull you out of your own head, to drag you back here—to him. And for once, you let him. The dim glow from his desk lamp barely reaches the bed, casting long shadows along the walls. It’s easy, this—familiar in a way that doesn’t require thinking.

“You’re being a hypocrite,” you murmur against his lips after a while. “I know what you’re going to tell me. That I’ve spent too much of my life holding her up.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but there’s nothing malicious about it. “You have a martyr complex. A terrible one.” He’s staring down at you with an incredulous smile.

You scoff, a smile playing at your lips. “You need to quit reading my notes from my psych class. And you need to stop trying to diagnose me when you’ve spent the last, what, 6 years? 7? Letting yourself lose to Patrick.” You poke at Art’s chest, pressing your finger directly to his heart. “He wants a fight from you, you know? He wants to feel like he’s being challenged.”

Art’s face hardens for a moment. He clearly didn’t want to hear about it. “Shut up,” he murmurs, bringing his lips down to your collarbone. “Just shut up. You need to stop thinking. And talking. And perceiving me. I hate when you go all psych major on me.”

You laugh, but you listen anyway, letting him tug your shorts off of you. He’s pushing your shirt up, his hands, calloused from years of white-knuckle grips on tennis rackets, grazing the skin of your stomach. He trails his lips from your face down your neck, sucking in marks along the swell of your breasts—a spot where nobody will see them, but he’ll know they’re there. He’ll know he has you somehow.

It doesn’t take long before both of your outfits are strewn around his room. He’s kneeling between your legs, now, holding your thighs on his hips as he teases your entrance. His tip is red, weepy. You’d probably make a joke about how it’s ‘Stanford red,’ tease him for being needy, if you were paying attention. But you aren’t, and he can tell. He’s not offended, not in the slightest. But he’s worried that you’ll overthink your way into a spiral, and the last thing he needs is his girlfr—someone he cares about going off the rails. So he’s grabbing your chin gently, forcing you to look at him, to see him.

“Hey,” he murmurs, forehead creasing as he frowns at you.

“Yeah?” you ask, a little lost.

“Hold on to something, okay?”

“Wh—fuck!” You can’t ask him what he means, because he’s ripping a cry out of you as he stuffs himself in you, balls-deep. He groans at the sight of your tight, greedy pussy swallowing him, the way he fills you like you were custom-made just for him. He gives you two slow thrusts before he’s ramming into you like a jackhammer. He knows better than to go slow and soft, this time. He knows that if he does, it’ll give you enough time to think. He’s trying to fuck the thoughts out of you, now. The only thing he wants you to think about is him.

He’s precise. He knows exactly how to position himself so that his tip is hitting your g-spot with almost every thrust, the slight curve of his dick giving him the perfect angle. The hand he has on your chin adjusts so that he can slide his index and middle finger past your lips. He had to keep you quiet somehow. It’s not like you could get away with being loud when the walls of his dorm were that thin. Patrick’s room was just across the hall, after all. You groan around his fingers, swirling your tongue around them, sucking them like you’re trying to brand his fingerprints on your tongue.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters, his pupils blown as he takes in the sight of you. “So fucking sexy. Too beautiful to be disrespected like that,” he says. He catches himself as soon as he says it, but you don’t even bother to respond, too lost in the way his hips slam against you.

It’s not long before the noises leaving your mouth are growing more frequent and less comprehensible. He takes that as the sign to pull his fingers from your mouth and bring them to your clit instead, rubbing with enough fervor to get your hips involuntarily bucking underneath him. You gasp his name as you hurtle over the edge, your cunt squeezing around him. It’s enough for him, too, because it’s right after that that he pulls out, pumping himself as he comes on your stomach, painting you with the evidence of his desire.

After a few moments where the only sounds in the room are both of you trying to catch your breath, you’re the first one to speak. “I’m gonna ask you something, and I need you to be honest.”

Art turns his head to look at you, still breathless, his fingers trailing lazy circles on your bare hip. “Jesus. Do you ever stop thinking? Or is giving me a heart attack something that turns you on?”

You roll your eyes, nudging him lightly with your knee. “Just answer me.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face, but the corner of his mouth twitches up. “Fine. Shoot.”

You take a slow breath. “Why’d you actually say no about going pro?”

Art freezes for half a second. It’s barely noticeable, but you feel it. His fingertips are still on your skin, his chest rises and falls a little too evenly—like he’s bracing for impact.

You press on. “Because I don’t get it, Art. Patrick is your best friend. We all—” you hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “We all have each other. In every possible way. So why are you staying?”

He exhales sharply, like he was hoping you wouldn’t push this far. “Not everything is about—”

“Sex?” you cut in. “I know. That’s exactly my point.” You sit up slightly, resting on your elbow so you can look at him. “It’s not about that. It never has been. So what is it? Because you know you’d hold your own out there. You’d rather die than let Patrick keep that edge over you forever. So why?”

Art is silent for a long moment, staring up at the ceiling. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. “Because if I go, I lose everything.”

You frown. “You wouldn’t lose—”

“Yes, I would.” He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so you’re face to face. “Patrick and Tashi? They’ll survive without me. They already are. You saw it before I did.”

You hesitate, throat tightening. Because he’s not wrong.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You think Patrick needs me? He doesn’t. Not like he used to. He doesn’t ask me to come over first, anymore. He checks for you and Tashi. And if we learned anything at lunch, it's that Tashi definitely doesn't need anyone.

You open your mouth to argue, but the words don’t come.

Art sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I stay, I get to hold onto this—us—for a little longer. If I go…” he exhales, looking away. “I don’t know what’s left for me.”

You stare at him, heart hammering. Because there it is. The thing neither of you have ever said out loud. Your voice is softer when you speak again. “You don’t think I’ll follow them.”

Art’s eyes flick back to yours. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

You swallow hard. “That’s why you stayed.”

A beat of silence. Then, finally, he nods.

And for the first time, you don’t know whether to feel grateful or guilty.

---

“And now, your 2002, 2005, and 2006 NCAA Women’s Tennis Champions… Give it up for STANFORD TENNIS!”

The air inside Taube Family Tennis Stadium is thick with noise, the kind that thrums in your chest, rattles in your teeth. Stanford’s home crowd is loud, a sea of red and white, feet stomping against the bleachers in a deafening rhythm. The banners are already preemptively celebrating, a massive GO CARDINAL! stretched across the upper deck.

It’s suffocating.

You shift in your seat, heart lodged somewhere in your throat as you watch Tashi bounce on the balls of her feet, rolling her shoulders back, twirling her racket in one hand like it’s an extension of her body. Across the net, Sally What’s-Her-Name stands still, eyes locked on her, gripping her own racket tight. She’s good. Really good. She wouldn’t be here otherwise. But she’s not Tashi.

No one is.

Tashi is coiled tension, electric, barely contained. The first serve is brutal, a 121 mph bullet down the T-line that Sally barely gets her strings on. The return floats too high, and Tashi pounces, stepping inside the baseline and crushing a forehand winner down the line.

Stanford’s crowd erupts.

Patrick lets out a low whistle from beside you, shaking his head. “Fucking lethal.”

Art, arms crossed, just exhales sharply through his nose.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. Because the match plays out exactly how you knew it would. Sally fights, but Tashi smothers her. Precision, power, instinct. Every angle cut off before Sally can react. Every ball sent screaming off Tashi’s racket, clipping the lines with surgical accuracy. It’s like watching a lion toy with its prey, drawing it out just long enough before going for the throat.

Sally is desperate, but Tashi barely looks like she’s trying. She’s in complete control, dictating every point, making the girl run until her legs are gone. Until her breath is ragged. Until she’s broken.

Sally manages to steal a set. Barely. But Tashi? She smiles. Like she enjoys it. Like she wants the fight.

By the time the third set rolls around, it’s inevitable.

It ends, fittingly, on a backhand winner, because of course it does. Because Tashi Duncan loves a clean kill. She barely watches as the ball paints the line, untouched. The second it lands, she already knows.

Game, set, match—Duncan.

She doesn’t fall to her knees. She doesn’t drop her racket. She just exhales, tilts her head back, and grins.

The stadium erupts.

She turns, finally, and for the briefest second, her eyes lock onto yours. The grin widens. Not a thank-you, not a see-that? Not even a simple acknowledgment of this moment, this win, this final nail in the coffin of what you had.

It’s a challenge.

You swallow hard.

Patrick yells something beside you, but you don’t hear it.

Because the thing is—you don’t just admire Tashi Duncan, anymore.

You want to beat her.

It’s dark outside when Tashi steps into Patrick’s unlocked dorm room. She’s not at all surprised by the scene as she enters: you on all fours, Patrick fucking into you from behind as you choke yourself on Art’s cock. Patrick’s the first one to notice her entering, his grip on your hips tightening just enough to get you to glance up.

“Took you long enough,” he remarks, his eyes sweeping over her with a lazy, shameless grin on his face.

“Interviews,” she shrugs. “And I needed a shower.” She strips as she replies, tossing her clothes in a small pile on the floor. She strides over to the other side of the bed, watching the way Art’s eyes flutter shut, his fingers tugging at your hair as your head bobs on him.

“Up, Y/N,” she softly clucks. You don’t listen. “Y/N,” she says again, her tone a little more firm. “I said up.”

You pull your mouth away from Art for a moment, eliciting a groan from him as you look at her. “I’m busy, Tashi. You can wait your turn.” You don’t mean to say it with as much sass as you end up conveying, but it happens. Probably because it’s how you actually feel.

A frown crosses her face. Patrick’s eyes widen a little, and he doesn’t stop his thrusts, but they slow significantly.

“That’s not how this works,” Tashi says. “You’re not the one calling the shots, here.”

“First time for everything, right?” you reply, keeping your eyes on her as you lick another stripe up Art’s shaft. “Pat, you can keep going. No need to stop.”

Tashi’s gaze burns your skin as she watches you pull your eyes away from her, your mouth working Art even harder than you were before. Patrick’s still a little shocked by what he just saw, but he listens, slamming back into you at a more moderate pace.

“Such a good girl,” Art murmurs, his fingers streaming through your hair. To Patrick and Tashi, it’s just general praise—an in-the-moment statement about how good you’re making him feel. But you and Art know the meaning behind his words. Sure, your mouth feels like heaven on him. But he’s talking about the words that came out of your mouth.

Tashi steels herself—she’ll deal with you later. She kneels on the bed, capturing Patrick’s lips in a long, sloppy kiss. Once she’s had enough of him, She’s forcing the three of you to adjust so she can position her cunt directly above Art’s face. He keeps one hand tangled in your hair, and he snakes his other hand around Tashi’s thigh to pull her down onto his mouth.

She comes on his tongue, instead of yours. You can’t decide if you feel more guilty or more relieved that for once, she was being forced to settle instead of you.

---

About a month later, it’s late. The kind of late when campus is quiet, the world outside your dorm window humming low and distant. The sheets are still tangled around your legs, the residue Tashi’s sweat and perfume clinging to your skin. The smell of your sin lingers in the air. It makes your stomach turn. She sits on your bed, one leg tucked under the other, bare shoulders glowing in the dim light—like she always does. Like she owns it. Like she owns you.

“The press release goes out tomorrow morning,” she says, voice smooth, casual. Too casual. Like this isn’t gutting you. “About me leaving Stanford. I got a wild card spot. But I wanted to tell you before you saw it in the news.”

You don’t look up from your phone. If you do, she’ll see it. The anger burning low in your stomach, the betrayal clawing at your ribs. “This isn’t news.”

Tashi’s head tilts slightly, just enough that you catch the shift in her expression from the corner of your eye. “What?”

“You told me forever ago. That day at lunch, remember?” You finally glance at her, your voice deliberately even. Empty. “This isn’t new information.”

She blinks, and for the first time in a long time, you see it—that flicker of something uncertain, something almost lost. “Right,” she says after a beat, running her tongue over her teeth. “I just thought—” She stops herself, and exhales sharply through her nose. “I thought you’d have something to say.”

You shrug, shifting slightly under the weight of her stare. The sheets rustle, cold against your skin. “What do you want me to say?”

Tashi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she watches you, eyes sharp, searching. “You’re pissed,” she accuses, but there’s an edge to it, like she’s testing you, waiting for you to crack.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, feigning nonchalance. It’s all muscle memory now, this performance. “I’m not.”

Her jaw tightens. “You don’t have to act like you don’t care.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable?”

Tashi shifts, leaning in slightly, her voice dropping. “Because it’s bullshit.”

You don’t flinch. Don’t fold. Just hold her gaze, steady and unyielding. “You wanted this,” you say simply. “You’ve always wanted this.”

Tashi’s lips press together, her fingers curling into the fabric of your blanket. “That doesn’t mean I wanted—” She stops short again, her throat bobbing as she swallows. “Never mind.”

You could push. You should push. You want to sink your teeth into it, tear it apart until there’s nothing left but the truth. But you don’t. Instead, you exhale, turning your attention back to your phone. “Congratulations, Tashi.”

It’s dismissive. Final. A lie.

And for the first time, you leave her with nothing to say.

-------

tagging: @kimmyneutron

#a writes #this is terrifying #and it's 8048 words #tashi duncan x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson x reader #challengers smut #challengers #challengers fic #challengers movie #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #tashi duncan smut #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #challengers 2024 #challengers x reader

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lexirosewrites · 2 months ago

Note

Ok hear me out the grammys r today & I am a swiftie

(PSA not Nancy Wheeler friendly & Billy Hargrove pops in like a jump scare but he's somehow better than Nancy??)

O!Steve loves his career, he gets to make music with his favorite producer & best friend ever B!Robin Buckley, he gets to tour his music around the world, his fans made it possible for him to pivot his career, & now he is free from the overbearing thumb of his previous record label. He's on top of the world, prepping to embark on his most ambitious & physically demanding tour of his career with a partner working on her own growing career in journalism

Then, Jonathan Byers messages him. He's a beta who works w A!Nancy Wheeler at her news network job where she's rising in the ranks as an investigative reporter. He confesses to Steve with evidence tht Nancy has been cheating on Steve w Jonathan for going on 3 months. Jonathan is ending things w Nancy & he felt Steve should know what Nancy has done & Jonathan emphasizes he feels terrible. Steve doesn't blame Jonathan necessarily, Steve is more upset w Nancy. So Steve breaks things off, gets professional movers to take all of her things out of his various apartments & homes & mail them all to her New York address all at once, gets her to give back every key she has, and Nancy doesn't even have the decency to pretend at remorse for how she's shattered him, just sneers & makes a remark abt him writing a song abt her as if the 5 years they were together meant nothing

Steve rebounds HARD

His begins his tour & decides to indulge in a relationship w blue eyed bad boy British actor Billy Hargrove, he's crass & abrasive & it ends like a car crash behind the closed doors of Steve's beloved Nashville apartment, but at least Billy parts w a statement tht shows the asshole is even more understanding than Nancy abt how Steve will write a song or 2 abt this

The show must go on & it does. It's during a break btwn cities tht his little step-brother Dustin sends him the link to a clip of a podcast

It's a group of 4 friends, two of them alphas, 1 a beta & 1 an omega man. 2 of them are involved in professional hockey. The podcast involves them playing d&d but they also chat for abt an hour at the start of every episode. The alpha Eddie Munson plays as star goalie of The Detroit Red Wings (a team his grandpa Otis cheers for) & the beta Felix calls plays from the box. While A!Jeff & O!Gareth both have lucrative careers in computer science & robotics. Gareth works w NASA & the Mars Rovers, no wonder Dustin likes the podcast his twerp of a brother is coworkers w Gareth

This particular clip is from the first hour of a recent episode & is abt how Eddie has been a not at all secret fan of Steve since his debut & how he got to see the tour when it stopped in Detroit & how it was the best show Eddie's ever seen. Eddie confesses he was a little sad to learn Steve isn't meeting anyone backstage during this tour as he puts himself on vocal rest as often as possible to maintain the ability to sing for 3 hours straight, because Eddie had a friendship bracelet he made with his number on it & he happily implies it was his phone number & the alpha graciously responds to the teasing abt having a long time celebrity crush on Steve

Steve is charmed

He only needs to send 2 messages to Dustin before he's sending a text to Eddie's personal number. They hit it off, they're both goofy in the same ways, Eddie is theatrical in a different but complimentary way, soon they're meeting up privately btwn stops on his tour & Eddie's prep for hockey season & then Steve is very publicly at a Red Wings game & soon after Eddie is in the very visible VIP tent at the New York show trading his own handmade bracelets w fans

& Steve ends the night w a lyric change he only told Robin about bc she's 50% of his impulse control just like he's 50% of her impulse control & they secretly recorded a remix of the encore song because they liked it so much. The lyric tht used to reference Nancy with "karma is the girl on the screen" is changed to "karma is the guy on the wings" which makes the crowd explode with noise

When the show is done Steve knows fans r waiting to see him exit the stadium waving one last goodbye for the night & he knows they see Eddie clearly waiting for Steve & tht they're all recording so he does something he's never done for a beau: he runs ahead of his security right into Eddie's arms & is swept into a kiss tht makes him feel like they're the only ppl in the world

The multiple videos from multiple angles go viral within minutes of posting & the internet descends into madness when the remix is dropped w the lyric change just 3 hours later, but Steve & Eddie r too busy cuddling in Steves nest in his NYC penthouse the both of them laughing at the ketchup blood in a bad slasher movie to care abt tht

biting both of them from happiness🥰

#slick sunday #steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steve x eddie #omegaverse #a/b/o #my asks

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natsaffection · 2 months ago

Text

Auge um Auge pt. 4 | N.R

Investigator!older!Natasha x Robber!younger! reader

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (Natasha is 32 = reader ist 22), gun, angst, oral (r receiving) fingering (r receiving), dirty talking, kinda obsessed Natasha?

Word count: 6,4k

A/n: I was so carried away, I actually wanted to stay overall cute and softness, but well….🙅🏻‍♀️

The light in the tent flickered slightly as Maria sat at her desk, her brow furrowed as she stared at the screen in front of her. The data she was reviewing just didn’t make sense. She opened a new file, checked it again, and bit her bottom lip unconsciously. She stood, grabbed the printed documents, and made her way to Natasha, who was in the middle of discussing a protocol with another investigator. Maria lingered at the edge of the conversation, waiting for Natasha to finish before clearing her throat to get her attention.

“Nat.” Maria said quietly, though her voice carried a serious undertone. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.” Natasha looked up, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the expression on Maria’s face. “Of course.”

Maria hesitated before stepping closer. “It’s about Y/n.” Natasha set down the documents she was holding and crossed her arms. “What about her?”Maria handed her a report. “I did some basic digging on her after you brought her into the tent. Just to make sure she was clean.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, already annoyed. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know.” Maria replied evenly. “But I thought it could be important. And guess what I found?” She gestured to the report. “She owns a warehouse. A whole warehouse, Nat. And it’s not a normal one. It’s not even officially registered, at least not under her name.” Natasha frowned, taking the paper and scanning the details. “And what exactly is that supposed to prove?”

Maria shrugged, but her eyes were sharp. “It’s suspicious. A young woman who claims she’s hardly ever home and works at a café has a place no one knows about? And she’s paying for it..what? under the table?” Natasha exhaled a frustrated breath, letting the piece of paper fall to the table. “Maria, I get that you’re trying to do your job, but this isn’t evidence. It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Nat!” Maria pressed, her voice harder now, “she told you exactly what you wanted to hear. A girl with a tough background who needs protection. I get it. But you can’t deny something doesn’t add up.” Natasha leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms tighter. “I’ve been in this line of work for years. I’ve got enough experience to tell when someone’s hiding something. And I’m telling you, she’s not a criminal.”

“I know you’re good at what you do, but sometimes feelings can cloud the best instincts.” Maria try’s and is leaning in. “This isn’t that.” Natasha said sharply, leaning forward. Her eyes sparkled with conviction. Maria scoffed quietly. “And the warehouse?”

“Maybe it’s a safe place..!” Natasha countered. “Somewhere she feels secure. There’s no proof she’s doing anything illegal. I’m not going to treat her like a suspect just because she doesn’t fit your mold.” Maria paused, her eyes searching Natasha’s face. “And if you’re wrong?”

Natasha took a deep breath, her voice softer but still firm. “If I’m wrong, I’ll deal with it. But I’ve learned to trust my instincts, and my instincts tell me she’s harmless.” Maria nodded slowly, her gaze heavy. “I hope you’re right, Natasha. I really hope I’m wrong.” Natasha’s tone turned cooler as she gave Maria a pointed look. “Why do you care so much? Is this about the case, or is it…personal?” Maria stared at her, momentarily speechless. “Seriously? You think I’m saying this because I’m jealous?”

“You said it, not m.” Natasha replied with a smug smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “But you’ve been showing a lot of interest in Y/n lately.”

“Natasha.” Maria said sharply, her patience wearing thin. “This isn’t a game. If I’m sure she’s hiding something, it’s because there are signs. Not because I’m jealous.” Natasha took a step back, folding her arms more tightly. “She’s not a suspect, Maria. She has nothing to do with this case.”

“You can’t know that!” Maria shot back firmly. “You’re letting your feelings for her cloud your judgment!” Natasha shook her head, her jaw tense. “I’m not letting my feelings get in the way, Maria. But I know when I can trust someone, and I trust her.” Maria looked at her, her gaze sharp and tinged with sadness. “I hope you’re right, Nat. I really hope I’m wrong. But if I’m right-” She stopped, her voice softening. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Natasha didn’t respond immediately, staring at Maria for a long moment. Finally, she picked up the piece of paper from the table, crumpled it, and tossed it into the trash. “Do what you want, Maria. But leave me out of your games.” Maria stood still, watching Natasha for a moment before leaving the room, leaving her alone.

Hours later, Maria was still in the darkness of the tent, the faint light from her screen reflecting on her face. Around her, the tent was nearly empty, most of the investigators had already gone home. But Maria couldn’t pull herself away. The feeling that she was missing something important gnawed at her.

She went over the recorded conversations between The Professor and Lisbon once more. Lisbon’s voice had bothered her from the start..it was soft, almost too uncertain for someone playing such a key role in the operation. Maria hadn’t been able to connect it to a real person yet, but something about you kept nagging at her.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she went through your background data again. The unused warehouse, your seemingly aimless lifestyle..it all screamed someone trying to lay low but hiding something significant. Maria couldn’t shake the suspicion. Then she noticed a detail she’d overlooked before. A digital footprint, encrypted communication traced back to a banking network. She compared it to the voice data from Lisbon. Her eyes widened as the match came up. It was undeniable. The voice matched at 90%.

“Holy shit..” Maria murmured, her fingers trembling slightly as she copied the files. The patterns in the data and the voice couldn’t be ignored. You weren’t just an innocent civilian. You were deeply involved in the operation..you were Lisbon. Maria grabbed her phone and dialed Natasha’s number. It rang. And rang. And went to voicemail.

Meanwhile, Natasha sat at a cozy table in an elegant little restaurant. The light was warm and dim, candles flickered on every table, and soft music played in the background. You sat across from her, a shy smile on your lips as you held a glass of wine in your hands.

“Thank you for accepting the invitation.” Natasha said with a gentle smile, watching you closely. “It’s…nice. Thank you.” Natasha took a sip from her own glass, her eyes fixed on you. “I wanted to get to know you better. Away from…everything else.” You laughed softly, your voice nervous. “You mean away from my constant presence at the café?” Natasha grinned. “Nothing against the coffee, but it was getting a little repetitive.”

You glanced briefly at your glass before meeting Natasha’s gaze again. “I’m glad you asked me. It’s been a while since I’ve had a night like this.” But as you spoke, a thought crept into Natasha’s mind: Maria’s words. The conversation earlier in the day had lingered at the edges of her thoughts. The suspicion, the warehouse, the questions..they were like a shadow at the edge of this evening. “Natasha?” your voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Hmm?” Natasha blinked, forcing a smile. “Sorry, I was just distracted for a second.”

“Is everything okay?” you asked, your eyes searching hers. “Yes.” Natasha lied, her smile remaining calm, though inside, she was battling with herself. Why can’t I just let Maria’s words go?

Meanwhile, Maria was relentless. After several failed attempts to reach Natasha, she decided on a different approach. She needed proof, something Natasha couldn’t ignore. Maria combed through the data again and finally found something undeniable: an encrypted login tied to the banking system, linked to your old digital signatures from your days as a hacker. Maria held her breath as she compared the files. Once again, it was clear.

You weren’t just Lisbon. You were one of the key figures behind the entire operation.

Maria opened her messaging app and typed quickly: Nat, call me. It’s important!! Y/n is Lisbon!She attached the files to the message, her heart pounding. She knew Natasha wouldn’t take this lightly, but she needed to know.

You had just leaned back when Natasha’s phone vibrated on the table. Natasha glanced at it, saw Maria’s name flash on the screen, and pushed the phone aside.

“Do you want to get that? It sounds important..” you asked cautiously. “No.” Natasha answered calmly, though her brow furrowed slightly in concern. “You’re more important right now.” But the uneasy feeling lingered. As you reached for your wine glass, Natasha discreetly turned the phone over and read Maria’s message.

Y/n is Lisbon!

The words hit her like a blow. Her hands clenched around the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her eyes skimmed the message again, then the attached evidence: traces in the banking system, signatures that unmistakably linked to your hacker past. The connections were too clear to ignore. Natasha’s body tensed, her heartbeat unsteady, but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm. This can’t be true. No. It can’t be.

She lifted her gaze and looked at you, smiling as you sipped your wine, blissfully unaware of the world crumbling around you. Natasha swallowed hard, sliding the phone into her jacket pocket as she tried to control her breathing. Her thoughts raced. You’ve been lying to me this whole time? Every touch, every smile, every explanation, all lies?

But she couldn’t confront you here. Not now. If you were really Lisbon, you weren’t just a liar, no, you were central to one of the largest heists Natasha had ever investigated. “Is everything okay?” you asked again, your eyes searching hers. Natasha forced a soft smile. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.” You nodded, but you seemed to notice her subtle tension. “Are you sure? You seem…different.”

“It’s just the wine..” Natasha said lightly, raising her glass. She looked directly at you as she spoke, her voice softening, becoming more seductive. “You know, I was thinking we could make the evening a little…more exciting.” Your face reddened slightly, your eyes widening with curiosity. “What do you mean by that?”

Natasha leaned forward, her hand gently resting on yours. “Why don’t we head to the bathroom? Just the two of us. Something…private.” Your heart raced. Scenarios played out in your mind, each one making you more nervous than you cared to admit. The bathroom? Now? You felt your hands trembling slightly but forced a small smile. You nodded, rising from your seat and heading toward the bathroom, your heart pounding wildly. Your thoughts swirled. What’s she doing? Why now? You stepped into the bathroom, closed the door behind you, and looked into the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, your breathing uneven. “Calm down!” you whispered to yourself. “It’s just Natasha.”

In the hallway, Natasha stood with trembling fingers, her phone still in her hand. Maria’s message was clear and unambiguous. Evidence that tied you to the heist, signatures and traces that pointed to no one else. Her knees felt weak, her heart drummed loudly in her chest. You are Lisbon.

She couldn’t believe it. The girl I let into my life. The girl I…cared for. Disappointment, betrayal, and above all, pain gnawed at her. But she couldn’t let herself be overwhelmed by these emotions now. She had to act. Her hand instinctively moved to the grip of her weapon, her steps slow but deliberate. Yet another thought crept into her mind: What if I’m wrong? What if she has an explanation?

You didn’t notice Natasha until the door softly clicked shut behind her. You turned your head, a small, uncertain smile on your lips, one that immediately vanished when you saw the gun in Natasha’s hand. Your eyes widened, and you froze. “N-Natasha?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha held the gun steadily in front of her, her stance firm, her eyes cold. “Hands up.” she said, her tone sharp, carrying a coldness you had never heard from her before. “What…what’s going on?” you asked, your voice shaking as you slowly raised your hands, your heart hammering in your chest. You couldn’t read the expression in her eyes, there was anger, yes, but beneath it was something deeper. Something raw. Pain.

“I said, hands up!” Natasha’s voice thundered in the small room, and your legs felt like they might give out beneath you. You obeyed, tears already welling up in your eyes. “What…what are you doing??” Your voice cracked as you stared at the weapon in her hand. Natasha let out a bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a choked noise. “What am I doing? I’m arresting you Y/n! Or should I say Lisbon?”

Your heart stopped. She knows. It’s over. The Professor’s words echoed in your mind: Stay calm. You’re only caught when there’s no doubt. But how could you stay calm when Natasha, the only person you might truly care about was pointing a loaded gun at you?! Natasha stepped closer, the gun still trained on you. Her eyes shimmered with suppressed tears, but her voice remained icy. “Don’t move. Don’t say a word. You’ve lied enough.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “I I don’t know what you’re talking about. Natasha, please let-“

“Stop, Y/N!” Natasha’s voice rose, sharper this time. “I have the evidence. Maria sent me everything. Your signature. Your damn warehouse. You used me this whole time, didn’t you?”

“No!” you cried, your voice breaking in panic. “That’s not true! I would never use you!”

“Shut up!” Natasha hissed, her fingers gripping the gun so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I trusted you. I thought…” Her words faltered, and she clenched her jaw, shaking her head. “It was all lies..”You were trembling all over, your thoughts racing. Is this the end? Am I really going to be arrested now? But you forced yourself to remember the Professor’s advice: Wait. Stay in character.

“Please, Natasha..!” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re making a mistake. I didn’t play you..!” But Natasha wasn’t the woman you’d come to know over the past weeks. Standing before you now was the agent. Hardened, unrelenting, and unyielding. Yet deep in Natasha’s chest, a different battle raged. I’m pointing a gun at someone I cared for. At someone I..trusted.

Natasha felt her chest tighten as she looked at you, your trembling figure, pale face, and tear-filled eyes. It was like a punch to the gut. How could I have been so wrong? But alongside the anger was something else. A pain that had nothing to do with betrayal. Why does it feel like I’m losing her, even though she’s the one who lied to me? Natasha shook her head, forcing herself to push the emotions away. She couldn’t afford to be weak. Not now.

“Turn around.” she commanded sharply, her voice hard once more. You hesitated, your body shaking so badly you could barely breathe. “Please, Natasha…”

“Turn around, or I’ll turn you around myself.” Natasha snapped. With a strangled sob, you finally obeyed, turning slowly and placing your trembling hands behind your back. Natasha pulled the handcuffs from her pocket, her movements mechanical, almost robotic. The sound of the cuffs clicking into place echoed in the small room, and you felt panic threatening to overwhelm you.

Natasha stepped back, her gun still trained on you. “We’re going to your warehouse now. And you’re going to show me what you’re hiding.” You turned your head slightly, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Natasha, please…this is a misunderstanding.”

“Shut up!” Natasha snapped, her voice breaking. “You had your chance to tell me the truth. It’s too late now.” Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your thoughts racing. I have to convince her. I have to find a way to make her believe me. But the look in Natasha’s eyes made you doubt there was any chance left. Natasha placed a hand on your shoulder, gripping you firmly as she led you toward the bathroom door. Her steps were heavy, and inside her chest, a storm of anger, grief, and disappointment raged. “You had your chance.” Natasha growled, her voice sharp. “Now the facts will speak for themselves.”

The tension in the car was unbearable, like an invisible wall separating you and Natasha. You sat in the passenger seat, your hands still cuffed behind your back, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The only sound was the low hum of the engine. Your thoughts raced, your mind a labyrinth of fear and hope. What if they really search the warehouse? What if the Professor is there right now? But as Natasha turned onto a familiar path, your eyes widened.

That warehouse…? It was the one you had hacked and claimed years ago. A place that had saved you from the cold and homelessness after you had lost everything. Relief washed over you, but tears pricked your eyes. The relief was quickly smothered by another feeling. Natasha’s broken expression. From the corner of your eye, you caught the occasional glance she cast your way. The hardness in her gaze was laced with pain, and it hurt you more than you thought possible.

Natasha abruptly parked in front of the old warehouse, the car tires crunching against the gravel. She got out, walked to the passenger side, and yanked the door open. “Out.” she commanded, her voice sharp, leaving no room for argument. You obeyed shakily, your hands aching from the cuffs behind your back. Natasha grabbed your arm and guided you to the warehouse door, which she kicked open with force.

The darkness inside was oppressive until Natasha raised her gun with one hand and flicked on the light with the other. The room flooded with warm, simple light..and Natasha froze. It wasn’t a hideout filled with plans or stolen riches. It wasn’t a space worthy of a professional thief. Instead, it was a sparsely furnished living space. An old bed in the corner, a small dresser, a makeshift table with a laptop. A tiny heater hummed quietly, and photos hung on the walls, snapshots of a time long gone.

Natasha blinked, her gun still raised, but her hands trembled slightly. “W-What…?” she asked quietly, her voice tinged with confusion. She slowly lowered the weapon, her fingers shaking as she holstered it. Her breathing was unsteady, the reality of the situation hitting her like a dagger to the chest. She was a professional, trained, calm under pressure, yet here she was, a lump in her throat, the weight of her actions nearly knocking her over.

You stood a few steps away, your hands still cuffed, tears glistening in your eyes. Yet your gaze didn’t waver from Natasha, even as your body trembled. “This is…everything?” Natasha asked finally, her voice barely a whisper. You nodded, swallowing hard, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. “This is all I have.” you said quietly. “My parents…” You took a shaky breath, your chest rising and falling erratically. “They died a few years ago. A car accident. It was sudden, and I had no one. No money. No family. Nothing.”

Natasha’s eyes widened slightly, and a knot formed in her chest. She had suspected you were hiding something from your past, but this…this she hadn’t expected. “I lived on the streets for months.” you continued, your voice cracking. “It was winter. I was lucky to survive at all. But…I knew I couldn’t keep living like that. So I started hacking. Not to hurt anyone, but to survive.”

Natasha swallowed hard, her throat dry. Hacking to survive. Not to harm. Her hands clenched into fists as your words echoed in her mind. “This warehouse…” You glanced at it briefly before lowering your gaze again. “I hacked it. Bought it illegally. It was the only place I felt safe. Where I didn’t have to be afraid. I didn’t hurt anyone, Natasha. I just…I just wanted to survive.”

Natasha felt her chest tighten as she looked at you your pale face, your pain-filled eyes, and yet you spoke with a calmness that broke her heart even more. She exhaled deeply as your words played over and over in her mind. I cuffed her. I pointed a gun at her. The thought made her heart ache.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Natasha finally asked, her voice soft but broken. You looked up, your eyes shimmering with tears. “Because I was scared. Scared you wouldn’t understand. That you’d look at me…the way you’re looking at me now.” Natasha stepped back, as though your words had physically struck her. “That’s not how I see you.” she murmured, but her words felt hollow. But that’s exactly what I’ve done. I treated her like a criminal. Like someone I could never trust.

Natasha took a deep breath, her gaze shifting to the cuffs on your wrists. “Let me take these off.” she said softly, moving toward you. But as she approached, you flinched instinctively, your eyes full of fear. “Y/n..” Natasha whispered, her voice trembling. “I won’t hurt you. I…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You shook your head, tears streaming uncontrollably down your face. “You pointed a gun at me..” you whispered. “You treated me like…like a monster.”

Natasha stopped in her tracks, her arms falling to her sides as her heart cracked in two. “I know.” she said quietly, her voice full of guilt. “I know, and I’ll never forgive myself.” The gun she had held earlier now felt like a symbol of all her mistakes. She looked at you, still retreating, your fear a barrier between you. And Natasha couldn’t believe what she had done.

“I…I just wanted to protect you..” Natasha whispered, her eyes glistening with tears. “And instead, I hurt you. I didn’t believe you. I…I ruined everything.” You stared at her, your lips trembling, but you said nothing. Natasha slowly raised her hands, showing you her empty palms. “Please. Let me make it right. Let me take the cuffs off.”

It felt like an eternity, but eventually, you nodded hesitantly. Natasha stepped forward carefully, unlocking the cuffs with trembling fingers. As the cuffs fell to the floor with a click, you stepped back, rubbing your sore wrists. ��I’m sorry..” Natasha repeated, her voice cracking. “I don’t know how to fix this, but…I never wanted to hurt you.” You looked at her, your tear-filled eyes softening slightly, but they still held doubt. “I never wanted to hurt you either..” you whispered. Natasha stood frozen, her arms hanging limply at her sides as you sat cautiously on the edge of the bed. You rubbed your reddened wrists in silence.

Natasha wanted to say something, anything to break the tension. But the guilt weighed her down, and every time she looked at you, she felt a sharp pain in her chest. I betrayed her. I treated the one person I wanted to protect like my enemy. “You..you can sit down if you want.” you said suddenly, your voice quiet and uncertain.

Natasha blinked, as if waking from a dream. “I…” She glanced around before slowly lowering herself onto an old chair near the bed. The two of you sat in silence for a long moment. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but the air was still heavy with everything unspoken between you. You were the first to smile faintly, though your eyes were still red. “You know.” you began, your voice soft, with a hint of humor, “this isn’t the first time you’ve treated me like a criminal.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, surprised. “What?”

“The café.” you said, a tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Remember? You looked at me like you wanted to arrest me on the spot.” Natasha felt the corners of her mouth lift into a small, reluctant smile. “Maybe because you seemed so suspicious..” she said softly, her tone slightly teasing. You let out a small, shaky laugh, the first in hours, but it sounded fragile, as though it could break at any moment. “Suspicious? I was just trying to help you. You looked at me like I was public enemy number one.”

Natasha shook her head, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. “And now I’ve done exactly that. I arrested you.” Your smile faded as you noticed the pain return to her expression. “I’m sorry.” Natasha said suddenly, her voice raw. “I should have trusted you. I should never have treated you that way.” You looked at her, your gaze softening even more, though a trace of caution remained. “You were just doing your job.” you said quietly.

“That’s no excuse.” Natasha replied quickly, her hands balling into fists. “I pointed a gun at you. I cuffed you like you were…” Her voice cracked, and she lowered her gaze. “I hurt you.” You shrugged slightly and gestured to your still-red wrists with a faint smile. “Cuffs. A gun. And an emotional breakdown. Not exactly what I imagined for a date.”

Natasha stared at you, her eyes filled with regret. “I wronged you.” she said quietly. “I didn’t trust you, and I…I treated you like a monster. But you’re not.”You bit your lip, averting your gaze. A part of you felt the weight of her guilt, but you couldn’t ignore that some of what Natasha believed was true. “Maybe I am a monster.” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m not innocent. I’m not…who you thought I was.”

“You’re more than you think!” Natasha said immediately, her voice firm. “I’ve seen who you are. Not the person you pretend to be, but the person you truly are.” You wanted to laugh, but you couldn’t. Her words hit you deeply, and you didn’t know if you could accept them. Natasha stood, her movements slow and cautious, as though afraid of pushing you further away. She moved toward the bed and sat beside you, leaving a respectful distance.

“I didn’t want this to end like this..” Natasha said softly. You raised your head, looking at her, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “It wasn’t just your fault.” you said quietly. “I…I lied to you too. I’m not innocent.”

“Maybe not.” Natasha said gently. “But that doesn’t change how I feel.” The words hung between you, and your chest tightened. You knew Natasha trusted you..or at least wanted to. But the guilt in your heart grew heavier as you thought about the plan.

Natasha lifted a hand cautiously, brushing a strand of hair from your face. Her movements were slow, almost hesitant, as though she feared you would pull away. “I don’t want to lose you.” Natasha whispered, her voice breaking. You looked at her, and before you knew it, you leaned forward slightly. Your lips met hers, tentative and uncertain but filled with emotion. Natasha responded, her hands gently cradling your face as though afraid you might break.

But suddenly, you pulled back, your breathing heavy, guilt and fear swirling in your eyes. “What’s wrong?” Natasha asked, her voice laced with concern. You shook your head, your hands trembling. “I…I can’t do this..” you said softly. “Not without telling you the truth.” Natasha looked at you, her gaze softening. “You don’t have to tell me until you’re ready.” she said gently. “I know you want to trust me. And when you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

Her words struck you deeply, and finally, your tears spilled over. I have to keep the plan going, you thought. But what if it costs me everything? The thought weighed heavily on your heart as you realized the stakes of what lay ahead. But in that moment, all you could feel was Natasha’s warmth beside you. Her touch, her presence, and her unwavering belief in who you truly were.

"You don't know what you're saying." you whispered, your voice breaking. "I do." Natasha said softly, lifting your chin so your eyes met hers. "I'm saying I see you-for everything you are. And I don't want to lose this. I don't want to lose you." You couldn't ignore the guilt and fear clawing at you, but in that moment, all you could feel was Natasha's closeness.

You gazed into her eyes, and before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance and kissed her again. The kiss was tentative, brimming with unspoken emotions, and Natasha responded immediately, her hands gently resting on your waist. She pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against yours as she took a deep breath. "Are you sure?" she asked softly, her voice full of tenderness but tinged with concern.

You nodded, your eyes shimmering as you answered honestly. "I'm not sure about anything." you said. "But I want...I want to be here. With you." Natasha smiled faintly, a genuine, fragile smile, before she kissed you. This time, her movements were less hesitant, filled with a quiet intensity. Her hands slid gently to your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

The tension between you grew as Natasha's fingers trailed delicately down your back, her touch sending shivers through you. You let yourself sink back onto the mattress, your hands finding their way to Natasha's waist, pulling her closer. "Is this okay?" Natasha asked again, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked down at you.

You nodded, your chest rising and falling quickly, and you reached for her hand, guiding it to your side. "Yes.." you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. Natasha began slowly, cautiously, her fingers gliding over your sides before gripping the hem of your shirt. She hesitated for a moment, searching your eyes for permission. When you raised your arms to help her, she carefully lifted the fabric over your head and set it aside.

Her gaze roamed your body, but she paused, her fingers brushing gently over your skin. "You're beautiful.." Natasha murmured, her voice shaky but sincere. You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and you turned your head slightly. "Stop.." you mumbled quietly. "No." Natasha said firmly yet softly, leaning down to press delicate kisses along your neck. "I mean it."

Natasha began to lower herself, her lips trailing soft, lingering kisses across your collarbone. Each touch felt like a spark against your skin, sending shivers through your body. Her hands moved to your sides, steadying you as she continued her path downward. When her lips reached the hem of your pants, she paused, glancing up at you. “Is this okay?” she asked softly, her voice filled with care.

“Yes..” you whispered, your cheeks flushing as you nodded. Natasha took her time, peeling your pants away with deliberate slowness, her fingers grazing your skin as she revealed more of you and this made you squirm slightly, your hands instinctively moving to cover your face. Natasha chuckled softly, reaching up to gently pull your hands away. “Don’t hide from me.” she said, her voice firm but kind. “I want to see you.”

As Natasha moved lower, her lips pressing soft, lingering kisses to your hips and thighs, you felt your body tense, your back arching slightly as the sensations overwhelmed you. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this, so intimate, so consuming, and it was hard to stay still. Her hands pressed you gently but firmly back against the mattress, holding you steady as her lips continued their slow descent. She took her time, her touch unhurried but deliberate, her lips and tongue exploring with a precision that left you breathless.

You couldn’t stop the soft sounds that escaped your lips, your hands moving instinctively to her hair as you tried to ground yourself. Natasha didn’t stop, her movements growing more purposeful as she found the places that made you gasp, that made your body tense in ways you couldn’t control.

“Look at me.” she said softly, her voice steady but firm. You opened your eyes, meeting her gaze, and the intensity in her expression made your breath hitch. Natasha’s movements grew more purposeful, and she smiled faintly as she watched the pleasure overtake you again. Her tongue and lips moved with precision, exploring you with a slowness that made your toes curl. Each sound you made only seemed to spur her on, her grip on your hips tightening slightly as she held you in place.

“N-Natasha..” you gasped, your voice trembling as your back arched instinctively. Her tongue found your most sensitive spot, and you couldn't stop the loud moan that escaped your lips, your back arching instinctively. Natasha chuckled softly, her hands moving to grip your hips and press you back against the mattress. "You're not going anywhere.." she mur-mured, her voice tinged with amusement but filled with desire.

Her words only made the tension in your chest grow, and you couldn’t stop the way your fingers tangled in her hair, holding her closer as the pleasure built higher and higher. When you finally reached your peak, a loud cry escaped your lips, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Natasha didn’t stop, her hands holding you steady as she coaxed you through it, her lips pressing soft kisses to your inner thigh as you came down from the high. “That’s it.” she murmured, her voice filled with awe. “You’re incredible.”

She kissed you softly, slowly, her lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine. As she pulled back, her hand gently cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing against clit. “Still with me?” Natasha whispered, her voice low and steady.

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that escaped was a broken, trembling moan. Natasha stilled for a moment, her gaze flickering down to your lips before returning to your eyes. Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “I’ll take that as a yes..” she murmured, her tone carrying a hint of humor, though her voice was thick with desire.

Her words sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, and you whimpered, your hands clutching at the fabric of her shirt. Natasha leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth as her other hand slid lower, her fingers moving with deliberate intent. When her fingers slipped inside you, you couldn’t stop the loud moan that escaped your lips, your back arching instinctively off the mattress. Natasha let out a low groan of her own, her gaze flickering downward as her fingers moved deeper.

“God.” she muttered, her voice rough, “you’re so responsive.” and she felt it, the way your walls clenched tightly around her touch. Natasha froze briefly, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Oh..” she said, her voice tinged with awe and amusement. “You like this, don’t you? The way I’m talking to you?”

You let out another broken moan in response, your body trembling beneath her. Natasha groaned softly, her jaw tightening as she pressed her forehead against yours. “Say something..” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “Say my name.” But you couldn’t. The pleasure was too much, and all that came out were more desperate, breathless moans. Natasha grinned, her free hand moving to grip your hip and hold you steady as your body squirmed beneath her.

“You’re completely gone..” she whispered, her tone laced with satisfaction. “God, you’re so perfect like this.” Her fingers moved with more purpose now, her thumb brushing against you in a way that made your head spin. Every gasp, every moan that spilled from your lips seemed to affect her just as much as it did you. Natasha’s own breath hitched, and she swallowed hard, trying to keep herself in control.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me..” she admitted, her voice rough. “Hearing you like this, feeling you…God, it’s making me crazy.” She glanced down briefly, her gaze fixating on the way her fingers moved inside you, the way your body responded to her touch. Her lips parted slightly, and she let out a soft, involuntary groan. “You’re so perfect.” she muttered, almost to herself. “Absolutely perfect.”

The intensity of her touch, her voice, the way she looked at you..it was all too much. You felt the pleasure building higher and higher, your body trembling uncontrollably beneath her. Natasha noticed immediately, her hand on your hip tightening as her movements grew more deliberate. “That’s it.” she murmured, her voice thick with desire. “Let go for me. Come for me Y/n..”

“F-Fuck..! ”Her words pushed you over the edge, and you cried out, your head tipping back as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Natasha groaned softly as she felt your walls clench tightly around her fingers, her forehead dropping to rest against yours. “Good girl..” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she worked you through the climax. “That’s my good girl.”

Her fingers slowed but didn’t stop, her free hand smoothing over your side as she kissed your temple softly. “You’re incredible.” she murmured, her voice filled with awe. “Do you know that?” As you came down from the high, your chest heaving, Natasha didn’t pull away. Her fingers remained inside you, her movements slow and deliberate as she watched your flushed face.

When it was over, her touch soft and soothing as you lay trembling beneath her. She pulled her hand away gently, her gaze flicking back up to your face. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven, but her eyes were filled with warmth and something deeper, something that made your chest tighten. “You’re okay?” she asked softly, her thumb brushing against your cheek.

You nodded, though your breath was still shaky, and you couldn’t find the words to respond. Natasha smiled faintly, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your lips. You buried your face in her shoulder, your body still trembling as her arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. “I…I didn’t know it could feel like that.” you admitted softly, your voice muffled against her skin. Natasha chuckled, her fingers brushing through your hair as she held you tightly. “You deserve to feel like this.” she said firmly. “And I’ll make sure you do. Every single time.”

Her words made your chest ache, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I…I don’t know what to say,” you whispered. “You don’t have to say anything,” Natasha replied, her thumb brushing against your cheek. “Just let me hold you..”

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wisteria-lodge · 27 days ago

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What do you think a genderswapped Harry Potter (Harriet Potter?) would've been like?

So to start... I actually don't think life at the Dursleys would be all that different for Fem!Harry. Maybe there would be less *violent* bullying from Vernon and Dudley... but they honestly don't manage all that much as it is, and Harry's "normal" abuse mostly consists of being shouted at, locked up, treated as a scullery maid, and just generally made into a scapegoat + inferior/problem child that the rest of the family can unite around. If anything, Fem!Harry would have just reminded Petunia even MORE of Lily, and stirred up even MORE complicated emotions. And we'd get even more of live-in chef/maid Cinderella!Harry. It would all feel very Matilda.

The first big change I see happening... is I don't think Ron would have bonded with Harry on the train nearly as easily, if she were a girl. Young Ron is honestly pretty uncomfortable/awkward around girls... unless he's able to put them into a category like "little sister" (which doesn't count.) Or "know-it-all" (which doesn't count.) It's kind of a plot point in Book 4 that it takes him a while to realize Hermione and Ginny are girls he and Harry could potentially ask to the dance. Ron grew up around a bunch of guys, and you can tell. I think he'd try to *impress* Fem!Harry on the train, and probably put his foot in his mouth.

Harry would be at kind of loose ends on the Hogwarts Express, and get sucked into the search for Trevor the toad as something to do. So in this version, she actually ends up bonding with Neville. Hermione would be there too but well - Hermione rubbed Harry the wrong way at first in canon, and it would be even more the case here. They're both (functionally) muggleborn girls - but Hermione is SO much better prepared, and has SUCH loving parents, and won't shut up about any of this. In a way that Canon!Harry kind of fixates on Draco for ending up with his Ideal Life, it's possible that Fem!Harry might fixate more on Hermione.

11-year-old Draco would have treated Fem!Harry exactly the same, meeting her at Madame Malkin's and later on the train. He'd still have his obsession with her, and yeah, it probably does read as more of a crush to his Slytherin buddies... but I really do not see that stopping him. If his father can't get him to be normal to Harry, then that's just how it's going to be.

Harry will still get Sorted into Gryffindor, but I don't see her being close with any of the the other Gryffindor girls. Lavender and Parvati just have very different personalities, and Harry and Hermione... are very intense people who work best when they're able to take breaks from each other. In Book 4 when Harry is exclusively hanging out with Hermione, he comments that she's not as *fun* as Ron. And we see that dynamic again in Book 7 when it's just the two of them in the tent. Like they're incredibly effective, but seem to be wearing each other down a little. I think that forcing young (less emotionally mature) Harry and Hermione to be roommates would just end up with them getting on each other's nerves.

Hermione might get pulled into the friend group when Harry and Neville need help researching Nicholas Flamel, but she could easily stay more of a supporting character or even a frenemy in this version. Fem!Harry would still be the youngest seeker in a century. (Draco would be even more motivated to steal Neville's Remembrall if Neville is Harry's best friend... so that face-off would have gone down exactly the same.) Once she's actually on the team, I could see her falling in more with the upperclassmen, and hanging out with Fred, George, Lee, and Angelina (especially if they put together that she's a bit lonely.) It could be Harry, Neville, maybe Hermione, maybe the twins solving the puzzles at the end of Book 1. They'd still suspect Snape, who... would honestly be just a slightly different flavor of antagonistic and weird towards Harry, if she were a girl.

But in second year, Ginny would be Sorted into Gryffindor and I do think that Fem!Harry and Ginny would get along great, absolutely be bros. They could bond over quidditch, and Harry would get more of a sense of Ginny's actual personality (funny, cool). I have to think 11-year-old Ginny would be much less awkward around Harry if she were a girl.

Which would be really intense actually, because Ginny would have shown up to school with the the Diary, and it's... sort of important to the plot that she's isolated and has no friends. If she shares it with Harry as a cool thing - then Harry is ABSOLUTELY going to get obsessed with it. And since Harry's a much better *get* for Tom (Tom talks about being *so* pleased when powerful, important, future nemesis Harry starts writing to him instead of Ginny...) I think you just get Possessed!Harry opening up the Chamber of Secrets.

Also, would Harry have a crush on Tom? We know that Tom Riddle tries to impress Canon!Harry, which doesn't work... but Fem!Harry he might try to charm. Tom can be very charming if he wants to be. Harry also thinks he's very handsome. Either way, Tom is going to work VERY hard to to get Harry to distrust her friends. Really, you'd just get Harry's plot about being isolated and possessed by Voldemort in Book 5 moved to Book 2. Tom would get Harry to write "her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever" on the wall, and lure her down to the Chamber of Secrets.

However. I do think that Lily's magic, which makes it impossible for Voldemort to physically touch Harry, would also make it impossible for him to properly drain her life and take over her body. I'm thinking of the moment at the end of Book 5 where Voldemort tries to possess Harry, but Harry fights him off. So... I think Harry just wakes up in the Chamber of Secrets with an intact Diary and a basilisk she can control, since of course she's still a parselmouth.

The question is... what happens to the Diary, now that Harry knows it's dangerous? I'm thinking that when Harry disappears, Ginny freaks out and tells one of her older brothers what's going on, who tells Arthur, who tells Dumbledore. Which leaves Dumbledore with a Horcrux that still works... and it seems like if you've got school-age Tom Riddle right there, that would be a much easier way to get an answer to the question 'how many horcuxes do you plan on making?' So Dumbledore gets a head start on that project.

Harry now effectively just is the Heir of Slytherin. She can go to the Chamber whenever she wants, and the basilisk is her familiar I guess (Hagrid would LOVE helping her take care of it.) I could also see a Harry who gets more *interested* in Salazar Slytherin after this. She definitely wouldn't talk to Draco - he spent Book 2 being an asshat and calling people slurs. But Harry might try to pick Theo's brain or something.

Now Hermione. At first I was thinking - does Hermione just die, in Book 2? Would she have known to look around corners with a mirror, and so survive her basilisk attack?

I do think she'd still figure it out... and it's because of Lockhart. Hermione is a Gilderoy Lockhart *fangirl,* and without Ron and Harry poo-pooing her crush (and without first hand experience of Lockhart causing issues for Harry...) I think she's able to geek about about this with her roomies. I mean, Lavender and Parvati read Witch Weekly. They know he's won the Most Charming Smile award. Hermione likes a project, and without Harry and Ron providing one, I think her new thing is impress Lockhart. And what would impress Lockhart? Well, he's a monster hunter who is trying to find the Chamber of Secrets and identify what's inside. How cool would it be, if they were the ones who helped him? He'd write about them in his next book.

So I think the Polyjuice Potion plan (Hermione's idea) is still a go. She might even talk Lavender and/or Parvati into helping out. (I mean, they joined the DA. They're up for some rulebreaking.) Hermione would still turn herself into a cat, which would actually massively humanize her in the eyes of her roommates, and I think they all end up much better friends in this AU. Eventually, one of them does manage to Polyjuice into Pansy, which is a much more effective way of interrogating Draco. And by this point, Hermione has met Myrtle, and has enough info to solve the mystery, and even bring her findings to Lockhart. Who ah. Finds an excuse to just run. There's a very fun portion of the year where Dumbledore teaches DADA.

I don't see all that much about Book 3 changing until the climax - because the crew Harry takes down to Hagrid's after dark *would* be different. Neville, Ginny (not the Twins - I think they give Harry the Map and peace out, they've got their own stuff going on and don't want to hang out with their much younger sister.) Maybe Theo? I could see him taking on a very Hermione-ish support role by this point.

But this also causes a problem, because if Ron isn't there, Scabbers isn't with him. And if Scabbers isn't with Ron - I don't think Remus notices Peter on the map, and so just stays inside and drinks his Wolfsbane, which means Snape doesn't go down. And since Sirius' target was never *actually* Harry... I think this is just a universe where Sirius first-degree-murders Peter, and doesn't have a confrontation with Harry at all.

I do think Voldemort still comes back though. Trelawney would still have made her prophecy ("His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight... the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master.") In this universe, that prophecy would refer to Barty jr, finally throwing off the Imperius curse for the first time.

Bertha Jorkins still goes on her trip to Albania, and... Voldemort probably just possesses her the same way he did Quirrell. I bet that's easier to do after someone's been sort of fried by a memory wipe. Also, being in her head, I have to assume he's eventually gets some inkling of the fact that Barty is still alive, and so goes looking for him. Harry still goes to the Quidditch World Cup since she's friends with Ginny, her scar is still hurting (she probably writes to Lupin about this, instead of Sirius, but Lupin gives her pretty similar advice. He will have still left Hogwarts, because Snape would still have outed him as a werewolf at the end of the year.)

Harry still ends up as Champion. I think Big Sister Fleur would be a little more protective of Fem!Harry than Canon!Harry. And also... Harry just straight-up has a crush on handsome, nice, good at Quidditch Cedric. Rita could write about the Harry/Cedric/Cho love triangle, instead of Harry/Hermione/Krum.

The Yule Ball would actually be kind of a big deal for Fem!Harry. Up until now, she's been kind of a tomboy who wears Dudley's hand-me-downs... and is occasionally forced into some terrible 'party dress' when Aunt Marge visits. Harry's best friends are a boy and a tomboy, her quidditch teammates are feminine role-models but very much athletes: 'girly' hyper-femininity is something she associates with Aunt Petunia.

But, fourth year roles around. Mrs. Weasley buys her a set of emerald-green dress robes that actually look really nice, and she needs to find a date for the ball. I think she thinks about asking Cedric... but chickens out at the last minute, and asks Neville to go with her as a friend. Between her much more girly roommates, and Fleur taking pity on her and giving her some tips... I think Hermione's big Yule Ball glow-up is also Harry's first experience with wanting to look pretty, and succeeding.

I think it would be fun, and make sense, if this lead into a little secret admirer subplot. Someone is leaving her little gifts and messages, and she's thinking - is it Neville? Theo? Cedric?

(it was Draco. Instead of the blast-ended skrewts, Hagrid has them all taking care of Harry's basilisk, and like... she has a basilisk... she's the Heir of Slytherin... she asked Longbottom to the ball when she could do so much better... she was wearing green and looking perfect. Draco's Harry obsession has sorted itself out into a very serious crush.)

Back to the main plot. With Peter dead, I'm not sure Barty would be able to take care of Voldemort AND prep the ritual to bring him back to life AND impersonate Moody. He's going to need a man on the inside. I think at first he tries to use his father - but as we know that is going to get very risky very fast, because Barty Sr is remarkably good at fighting the Imperius curse, and also just knows way too much. He's a huge risk, because if he goes rouge, he'll tell Dumbledore everything (which is very nearly what happens.)

So I think Barty Jr. targets Barty Sr.'s assistant Percy Weasley, after he can no longer control his father. Uses him as a way to affect things in Hogwarts. He might imperius him, but he also might just like... Polyjuice himself into his father for short periods, and manipulate Percy in a non-magical way to make sure he helps Harry, and gets her through the maze to the cup first. Once Percy realizes what he's done... I think he re-commits to his family in penance, and stops being a such a Ministry man.

Voldemort rising works as kind of a reset button, so things would start looking a lot more canon again, only with Ron and Hermione swapped out for Ginny and Neville. Main difference being, Voldemort has Barty now. I absolutely think he would have survived Book 4.

So I'm going to leave this what-if here for now. Thanks for the ask, this was a lot of fun to think about.

#hp #hp what if #genderswapped harry potter #girl harry potter #harry/cedric #harry/tom #harry/neville #harry/draco #tell me if I forgot anything #missed anything #or if you have any ideas #girl harry potter au #fem harry potter au

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foolinafable · 11 months ago

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It's for the best .ೃ࿐

Keith Kogane x Fem!Reader Synopsis: locked in a cell, the white paladin remembers her happier times and hopes that she can make it back to a certain black paladin. Word count: 3.7K Tags: slight angst, flashbacks, mentions of torture but not graphic, set tentatively around season 4 Notes: Apparently, vld is having a resurgence so send in some requests!

You knew it was for the best. Sat cross-legged in the confines of your cell with a small smile on your lips, contented, knowing that you have done everything you could, that this wasn't in vain- rather it was what was supposed to happen. For the betterment of the entire universe, sometimes sacrifices need to be made. You remember telling Keith something similar during one of his many brooding moments. Now wishing that you could remember which conversation it was or maybe just that you had paid more attention to your time together, especially now you didn’t think you would ever see the boy with the mullet again.

You were sat next to Hunk, the pair of you looking up giddily at Takashi Shirogane, the famed astro explorer. He was speaking to the class about his recent accomplishment as he had just broken the record for the fastest orbital velocity. Everyone had tried the flight simulator and despite not being able to get passed level 3- like the rest of the class you were still excited by the prospect of meeting the youngest pilot to ever lead a mission in space. Even more happy that you had done better than James Griffin in the simulator- as he never stopped going on about his good grades and how much better he is. So to wipe that smirk off his face made it all worth it. As you and Hunk were fangirling in the corner you heard Griffins whining causing your attention to go back to the simulator, where apparently one more person was having a go. The pair of you walked towards the commotion as the annoyed brunette sounded out “No way! Keith made it past level five?! Thing's got to be broken.” That was the first moment you saw him, well properly at least. The young boy with a mullet and a ‘disciplinary issue’ if you were to listen to what your teachers told you. He walked away from the training simulator with a grin on his face and you couldn’t help but smile too. Especially when he looked your way as he walked off.

‘He doesn't even know you're gone’ you muse to yourself, and it’s true. The last you had heard from him was on the other side of a screen during a planning meeting with the Blade surrounded by your teammates, who similarly had yet to know the fate of the white paladin of Voltron. They would soon realise when you don't return through the wormhole and when they find your lion broken and alone. But then it will already be too late, as the galaran ship that held you prisoner was already galaxies away taking you towards inevitable doom. You think you're pathetic, as you are already giving up but what else can you do, your weapon is gone, lion missing, and you are locked in a cell with only your body inside of it with nobody even knowing where you are- not even you. Worry roots deeply inside of yourself as you think of your friends, a lump in your throat growing at the thought of them discovering that you're gone- they have all lost enough already. You’re sure Lance would try to be enthusiastic, claiming that they found Shiro so they could find you. Still, even he would know the saddening truth that the galarans won’t make the same mistake twice as he tries to hide his tears from Pidge who would be clinging to Hunk, begging him to tell her it’s not true- she only just got her brother back and now she has lost her sister- blood related or not. You knew it would destroy the team if you couldn’t get back to them and what worries you is that you're struggling to see a way that you can.

It was nerve-wracking, waiting to find out who Iverson and the rest of the teachers decided to team you up with for the simulators. It was a big deal, as this was going to be your team for the rest of your time in the Garrison. Last year you couldn’t wait for this moment, but maybe that was because you were certain that the boy with the mullet would be by your side as you were as Shiro put it “the only person that can put up with him” but he left, dropped out without so much of a goodbye, and you could understand, the loss of Shiro, Matt and Sam was difficult for everyone but nobody took it worse than Keith and you suppose it made sense as Shiro was all the boy had. You shook the thoughts of him out of your mind when Iverson finally came into the room, twiddling the rings on your rings on your fingers as you stood near Hunk who looked ghostly pale and going on queasy as you both prayed that the older man would do you both a solid and put you two together. You listened as he called names into groups, feeling somewhat better when Griffin was put in a group that didn't include you. Then your name was called and you were told to stand next to a tall Cuban boy wearing blue, you smiled as you walked up to him and he smiled back seemingly just as nervous as you were, then a smaller boy with round glass and a green jumper joined the group, your eyes squinting when looking at him, almost as if you had seen him before but you couldn’t place where. But before you could question it Hunk's name fell out of Iverson’s lips, you looked up in alarm as you saw Hunk coming towards your group, shocked that your prayers had been answered. The fear that was eating away at you was dulled slightly as he came to stand next to you. Sure it wasn’t the team that you wanted but maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Being in space has always made your internal clock question how long has passed, but it seems to be worse when alone in this cell. You believe it has been a few days based on the number of trays of food delivered to your cell, the only interaction with another you’ve had this whole time. At least you think, as you find yourself waking up exhausted with pains and aches all over your body, but you have no memory of doing anything or even anyone coming into your cell in the first place. You thought you would've been face to face with Zarkon or his witch by now, but as time passes, you struggle to believe that would happen at all, which causes a pit to develop in your stomach as the unknown of your future begins to dawn on you.

You can still hear the conforming hum of your lion in the back of your head, trying to reassure you that all is well but as the days pass by you begin to believe it less and less simply repeating to yourself that it was for the best.

“Things could’ve been a lot worse” you theorised. Sat with Pidge in this trash heap with your lions completely shut down. At least you were together and there were (up to now) no enemies trying to kill you both. To be honest, you wouldn’t want to be stuck here with anyone else. After Pidge finally revealed to everyone that she was in fact a girl, something you had figured out back in your garrison days, not long after you had become a team and saw the photo of her and Matt taken prior to the Kerberos mission, but you only knew because he had shown it to you first, during one of his many tutoring sessions with you. You liked to think that while Shiro was Keith’s mentor, Matt was yours. A sentiment he very much enjoyed, so much that Pidge later told you that she had already known who you were when she met you. A fact that made your heart swell. Your friendship with Matt was one of the many reasons that Pidge thought of you like a sister and the main reason you looked after her so much- you wanted to look after her for him while he couldn’t and while this mindset got you into many arguments with Keith over putting her safety over your own you wouldn’t change a thing because you knew it was the right thing to do (Also Keith couldn’t really say anything as he constantly put himself in harms way for everyone on the team.) You couldn’t help but feel protective over her as she was the youngest out of your ragtag bunch and was annoyingly the only one you could baby as you were the second youngest of the group as Lance loved to remind you. While being here with Pidge definitely made you feel a little better, you couldn’t help but be relentlessly worried for the rest of the group, as they always found some way to get into trouble- especially Lance and Keith. It was like trouble sought them out, always getting into some sort of issue whether it be with aliens or with each other. So you couldn’t help but double over in laughter when Pidge using her junk-made paladins started an argument between the fake Lance and Keith. Eventually, you both decided that you had waited around for help long enough and decided to try and find your own way back to the castle. Pidge made you gather together materials to make a home beacon signal in hopes that it could reach the castles of lions to allow them to find you two. No surprise to you Pidge’s brilliance worked its magic as the castle of lions appeared in the sky from a wormhole, the pair of you hugged each other happy knowing that you weren’t going to grow old on a trash pile as you had both dramatically claimed. You two were more than ready to return to the fight against Zarkon to save the universe and hopefully, find Pidge’s family.

You dream of him, black hair, violet eyes and his grumpy temperament clouding your thoughts as you try to rest. But, when you wake cold and alone in that dark cell you are reminded of the present and how you need to try and stop yourself from dreaming of the past.

Thought it was “just goodbye for now” you bitterly mumbled as you awoke from another dream of him. This time the memory sticks with you- of the goodbye you shared as he left to find himself with the blades, those were the words he uttered to you as you blanketed him in your embrace. That it was temporary, that you two would come back together again and you remember how you smiled through your sadness nodding at his words, believing him truthfully- as you always did. But you are now struggling to believe it anymore and you don't know if you are more mad at him for uttering those words or yourself for trusting them to be true. Up to now, all attempts to contact your lion have failed miserably but you can still hear your lion if you concentrate enough- as though you two are connected to the same string and you pray that it never snaps, clinging onto it like a lifeline.

You were buzzing, tapping your hands against your legs as you bounced on the balls of your feet, waiting for Pidges Lion in the cockpit while the rest of the team looked at you, amused. Lance, clearly feeding off your joyous attitude, ruffled the hair on your head, messing it up slightly. You turned to the boy, pouting as he withdrew his hands, using your own to try to flatten whatever mess he had made as he giggled at your reaction. A smile quickly returned to your face when Pidge stepped out of her lion with a familiar boy following behind her, you ran towards the pair, wrapping your arms around Matt’s shoulders in welcome, your smile only increasing when he hugged back with just as much gusto, you could hear Lance muttering something about someone being jealous if they were here to Hunk and Shiro but you weren’t paying close enough attention to anything he said, instead, you were very happy that the man who you would call a brother was really okay and just like Shiro had survived the Kerberos mission. When the family reunion had ended Pidge introduced Matt to the rest of the group, except for Keith as he was yet again away on some mission with the Blades. You watched amused as Matt’s eyes landed on Allura and something similar to what you see in a romcom played out as he screamed “You are so beautiful!” you struggled to keep the giggles to yourself as you saw Coran turn red in anger, clearly seeing this as an inappropriate way to talk to the princess and finding humour in Lance’s clear jealousy as Hunk made the boy walk away from the group. You decided to do something similar telling Pidge to give Matt a tour of the castle ship as you walked away with Coran and Allura, pulling both the alteans away with your hands.

Calming down an angry altean was albeit harder than you expected, especially when Allura was of no help at all as she was just laughing at how worked up the older man had become, but you understood it was because he felt so protective over her especially since there was no Alfor to help him and she was like Coran’s little girl so nobody would ever be good enough, you whispered just as much to him as Allura was talking to her mice and that seemed to make him less annoyed, knowing that somebody else understood him. It wasn’t until later when gossiping with Allura about your lives before all this, that she mentioned that it wasn’t just Matt’s interaction with her that annoyed Coran but also his interaction with you, claiming that he always got annoyed when others in his eyes tried to “flirt” with you, her or Pidge. However, she quickly noted that he never got annoyed or got Lance and Hunk to intimidate Keith like he did anyone else when it comes to you a comment made your cheeks burn.

You startle awake to the sound of your cell door being opened, eyes darting towards the light, confused when the door continues to open, eyes squinting from the light now surrounding you for the first time in weeks as you try to identify the body in front of you when a voice gasped out and a familiar voice spoke your name. All worry evaporated from your body as Matt Holt wrapped you in a hug and you knew for the first time in weeks that everything would be okay and that maybe Keith was right- it was just goodbye for now.

You now sat in the control room of the ship you had been captured in surrounded by freedom fighters. After hearing over hacked intercoms about it carrying ‘precious cargo’ for the emperor, they had infiltrated and taken control of the ship.

“And that was me was it?” you mused looking towards the Holt boy to which he cracked a smile sending you a simple nod in response. You had changed into your white and silver spacesuit and your bayard had been retrieved for you. Now more than ready to return home to the castle of lions, to the paladins and to him.

The first thing you saw, unsurprisingly, as the ship came out of the wormhole was your lion, growling in happiness, bounding towards her paladin only stopping when she was at the front of the ship, eyes locked onto you. You smiled gleefully at your lion feeling your connection stronger than ever, as though the string that attached the you two was unwavering, unbreakable. As soon as the ship reached the castle of lions you were enveloped in the paladin’s embrace, you would’ve fallen over when Pidge launched herself into your arms, legs wrapped around your middle like a koala, if weren’t for Lance keeping you balanced by surrounding you in a hug from behind. Hunk joined the misfit group of cadets finishing off the group hug similar to how they used to in the Garrison when they, for once, completed the training simulator much to Iverson’s shock. Thoughts of worry could be seen swimming through Shiro’s eyes as you caught them when looking up, he nodded at you, the tension flinging off him like water down a hill as you turned back to your family holding Pidge and Lance by the backs of their heads, smiling and reassuring them that this was real, that you were real as tears dropped from the twos eyes. You could feel Hunk’s laboured breaths, clearly trying to stay strong for the group as the rest were blubbering messes. Walking away from your embrace and towards the freedom fighters with Shiro shaking hands and thanking them for getting you back to them as the trio dropped towards the floor, holding onto each other like it was the last time.

It was only later when you had changed into your everyday wear, speaking with Allura and Coran holding both of their hands, stroking them gently that the paladins noticed the new scars decorating your arms and some scorch marks adjourned your neck along with bruising that you wouldn’t comment on. Or rather that you couldn’t as you claimed to not remember anything except for the dark room you were kept in and then Matt saving you. Another change was your hair, which had a white streak in it, you simply chuckled at the development turning to Shiro claiming "We match now" causing everyone to laugh and they supposed it fit you well - “As she is the white paladin” Lance claimed.

It was only when Coran transferred your memories temporarily into a crystal that they all saw what you endured on the ship, you were beaten and tortured for answers, electrocuted, burned for sport and tested on by some druids. At that point, they stopped watching as Shiro was looking rather green, probably from remembering his own time with those vile creatures. But you mused that you were lucky as you still had all your limbs and according to Coran who looked at your scan results from the healing pod whatever they were trying on you didn’t work as you were the same as you were before, “except for a few scars and a new hair colour that is” He pondered twiddling his moustache. And he was right of course you didn’t feel any different, maybe a bit more anxious at night and a few more nightmares but who could blame you after being trapped in a dark room for weeks. Of course, the memory loss was slightly concerning but they all believed it to be a coping mechanism to keep you sane and you were glad that you could only properly remember the dark room, that it was all that really haunted you at night and that those things you saw on the screen projected from your mind didn’t and you hoped it stayed that way.

The entire universe that was apart of the coalition let out a sigh of relief when it was revealed by Allura on comms to the members of the alliance that the white paladin of Voltron had been found and returned mostly unharmed. However, nobody’s relief could be felt greater than that of Keith Kogane who had been fighting with Kolivan for weeks when they received the information of your disappearance and probable capture, he remembers the way his legs nearly gave out from under him when during a meeting with Allura the altean claimed that Voltron couldn’t come to the rescue this time as they were missing a paladin- missing you. He Surprisingly didn’t even need to sneak out on a blade ship to try and find the castle of lions to see if it was true, rather Kolivan who was probably fed up with his moping simply turned to the boy and gave him ship and co-ordinates simply asking him to back in time for the next meeting. The older Galaran didn’t think he'd see the boy move so fast, mumbling annoyed about how much more work would get done if he did.

You didn’t hear him on comms asking for Coran to allow him into the cockpit, too busy in the training deck with Shiro and Allura showing them that despite being out of action for a few weeks you were ready to get back out there because as you told them “the galra don’t wait for anyone” and that “this revolution wasn’t going to fight itself.” You didn’t even hear your teammates asking for you to come to the control room over comms, far too busy fighting the training dummies and your comms device left on the side. What you did notice was when you were lifted from behind, a pair of pale arms grabbing you by the waist causing a gasp to erupt from your throat, You spun around ready to attack until your eyes met his, and then your sword dropped to the floor as Keith held you in his arms, staring intensely at you as if you would disappear if he dared to look away for even a second. You quickly returned the embrace, arms circling his back as you threw your head onto his chest, almost unbelieving that he was there, his arms moved, crowding around your head pulling you impossibly closer to his body as he noticed the white strand of hair, his fingers pressed against it confused as he rested his nose atop your head, breathing you in, reminding himself that this was in fact, real and not just one of his sick dreams he has been having since finding out you were gone.

Being held in his arms made everything real, and you thought that if you had to through everything all over again just to have this moment, in his arms, you would. It was all be for the best if you ended up in his arms at the end of it all.

#keith kogane x reader #keith x reader #keith kogane #vld keith #keith voltron #voltron #voltron x reader #voltron legendary defender #vld x reader #vld fic #keith kogane fanfic #keith kogane fic #Keith kogane imagine

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

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spencer reid holding hands 4 the first time : ( 've been rewatching cm and i miss my boy sm : (( you're most recent peter fic is so sweet btw im absolutely obssessed!!!!! love you bunches

Thank you sweetheart <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 665 words

You and Spencer have had a very…tentative beginning to your relationship. Normally, when you think of a first date, you’re worried about how much the other person expects. (Will they want to kiss you? Will they want more? What if you don’t want to? How do you say no without making it awkward?) With Spencer, there’s been none of that. You’re on date three, and he’s kept completely to himself the entire time. When you met up earlier in the week he’d let a hand hover near your elbow when you nearly tripped over a curb, but you’d barely felt the whisper of his skin against yours before he was putting it back in his pocket, the danger having passed.

You’ve always thought that you’d prefer to take things slow, and Spencer seems that way too, but now you’re itching for something more. Just something tangible to show that you like him, that he likes you too, that you’re not just going on these dates for no reason at all.

So, bold thing that you are, you let your hand hang in the empty space between you as you walk. An offering.

The first time Spencer’s knuckles brush across yours, knobby and skimming, he almost stops talking. He’s been saying something about Alexander Pope and Eliza Haywood (and you’re doing your best to follow along, honest), but he falters mid-sentence, his hand stuttering in its movement.

“And, uh, actually,” Spencer goes on, getting his verbal feet back under him, “it was only in the late twentieth century that her works started surfacing in academia…”

You nod along but don’t move your hand, letting Spencer’s graze past it again. This time, you lean into the touch, pushing your knuckles into his almost imperceptibly. And this time, Spencer’s hand doesn’t continue along its trajectory. He lets it rest alongside yours, your skin brushing up against each other’s with the movement of your walking. After a few seconds, his pinkie teases yours.

You bite back a smile, crooking your pinkie so it hooks around his. Spencer moves his hand, and for a second your heart drops, but he’s only bringing it to the inside of yours, interlacing your fingers loosely.

“Is this okay with you?” he asks, careful and to-the-point.

“Yeah.” You look up at him sheepishly, wriggling your fingers in his to get them closer. “I’ve been wanting to do this.”

“Me too,” Spencer says quietly. Your heart balloons until you’re sure it’s about to float off and take you with it.

His palm is rougher than you’d expected. Spencer comes off as such an academic, sometimes you can forget that he’s in the literal FBI. He handles guns and had to go through training, and you can feel it in the light scratch of his calluses against your palm. Slender fingers stretch over your knuckles, deft and capable. His touch sends a pleasant tingling all the way up from your hand into your buzzing brain.

“Sorry,” you say softly.

Spencer looks confused. His thumb runs the length of yours, a thoughtless movement or a soothing touch, it doesn’t matter. If he does it again, you’ll puddle down onto the pavement for sure.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks.

“I sort of interrupted you.”

A little smile teases the dimple in his cheek. “I don’t mind.”

You give his hand a gentle tug, feeling brazen. It cracks something open in him, and his smile comes out for real, the familiarity between you suddenly so natural.

“Tell me about Eliza Haywood,” you urge. “Did Pope just hate her because she was a woman?”

“That was definitely a big part of it,” Spencer allows, and his voice seems to go back into the conversation while his face stays somewhere else. He’s still wearing that smile, eyes squinted just slightly like he’s having some trouble figuring you out and it might be his new favorite game. “But also it had a lot to do with the perception of novels…”

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jar0fhoney · 3 months ago

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PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 (NSFW) - PART 4 - PART 5 (NSFW) - PART 6 - PART 7 (NSFW) - PART 8 (NSFW)

Content Warning: Description of death, blood, pregnancy

Something was off.

The daily walk home from the shop felt like a marathon, everything just felt so exhausting lately. This earned many concerned glances from Khargaad as the two of you reached the end of the season’s harvest. You spent many a moment slumped on your knees, hands folded in your lap.

“You haven’t seemed yourself lately.” He tilted his canteen to your lips, letting you take a sip of his water. You wiped your brow, “I know, I’m just… so tired all the time.”

“Hmmm...” He stroked the back of your head, ignoring how sweaty and gross you were from working, “Let’s finish up for today, does that sound good?”

You nodded weakly, shouting no protest as he scooped you up in his arms. Before you knew it you were sitting in the grass outside of his tent. You almost fell asleep right there before you heard the lighting of a fire, and sloshing of water from the creek. You opened your eyes, seeing him filling a large washbasin.

Before long steam rose from the surface of the basin and you felt hands pulling at the strings of your tunic. “Let me take care of this.” Khargaad’s voice cooed in that special way that could melt you. He undressed you and led you by your hand to the basin, letting you step in to the deliciously hot water before undressing himself. He settled behind you in the water, pulling you onto his lap.

There was nothing sexual or suggestive about the way his touch landed on your skin. Just tender and caring. He lathered you in soap and massaged your muscles, eventually letting you sink your back into his chest. He rested one hand on your tummy, rubbing therapeutic circles into you.

“Maybe you should take it easier?” He leaned down to kiss your shoulder. You huffed, “I’ll be alright.”

“Okay…” His tone did not sound entirely confident in your statement, but he accepted it nonetheless. That night he walked you home, clothed in his shirt that fit you like a dress. Tucked into bed, you could hear him and your mother chatting outside but their words were undecipherable.

It wasn’t just you that was off now. Every day of the following week you found your mother waking up before you to making breakfast.

“Oh my darling, I don’t want to hear it. Sleep in and get some rest.”

Khargaad now consistently walked you to and from the town square, making sure to come and give you a kiss on the cheek in the mornings before leaving to hunt.

Today, you were clearing out a junk closet in the shop, too busy to hear the door open behind you.

“Now this really is low, y/n.”

You hadn’t heard that voice in ages. Not since Khargaad had scared Milo out of your shop all those weeks ago. You shot up, looking behind you to see Milo with a rather sickened look on his face.

“Surely you haven’t been fucking that orc?”

You clenched your fists, wrapping a tighter grip on the pocket knife you already had in your hand. “Get the fuck out of my shop.”

“Won’t be yours for long. You won’t make it through winter.”

“Guess you’re right because we’ll be long gone by then.” You retorted with a cocky confidence.

“Excuse me?” His eyes narrowed.

Perhaps you should shut your big mouth now. “Nothing.” Your voice wavered unconvincingly. He took a step towards you.

“No, not nothing. You have something planned. You and that mother of yours. Maybe even that big stupid orc, whore.”

You raised the knife threateningly, “Milo, you need to leave now.” You tried your best to put on an air of confidence, but you had quite possibly put all of the plans in jeopardy. Milo lacked the honor and dignity which would stop a regular person from doing a terrible thing in the name of vengeance.

He huffed, turning around to leave. On his way out, he slammed the door with such force that it shattered a pane of glass on the door. You turned your head just slightly, seeing Khargaad standing on the other end of the square. It seemed as if he had just returned from his hunt to catch Milo storming out, and based on his heaving shoulders he was fuming.

It was a tense walk home.

“Are you… angry with me?” You were bewildered by his demeanor. He stopped in his tracks, getting down on one knee to get on your level.

“No. No no no. How… could I be angry with you?” He was so sweet, so calm. You sighed, cupping his cheek, “You’re just so tense, so angry-“

“I’m scared, y/n.” He cut you off. You didn’t like seeing him like this. He was shaking a little bit, “I’m scared of him. Before I met you, we happened to frequent the same taverns every now and then. I’ve heard him say things that frighten me. I don’t think he would hesitate to hurt you or your mother.”

You knew this just as well as he did. Khargaad had brought his hand up to your waist, thumbing over your stomach. It seemed soothing to him.

“We need to develop a plan. Now.” You pulled on him to follow you. The sooner you were out of town the better, and didn’t like the idea of Milo possibly being clued in on that fact.

“Within the next two weeks, at the very least.” Your mother proclaimed at the dining table. Khargaad nodded, crossing his arms satisfiedly. You just sat there dumbfounded.

“I’m sorry. two weeks? Why does it seem like you two had this worked out before we even sat down!”

They were shooting nervous glances at each other.

“Well-“

“You've-“

They had both started at the same time, stumbling over each other’s words. There was something going on. You shot up, pointing two accusatory fingers at them, “Ma! You start first. Then Khargaad. Go.”

The woman stared down at her hands twiddling her thumbs, “Well… what I was going to say was… you sure you’ve been feeling alright lately sweetheart?” You stood there baffled, did they think you were about to be on your deathbed or something? Khargaad breathed out,

“You’ve missed a period.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but as you wracked your brain you realized, by the Gods, the orc was right. You disregarded the fact that he had seemingly been tracking your cycles in secret. A lot of things began making sense as the reality set in.

How daft did you have to be for these two to figure out you were pregnant before your own self. The bottom of your lip quivered as you tried to figure out a rational response to the situation. Maybe… maybe it was just a random fluke in your cycle. Maybe it was something else. This wasn’t a part of the plan. You hadn’t accounted for a baby at all.

A warm hand slipped around yours. Khargaad was staring at you with unbridled adoration, tears running down his face. You were so lost in thought, you hadn’t even noticed your mother leave the room.

“Talk to me.” His voice was shaking, it almost sounded like a plea. As if waiting for you to break your silence on this was his own personal form of torture.

“I- I- What are we going to-“ The words tried to clumsily fall from your lips. You lifted the edge of your tunic, staring down at the bare stomach, and sure enough there was the slight bump that hadn’t eased on its own. It was so subtle that you had been writing it off as merely bloat. But now, you looked down and couldn’t see it any other way.

“Oh my Gods.” You began to cry a confusing mixture of happy and scared tears. Clearly the pull-out method was not entirely dependable. You looked back at your lover, still with tears streaming down his own face.

“When I realized you might be… oh merciful gods I was terrified too.” He laughed weakly, squeezing your hand, “I can’t speak on how you must be feeling right now. But…” He sniffled, “…You’re not alone.”

It started with a low chuckle, then you broke into a full laugh. Khargaad looked at you, bewildered, as if maybe this was the (giant) straw that broke the camels back.

“We need to leave. Not even in two weeks. In one week. In a couple days. I need to close up the shop, we need to pack-“ You were rambling frantically.

“So… so you want to keep it?”

You almost choked on your own words, looking down at Khargaad who was still sitting in his chair. He was afraid to admit how thrilled he was, his worst fear was making you feel pressured by his own feelings. After all, it was your decision in the end.

“Oh Khargaad,” you took his hand and placed it on your stomach, “all I’m thinking is what kinda person they’re gonna be. Will they be an artist? A hunter? An explorer?”

He giggled through his tears, pulling you close to nuzzle his head into your stomach. The dull ends of his tucks grazed over your skin. “Whoever they may be, they will know the overwhelming love of their mother and father.”

This was surreal. You had been so caught up dealing with life, the thought of a baby was completely foreign to you. Yet here you were, being confronted by the idea in the most literal way possible. Then a thought struck you.

“Khargaad, we’re going to your home, right?”

He nodded, still practically purring into your stomach like a cat. “They won’t be… angry that you’re with a human?” He shook his head, “‘Course not, my brother Vakgar’s been with his husband Thierry for six years now. We love that guy.” His voice was muffled into your skin.

You sighed, coming down from the emotional high of this entire situation. “We’ll need a wagon, a big one. Probably one? No, two strong draft horses. And then-“ your mind was already picking up from where it left off, you scrambled for a piece of paper and quill to write it all down.

“Hush my love. Me and your Ma have it handled. Just say the word and we can be packed and ready in three days.”

“Well consider this the word. Let’s go. I… don’t want to stay around and wait for it to start showing.” He knew you were talking about Milo. The last thing you all needed was him finding out about this.

“Yes we agree. Definitely.” Khargaad replied, making his way to the door. “Will you need to go back into town again?” It was clear he wanted the answer to be no, but he would be disappointed unfortunately. “Just one more day.” You responded with a sorry look in your eyes. The two of you came to a compromise, you would do what you needed to do for that day, only if you didn't leave his sight for even on second. And you could only go into town once the lot of you were good and ready to leave. In case you needed to make a run for it.

He marched over to you, pulling you into a long deep kiss.

He pulled away, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gold chain. Hanging from it was an engraved gold ring.

“I’ve been holding on to this for… uhm. Hehe. I bought it a couple weeks ago. And I thought… I thought had gotten a good fit but then I slipped it on your finger in your sleep and it was like hilariously large and then all of this started and I didn’t want you to think I was only doing this because you’re pregnant. I was always going to-“

You cut him off with a giggle, letting the ring fall into the palm of your hand.

“Yes, I’ll marry you Khargaad.”

The next three days felt like a whirlwind. Khargaad FINALLY had a valid excuse to stop you from lifting heavy things and he was being entirely greedy about it.

“Don’t over-exert yourself love.”

You were carrying a basket of jars, probably not more than 15 pounds. You rolled your eyes playfully, “I can’t just sit around-“

He gently took the basket out of your hands, kissing you atop the head, “Now, this evening we’re gonna be in and out, as fast as possible right?”

You nodded, cradling your stomach. With a dress on it as impossible to notice.

As the sun began to set, Khargaad followed you into town. All you needed to do was put your remaining merchandise outside the door, writing a sign that said “free, please take.” It wasn’t much anyways, you could live without the small amount of coin you were gonna lose.

With the job done, the two of you hurried off. The path back to your cottage was a long dirt road, and eventually he just scooped you into his arms to pick up the pace. As a skilled hunter, Khargaad was very aware as to how vulnerable the two of you were right now.

And then he heard it. A clicking noise, frighteningly similar to the mechanical sound of someone loading a crossbow. Most would have never been able to distinguish the difference between this noise and any other normal forest sound.

He was reacting before you could register the sound of something whizzing through the air. You screamed, feeling yourself falling on your ass in the dirt. Khargaad clenched his shoulder, his dark thick blood beginning to bubble through his fingers. The two of you reeled around, seeing Milo standing in the middle of the path struggling to reload his crossbow.

The following moment which occurred felt like slow motion. Like one of those nightmares where no matter how hard you run, you can’t get your feet to move faster than a snail pace.

Khargaad hadn’t been directly hit, but the thick iron arrow from Milo’s weapon had grazed him leaving a nasty gash in his shoulder. The orc had a frenzied look in his eyes, like he was stuck in some sort of waking paralysis, unable to move his feet.

You looked back at Milo, still struggling and now yelling curses, and back to the serrated bowie knife Khargaad always kept on his waist.

As the classic saying goes: kill or be killed.

There were things you were always going to remember about this night, like the whites of Milo’s eyes as you hurled the knife into his thin sinewy neck, the heat of his blood spurting on your face, the taste of iron when it got into your mouth. His strangled final breaths, understanding leaving his eyes.

You were yanking Khargaad in a jog behind you, seeing the lights of the cottage ahead. The covered wagon was set to go, horses bridled. You thanked the Gods for his foresight to insist on having everything ready like this. Your mother was standing outside, lantern in hand. She nearly fainted when the two of you were close enough for her to register the scene.

“You’re bleeding!”

“He is.” You insisted, climbing into the back, “Ma, you need to take the reigns, we need to go. Now.”

She snapped her senses, clambering onto the front and balling her fists around the leather. If there were two things you could thank your father for, it was teaching your mother how to steer a horse-drawn wagon, and the years of practice you got out of dressing his wounds after bar fights. You pulled Khargaad into the back, drawing the folds closed and hanging the lantern above the two of you. The bottles and supplies in your first aid kit glinted menacingly

“This will be unpleasant, my love. I’m sorry.”

@reads-stuff-quietly @loo-looland @sluttygirl123 @beaniebaneenie @blushycadaver @sunndust @whyiamadegenerate @the-attic-of-porcelain @freakyotaku059-blog @youknowits-derea @thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @allthecraftandthings @gruffle1 @kennedyabraxas123 @queenies1x1 @jellyslimesofficial @jasminedragoon @rangoismyname @the-queen-of-sorrows @the-dumber-scaramouche @heddaloddafun @swimmingrascalbatdragon @hellodollstuff @wingedghostpepper @pistachioinfernal @honeybaegle @sammehshark @dij-ology @forgemotherkestrel @wafflefries786 @sadsilver @shellyyyyy0000 @thecreativeblueberry-blog @lovingbadguys

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persevereforahappyending · 21 days ago

Text

A Beacon in the Dark |14|

Pairing: Joey x Reader

Summary: Joey likes helping people, it's what she's best at. Hunting down the monsters of myth and legend might be the best way to save people.

Warnings: Fighting, Violence, Death

Word Count: 6.2k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

You and Joey both shot out of your sleeping bags, you nearly tripping as you rushed out of the tent. Your eyes flashed yellow as you scanned the area. Night vision was beneficial but when the forest was dense like it was it was difficult to see as far as you could in an open field. Joey stood behind you, her jacket barely brushing against you as she scanned her side, shining her flashlight in all directions.

The screams stopped, as if they knew you two were out of the tent. There was a gust of wind and the light crinkle of leaves filling the air, in other circumstances it would probably be peaceful. “What do you hear?” Joey whispered.

You tilted your head. “Nothing,” you whispered. At that Joeys heartbeat picked up. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.” You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye, her eyes flicked down to the ground then back up, but she didn’t say anything more.

“Help!” A female voice came from deep in the woods. “Help me!”

Your hand shot out, stopping Joey from going in the direction of the voice. “What are you doing?” She asked, trying to pull her arm away, but your grip remained firm. “Someone needs help.”

“No,” you said half distracted. You furrowed your brow as you stared in the direction the voice seemed to come from.

“What do you mean-”

“Please help me,” a different voice said, a younger voice, coming from a completely different direction.

Joey stepped closer to you, whether it was because she thought you could protect her or because it was just further from the voice you didn’t know. “Please, please help me,” the voice grew more desperate.

Joey shook her head. “It sounds so real,” she whispered. “What if someone’s out there?”

You tried to gather your thoughts, come up with some sort of plan that wouldn’t lead you and Joey to certain death. If you followed the voice, you were sure that it would lead you to your monster, maybe even to the victim it seemed to have. You didn’t know what it was though, for all you knew the victim was already dead, from the reports it sounded like this was exactly how the monster lured people in. Again, based on the reports, the only survivors seemed to come from those who didn’t leave their campsite.

You furrowed your brow, it didn’t seem to attack outright, it liked to lure its prey away. That was either a choice, a game it liked to play with its prey, or it was because it had to. If the monster wasn’t strong enough to take on multiple victims at once that gave you and Joey an advantage. The only way to know which one it was though was to follow the voices.

“Maybe we should just go back to the tent,” you suggested.

“You can’t be serious?” Joey asked, whipping around, unintentionally shining a flashlight in your face, or maybe it was intentional. You gave her your best puppy dog eyes and shrugged. “You’re a werewolf,” she deadpanned. “How can you be scared?”

“I’m not scared,” your voice went higher than you realized it could go. “I just…” you looked past Joey and into the forest that seemed to only get darker the deeper it went. “Think it’s unwise to go running off into an unknown situation.”

Joey gave you an unamused look and raised eyebrow, as if to ask if that was the best you could come up with. It just so happened that it was the best excuse you could come up with. You weren’t scared. You definitely weren’t scared. You just didn’t want to run off into the woods after voices, even if they sounded like cries for help. Maybe you were just a bad person. That had to be it, you weren’t scared, you were just an asshole.

The crunch of leaves brought you out of your head and your eyes widened when you saw Joey getting further away from you. You took off after her, even though you were definitely not scared and thought the smart play was to go back to the tent you couldn’t let Joey go off on her own. Joey didn’t say anything as you fell into step beside her, she just glanced at you out of the side of her eye.

“Help me!” The voice called out again. “Help!”

You slowed to a stop, forcing Joey to do so as well. “Why aren’t we getting close to it?” You asked. You scanned your surroundings, you couldn’t even see your camp anymore, but the voice sounded the same distanced as it did when you first heard it.

“It’s luring us somewhere?” Joey whispered, taking a step closer to you.

“We can’t continue,” you shook your head. “Not when so much is unknown. We can come back in the morning, investigate then.”

Joey opened her mouth to reply when her eyes widened, as she stared off into the darkness. “Help me!” A little boy’s voice called. It was like the wind was knocked out of her with the way she couldn’t catch her breath. “Mom!” The pure terror in the scream made even the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“No!” Your hand shot out, stopping Joey from going forward.

“Y/N,” a voice called out. “Please,” it sobbed. You slowly pulled Joey back in the direction of camp. “Help me! Please!” The voices mixed between the little boys and one you were all too familiar with, Grace’s

You yanked Joey back, not bothering to care how aggressive you might have been. You would drag her all the way back to camp if you had to. Luckily you didn’t and Joey found her feet moving in the same direction as you, though much more hesitant. The cries of the boy and Grace followed both of you back to the camp, not stopping even after you made it back in front of the fire. You scanned the campsite one last time before ducking in the tent text to Joey, who was already clutching her knees tight against her chest.

“Hey,” you whispered, taking a seat as best as you could so you could be at eye level with her but making sure not to touch her. “It’s not real.” You tried to get her to meet your eyes, but she refused. “Whatever this thing is, it’s trying to mess with us.”

There was still no reaction from Joey. You sighed and reached back to grab your phone. Your movement was halted when an arm shot out, if you weren’t what you were it probably would have bruised. You snapped your attention back to Joey; she still wasn’t looking at you but she certainly had a death hold on you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you assured her. “I’m just calling Grace.” That seemed to get her grip to loosen but she didn’t let go of your arm.

You slid over so you were sitting next to her. “What’s wrong?” Grace asked, answering on the second ring.

“Nothing,” you said instantly. “There’s something definitely out here,” your eyes darted around the tent, you were practically waiting to see the shadow of some monstrous creature come over your tent. “It can mimic voices though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it tried to lure us deeper into the woods by sounding exactly like you!” You heard Grace suck in a breath, so you closed your eyes and focused on your own breathing. “Sorry.”

“Wh-what do you mean it sounded like me?”

“Like, it sounded exactly like you. It kept calling for help. It kept using your voice to call for help,” you whispered.

“Okay,” Grace said softly. “I’ll do research on creatures that have that ability. That would explain why friends would wander off. If they-”

“If they heard their friend screaming, they’d coming running.”

“Delivering themselves right to the monster.” You nodded, even though Grace couldn’t see you. “I’ll contact you as soon as I know something, stay safe out there.”

“We will,” you glanced at Joey who was still curled up, making herself as small as possible.

“Are you okay,” you asked, trying to keep your voice as quiet as possible. “It wasn’t real. It was just the monster trying to trick us.”

“It sounded just like him,” Joey whispered.

“It wasn’t.” You didn’t need her to tell you that the other voice was Caleb’s, it’s the only person who it could have been. “I swear to you, no one is going to hurt him.”

Joey finally met your eyes. You knew she knew your words were true, at least about that not really being Caleb out there, he was still back home, safe and sound. Even if you hadn’t met Caleb yet, even if you never met him, you would still make sure nothing you and Joey did ever came back to him.

“Let’s just try to sleep,” you suggested.

Joey nodded and curled up into a ball, pulling the sleeping bag to where it was resting just under her chin. You hadn’t heard about attacks happening during the day so when the two of you woke up you could follow the path the monster was trying to lead you down and investigate. You hoped you and Joey turning back wouldn’t lead to some innocent camper getting killed instead.

You settled down next to Joey, even though you had no intention of sleeping. Lack of sleep on a mission was never ideal, but you couldn’t risk that thing coming to the camp. You didn’t know what it was capable of and the last thing you wanted was to be surprised as it slashed open your tent.

“You’re really warm,” Joey mumbled.

You looked down at her, her breathing was steady, and her eyes were still closed, you honestly had thought she had already fallen asleep. “One of the few perks of being a werewolf,” you whispered.

Joey wiggled back so she was pressed against you. Your entire body froze at the contact. When Joey let out a content sigh you finally slowly relaxed, making sure not to move a muscle. It was rather cold; your natural body heat was enough to warm up the entire tent, but it still didn’t seem like enough for Joey.

Throughout the night you remained alert, though you didn’t hear the monster again. Either the creature found a new victim to lure to their demise or it just gave up. You hoped by morning Grace might have some ideas, you didn’t want to spend another night not knowing what you were dealing with. You were only there till Sunday, so you’d have to go out hunting tomorrow night whether you had answers or not.

Before you knew it, morning had come, and Joey was shifting beside you. “Morning,” she mumbled. You tried to suppress your smile at hearing her sleepy voice. Joey rolled over and looked up at you. “Did you sleep?”

“We should get a head start,” was your answer. “Don’t want to lose daylight.”

As gently as you could you slipped out of the tent, stretching out your back and legs as soon as you could stand tall. You grabbed a log and tossed it onto the fire that had managed to continue burning through the night. You began digging through your pack to see what goodies Grace left you as Joey stepped out of the tent.

“You should really sleep,” Joey said. “You drove here and-”

“I’m fine,” you cut her off. You took a few deep breaths; you hadn’t snapped at her, but you didn’t want to get to that point. “We have too much to do.”

Joey seemed to accept that you wouldn’t change your mind, but she was clearly unhappy about it. You finally got to the bottom of the bag and found the food Grace packed, some sort of hamburger like meat. You grabbed one of the little foldable pans she packed and dropped the pack of meat into the pan, using one of the little spatulas to move it around over the fire.

“Here,” you offered Joey a granola bar while you waited for your food to finish cooking.

She took the granola bar. You noted how she broke the bar up into little pieces before popping them into her mouth one at a time. You found yourself tilting your head, looking up at the sky as the sound of birds and sizzling food filled the silence.

“It’s kind of nice when there’s no creepy monster,” Joey whispered as if she were afraid to disturb the peace.

You hummed in agreement. “How are we you doing, after last night?” You asked, grabbing a small collapsable bowl for Joey before scooping some of the meat into it.

“Thanks,” she took the bowl from you. “I know it wasn’t him but…” she shook her head.

“I know.” Your fingers twitched at your side. You wanted nothing more than to reach out and offer her some comfort, but you didn’t want to overstep so you grabbed one of the forks and began picking at the remaining meat, not bothering to grab a bowl for yourself.

Once the two of you finished up your meal you shrugged on your backpacks and set off in the direction the creature had been attempting to lure you the night before. You and Joey stayed close together, you keeping your eye on the left side while she watched out on the right. You could hear the wildlife throughout the forest, nothing seemed afraid, not like last night.

“I think this where we-” your head snapped to attention, your eyes scanning your surroundings carefully.

“What?” Joey whispered, taking a step closer to you.

Your entire body went rigid, you were sure if someone tried to move you, you wouldn’t budge, your feet were planted in place. You knew your eyes were ablaze with yellow as your animalistic defenses kicked in.

“So, you’re not completely useless,” a man said. He was talking at a normal volume, but you could tell he wasn’t anywhere near you yet. “I told you, you shouldn’t have come here,” he said again, stepping out of the tree line.

Your head twitched to the side slightly, it was the man from the gas station, the one working the register. You flicked a glance to the right where the younger guy from the gas station stepped out into the open as well. To the left a woman with long hair also stepped out. Slowly several more people came out of the woods, not fully surrounding you and Joey but you were clearly outnumbered.

“What’s going on?” Joey whispered.

“They’re werewolves,” you said lowly, staring down the man who had spoken. From the way the others were flanking him and just the general presence he gave off it was clear he was the alpha.

“Great,” Joey mumbled under her breath. You felt her tense up as she probably realized everyone besides her had enhanced hearing.

The alpha tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at her. You let out a deep growl in warning. It wasn’t a full moon, none of you were at full strength, you were out manned, and you were in their territory. Literally everything was against you, but you’d beat those odds before, you’d actually beaten worse odds.

“Easy,” the man said, his volume still the same level but it held a commanding tone. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Yeah?” You asked, your head twitched when you picked up a branch cracking as one of the pack members inched closer.

“There’s something else out here, something dangerous.”

“That’s why we’re here.”

The alpha chuckled as if you had said something amusing. “No pack, no control, inexperienced,” he began listing off. “You’re practically a child. You don’t stand a chance. It will rip you to shreds before you even know it’s there.”

Your lips twitched up wanting to smirk. You had been called arrogant before, you saw it as confidence, either one was dangerous to show in front of an alpha. For some reason they tended to be overly sensitive, and the slightest bit of attitude was seen as a challenge.

“I think we’ll be fine. I kind of have a way of making it out of these things.”

“You think just because you killed the New York pack you’re invincible?” Your blood ran cold, you tried to keep your face neutral, but you were sure you had already failed at that. “Yeah,” the alpha chuckled. “We know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. When a pack of that size and status is taken down people talk.”

“And yet you still came out here.” Now that was arrogant of you. The only reason you survived the first pack was because of Cody, of taking each of the pack members out one by one. You were stronger now but there was no way you could take this pack, as well as protect Joey, knowing they probably had other pack members waiting in the trees.

The alpha scoffed, clearly not seeing you as a threat. You knew you probably weren’t, but you thought the rumor of what you did to the New York pack would be enough to strike a little fear.

“You couldn’t even sense what we were back at the gas station,” he said. “Probably don’t even know our kind is able to mask our scent.”

You clenched your jaw, trying not to react. You had felt something off in the gas station but the two guys definitely didn’t smell like a wolf. You didn’t know masking your scent was something you could do; you had never seen it before. Maybe you would have come across it when you ran into other wolves but when you did it was always when they were doing something bad, not stumbling upon them while they were at work.

“This is your last warning, leave,” the alpha said. “It’s for your own protection; we won’t save you when you get into trouble.”

You let out a long-exaggerated sigh as you pretended to give the alphas suggestion some consideration. “I think we’ll take our chances,” you finally said.

The alpha let out a huff that sounded more like something between a scoff and a chuckle. “So be it.”

The alpha jerked his head to the side, signaling for the pack to move out. He had just begun to turn away when you decided to take a chance. “Do you know what it is?”

The alpha froze and glanced back, just enough for you to see the side of his face. “Not sure,” he admitted. “There’s been rumors about it for centuries, long before even us.”

You furrowed your brow, packs tended to not leave their territory, unless something forced them out. It was also rare for a pack to settle in a spot already taken over, even if it wasn’t by another pack.

“Lot of stories,” he alpha continued. “All I can say for sure is, it’s some sort of cannibal.”

You looked down, your eyebrows scrunched up as you were deep in thought. Cannibal didn’t mean anything, it could mean a lot of things, but the fact that it ate the people, not just killed them was telling. You looked up to ask one more question, but the alpha was already gone. The question was if it ate people, did it only eat people or did it hunt for other things. There were a lot of creatures in the forest, but this thing sought out people specifically, so much so that it literally lured them out.

“Are you okay?” You asked, glancing at Joey. She nodded. “Let’s keep moving.”

The two of you continued making your way deeper into the forest in silence. You could feel Joey’s eyes on you. You weren’t going to ask what she wanted, if Joey had a question, she’d have no problem coming out with it.

When you got to a small clearing you grabbed your satellite phone and dialed Grace. You brought it to your ear, making sure to keep your eyes on your surroundings as it rang.

“Are you okay?” Grace asked as a greeting.

“Yeah,” you said.

There was a pause on the other end, and you furrowed your brow, you had started to pull the phone away, wondering if you somehow lost the connection. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Grace asked softly.

You sighed. “We ran into a pack.” Grace sucked in a breath but waited for you to continue. “We’re fine. They’re not going to try killing us,” you glanced back at Joey. “But they said we’re going to die if we go after this thing,” you let out a humorless chuckle.

“Did they at least know what it is?”

You shook your head even though you knew Grace couldn’t see you. “All they could give us was it’s a cannibal.”

“I’ll add it to my research.” You nodded at that; the more info Grace had the better off you’d be. “Be careful.”

“Will do. Will make contact again soon.” With that you hung up and shoved the phone back in your pocket.

“So,” Joey said, finally breaking her silence. “That was an interesting interaction back there.” You let out a hum, not really sure where she was going with this yet. “You didn’t know they were werewolves?”

“No,” you admitted, your eyes falling in shame. You kept promising to protect Joey, how could she believe you when you literally talked to the alpha of a pack and had no idea.

“Did you know they could mask their scent like that?” You shook your head. You really were a failure at being a werewolf. “He called you inexperienced.”

You let out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, he was right about that.” Your fingers twitched at your side, you were trying not to pop out your claws and dig them into your palm.

“I’ve never had anyone train me,” you whispered. “Most packs are already hesitant about lone wolves, it’s rare for someone to be turned and then not join their maker’s pack. No one wants someone who killed their entire pack either.”

“But they weren’t your pack.”

Your mouth twitched, wanting to smile. “To most other wolves, they’d consider whoever turned you as your pack.” Joey scoffed at that, making you finally crack a small smile.

The two of you continued following the direction the voices sounded like they were coming from. You slowed down as you came to a clearing. You felt Joey tense beside you and slowly move behind you, so you were between her and whatever was on the other side.

When you broke through the trees you furrowed your brow. Your senses were going crazy but there was nothing there. You felt a tap on your shoulder and then followed Joey’s line of sight as she pointed at a small cave on the side of a small mountain side.

You took it one step at a time as you inched closer to the cave. When you got to the entrance you flashed your wolf eyes, trying to see deeper but coming up with nothing. You took a big whiff, hoping to catch a scent only to cover your mouth and stumble back from the power of the stench.

“What?” Joey whispered, running to your side. “What is it?”

“Death,” you whispered, still covering your nose. “The entire cave reeks of it.”

Joey gripped you by the arm and led you away from the cave. You weren’t sure there was a distance you could travel without smelling that stench now. Where Joey decided to stop though made the stench tolerable but still allowed you full view of the cave.

“Think our monsters in there?” Joey asked.

“Possibly,” you answered. “I couldn’t see anything, but something is definitely killing things in there.”

“Stake it out tonight?”

You sucked in a breath, if this was the creatures cave then going straight into its territory wasn’t the best decision. A cave gave you an advantage though, there was only one way in or out, if the creature was in there now it wouldn’t sneak up on you come nighttime.

“Let’s scout the area,” you said. “If it’s in there, we can’t be completely blind.”

Joey nodded and the two of you began scouting the perimeter around the cave. There were no tracks or obvious signs something was entering and exiting the cave regularly. A shift of the wind sent you walking off in the opposite direction you had been headed, forcing Joey to run to catch up to you.

You weren’t sure what led you astray until you broke through the trees and into a campsite. Your mouth fell open at the sight. There was still evidence from where a fire had been burning the previous night, but it had clearly long died.

“Search for anything useful,” you said.

You were confident no one was coming back; the tent had a giant gash in the side of it and the campers’ packs were scattered throughout the sight. You didn’t see any bodies, didn’t even see so much as a drop of blood. Whoever was there had either left in such a hurry they abandoned all their gear, or they were taken.

Joey began riffling through the tent while you decided to check the backpacks. It seemed that there had only been two people based on the number of backpacks and the singular tent.

“Hey,” Joey called out. You glanced over your shoulder to see her holding open a plastic case that contained a flare gun and three flares. You nodded, one never knew when a flare gun would come in handy after all.

You pulled out your phone, glancing at the screen to see it was Grace before answering. “Yeah?” you answered as you continued to dig through one the backpacks.

“I might have found something,” Grace said.

“Wh-”

“Wendigos.”

“Wendigos?” you looked at Joey who furrowed your brow.

“Apparently there’s a long history of them in Canada and northern America.” You furrowed your brow; you hadn’t heard of them before. “Some say it’s a spirit; some say they were human until they became something else.”

“And you think this is what we’re dealing with?”

“Seems the most likely. They’re tall, pale, cannibalistic creatures.” You nodded, that definitely seemed to fit so far, at least the cannibalistic part. “They can mimic voices.” That’s when your ears perked up. “They pretend to be someone you care for to try and get you to stray from the path and directly to them.”

“Any weaknesses?” You didn’t need to hear anymore, them being able to mimic voices was enough to sell you on the idea that that’s what you were dealing with.

“Fire.”

“We can work with that.” You smiled to yourself as you pulled out a cannister of camping fuel from one of the bags. “We think we found its hideout; we’re staking it out tonight. If we’re right, we’ll jump it as it exits the cave.”

“Be careful.”

“Call you when we’re done.”

You made your way over to Joey and waved the cannister in front of her face. Joey looked up and narrowed her eyes as you gave her a mischievous smile.

“It’s a wendigo,” you said before she could even ask. “Cannibalistic creature,” you waved it off as if that was the least important thing to know. “Can mimic voices of loved ones.” Joey’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Weakness is fire.” You broke out into a grin as you nodded and continued to wave the cannister in front of her.

“Do I even want to know?” Joey asked.

“Molotov cocktails!”

Joey opened her mouth but closed it with a sigh. She shrugged, seeming to not be able to come up with an argument against the idea. You silently cheered, applauding yourself for having such a brilliant idea.

The two of you spent the remainer of the day scrounging up glass bottles and cloth you could use as a wick. You made sure to get back down at the cave before nightfall. The two of you worked in silence as you gather logs to make a decent size fire while Joey prepared the Molotov cocktails. If the creature was as dangerous as everyone was making it seem then you needed to be ready as soon as it came out of the cave.

When the sun had fully set the fire was alive in full force. You jogged off into the woods next to where Joey was already lying in wait. You took a seat across from her and the two of you began your wait. You knew the creature hunted at night, but you didn’t know how late it started its hunt. It had been late the previous night but there was no telling how long it had been out searching for a victim before it stumbled on the two of you.

Your ears perked up when you heard something you couldn’t quite place. You peeked through the bushes you were hidden behind, flashing your yellow eyes as you focused on the cave. Your breath caught in your throat as you saw a tall pale creature slowly walk out of the cave. It had long arms with the claws to match. It was humanoid, you could believe that it had been human at some point in its lifetime if that version of the story were true. It had a round face; you could see its shark like teeth from where you were.

You gave Joey a reassuring nod, then silently took off. You made sure to circle around the creature without being seen while Joey got into position. It seemed the fire had distracted the creature for a moment, giving it pause it tilted its head at the fire. You noticed it flinching away from the flames; it seemed Grace was right; fire was most likely the weakness. Your eyes shifted from the monster to where you knew Joey was, once you saw her flick on the lighter and light the rag you slowly crept out of the woods. You were only going to get one shot at this, and you couldn’t let the monster get to Joey.

Joey threw one of the Molotov cocktails. It was a direct hit, setting the creatures’ arm ablaze. The monster shrieked as it held out its right arm, not completely engulfed in flames.

You made your move, charging at the creature before jumping, delivering a hard kick to the creature’s chest. It weakly reached out with its left arm, its claws not even grazing you as it lost its balance, stumbling back into the fire.

The flames quickly overtook the creature. It lashed around and shrieked until it finally collapsed. You held up your hand to keep Joey back as you approached the charred corpse. You took a whiff and could only smell the burning flesh of the creature. You leaned over, making sure that there were no signs of movement. For your final confirmation you gave a hard kick to the corpse, wrinkling your nose when your shoe went through the creature a little bit.

You opened your mouth to call back to Joey, but nothing came out when you saw her staring past you with wide eyes. You whipped around, nearly stumbling back as you stared up at another wendigo. It was even taller than the first one, but it had the same pale skin and hollow eyes.

It slashed its razor-sharp claws across your chest, sending you flying across the clearing. You let you a hiss as you pushed yourself off the ground, bringing a hand to your chest, only to take it away and see blood coating your fingers.

You pulled yourself up, pulling the collar of your shirt back to get a look at the damage. You let out a groan that turned into more of a growl. The thing cut deep, you were sure it would take more than a day for these wounds to heal, you wouldn’t even be surprised if they scarred.

Joey pulled out the flare gun. She took small steps back as the creature stalked towards her. She raised the flare when it got close enough, she pulled the trigger, and the flare shot out, nailing the wendigo right in the face.

The wendigo stumbled back, clawing at its face as it shrieked in pain. You gritted your teeth, powering through the pain as you rushed forward and tackled the wendigo, slamming its back into the stone right beside the cave entrance. You barely registered the crack of stone echo through the air.

You stepped back, barely having time to duck as a red flash whizzed past your head. Another flare hit the wendigo dead center in the chest. You stepped back as the wendigo lashed out, just as the other one had done, before finally collapsing as well.

“There’s more!” Joey called out.

You looked up, your eyes widening as three more wendigos could be seen in the cave. “Fuck,” you whispered.

“Watch out!” You looked back just in time to jump out of the way as Joey came rushing forward, a lighter in one hand and a Molotov cocktail in the other.

She lit the rag then launched the Molotov into the cave, the glass shattering at the feet of the wendigos. You raised a hand, trying to block the heat from the flames. The shrieks of the wendigos quickly filled the cave.

Joey didn’t waste time lighting up another Molotov and chucking it into the cave, nailing the middle wendigo in the chest. The middle wendigo flailed around, spreading the flames to the other two wendigo in its panic. All three wendigo began flailing around, lashing out at each other and the cave walls.

A low rumble could be felt beneath your feet, making you grab Joey’s arm and quickly pull her away from the cave. Just as you got clear the entrance of the cave collapsed, blocking any chance of anyone entering the cave or anything getting out of it.

You walked over to the fire you originally created and picked up one of the burning logs. You made sure to keep the flames away from you as you quickly walked over to the body of the wendigo that wasn’t completely burnt up and dropped it on top, watching as the creature was slowly engulfed.

“Can never be to safe,” you mumbled, as you turned back to Joey, wincing with the small movement.

“Hey,” Joey said. She was at your side in a second, wrapping an arm around your waste to brace you.

“It’s just a scratch,” you tried waving her off.

“I literally watched that thing almost gut you,” she deadpanned.

You opened your mouth, ready to come up with another defense when your ears picked up the snap of a branch. Your head snapped up; your eyes glowing yellow just as the alpha from earlier stepped out of the shadows.

“You continue to surprise me,” he said. “You should go,” he nodded. “We’ll clean this up.” A couple other members of his pack exited the trees, heading for the bodies of the two wendigos that weren’t buried in the cave.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

You allowed Joey to continue supporting you, the exhaustion finally hitting you. “Someone’s been asking about you,” the alphas whispered as the two of you passed him.

“Who?” you barely tilted your head towards him.

“Not sure, but they’re trying to gather a pack.”

You gave him a thankful nod and continued your way back to the camp. Part of you didn’t want to pack up the camp and just wanted to crash in the tent for one more night but the sooner you left the better.

Joey helped by breaking down majority of the camp. Despite telling her numerous times you healed quickly she insisted you stick to packing up the backpacks. You did as she asked, trying to hide each wince at every move you made, Joey didn’t need to know she was right.

The two of you made good time getting back to the car, quickly tossing all the gear in the trunk. You didn’t even know what time it was, you just moved to the driver’s side. Just as your hand rested on the door handle another hand came into view, resting on the door, preventing you from opening it. You followed the arm the hand was attached to to Joey looking at you expectantly.

Joey rolled her eyes as your obvious confused expression. “I’m driving,” she stated, leaving no room for discussion.

You opened your mouth to protest but she nudged you out of the way, opened the door and hopped in the driver’s seat. You stood there; your mouth agape as you just stared at her. She held out her hand and gestured for you to hand over the keys. You grumbled but did as requested, then moved to get in on the passenger side.

You let out an irritated huff when you caught the ghost of a smirk on Joey’s face. “Rest,” she ordered.

You grumbled the entire time but got comfortable in the seat, leaning it back a bit. You tucked one of your arms under your head and closed your eyes. You were pretty sure you hadn’t even made it out of the park before sleep took you.

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