#If i had it to over again would have been a mechanic

[natsaffection]

Redline. pt 1 | N.R

You swore you’d never race again after the crash that nearly killed you. For years, you stayed in the shadows, avoiding the world you once ruled. Then Natasha Romanoff came looking for a driver, and she chose you. You fought her. You refused. But Natasha doesn’t take no for an answer. But coming back means facing everything you ran from: the fame, the pressure, the past. And with the world watching, one question remains: Are you still the driver you once were, or will the past catch up before you can prove it?

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!RacingDriver!Reader

Warnings: Crash Trauma, Car racing

Word count: 7k

A/N: Helloo, I really love this dynamic and hope you will too, so I can continue the story..🙆🏻‍♀️

At the moment Natasha saw the contract, she knew exactly how this would end.

She had years of experience in this business, long enough to see through every trick, every tactic, every maneuver. She had seen drivers come and go, talent wasted, careers ruined by greed. She had watched men with potential destroy themselves before they even had the chance to prove themselves. And Jake? He was about to become one of them.

She sat in the dimly lit conference room, the only light coming from her tablet screen as she scrolled through the details of his betrayal. The agency’s report had been sent to her earlier that day, and now, as she skimmed through the contract details, she pressed her lips into a thin line.

Jake wasn’t leaving the team for a better one. He wasn’t making a strategic decision to secure his position. No, he was leaving for money. A weaker team had offered him a higher salary, and that alone was enough to make him walk away. To leave Romanoff Racing. To leave the team that had made him relevant in the first place.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, rolled her shoulders, and let out a slow breath. If he had left for a real opportunity, for something better, she would have understood. She wouldn’t have liked it, but she would have respected it. But this? This was pathetic.

A quiet rustling on the other side of the room pulled her from her thoughts. Yelena sat lazily in one of the chairs, skimming the same documents Natasha had just read. She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and chewed absentmindedly as she turned the page. “So.” Yelena murmured without looking up, “Walker is an idiot.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Yelena chuckled softly, shaking her head as she tossed the folder onto the table. “Seriously, what was he thinking? That you wouldn’t find out?” She tilted her head slightly, studying her sister. “Or did he really think he could outsmart you?”

Natasha tapped her fingers on the table once before picking up the folder and snapping it shut with a sharp click. Slowly, she stood up, tucking the documents under her arm and adjusting her jacket. Yelena watched her, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

Natasha didn’t even look at her as she walked toward the door. “Yes.”

The garage was too quiet when Jake Walker walked in. It wasn’t the usual silence after a race, the kind that settled in after a long day on the track. It wasn’t the hum of cooling engines or the distant murmurs of the pit crew. No. This silence meant something was wrong. He slowed his steps, scanning the empty space. Normally, there would be a few mechanics analyzing data, prepping the cars. But tonight?

Only she was there. Natasha stood at the workbench, arms crossed over her chest, waiting. She wasn’t in a suit, not in formal attire. She was still in her racing gear, the sleeves of her fireproof suit tied around her waist, the black tank top hugging her toned frame. This wasn’t business. This was personal. A cold feeling settled in Jake’s stomach, but he forced himself to stay relaxed as he stepped closer. “Hey.” he greeted, his voice calm, controlled. “What’s going on?”

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she opened the folder in her hand with practiced ease and then, with a precise flick of her wrist, tossed it onto the table in front of him. Jake frowned and looked down. The moment he saw the contents, his stomach clenched. His contract negotiations. His meetings. His plans. Plans Natasha wasn’t supposed to know about. His mouth went dry. “Listen, I can explai-”

“You thought you could outsmart me.” Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that was more dangerous than shouting. Jake clenched his jaw. “It’s not what you think-”

Natasha finally looked at him. Really looked at him. And for the first time in his career, Jake felt fear. “You could have left for a better team.” she said calmly, tilting her head slightly, her voice devoid of emotion. “I would have understood.”

A pause. A suffocating pause. “But you didn’t.” Jake swallowed, straightening his posture. “It was just negotiations!” he began. “This is standard practice-”

Natasha stepped closer. Not aggressively. Controlled. Calculated. “Do you think I don’t know how this business works?” Her voice was almost mocking. “I’ve been in this world longer than you’ve been relevant. I know the game. And this?” She gestured toward the folder. “This isn’t a smart move. It’s not strategy.”

Another step. “This is greed.” Jake’s hands twitched at his sides, frustration bubbling up. “It’s money!” he snapped. “And in case you forgot, that’s what keeps this whole place running..”

Natasha actually smiled. A small, cold, deadly smile. “No.” she said simply. “I keep this running.”

Jake’s breath hitched for a moment, but he held his ground. “This is a big mistake..” he growled. “You fire me, and I lose everything. My sponsors, my place in the season- you know damn well no one will sign me now! You’re destroying me!”

Natasha tilted her head, as if considering it. Then she shrugged. “Yes.” Jake’s fists clenched, his frustration shifting into pure, bitter anger. “Do you really think you can just replace me?”

Natasha’s smile widened. “I don’t need to replace you.” she said softly, razor-sharp. “I need someone better.” Jake inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening so hard his teeth ached. His hands twitched, as if he wanted to hit something, do something.

But he didn’t. Because even he wasn’t that stupid. Instead, he stepped back. His chest rose and fell heavily, his career crumbling before his eyes. And Natasha? She didn’t care. Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, straightened his posture, and forced his face into a neutral expression. “You’ll regret this.” he muttered.

Natasha smiled. “No, Walker.” she said quietly. “I won’t.” Jake’s jaw clenched. Then he turned and stormed out. The door slammed behind him. Yelena let out a low whistle. “Well..” she murmured, still chewing her gum, “that was dramatic.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, shaking off the last traces of irritation before turning back to the workbench. Yelena stretched and tilted her head. “You do realize you just fired your only driver, right? The championship is in three months, and we now have exactly zero people for that seat.” She popped her gum. “Even for you, that’s a bold move.”

Natasha didn’t respond right away. Instead, she reached for her gloves and pulled them on with a quiet certainty. “I don’t need just anyone.” she finally said. “I need someone who’s willing to risk everything.”

Yelena chuckled softly. “Right. And where exactly do you plan on finding someone that crazy?” Natasha’s lips barely twitched. “Where no one else is looking.”

——

You were crouched beside the open hood of a sleek, jet-black race car, your fingers gliding gently along the edge of the exposed engine. The scent of oil and gasoline clung to your skin, mixing with the fabric of your grease-stained overalls.

“You’re stubborn today..” you murmured, tightening a bolt with a practiced twist of your wrist. A quiet laugh sounded behind you. “She’s talking to them again?”

“Like they’re her children.” another mechanic chuckled. You didn’t look up. “First of all..” You called back, your voice playful but firm, “He prefers to be addressed with respect. And second unlike you idiots, he actually listens to me.”

More laughter. Because that was the thing about you. Everyone here liked you. You weren’t just any mechanic. You weren’t just someone who knew these cars inside and out, someone who could tell what was wrong just by the sound of an engine.

You were one of them.. A racer, a mechanic, an engineer, everyone in the garage respected you. You pulled the final bolt tight, exhaled, and slid out from under the car. “Hey..” a voice called. You turned. One of the engineers, a burly man with a permanent oil stain on his shirt, waved you over.

“She’s ready for a test run.” he said, nodding toward the car you’d been working on. “You up for it?” You hesitated. You always hesitated. One lap. Just to check the steering, the brakes, the feel of the engine. It wasn’t about speed. It wasn’t about pushing limits. It never felt like just a test. “Yeah.” you said firmly. “I’ll do it.”

The grandstands were full. A restless sea of bodies leaning forward, voices rising in a chaotic mix of cheers and curses as the race unfolded before them. But Natasha didn’t see the race like they did. She studied it. Arms crossed, weight balanced perfectly, she stood at the edge of the pit lane, eyes locked onto the track as the cars tore through the corners like bullets.

The floodlights cast sharp shadows over her face, making her expression even colder. Beside her, Yelena leaned casually against the railing, popping a piece of gum into her mouth, watching the race with far less intensity. “This is a waste of time..” Yelena muttered, chewing. “Same game, different track. You’re not going to find what you’re looking for here.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Because for the past few weeks, Yelena had been right. Driver after driver. Race after race. And nothing. No fire. No hunger. No one who understood the difference between fast and fearless. She inhaled slowly, concealing her frustration. She didn’t need an arrogant, hot-headed rookie. She didn’t need someone who thought they were great.

And then..she saw something. A blue car. It moved differently. Not with the reckless aggression of the others, not with the desperate hunger to overtake. No..it was precise. Every corner was a conversation, a fine-tuned balance between speed and control. The driver wasn’t fighting the car. They were one with it.

But something was wrong. Natasha’s eyes narrowed. The movements were too careful, too calculated. Held back, as if the driver was testing the limits, but refusing to cross them. She had seen this before. This wasn’t a driver racing for the win. This was someone racing against ghosts. Yelena noticed the shift in Natasha’s posture and followed her gaze. “Huh..” she murmured. “That’s..different.”

Natasha didn’t look away from the track. “Who is that?” Yelena waved over an official, a man who looked both honored and terrified to be standing so close to the Romanoff sisters. “The blue car!” Yelena said, nodding toward the track. “Who’s behind the wheel?”

The official hesitated. “That’s..Y/n Y/l/n.” Natasha’s jaw tightened slightly. She knew that name. Yelena let out a low whistle, her usual amusement fading into something more serious. “Damn..” she muttered. She turned to Natasha. “You remember her, don’t you?”

Natasha didn’t answer. Of course, she remembered. For years, you had been untouchable. A legend before you had even reached your prime. You raced like you had nothing to lose, like fear was a concept you had never learned. Till you crashed. Not just any crash. A nightmare. An accident so brutal, so catastrophic, that no one thought you would survive.

For weeks, the footage had played on every sports channel. The final lap of the championship race. You were in the lead, seconds from victory, until it happened. A clipped rear wing. A high-speed spin at 320 km/h. The impact was monstrous. Metal crumpled like paper, the car flipping multiple times, sent flying across the track, disintegrating in a cascade of sparks and fire. When the wreck finally came to a stop, it was nothing more than a charred, mangled cage of steel.

And inside? You. Broken, bleeding and unconscious. Two minutes. No pulse. Natasha pieced the details together in her head, the puzzle clicking into place. She knew what an accident like that did to a driver. It rooted itself deep inside them. It changed instincts. It turned the greatest passion into the greatest fear.

Yet despite everything, despite the hesitation in your movements, there was still something in your driving. A familiarity. A certainty in your instincts that no one ever truly lost. Yelena watched the race with new intensity. “This isn’t just a clean lap..” she murmured. “This is art.”

Natasha gave the smallest nod, never taking her eyes off the track. This wasn’t just a test run. This was someone who wasn’t just testing a car. This was someone who understood it. A corner. One that any test driver would take cautiously, just to gather data. But you? You took it like you were still a racer.

Perfectly timed. Perfectly felt. For the briefest second, for a heartbeat you forgot yourself. Natasha saw it in real-time. The moment you drove on instinct alone. The moment you let go. Natasha recognized the exact moment it happened. The way the car suddenly slowed down, the way the caution returned to your movements.

You stopped yourself. Natasha exhaled slowly. “She’s not just testing.” she murmured. “She’s driving like the car still belongs to her.” The man standing beside her sighed heavily. “Yeah,..” he said quietly. “She still does.”

Yelena frowned, watching as you pulled into the pit lane. “That’s not a driver who doesn’t want to race.” Natasha already knew that. She just didn’t say it out loud. Because she had already figured it out. That hesitation, the moment you held yourself back, told her everything she needed to know.

You weren’t here to test cars. You were here because you couldn’t stay away. And yet, the moment you stepped out of the car, the moment your feet hit the asphalt, you buried it again. The helmet stayed on. Your posture remained closed off, controlled. You handed over the keys, exchanged barely a word, and walked straight back into the garage.

Natasha moved. But before she could take another step, she felt a firm hand on her arm. Slowly, she turned her head and met the calm, knowing gaze of the man beside her. His grip wasn’t hard, but it was definitive. The kind that said: Don’t do it. He knew exactly what she was about to do. And he knew it wouldn’t work.

“She’s not looking for a comeback, Romanoff.” he said. His voice was quiet, but heavy. Natasha didn’t pull away, but she didn’t back down either. “She’s already back.” she countered softly. “She’s on the track.”

The man exhaled slowly through his nose. “Not the way you think.” Yelena folded her arms, glancing toward the garage. “Then why is she here?” The man was silent for a long time. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “Because this is the only place that still makes sense to her.”

Natasha remained still. That was an answer she understood all too well. “She disappeared after the crash..” the man continued. “Not just from racing. From everything. No press. No statements. No farewell speech. She just…vanished. And you know what? I think she really wanted to. I think she wanted to convince herself she was done.”

Yelena let out a quiet scoff. “I remember the crash.” she muttered. “Everyone does.” Yeah. Everyone did. Before the accident, your name had been spoken with reverence. A rising legend. A driver who had seemed untouchable. Then, in a single moment. The fall.

Not just any loss. A wreck so violent people had looked away from their screens. A crash that had silenced entire stadiums. “She was dead.” Yelena murmured. “Two minutes, right?”

The old man nodded slowly. “Two minutes. No pulse. The medics pulled her from the wreck thinking they were recovering a body, not saving a life.” Natasha turned to Yelena. “I want to meet her.”

Yelena grinned. “Are you sure? She doesn’t look like she wants to be found.” Natasha’s gaze hardened. “She’s already been to hell,” she murmured. “She can handle me.” And with that, the decision was made.

She moved through it all with quiet precision, out of place but completely in control. She wasn’t dressed for the chaos of the garage, no oil-stained coveralls, no smudges of grease, no heavy gloves. She didn’t belong here, and yet, every step she took demanded the kind of presence that made people move out of her way without a word.

She spotted you immediately, half under a car, legs stretched out, one hand buried deep in the engine bay. The way you worked wasn’t just methodical, it was intimate. The way your fingers moved, the way you tested a part, listened to the engine hum, made minute adjustments you weren’t just fixing a machine. You understood it.

Natasha stopped a few feet away, tilting her head slightly as she watched. “You drive like someone who doesn’t belong here.” You froze. It was small, barely noticeable, the slight hesitation of your wrist before you finished tightening whatever part you had been working on. But Natasha caught it.

Because she was always watching. A slow, measured breath left your lips before you rolled out from under the car, sitting up with your arms resting against your knees. There was grease smeared across your cheek, a few loose strands of hair sticking to your temple from the heat, but none of that mattered.

Because the second your eyes met Natasha’s, you knew. Your posture shifted. Not in shock, not in surprise. In recognition. And then, just as quickly, in rejection. “No.”

Natasha arched a brow, unfazed. “I didn’t ask anything yet.” You grabbed a rag, wiping your hands with slow, deliberate movements before standing up. “You didn’t have to.” Natasha smirked slightly, though there was no humor in it. “You know who I am.”

You exhaled, shaking your head as you grabbed a bottle of water from the nearby workbench. “Everyone in this business knows who you are.” You twisted the cap off, took a sip, and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand before turning your gaze back to Natasha. “And I already know why you’re here.”

Natasha studied you, taking in the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers flexed slightly before stilling. You weren’t just expecting this conversation, you had already decided against it.

“You need a driver.” you continued before Natasha could even open her mouth. “And you think I should be it.” Natasha didn��t confirm or deny it. She didn’t have to. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Not happening.”

Natasha tilted her head slightly. “You didn’t even hear my offer.”

“Don’t need to.” You tossed the rag onto the workbench, your movements final. “I don’t race.”

Natasha stepped forward. “You don’t compete.” You turned away, picking up another tool and adjusting something in the car. “Same thing.”

The silence that stretched between you wasn’t tense, it was a battle. Natasha wasn’t used to people walking away from her. She wasn’t used to people ignoring her. But you? You didn’t hesitate to turn your back.

Natasha narrowed her eyes slightly. “I watched you on the track.” You kept working. “Good for you.”

“You’re not just testing the cars.” Natasha’s voice was quieter now, but sharper, cutting through the noise of the garage like a blade. “You’re still racing.”

Your hands stilled for a fraction of a second. Then, just as quickly, you kept moving. Natasha pressed forward. “I saw the way you took that turn. The way you adjusted, the way you let the car move with you instead of fighting it.” She stepped closer, her voice lowering just enough to make you listen. “A test driver wouldn’t drive like that.”

You exhaled, slamming the hood of the car shut harder than necessary. “Whatever you think you saw.” you muttered, voice tight, “it doesn’t matter.”

Natasha didn’t move. She stood her ground, unwavering. “You belong on the track.” You laughed. It wasn’t amused. It wasn’t light. It was sharp, bitter, the kind of laugh that had too much weight behind it.

You finally turned, your expression unreadable, but your voice was cold when you spoke. “I belonged there. Past tense.”

Natasha held your gaze. “That’s not what I saw.” You wiped your hands again, slower this time, more deliberate. “Then you weren’t looking hard enough.”

Silence. Natasha exhaled through her nose, rolling her shoulders back slightly. “You can tell yourself that all you want, but I know a racer when I see one. And you?” She smirked faintly. “You’re still racing. You just don’t want to admit it.”

Your jaw ticked. For a moment, Natasha thought she had you. Thought she had struck the nerve she needed to. But then, you simply shook your head and grabbed a wrench. “Go find someone else, Romanoff.” You turned back to the car, your shoulders set, your posture final.

This conversation was over. Natasha studied you for a long moment, weighing her options. She could push. She could demand, argue, try to break through the wall you had built.

But she knew better. She knew when to walk away. At least, for now. She exhaled slowly, stepping back. “You know where to find me.”

You didn’t respond. Natasha didn’t expect you to. She turned, walking out of the garage, her steps slow, controlled. She wasn’t done. She wasn’t giving up. Because no matter how much you tried to deny it, Natasha had already seen the truth. You were still a racer. And Natasha Romanoff always got what she wanted.

As she stepped outside, the night air cooler than the thick heat of the garage, Yelena fell into step beside her, hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket. She had been watching from a distance, leaning against the wall near the entrance, casually observing the entire exchange.

After a few seconds of silence, she let out a low whistle, smirking. “That might be the first time I’ve seen someone tell you to go to hell and actually get away with it.” Natasha didn’t slow her stride. “She didn’t tell me to go to hell.”

Yelena popped her gum. “No, but she might as well have.” She studied her sister’s expression, intrigued. “So, what’s the plan now? You actually gonna let that be the end of it?”

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “No.” Yelena chuckled. “Didn’t think so.”

Days went by and you were again on the track. The first laps were smooth. You drove with focus, feeling the car’s balance, analyzing every movement, every response. No risks. No unnecessary speed. It wasn’t a race. Just a test run.

And then you saw it. In the rearview mirror. Another car, at the end of the straight, right in the middle of the track. You blinked. That couldn’t be. No other car was supposed to be here. But it was.

Then your radio crackled. “You’re driving like a damn rookie.” Your heart stopped. That voice. You gritted your teeth. “What the hell are you doing here?” She didn’t answer immediately. Her silence was almost worse than her words. “Drive.”

You shook your head, pressing the radio button harder than necessary. “I’m working. Get off the track.”

“Make me.”

Your fingers tightened around the wheel. The red car moved. Slowly, controlled. It slid into your line, blocking your path, positioning itself exactly where you needed to go. “Romanoff..” you growled.

“You think you can ignore me?” Her voice was sharp. “That I’ll just stand by and disappear?”

“I’m not here for a damn game.”

“Oh, but you are. You just don’t know it yet.”

Her car kept moving, staying exactly in your line. No gap. No escape.

“I don’t have time for this shit.”

Natasha laughed, a dark, mocking sound. “Oh, you have time. You’ve wasted years hiding. Not today.”

Your pulse was racing now. A fine tremor ran through your hands, your chest rising and falling faster than it should.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

“Make. Me.”

Her voice was calm. Almost amused.

“This isn’t a damn negotiation!”

“No. It’s a race.” And then she took off. Suddenly, the red car wasn’t just an obstacle. It was a shadow, shooting past you, positioning itself ahead, dominating every damn turn.

She gave you no choice. You felt your grip on the wheel tighten, your jaw clenching. “You think you can just challenge me?”

“I know you want it.”

Your heart pounded. “Shut up.”

“Drive.”

She pushed you. Drove more aggressively, more recklessly, cutting you off, giving you no damn room to breathe.

“You’ve gotten weak.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Shut. Up.”

“You used to be someone I respected.”

“I will shove you off this track if you don’t-”

“Then do it.” She knew damn well you wouldn’t. Your hands were shaking. Your breath was shallow.

“You’re not yourself anymore, are you?” Those words dug under your skin, a pain deeper than any physical wound. You hated her in that moment. Hated her for her arrogance. Hated her for knowing you. Hated her because she was right.

“Do you know what disappoints me most about you?” she continued, as if this was some damn therapy session. “It’s not the crash. It’s not that you fell. It’s that you don’t even try to get back up.”

And that was the moment. The moment something inside you snapped. A break. A damn fire you had suffocated for so long that you had almost forgotten it was ever there. Your foot slammed onto the gas. “Fuck you.”

The engine roared. The car responded instantly, as if it had been waiting for this moment. Suddenly, there was no hesitation. No fear. No voices from the past. Just speed. And a damn red shadow ahead of you, one you would finally chase. The engine roared under your control as you pushed the gas pedal down. Your car shot forward, vibrating with an intensity that traveled through your bones, but Natasha was there.

Like a damn predator. The red car moved with terrifying precision, cutting you off again and again, blocking your best lines, forcing you into her trap. She gave you no room to breathe, no moment of control. This wasn’t a challenge. It was a show of dominance. Every turn, every straight-line maneuver was a damn game. But not just any game. It was her game. And she made sure you lost.

The next corner approached with brutal speed. A sharp right turn, one that would demand everything. Your fingers clenched around the steering wheel, your body was ready, but your mind wasn’t. You were supposed to brake. A fraction of a second earlier than usual to maintain control. But then Natasha moved over. Hard. Aggressive. Too soon. Way too soon.

Your breath caught. What the hell is she doing? Her line was a disaster, too tight, too risky. She forced you to the outer edge, pushing you into a damn dead end. “Brake.” Her voice cut through the radio. Ice-cold. “Brake or crash.”

Your heart pounded. Your instincts screamed, she had you exactly where she wanted. But your body… your damn body wouldn’t listen. Your leg twitched, your foot wanted to press the brake. Just like back then. Just like on the day you last really raced. A flash shot through your mind, the impact, the screeching metal, the blood. The silence afterward. Your hands trembled. Natasha knew. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Do it.” her voice came through again. “Do it or stop calling yourself a driver.” Your rage exploded. “Romanoff!!!” You yanked the steering wheel, forcing the car into an impossibly tight line, feeling the tires fight for every inch of traction. Your body tensed, everything in you screamed that you wouldn’t make it.

But you did. Your car flew through the corner, just a hair’s breadth from Natasha’s, so close you could swear her gaze burned through the helmet straight into your soul. But she didn’t brake. She stayed with you. She dragged you with her. “Yeah..” you heard her growl as your cars raced side by side down the straight. “That’s it.”

Your whole body burned. Your muscles locked under the tension. This wasn’t a damn race anymore. This was war. And you hated her. Hated that she had brought you here. Hated that you needed it. Hated that you had missed it. The final turn approached. Fast, treacherous. The kind of turn where drivers either proved themselves, or failed. Natasha went in first. Her line was perfect. Almost too perfect.

You could have let her go. Could have let her take the lead. But you didn’t. No. Not today. Not anymore. The anger boiled over, your head screamed against all the voices that had held you back for years. You want me to take risks? Then fine, here you go. You ripped the car into the turn harder than ever before, deeper than anyone would have dared, taking an impossible line, one that couldn’t work.

It didn’t have to work. It just had to prove you weren’t afraid anymore. The tires screamed under the pressure, your car shook, the chassis vibrated as if it would fall apart, but you held the line. And for the first time in this whole damn race, you heard nothing from Natasha. No command. No taunt. Just silence. The finish line came into sight, you and Natasha racing towards it, but you didn’t care.

You had surprised her. For the first time, you had turned the tables. Adrenaline rushed through your blood, your body electric as your cars crossed the line. For a moment, the world was nothing but white noise. Then silence. You tore the helmet off your head before the car even stopped. Your hands were shaking..but not from fear. From anger. Anger at Natasha. Anger that she had dared. That she had pushed you this far.

That she…That she had done it. You jumped out of the car, your pulse pounding as you stormed past her. “See? I-”

“Fuck you, Romanoff.” you spat, your voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. You didn’t look back. Not at her. Not at the car. Not at the damn monster she had awakened in you.

——

You lay on your bed, arms folded behind your head, staring at the ceiling. Since you had come home, you hadn’t spoken to anyone. Not because there was nothing to say. But because you couldn’t. Your head was full. Full of her laughter. Full of the screeching tires, of the way your heart had pounded when you almost lost control. Full of that damn fire Natasha had reignited in you.

You hated her. Hated her because she knew exactly what she was doing. Hated her because she had brought you back to a place you swore you’d never return to. Hated her because it had felt..damn it..alive.

You gritted your teeth and rubbed your face, exhausted. Your whole body was still tense, as if you were about to get back into the car. The tension just wouldn’t fade. For years, you had held back. For years, you had done everything to bury that part of yourself. And then she came along.

Romanoff. And within minutes, she had torn it all down. A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. “Y/n, dinner’s ready!” Your mother’s voice. Warm, kind, the kind that usually calmed you. But not today. You didn’t want to go downstairs. Didn’t want to pretend everything was normal, as if yesterday hadn’t happened. But if you didn’t, there would be questions. And questions were the last thing you needed.

So you forced yourself out of bed, pulled on a sweatshirt, and shuffled down the stairs. The kitchen was warm, the smell of food lingering in the air. Your mother was still at the stove, your father already sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone, while your little brother sat next to him, tapping his fork against his plate.

You sat down silently, grabbed a bowl of food, and started eating without looking at anyone. Maybe they wouldn’t notice. Maybe tonight would just be a normal evening. “Y/n were driving again yesterday!” The fork in your hand froze. A cold shiver ran down your spine. Slowly, painfully slowly, you lifted your gaze.

Your little brother grinned at you, completely unaware of what he had just done. “Yeah, she was on the track! I saw it! Her car was really fast!”Silence. A different kind of silence. The kind that comes before a storm. Slowly, your father put his phone down. Your mother turned away from the stove, still holding the spoon in her hand, her eyes wide with shock.

“What?” Her voice was quiet. Too quiet.

“It was just a test run..” you tried to keep your voice calm. “Nothing serious.”

“A test run?” Your father leaned back, his brow furrowed deeply. “Since when are you driving again?”

“I’m not.”

“Oh yes, you are!” your brother chimed in cheerfully. “And you’re really good! I even saw videos!”

“Jacob, shut up!!” You snapped. Your mother looked at you like she didn’t recognize you. “We talked about this.”

“I know!”

“No, apparently, you don’t!” Her voice was sharper now. “I thought you wanted to leave it behind. I thought you were done with all of this.” Your jaw tightened. “I am.”

“You were driving.”

“It was nothing.”

“It was something..” your father cut in now, his tone cool, controlled, but you could hear the underlying frustration.

“After everything that happened? After the accident?” Your mother’s voice was rising now. “And now you’re telling us it was nothing?”

Your hands curled into fists under the table. “I didn’t want to, okay?” you finally said, your voice lower. “She…she pushed me into it.”

“She?” Your father frowned. “Who?”

You swallowed hard. You could have lied. Could have made something up. But what would have been the point? “Natasha Romanoff.” The name dropped into the room like a weight. Your father took in a sharp breath. Your mother froze for a moment, as if she wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. “Natasha Romanoff?” Her tone wavered somewhere between disbelief and concern.

“Yes.” Your father slowly shook his head, like he couldn’t believe it. “That woman is…Y/n, she’s dangerous.”

“She’s a damn legend..!” your brother chimed in excitedly, as if you had just spoken about a hero. “Jacob, you stay out of this!” your father snapped, shooting him a quick glance before his focus returned to you. “And she’s the one who got you back in a car?”

You felt the anger rising inside you, but it wasn’t the explosive, loud kind. It was deeper. Simmering. Because they made it sound like you had no choice. But you did. And you made it. “I did it myself..” you murmured.

“Against her?” Your mother stared at you in disbelief. You nodded. Her face paled. Your father let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, that’s fantastic. First, she races you, then she pushes you to keep going? What the hell does this woman want from you?”

“I don’t know.” The lie came too easily. But you did know. Natasha had told you. She wanted to bring you back. And the worst part of it all, the part that made your stomach turn, was that some part of you wanted it too.

Your mother rubbed a hand over her face, exhaustion clear in her posture. “I don’t understand…after everything that happened, why would you even let her get to you?” Because she cornered me. Because she pushed me. Because she saw what I couldn’t admit. But you didn’t say it. “It was a mistake.”

Your own voice sounded hollow. Your father studied you for a long moment, as if he were searching for something between the lines. But then your mother slowly shook her head. “If you drive again…” Her voice was firm. “If you really go back…then that’s it.” The words cut through you like a blade.

“What?”

“Then you’re on your own. You’re completely on your own.”

You looked at her in shock. “That’s not fair-”

“It is.” She said, her gaze steady, sharp. “Because we’re not doing this again. We almost lost you once. Almost buried you. I will not sit back and watch you put yourself in danger again.”

It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. You knew they were worried. You knew, to them, this was never just a sport, it was the thing that almost took their child from them. But this? This was an ultimatum.

“This isn’t fair!” you muttered, your hands clenched into fists beneath the table. “Life isn’t fair.” your father said simply. And that was the end of the discussion. Silence settled over the table, thick and suffocating. Your food tasted like nothing. Slowly, you stood up, pushing your chair back. “I’m tired.”

“Y/n-”

“Good night.” You left them at the table, feeling their stares on your back as you climbed the stairs. As soon as your door closed behind you, you collapsed onto the bed, rubbing your hands over your face. Damn it. You had never been this angry before. Not just at them. At yourself. Because a part of you knew your mother was right. But another part…Another part knew it was too late.

Days passed, but you couldn’t shut it off. Every time you were on the track, she was in your head. When you walked through your front door, you thought you’d finally get a quiet afternoon. No cars. No Natasha. Just you. “Do you really think she’s happy?”

You froze in the doorway. Your fingers tightened around your keys. Slowly, almost unwillingly, you stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind you. The voices were coming from the living room. You could hear your mother, upset, almost pleading. Your father? Silent. And then..Natasha. She was here. Oh, hell.

You forced your legs to move, following the sounds into the living room. And when you turned the corner, you saw the scene before you. Your mother sat on the couch, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. Your father stood by the window, hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense.

And in the middle of the room, completely relaxed, as if she belonged there, sat Natasha. She had one leg crossed over the other, hands resting loosely on the armrests. Her posture was calm, controlled..but her eyes? Her eyes were ice. She knew she wasn’t welcome here. But she sat there like it didn’t matter. Your mother shot her a withering glare. “My daughter is happy! She chose to leave this madness behind.”

Natasha blinked slowly. Then she looked at your father. “And you? Do you believe that?” Your stomach twisted. Your father said nothing. He had been silent the entire time. Your mother had been the one who stayed at your bedside after the crash. The one who held your hand when the doctors said you might never walk again. The one who swore you’d never sit in a cockpit again.

But your father? He had accepted it. Never questioned your decision. Supported you, but never really talked about it. Now, he looked at you. Not at Natasha. You. And in his eyes, you saw something you didn’t expect. He was searching for an answer. Your throat felt dry.

“Dad..” you murmured. “Tell her to leave.” But he didn’t. Natasha studied him carefully. Her voice was quiet, almost gentle. “You know, don’t you? You see it.”

His brow furrowed. “See what?”

“That she’s lying to herself.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. “Look at her.” Natasha continued, still watching him. “You say she’s moved on. That she’s chosen to stop racing. But do you really believe that? Or is that just the story you tell yourself so you don’t have to worry anymore?”

“Stop this..” your mother snapped. “She made her decision. You act like you know her better than her own family!”

Natasha slowly turned her head. Her gaze was hard, but not angry. Just cold. Precise. “I don’t know her better.” she said. “But I know what I saw yesterday. And that was not someone who quit.”

Your hands curled into fists. “It was a mistake.”

“Then why are you still thinking about it?”

Silence. You could hear your mother take a deep breath, her fingers clenched around the glass on the coffee table. “I don’t understand you..” she whispered. “Why are you doing this? Why won’t you just leave her alone?”

“Because she can’t.” Natasha said simply. Your breath caught. “People like her don’t just stop.” Natasha continued, her voice now quiet, intense. “They can try. They can tell themselves it’s over, that they can live a different life. But deep down, they know better.”

Her gaze shifted back to you. “You know better.” Your heart pounded. Your nails dug into your palms. “No.”

Natasha tilted her head slightly. “Yes.” She reached into the inside of her bag, pulled out a folder, and placed it slowly on the coffee table. “This.” she said calmly, “is a contract.” You stared at it as if it were a weapon. “A seat. A team. A new chance.” Natasha continued. “You don’t have to take it. I won’t force you.”

Your mother sucked in a sharp breath. “You don’t seriously expect-”

“No.” Natasha interrupted her. “I don’t expect anything, Mrs. Y/l/n.” Her eyes were back on you. “But I know what’s going to happen. You’ll ignore it. You’ll pretend you don’t want it. But every night, this damn thing will be in your head. You’ll think about it. About the race. About the feeling. And one day, you won’t be able to deny it anymore.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. Your mother shook her head vehemently. “Please leave now..” Your father still said nothing. He was looking at you. And you knew that he knew. That he had always known. You didn’t want it. You really didn’t. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

And Natasha knew it. “Take the contract.” Natasha said quietly. “Or tear it up. But if you do, do it because you’re sure. Not because you’re afraid.” You swallowed hard. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the folder. But you didn’t open it. You turned away. And without another word, you left the room. The contract felt heavy in your hand. Behind you, complete silence.

Then, you heard Natasha stand up. “I won’t try to convince you again.” she said calmly. “But I promise you one thing. If you tear it up, it won’t go away. This feeling. It will never leave you alone.”

You exhaled shakily. Heard the front door open. Heard it close again. And then Natasha was gone. You stood in the darkness of the hallway, the paper still in your fingers. You wanted to get rid of it. You wanted to ignore it. But your hands wouldn’t move. Because you knew Natasha was right.

-

-

-

-

Part 2

[theslumberinggod]

The Wanderer's Tagalong, Part 4: Punchline

•~°~•

“What are you looking at?” The Wanderer asked, quirking a brow at you. He had noticed your staring a few minutes ago but it hadn't stopped and it was starting to bug him. At least it was a welcome distraction from the boredom that had been tormenting him for a few days now.

You blinked, snapping out of whatever daze you were in. You smiled, saying something in your native tongue. It was all gibberish to Wanderer’s mechanical ears, and he couldn't help but be curious what your excuse would be for so rudely staring at him.

“Well stop it,” He said, waving a hand dismissively, the other lifting a cup of overly bitter, steaming tea to his lips.

You said something else. Again, something he couldn't understand, but he recognized some words he's heard before. You resumed your task, stitching together a big tear in Wanderer’s overcoat.

He hadn't really even asked you to fix it. When he took it off, you sort of just took from him and started mending it. The Wanderer couldn't really complain, you were fixing it. As for why, he couldn't imagine.

You just did things like that. It stopped surprising him awhile ago, even though your unusually kind behavior still perplexed him. Did you not have a mean bone in your body? Maybe you hadn't seen the world yet. But with the way you faced the many troubles in your travels head on, he wondered if you were just dumb enough to spit in the face of fate.

He liked that….even if you were confusing and at most of the time, an enigma. You were just a name and a handful of useful and inconvenient habits to him.

You hummed to yourself from your spot, leaning over your project as you carefully stitched his coat back together. The Wanderer looked away out the window. It was old and in need of a good scrubbing, but late evening sunlight still poured through. A lonely street wound through Liyue’s wilderness. The Wanderer only stopped at the Inn to turn in some commissions and send word to Lesser Lord Kusanali about when he expected to be back in Sumeru.

Obviously, it would be later than before.

He debated telling Nahida about you. But, perhaps in the light of his recent boredom, decided not to, and just vaguely elude to a “pleasant complication” and wait to see what her returning letters would yield. It would be something amusing to look forward to at least.

The Wanderer knew he was prone to boughts of boredom. His travels were spent completing strange jobs and commissions in the service of Nahida and occasionally the Traveler, Lumine. He had his own motives for doing things, picking up his own little quests, but the past few weeks have been a mundane lull of the same thing over and over.

Usually to satiate these particular boughts of boredom, he'd go bother someone or pick a fight. He'd be lying if wasn't itching to unleash that so called ‘divine power' of his on someone and laugh at their inevitable defeat.

Unfortunately, neither of these were an option. The best and most entertaining way to bother someone was by teasing, jeering, taunting. You, his only and current companion did not understand his words. You had certainly been picking up on things (he had noticed) but you would just tilt your head at any barbed quips he could make. He could thing of a thousand for you, but you wouldn't get them.

He could go pick a fight with someone. There were plenty of vagabonds and stuck up fools in and out of the inn they were staying at. But that would mean leaving you by yourself, and in all honesty, The Wanderer wasn't comfortable with that in the slightest.

Too vulnerable to bad people. Sure, The Wanderer knew he was no saint, but you didn't need more monsters in your life. And sure, he knew you were a tough girl and could probably figure it out if you got in trouble…

…But the Wanderer didn't want you to be in trouble. Trouble spawned those bad nights where you woke up yelling, or the days where you wouldn't utter a word or smile much. He didn't like it. It was dumb, idiotic he was sure to care at all about a mortal of all things---but he did. He'd have to live with his own stupid infractions.

He felt your eyes on him again, drawing him out of his idle thinking. He looked at you, narrowing his eyes and snorting. “What is it now?”

You had an intense gaze, twisting your lips in a thinking expression, causing the scar on your cheek to stretch a little.

“Wanderer,” You say, lifting your hands from your project. You were trying to say something, trying to communicate. Your pitiful attempt drew him in, he found it entertaining, how silly you looked as you struggled to find a word in his tongue.

“What?” He prompted, taking another sip of his bitter tea.

“Wanderer…” You said something in your own language. A word he hasn't heard before. He quirked a brow. What were you saying about him? To him? You repeated the phrase, nodding in satisfaction at whatever you were declaring.

“What on earth are you saying about me?” He asked, setting his tea in the windowsill and stalking over, folding his arms. The boredom was becoming too much, and now he was fully interested in this new puzzle you were presenting to him.

You looked up at him, that pink dusting your features once more. Your smile was mischievous, the sight sending a little flutter in Wanderer’s empty chest.

You repeated the phrase, pointing at him before picking up your needle again. You tilted your head back and forth with a hum, repeating ‘Wanderer’ and that word he's never heard you say over and over.

“What is, you punk?” He asked, knowing he wouldn't get an answer, but wasn't liking you ignoring him. He reached out, poking you in the forehead. You made a face, looking at him. “What are you saying about me?”

Wanderer scowled, his suspicion that you were making fun of him somehow very evident on his face. You giggled, the sound bouncing around the small room. You said it again, clasping your hands together and tilting your head, making a mock dreamy expression.

Now he was more confused. You laughed, reaching and tapping his nose. He jerked back, batting your hand aside. “I told you to stop doing that.”

You were still giggling, looking at him and having the audacity to wiggle your eyebrows at him. Just who did you think you were?

The Wanderer groaned, rolling his eyes, having sought entertainment but realized he had become the entertainment. Not liking that in the slightest, he shoved you in a lighthearted way. “You are insufferable.”

You didn't stop laughing as you fell back on the bed. You were beside yourself, the sound was golden and sweet, it felt pleasant to his ears and by the stars what he wouldn't give to understand what you found so funny!

The Wanderer gave up, turning away and walking back to the window to drink his tea. Your laughter died out and you hummed softly to yourself. The sun dipped below the horizon, pulling the world into the deep night. You lit a candle to help you see, leaning against the headboard as you continued to mend his coat.

“Wanderer,” You called out. He snapped his head towards you, and you stood from the bed, holding up his coat. He couldn't tell where the tear had been, you had give extra attention to preserve the quality of the article of clothing. “Coat.”

“Thank you,” He said. He paused as he took the coat, wondering when he started saying that meaningless phrase. Maybe it's because you said your version of ‘Thank You’ so much.

Good grief, you were rubbing off on him. What a weird and uncomfortable thought. It was his fault, he was sure of it.

You said something, smiling at him with a yawn before turning back and making your way to the bed. You crawled under the covers, happily pulling them around you and blowing the candle out, the only light now from the crescent moon hanging in the night sky. The Wanderer watched from the corner of his eye as you started drifting off to sleep.

He couldn't fathom why you felt so comfortable falling asleep around him. You hadn't for those first few days you decided to, only falling asleep out of exhaustion. What changed? He grimaced, feeling weird that he had given someone a reason to feel safe around him.

You said that stupid phrase again that made you laugh so hard earlier. The Wanderer looked over at you, tucked in bed, just in the edges of sleep with a soft smile on your face.

He rolled his eyes, turning away. As the room fell entirely silent and he listened carefully for your breathing to steady, he couldn't hold back a smirk from forming on his lips.

One day the Wanderer was going to finally understand you, and he would figure exactly what kind of punchline he was tonight, and make you regret it.

[swifty-fox]

chapter 7's gonna be fun

Sometimes, sitting in this chair, Gale feels like a schoolboy called to the principals office. Or how he assumes it would feel. He’d been a well-behaved child, and the only times he’d ever found himself in a chair in front of the principal it had not been him that was in trouble. But under the not-so-stern scrutiny he feels picked apart, placed on a glass tray and thrown under the bright light of a microscope. 

He picks at his cuticles, both thumbs gone chapped and bloody, the skin swollen, red, puffy, skin flaking off in spots that will turn to agony if he tugs on them. Gale places one thumb between his teeth, nibbles away the temptation of the peel. The string of saliva left upon separation is tinged pink. 

“How are you doing today, Gale?”

“I don’t want to answer that.”

Helen sits back, crossing her legs, “And you’re under no obligation to.” 

“Have you ever had venison?” he asks, “Not– not the stuff you get at the grocery store. Real Venison.” 

She shakes her head.

“You taste it. You taste everything the deer’s ever eaten. Sweet from berries, and a tang from the bark the strip in the winter. My dad got one year that’d been feasting in a copse of bur oaks. You could taste it, taste the nuttiness. That they’d gone a little sweet and fermented.” 

“Did you go hunting with your father often?”

“No,” Gale huffs, a bit of a smile that felt anything but pleasant. “No, he said I was too soft.” 

The clock ticks on the wall, a soft mechanical heartbeat. Gale times his breaths with it. 

He picks at his thumb again, “I dreamt about it again last night.” 

To her credit, Helen doesn’t react. And she doesn’t speak either, which Gale is grateful for. He feels a bit like he’s walking across an iced-over puddle at the moment. The barrier barely thick enough to shoulder his weight, cracks spreading out like lacework. He has to tread carefully.

“I dreamt about the dog. And the field.”

[zelphafrost]

Love this so much!! It reminds me of Deborah Underwood's children's book "Interstellar Cinderella." Beautiful art and such a great book!

Mechanic by Axel Sauerwald

[gece-misin-nesin]

Bruce Wayne stop slandering your dead son whose murder you were high-key responsible for challenge

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Guizhong (don't mind me re-dropping this with the fixed ones, shh)

[crows-bite]

Maverick is such a wild character because I think about them so much and want to talk about them but like. Idk writing them is really all about digging into these incredibly selfish, irrational and unreasonable feelings, and sometimes I get like embarrassed talking about them because if I say what they’re feeling out loud you’ll all be like “damn those feelings are incredibly selfish, irrational and unreasonable” and I’ll just be like “yeah man they really are” 😭

But at the same time it HURTSSS because I really sympathize with them at the same time. Just. Really terrible situations all round that produced a very self reliant person in the worst possible way. Idk. They suck but I love them and feel for them at the same time.

[phagodyke]

man I wish I knew something about anything and I was able to understand anything at all instead of knowing absolutely nothing ever about anyone or thing or even myself and feeling so constantly desolately alienated and lonely. but like its okay. probably

[sirfrogsworth]

How do you take a photo of time?

I've been watching the track events at the Olympics since I was a wee lad. It was a tradition in our family. We'd gather around our ancient low-definition 19 inch CRT television and watch tiny blobs compete against other tiny blobs and root for our country.

It was a bit like watching YouTube on your phone in 144p.

Several heroes emerged.

Jackie Joyner-Kersee was amazing.

You can't forget about Flo-Jo.

And then the Olympics decided NBA players were allowed in the competition.

Which formed... The Dream Team.

Was this fair?

Well... they won each game by an average of 44 points.

So... no. It was not fair.

Though it became more fair as time went on.

But, umm... yeah. The other teams looked like the Washington Generals and the US looked like the Harlem Globetrotters if they stopped screwing around half of the game.

But my absolute favorite Olympian was a runner named Michael Johnson.

He was cool as heck.

For one thing... gold shoes.

But he also had this crazy, upright, Tom Cruise-ish sprinting style that just made him look like a running robot on the track.

And in the 1996 Atlanta games he just trounced EVERYONE. I mean, it wasn't even close.

Yikes. Those losing blobs are probably really embarrassed.

Last night I decided to invigorate my nostalgia and watch the track events again. And I got to see one of the wildest races in history.

It didn't even last 10 seconds but it was one of the most exciting sporting events I've ever witnessed. Almost every runner won the race.

After I saw that initially, I was like... who the heck won???

Even in slow motion I wasn't sure.

This was one of the closest finishes in history. There has never been a race where all 8 runners were within this margin.

The arena was silent as the winner was being confirmed. The runners just kind of paced around waiting for official word. My best guess was the Jamaican runner, Kishane Thompson. But then the loudspeaker announced Noah Lyles.

The last tiny morsel of American pride burst out of me with a big "Wooooo!"

I forgot what it was like to be proud of my country. I wish it happened more often. But this young man, despite being last place in the first 3rd of the race, turned on the afterburners and won in a photo finish.

And that's when my inner nerd took over.

Because when they showed the photo finish image, it looked super weird.

Why is the track white?

Why do all of the runners look all warpy like that QWOP game?

So I went down a research rabbit hole to figure this out.

Photo finishes are actually fascinating. The first photo finish captured the end of a horse race in 1890. But that was mostly luck and timing. The actual photo finish mechanisms weren't used until 1937.

Originally they would film the finish line through a physical slit.

And the first horsie head that appeared in that slit would be the winner. This technology ended a huge aspect of corruption in horse race fixing almost overnight.

But we have come a long way since then. And I'd like to introduce you to the Omega Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate.

This slow motion camera sits fixed on the finish line of every race. The concept of the photo finish has remained remarkably similar to the 1930s approach. The camera sensor is specially designed to only record a vertical slit.

Only the finish line itself is actually captured.

And because it limits what it records to only that slit, it can capture 40,000 frames per second to get amazing temporal resolution.

So why don't the photo finishes just look like, well... this?

That is because the camera takes a picture of time more-so than dimensional space. I guess it would be more accurate to say it *assembles* a picture of time.

As the runners cross the finish line, the camera combines all of the little strips of pictures into a single image.

It's almost like if you tried to reassemble a piece of paper after it had been shredded.

Imagine each strip of paper is a picture of ONLY the finish line, just at a slightly different point in time.

What if someone stopped on the finish line and didn't move... what would that look like?

Once they got there, the same part of their body would just be repeated.

So the right side of the photo finish picture represents earlier in time and it just assembles the image strip by strip as time passes and you literally get a picture of time itself.

NEAT!

Okay, but how do they determine the winner from the photo finish?

I mean, that shoe looks like it is ahead of Noah Lyles!

Clavicles!

The IAFF rules state the foremost part of the torso must cross the finish line first. And the endpoint of the torso is the outer end of the clavicle.

So if you get this bone across the finish line first, you win the race.

Two more fun facts!

The start of the race is actually just as carefully timed as the end of the race. There are sensors in the starting blocks of each runner.

The starting gun also has an electronic sensor.

They have determined the fastest a human can react to the sound of a gun is roughly 100 milliseconds. So if you start running before 100 milliseconds they know you didn't actually hear the gun, you just got antsy and started running too early.

And the final fun fact...

Did you notice the Omega logo at the top of the photo finish?

That isn't superimposed or added after the fact. That is captured by the camera.

But if this image is composed only of tiny little slivers, how did they get the Omega logo to show up?

That is a little display. And it is synchronized with the Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate to show a little sliver of the Omega logo for each frame captured.

So when the final image is stitched together, it looks like a cohesive logo at the top of the photo.

Pretty clever, Omega!

[loumauve]

hear me out except it's me with my endless supply of 'will never be a thing' queer ships in heat media. is this about my latest acquisition of Lina/Katherine from the 2023 Locked In? maybe

look. would it be unhealthy for so many reasons? you know it! does it make sense in a mentally unstable sort of way tho? hell yeah.

so here I am. at the edge of the cliffs once again. about to throw myself onto a tiny row boat so I can set out into the fog by my lonesome

[arolesbianism]

Sigh. It begins (being forced to see the worst aro hcs I've ever seen in my life because ppl have a talent for finding the absolute worst characters to be their token aro hc)

[mggslover]

Stuck

In which reader finds herself stuck in an elevator with her colleagues.

Pairing: Hotch x Reid x Morgan x Fem!BAU!Reader Genre: smut (18+) Content warnings: fingering, oral (f and m receiving), face riding, p in v sex, overstimulation, masturbation, breast play Word count: 5,4k A/n: I'm ovulating, so you know what time it is 🤭 I'm really nervous to post this, so I hope you will enjoy!

“Oh, you guys are such babies!” You laugh as Spencer and Derek refuse to step into the elevator, explaining how they’ve been stuck in one before. 

“It’s not funny, Y/N,” Spencer chimes in. “There are six elevator deaths per year. Not to mention ten thousand injuries that require hospitalization.”   

You roll your eyes at his comment, just as Hotch walks toward the elevator. “See!” You exclaim. “Hotch is joining us, and he saved you last time. We’ll be fine.” You add cheerfully.

“You’re coming?” Hotch asks, holding the elevator door open. You nod, pulling Morgan and Reid with you by their arms. 

You chuckle at their nervous reflections in the mirror as the elevator starts moving. A sudden creak causes Derek to snap his head towards you. “It made the same sound the last time!” You were just about to shut Derek up as the elevator shakes and the lights start flickering. 

“Not again!” Spencer whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut like he’s about to fall to his death at any given moment.

Hotch inspects the tight space, his expression grim. “It seems like the electricity went out…” 

“Actually, there are a lot of reasons why an elevator might stop,” Spencer interjects. “It could be worn-out suspension ropes, and it actually happens quite regularly that the motor overheats the safety sensors of the-“ 

“Let’s just solve this problem, shall we?” You cut him off, nudging Morgan out of the way to hit the red button on the panel. 

“You think that’ll do something?” Morgan asks, brow lifted. 

“It will alert someone that we’re stuck. We have to wait until somebody comes and gets us out of here.” Hotch adds. 

“Well at least I’ll be missing my meeting with Strauss,” I sigh in relief. 

“It was at twelve, right?” Spencer asks. 

“Yeah,” you respond with a nod.

“Statistically the average wait time to be rescued from an elevator is less than an hour,” Spencer continues, checking his watch. “That means you could still make it in time.” 

“Now that’s just what I wanted to hear,” you say sarcastically, earning a grin from Morgan. 

“We can only hope we won’t be in here for that long,” Hotch mutters, his impatience visible as he leans uncomfortably against the elevator doors. 

“Okay… so now what? Want to go over a case to pass the time?” 

“No, no cases please,” Morgan groans. “We’ve had three in a row. I’m done.” 

“Morgan is right. We’ve done enough cases in the past few days.” Hotch agrees. 

You mutter an “alright” as you sit down with your back against the elevator wall, smoothing out the crinkles in your skirt. The others look at you with uncertainty. Eventually Reid decides to sit next to you, exchanging a soft smile. Morgan follows suit, sitting in front of you. Hotch remains standing. You leave him be and turn to Spencer. 

“So Reid, I’m sure you’ve got enough interesting facts to pass the time.” 

Spencer looks surprised by the request, not used to directly being asked to share his facts, but his eyes quickly brighten, eager to share. “Well, actually, there are a lot of interesting things to say about elevators. There are approximately 20 million elevators worldwide,” you chuckle at his obvious enthusiasm. “The first elevator was created in 236 B.C. by Archimedes, a Greek mathematician. He used a water wheel and tied animals together with rope to create a lift mechanism.” You hum in interest. “They used lifts in the Colosseum, right?” 

“Yes! Exactly!” he responds excitedly. “The system was powered by eight men who would turn this massive wooden shaft connected to ropes. It could hold more than 600 pounds!” 

“Oh come on,” Derek says, his hand falling to his knee. “You’re telling me you’re actually interested in the mechanics of ancient elevators?”. 

Hotch glances at Morgan, silently agreeing with Derek’s skepticism. 

“Derek Morgan…” you feign offense, placing a hand on your chest. “Don’t act like I’m not curious about knowledge. At least Spence’s got something interesting to say.” 

Spencer blushes faintly, appreciating your defense. 

“Hey, I know facts too,” Morgan says smugly. “How about there being 7000 languages in the world today.” 

“The overall number is actually closer to 8000,” Spencer corrects him. “You only counted verbal communication.” 

“You guys are going to have a facts competition now?” You ask, bewildered. “It’s way too hot in here. I need some light conversation.”

“I agree,” Hotch mutters. “It is getting a little warm.”

You glance up at the AC in the corner of the elevator, which is clearly not working. It probably shut down along with the power. There’s a brief silence before Reid speaks up again. 

“I never thought I’d be trapped in an elevator with my colleagues,” he muses. “It’s a little cliché.”

“Cliche, how?” Hotch asks, intrigued despite himself. 

“You know how, in movies, a group of people get stuck in an elevator and they have to learn to overcome their differences to escape?” 

You shake your head in confusion, “I think I only know the dirty movies where they get stuck in an elevator,” you laugh. 

Spencer blinks at you, clearly thrown off. Derek chuckles at the scene, and even Hotch manages a faint smile. 

“I should’ve known you’ve only watched the dirty ones,” Derek teases. 

“What about you, pretty boy?  Ever seen a dirty movie?” He asks Spencer, grinning. 

Reid looks flustered. “I grew up in Vegas… I’ve seen some things.” 

“Ah, Vegas,” you say, sighing dreamily. “The place where you can’t drive for a minute without seeing a giant porn billboard.”

Morgan grins, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Sounds like my kind of place.” 

You laugh and kick his leg playfully. Morgan winks at you, enjoying the lighthearted banter. You glance up at Hotch, who is still the only one standing. 

“What about you, Hotch? What’s your favorite dirty movie?” You ask with a mischievous grin, but your expression quickly drops when you see his stern look. 

“Watch it, Y/L/N.” Hotch warns.

“Come on, Hotch,” Derek says. “Let loose a little!”

“See it as the universe’s sign.” I press on. 

“How is being stuck in here a sign of the universe?” Hotch asks, brows raised.

“Well, no way would you willingly take a break yourself. Now the universe got you stuck in here and is forcing you to relax,” you explain, with a playful gleam in your eyes. 

To everyone’s surprise, he slowly lowers himself to the floor, sitting down next to you. 

You exchange surprised looks with Derek and Spencer. All amazed at how you managed to get Hotch to sit down.

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence, scared to say something that will make Hotch change his mind. You’re glad he joined you, but it’s hard to ignore the rising temperature now that another person is sitting in close proximity to you. 

“How long has it been?” you ask, fanning yourself with your blazer. “I’m starting to sweat.”

“Thirty-five minutes so far,” Derek replies, following your lead and fanning himself. 

Hotch looks mildly uncomfortable, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Spencer, however, looks the most miserable using the collar of his sweater vest to wipe his face. 

“You guys should take your jackets off,” you suggest, eyeing Morgan and Hotch. 

You don’t need to tell Derek twice, as he removes his jacket, revealing a black short sleeved shirt that looks a lot more comfortable. Hotch looks reluctant to do the same, but eventually gives in, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt collar. You take a peak as he reveals his broad, muscled shoulders for a moment, before readjusting his shirt. Hotch notices your glance and his eyes shoot up to yours, catching you in the moment as your cheeks flush. You quickly look away. 

“Oh, she’s enjoying the view, alright,” Derek smirks and you give him a warning glance.

“Shut up. I was just surprised Hotch would give in.” 

Morgan grins and nudges Hotch with his elbow, “Look at that, Hotch. You’re surprising us all today. First you smile and now you’re taking your jacket off. What’s next, dancing a jig?” You and Spencer snort at his comment. Hotch rolls his eyes at Morgan’s teasing but can’t help a small smile from appearing on his lips. 

Spencer struggles with his vest and you give him a hand. “Here, let me help you”, you say as you scoot closer, pulling the vest over his head. The fabric feels soft, but incredibly warm in your hands. You don’t know how he managed to keep it on for this long. Reid is taken aback for a moment, but mutters a soft thanks. Morgan and Hotch watch the exchange with interest, clearly amused at the sight of you being so forward with Reid.

“Now it’s your turn, you’re the one who insisted,” Morgan states, and you can’t help but agree as you take your blazer off, giving a satisfied hum at the immediate relief.

“I’ll open up some buttons too, if you don’t mind,” you announce as your fingers start working on your blouse. You don’t give them a chance to respond, since it seems only fair. Their eyes widen at your gesture, all of them staring at the sight of your blouse slightly opening up. Morgan lets out a low whistle, “Now that’s a nice view.”

“You’re insufferable,” you scoff as you stop unbuttoning, showing just a hint of your lacy bra. Morgan’s eyes linger on the sight, clearly enjoying the view. Hotch and Reid look like they’re struggling to keep their cool. Reid is the most flustered of all, turning bright red as he focuses on his hands. Morgan glances around at the others, seeing them struggle to keep themselves composed. 

He chuckles and shakes his head, enjoying the effect you’re having on them. “You know, you’re driving all of us a little crazy here, sweetheart.” 

You let out a small huff, “Give me a break. You’re wearing shortsleeves, I’m the one wearing a blouse.” 

Hotch speaks up, his gaze lingering on your blouse. “That blouse does seem a bit warm.” 

“Thank you!” You say, glad someone is on your side. 

Hotch eyes stay focused on you though, or specifically the bit of exposed collarbone and the lace that’s hugged around the swell of your breast. Your breathing heaves when you find Spencer taking occasional peaks as well, watching with a mixture of awe and embarrassment, finding difficulty in looking away. 

“Let’s just all take our shirts off, I want it to be fair”, you quickly exclaim, done with the heavy tension that’s driving you crazy. Hotch and Morgan exchange amused glances as Spencer eyes turn big, taking in your proposal. 

“All our shirts, are you sure about that?” Derek asks, a hint of surprise in his voice. 

“Then at least you won’t eye me like that.” 

“Oh, I think I’ll eye you only more.” Derek teases, licking his lips. 

“Just take your damn shirt off.” 

Derek chuckles and raises his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright. No need to get feisty.” He says as he lifts his shirt off in a smooth motion. It’s a known fact that Derek is jacked, but seeing him in a setting like this, abs glistening with sweat and pupils still dilated from looking at you, is on a whole ‘nother level. 

You’re glad the attention is taken away from your peering eyes as Hotch follows suit, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a clearly defined muscular chest with just a hint of hair. You start doubting your suggestion as it feels like the room is only growing hotter. You look over at Spencer, seeing whether he’ll be the next. Spencer hesitates for a moment, his eyes darting between the other’s bare chests and your unbuttoned blouse. His chest heaving with his breath, suggesting that he’s more affected than he’s letting on. 

“Come on, pretty boy. Join the party.” Derek says.

“I’ll go first,” you assure Spencer, not wanting him to suffer under peer pressure. Your hands start working on the buttons. Spencer’s eyes widened at the scene in front of him.

“See, it’s not that hard,” you reassure Spencer, folding your blouse and placing it next to you. 

“I don’t know about that. You’re making things pretty hard, baby girl.” Morgan comments, making you laugh. 

“You’re way too dirty for your own good.” 

Morgan grins. “Can you blame me? I mean, look at you. You’re looking mighty tempting right now.”

You softly smile at the compliment and focus back on Spencer. “You’ll feel a lot cooler, I promise,” you encourage. 

“I don’t know. I’m not as… toned as the others.” It hurts you to hear how he’s comparing himself to his colleagues. 

“Do you truly think I care about that?” You ask him. “It’s not a competition. I just want you to feel comfortable,” you speak genuinely. Spencer looks up at you, his eyes searching yours for any signs of mockery or deception. When he finds none, his face softens and he nods. He lifts his shirt over his head, revealing a body no less impressive than the others. 

“Not too bad, pretty boy. You’re looking pretty good without that vest on.” Derek compliments. 

“You do,” You agree, as you fold his shirt and place it on top of my blouse. Spencer gives you a sheepish smile, grateful for your help. Glad he decided to take his shirt off as he felt the cool air hit his chest, “Yeah, that does feel better.” 

You look around the room, the scene for sure one to be put down in the history books of the BAU. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve entered a new step in our colleague bonding,” you awkwardly chuckle, trying to lighten the mood but the air feels charged with an unspoken tension that’s impossible to ignore. You can feel their eyes on you, the way they linger, the weight of their gazes following your every movement. You try to ignore it, to stay professional, but your body betrays you. You shift slightly, adjusting your skirt, and that’s when you feel it - the subtle brush of Hotch’s fingers caressing your arm.

You swallow hard as you look away. The air around you is suddenly too tight. You want to curse your body as your nipples harden under his steady gaze, there being no way to blame it on the cold. Derek notices the exchange and leans in, the heat between you two palpable. 

His voice is low and husky, “You're all worked up, sweetheart. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.” 

Your pulse quickens, the sound of your heartbeat almost drowning out his words. “I’m not the only one,” you counter, voice quieter, but the challenge in it is unmistakable. You feel Spencer shift next to you, his body tense as he feels like he’s been caught staring at your chest. “Don’t be shy, genius,” Derek teases. “We’re all thinking the same thing right now.” You can’t help but smile at Spencer’s flustered look. “It’s… It’s hard not to, when you-” He cuts himself off, his voice faltering as his eyes dart away from your breasts. 

Hotch is still standing by the door, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches the dynamic play out. “We’ve been stuck in here long enough. I think it’s safe to say we all want and feel the same thing.” The air thickens with desire as he dares to say the thought that’s been occupying everyone’s mind. You glance at the others, seeing how Spencer is adjusting himself in his pants and the way Derek is watching you, his gaze so intense it almost feels like he’s touching you. 

“Guess it’s only fair if we all just… give in to it,” you murmur, your eyes flicking between them. The suggestion is there, unspoken but understood. 

From there on everything feels like a blur. You hear Hotch growl behind you as he wraps his bicep around your neck, pulling you in as his lips crash against yours. You whimper against his mouth, which gives him the opportunity to let his tongue slide in. You welcome his tongue with yours as your hand moves to squeeze the arm around your neck, making full use of the circumstances to feel up on his muscles. 

“You’re always driving me crazy when wearing this skirt,” Hotch groans in your ear as his teeth pull on your earlobe. You can find no other way to respond than let out a high pitched sound of enjoyment as his free hand kneads your ass through your pencil skirt. Spencer watches the scene unfold in front of him. How his boss roughly grabs and kisses you, manhandling you. 

 “I- I don’t know about this…” Spencer stammers. 

Morgan turns to him, breaking the intense gaze he had on you and Hotch. “Don’t worry Reid, she’s enjoying it.” 

“Are you sure?” Spencer asks, uncertainty in his voice as Hotch is pulling on your hair, giving him access to plant kisses and bites on your neck. 

Morgan grins, “Let me show you how sure I am,” he says as he steps towards you and Hotch. He rolls your skirt up to your stomach and lets his fingers slide over your panties, cursing when it easily slips between your folds, creating a wet sound. You moan at the friction, not in the state to feel embarrassed by how wet you are. 

“See Reid, she loves it,” Derek points out, licking his lips as he pulls your damp panties to the side. Spencer lets out a groan as Derek reveals your glistening pussy, his hand subconsciously squeezing the bulge in his pants for any form of release.

“Let me see,” Hotch insists, removing his lips from your neck. Derek slides a finger through your folds and proudly displays the stickiness to Hotch. 

“You’re such a little slut, aren’t you?,” Hotch whispers, his nose pressed against the side of your face. “Just been begging to get in a situation like this so we could all fuck you the way you deserve.” You whimper at his dirty words and hot breath on your skin. Your legs feel like jelly as he grinds himself against your ass. Derek continues to apply pressure with his hand as he lets his fingers rub up and down your lips and clit. 

Spencer’s eyes are burning holes in your chest. He just can’t understand how no one has touched your lovely tits, while they’ve been teasing him the entire time. 

“You can come here Spence,” you purr, hypnotizing him to walk towards you. He swallows as he’s close enough to touch you, close enough to hear all the little sounds you’re making as you’re being touched all over. 

“Can I-?” You don’t let Spencer finish his question as you quickly nod, throwing your head back as his finger grazes over your nipple, sending a direct spark of pleasure to your clit. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers mostly to himself in awe as he cups your breast, the shape fitting perfectly in his large hand. 

“Thank you,” you whisper back. It’s ironic how his sweet compliment is the thing that's making you shy.

Derek slips a finger inside of you with ease, and you bite your lip to hold back your mewls. “Don’t do that. I like the way you sound.” Spencer encourages, resulting in another moan from you, loving the effect his words have on you. 

Hotch unclasps your bra from behind and Spencer helps him by pulling your straps down, letting your breasts fall free. Hotch grabs your left breast, kneading it with his strong, calloused hands as he rolls your nipple in between his fingers. Spencer uses the momentary distraction to bend down and experimentally licks your nipple, humming at the sensation. He gives a couple more licks to your breast as he pulls your nipple in between his lips, sucking on it as he flicks his tongue against the sensitive bud. 

You feel overwhelmed by the way all of your erogenous zones are stimulated at once; Hotch licking and biting on your neck and ear, while massaging your breast and grinding his hardness against your ass. Spencer’s swollen lips and wet tongue tracing over your nipple as Derek caresses your thighs as he adds a second finger into your pussy. You realize that this is what pleasure is supposed to be like. The zones on your body are all connected and you haven’t experienced true bliss until those spots get triggered at the same time. 

“Morgan, is she ready?” Hotch asks, breathing heavily. 

“More than ready, sir,” Derek grins as he takes a step back. He lets his fingers slide out of you, making you whimper at the loss of contact, but then Hotch turns you around so that your chest is pressed up against the elevator doors where he was standing. 

“I need you for myself,” he groans. Derek tosses a condom from his jeans and Hotch catches it, ripping the package with his teeth while pulling his trousers down to his knees, not wanting to let a single moment go to waste. Your hands are pressed against the wall as he slowly enters you. 

“Oh my god… I feel so full,” you whine and you swear you could feel him grin as you register that he’s not even fully inside of you. You let out a long breath as you feel his balls make contact with your ass. 

“You’re doing okay there, princess?” Derek chuckles and you nod. Hotch slowly moves his length out of you as he slams his hips back in with a groan. You gasp as you wrap your hand around the back of his head, keeping yourself steady as he continues thrusting into you. His growls feel hot against your neck. His sweaty chest pressed up against your back, leaving you completely in his grasp.

“You feel that angel? How your pussy swallows my cock?” You let out a cry as you nod your head in agreement. 

“I don’t understand Y/N. You’re a big girl, use your words.” 

“Oh god…’’ Your head spins as he pounds into you. “I’m not going to tell you again Y/N, use your words.” He orders. 

“Yes!’’ you cry out. ‘’God yes Aaron, it feels so good. I can feel you so deep inside of me.” 

“Say my name again.” He moans as his hand trails down your stomach until it reaches your swollen bud. “Aaron, please… I’m so, so close.” He gives some quick taps to your clit, making you squirm in pleasure as your knees give out. His strong hands grip you by the waist and he hoists you back up on his dick. “I’m almost there honey, you can keep it up, be good for me.” 

You let out a string of whines as he uses the palm of his hand to swiftly move against your folds, indirectly bringing pleasure to your clit. You can’t take it any more, pressing your nails into his arms as you crouch down in front of him, shaking as your release hits you. Hotch groans loudly as his dick slips out of your pussy. His dick twitches as he takes off the condom, painting your back with hot spurts of cum.

You have your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath as you’re still riding down your orgasm. You hum as you feel the soft material of Spencer’s sweater vest against your back, cleaning you up. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks, kneeled in front of you. You nod your head and softly smile at his tenderness. 

“Yeah. I feel really, really good.” You answer, making Spencer return your smile. With him in front of you, you notice the visible outline of his bulge pressed against his thigh and reach out to touch it. Your fingers lightly brush over his length, causing him to shudder. 

“Do you want me to take care of you?” You ask sensually, looking in his eyes. 

“Not really,” he responds, taking you by surprise. He sees your expression and quickly corrects himself. “It’s not like I don’t want you to! I’d- I’d love you to do…”, he’s not actually sure what you planned on doing to him. “Whatever you would do. I just-,” his voice softens, meeting your gaze. “I really need to know what you taste like.” 

Your cheeks warm, feeling your arousal grow. “Okay,” you exhale. Spencer extends his hand, helping you up. You find your blazer and bundle it up for Spencer to lay his head on. You’re amazed at how willing he is to get down on the floor, ready to eat you out in a very nontraditional and arguable unsanitized way. You hover over his face as you get down on your knees, letting out a hum as his breath tingles your pussy. Spencer kneads your calves and runs his hands up the back of your thighs. He tilts his head up, placing a wet kiss on your inner thigh.

“Feels good,” you mumble. Spencer responds with a hum against your skin, the vibration causing you to moan. He grabs your thighs, slowly pulling them further apart. “I can’t wait to taste you,” he admits, sticking out his tongue and licking a stripe up your folds. You moan, arching your back. Through hooded eyes you spot the figure of Hotch. He’s sitting against the wall in front of you, lazily stroking his half hard length as he stares at you. 

Just when you were about to question where Morgan was, you catch him in your periphery. He holds your gaze as he approaches, coming to a stop right in front of you. His belt buckle hangs open, but it doesn’t look like he’s touched himself. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to take up on that offer genius here denied.” You grin at him, hands reaching out to his belt. Spencer is keeping himself busy, licking and sucking up your juices. You pull Derek’s pants down, gasping as his dick springs free, slapping against his happy trail. You groan in delight as you wrap your hand around his shaft. He tilts his head back at the contact. “Fuck baby, your hands feel so warm and soft.” You lean forward and let some of your spit dribble down on his dick, making him hiss. You move your thumb in circles over his tip, mixing your saliva with his precum. When it feels like it’s wet enough, you move your hand up and down his length in a steady motion.

His tip grows red and you cannot resist licking your lips before putting your mouth on him. He feels heavy in your mouth as you take him in deeper, stimulating him with your tongue as you suck. His hands tangle in your hair, holding you as he moves in sync with your movements. 

Spencer moves a hand up the curve of your ass while he uses the other to unbuckle his belt. He slides his hand in his pants, rubbing himself over his boxers as he relishes in your taste. His lips nibble on your labia as his nose tickles against your clit. 

“Don’t get distracted, baby girl,” Derek states, softly pushing your head back down. You swallow around him and try to up your pace. Derek takes your breast in his hand, massaging it. As your nipples harden he takes one in between his fingers, pulling on it. You gasp at the sensation, making his dick slide deeper down your throat. 

“Fuck! Right there baby, that feels so good,” he pants. You blink away tears, continuing the steady movement of your head and swirls of your tongue. 

Spencer’s dick starts feeling too hot in his boxers and he pulls it out, so that it lays against his stomach. Your pussy is absolutely dripping because of the swipes of Spencer’s tongue and the taste of Derek in your mouth. Spencer can’t keep up with licking you clean, your wetness dripping down his chin. He reaches out to grab his length, the skin to skin contact overstimulating him. 

You notice Spencer getting restless underneath you. Derek’s dick pops out of your mouth. “Are you okay, Spence?” You ask. He hums against your clit in response, you let out a high pitched moan and instinctively bend your knees. “Sorry,” you apologize as you want to tilt your hips back up, but Spencer pulls you back down by your thighs, making you sit on his face.

“Oh god…” You moan as he starts devouring you. He keeps a hand firm on your ass as he starts jerking himself off to the beautiful sounds that you’re making. You lazily tug on Derek’s cock, too distracted by Spencer’s tongue. 

“Oh Spencer, I’m going to cum,” you whimper, mouth open and brows furrowed in pleasure. You start grinding yourself on his tongue, seeking your release. You find the perfect spot and Spencer presses the tip of his tongue against your clit, as you fall undone. Spencer laps up your juices and squeezes the load out of his dick as it splatters on his belly. You lift your hips to give Spencer some space. He moves away, joining you on his knees as he sits behind you, pressing featherlight kisses to your back. 

“I’m not gonna last that much longer,” Derek announces, who’s been stroking himself to your orgasm. “Come here, then,” you invite as you take him back in your mouth. Placing a hand on his thigh for support, you use all of the energy that is left in you to suck him off. Your free hand reaches out to play with his balls, which seems to be the trigger for him.

“Fuck, Y/N, baby, I’m going to cum!” He groans deeply as he fills your mouth. You quickly swallow his load, eyes watering as he pulls you in by your head, needing your lips on him as he rides out the aftershocks. 

“Fuck… You’re amazing, sweetheart.” He sighs, letting go of your hair so that you can catch your breath. 

-

“Who the hell is in there?” 

The voice outside is sharp and gruff. Everyone’s heads whip around, startled. Hotch swiftly buckles his belt as he strides towards the elevator doors.

“This is SSA Aaron Hotchner of the BAU. I’m stuck here with three of my agents.” 

The voice responds quickly, dripping with disbelief. "Why didn’t you morons use the emergency button?"

Your colleagues look at each other, then shift their gaze to you, all with accusing looks plastered on their faces.

"Hey, don’t look at me! I’m the first one that pressed the red button!" You say in defense. 

The voice outside huffs in frustration. "Red? It's a black button."

You blink in surprise, your gaze snapping to the panel. You crawl up to get a better look, and sure enough, there's a black button, boldly labeled ‘EMERGENCY.’

"What in the world?" you mutter under your breath. "Then what the hell is the red button for?!"

The voice outside laughs sarcastically. "How the hell am I supposed to know? I’ve been working here for six months. Don’t blame me because you can’t read." He pauses, clearly shaking his head. "FBI agents, my ass."

You blink in disbelief. You share an incredulous glance with Derek, then burst out laughing, your frustration giving way to amusement. "Seriously?" you mutter, shaking your head. 

Derek notices how Spencer’s been unusually quiet. “Speak up, kid,” he urged. 

“I’ve known what the buttons do the entire time,” he says, voice casual.

You and Hotch both turn to look at him, eyes wide. “What?!” You both exclaim at the same time. 

Spencer shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “I told you about those movies where people overcome their differences to try to escape. I wanted to see how we would solve it.”

Derek’s mouth drops open. “You’ve been sitting here the whole time knowing exactly what to do and didn’t say anything?!” 

Spencer smiles, looking almost proud of himself. “It’s a team-building exercise,” he says matter-of-factly. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t enjoy it.”

You shake your head, laughing in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable, Reid.”

As if on cue, the elevator jolts, and the soft ding of the doors opening fills the space.

[kitasuno]

to be loved is to be known | suna rintarou x reader

you're in love with suna. you think suna's in love with someone else. he's not.

slight angst, happy endings, and miscommunications atsumu is sexy reader is gn wc: 1481

It is dusk and warm and just barely humid when you realize you don’t know Suna Rintarou at all. 

You know that Suna likes chuupets and volleyball and his dingy digital camera with the cracked screen. His left eye twitches slightly when he lies, he always ties his right shoe before his left, and he keeps forgetting to buy pencil lead despite preferring mechanical pencils over traditional. He likes the rain. Can’t bite into ice cream. Wool scarves over fleece, seven followers on his private Twitter, and is always late because he likes feeding the stray cats in the alley next to the Family Mart with the good sausages. 

What you didn’t know is that Suna Rintarou is in love. You find out from Kita Shinsuke, who tells Aran after practice, a conversation not meant for your ears but gracing them nonetheless as you stand before the entrance to the gymnasium. You feel a dryness in your throat and a sting in your eyes as Kita shares that Suna is not only in love but had confessed to someone. Maybe it’s your divine punishment for eavesdropping. Maybe it’s rotten luck. Because, coincidentally, and horribly so, you’ve been in love with Suna Rintarou ever since you met him. 

So when Suna walks up from behind you, back from the vending machine, and asks you why you’re lingering outside and staring at Kita with that look on your face, you lie. 

“I have a crush on Shinsuke.” You blurt out. 

He blinks. Once. Twice. And stares. 

The longer Suna stares at you under the grey, purplish-pinkish sky with his hands shoved into his pockets and his left eye twitching, you realize you don’t know him at all. Because Suna, in all his indifference and nonchalance, looks hurt. You see something flit beneath his eyes, but you’ve never been good at reading people. So you settle on the idea that it’s something less than betrayal but more than indifference, and you don’t know why your heart’s beating so fast and sinking, pitter pattering and twisting in your stomach. 

You feel sick. 

“You like Kita-san,” He says, and it comes out as a statement, not a question. He blinks a third time, and as the look in his eyes disappears as quickly as it came, you decide you much prefer the hurt or the discomfort or the something over the blank apathy that he’s looking you over with now. “You have a crush on Kita… Shinsuke.” He finishes, and you can’t hear the bitterness in his voice over the shrill of your heart. 

You’ve always liked Suna’s eyes but tonight you like the pavement more, and as you stare a hole into the concrete beneath you, you ignore how your feet are fidgeting and your palms are sweaty and how Rintarou is hovering over you. 

“Mhm,” You squeak, tearing your eyes from the asphalt with the cracks and an ugly pill-bug on the ground. As you look up to grey eyes and dark hair, you wish that loving Suna Rintarou was harder. 

“I’m, uh, I’m going to tell Shinsuke tomorrow.” You say, Shinsuke’s name foreign on your tongue compared to the warmth and honey that Rintarou’s tastes like. I’m in love with you and this is a bad idea, you think. I like you, not Kita, is what you don’t say. Instead, and arguably worse, is the mention of Miya Atsumu’s name. “Atsumu gave me the confidence to confess!” 

Suna pauses. 

“Atsumu told you to?” He asks, and it’s the most bewildered you’ve heard him in a while.

A glance at his phone. Hands that emerge from his pockets. If you weren’t so preoccupied with the concrete you would have seen the twitch of his fingers and the tightening of his jaw as he opens Line. You nod dimly. 

“Okay,” is what he says, and you feel your heart in your stomach again. You look up. “Okay.” He repeats again. 

And maybe it’s the hurt that stings in your chest from Rintarou being so okay with you (hypothetically) being in love with Kita Shinsuke that pushes your eyes to water and your mouth to open. 

“Is that it?” You ask. 

A beat of silence. And then, a scoff. 

“Yeah. Congratulations,” Suna says. “Good luck.” 

As dusk turns to nightfall and what was a barely-humid night in July is now overwhelmingly warm and sickly and hot, Rintarou’s gaze is overbearing. And when your eyes start to swim and Suna’s gaze turns to confusion and then realization, you do the only thing you know how to do. You bolt. 

An incessant string of dings. Your lip wobbles under your teeth as you pull out your phone from under your covers. 

from: miya osamu (21:03)  where the fuck did ya go  and whys suna blwoin up my phone

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:03)  WHYYSS SUNARIN BLOWING UOA PP MY PHONE ??!?@@>>!?>??!??! WHYS HE SAYIN U LIKE KITA-SAN

from: you (21:05) its so over i ran home

from: you (21:05)  i told him i like shinsuke and that i am confessing to kita  tomorrow

amazing perfect miya atsexy and miya osamu are typing…

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:06)  WHAT

from: miya osamu (21:06) r u fuckin stupid why would ya do that

from: you (21:07) i heard shinsuke tell aran that suna confessed to someone today and then rin came back so i told him i like kita bcuz i panicked and also he cant know i like him right as he’s ginna get BAGGED wait but idk if he got rejected or not WHO AM I KIDDING suna would NOT get rejected LOLOL but anyways i think he knows i like him bcuz i started cryig and then he had this look on his face like he knew i was bullshittin him now venmo me money before i kil msyelf 

from: miya osamu (21:12) yeah he was gonna confess to YOU today

from: you (21:12) ?

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:12) HOLY MISCOMMUNICATION

from: you (21:18) Wht??

from: miya osamu (21:19) suna was supposed to confess to u today 

from: you (21:21) but shinsuke said rin already confessed

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:22) why wiud u ever think about takin gossip from KITA SHINSUKE AN WHYD YA BRING ME UP IM GNNA BE STONED AT DAWN

from: miya osamu (21:22) HOORAY !

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:22) SHUDDUP  

You bolt, again, but this time it’s out of your bed, down a flight of stairs, and through your front door. You’re halfway down the street near the Family Mart with the Good Sausages™ when you barrell into someone who smells faintly of blackberries and Suna’s laundry detergent. 

“Excuse me,” You blurt, scrambling away, until you feel a grip on your waist and a familiar shape behind you with a familiar smell and a familiar voice, and Ohmygod, you’re out of breath and close to frantic but Suna Rintarou is holding you steady by your waist, warm and tall and here. 

“Rintar-”

“I like you.”

You feel it more than you hear it- Suna is muffled and quiet as he mumbles into the back of your shoulder, tall frame folded into you. 

“Idiot.” He adds, and you don’t have to turn to know the tips of his ears are pink and his eyebrows are furrowed. “You’re an idiot.” 

It’s twilight, and just-barely humid when you realize that Suna Rintarou knows you. 

Suna knows that you ramble when you’re nervous. He knows that you like the rain and you don’t like humidity. You carry extra lead in your pencil pouch and you like volleyball and stray cats. You can bite into your ice cream. You color coordinate your bookshelves. You don’t have a crush on Kita Shinsuke. 

You don’t know that Suna keeps his digital camera with the shitty cracks because you bought it for him from a shop in Akihabara. You don’t know that Suna leaves his packs of pencil lead at home because leaning over your desk in class and seeing that smile on your face is far more fun. You don’t know that he writes with extra pressure on his worksheets to crack his lead and ask for more. 

You didn’t know that Suna Rintarou is in love with you. 

So he grins into your shoulder and tells you.  

amazing perfect miya atsexy (22:14) 1 Attachment GROSS!!!!!! do NOT start making out at practice or i will RESIGN !!!

sunarin (22:14) @ y/n lets start making out at practice

y/n, miya osamu, and 2 others reacted with Thumbs Up! ojiro aran, amazing perfect miya atsexy reacted with Thumbs Down!

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (22:15)  @ KITA SHINSUKE @ KITA SHINSUKE @ KITA SHINSUKE @ KITA SHINSUKE 

sunarin has removed amazing perfect miya atsexy from the Inarizaki Volleyball Team Chat. 

[fictionalsweethearts]

SUBLIMATE THE PAIN | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

Synopsis: Sevika helps you to explore yourself and subside the pain and the shame of self pleasure.

Contains: comfort, soft!sevika, unexperienced!reader, wlw, first sexual experiences, soft talk, masturbation, fingering.

A pretty personal fic, tbh, but Sevika as a character seems to be patient and loving when it comes to sex and I'm here to write about it. Enjoy!

Sevika had promised you patience and comfort, a woman with her vast sexual experience knew the unpleasant and uncomfortable details of love. She knew the burning and the pain, the disgust, the sorrow, the shame and the numbness, and for that reason she had promised to accompany you in the process with as much patience as necessary.

She kissed you again on the neck, a mirror stood before you sitting on the bed, Sevika's vast hand ran over your breasts and her grey eyes looked at you through the reflection, inviting you to stop ignoring the signs of your body. Her breasts brushed your back, her mechanical hand gently parted your legs and revealed the juiciness and softness of your core.

"How do you pretend to touch her without knowing her?" The woman asked. "You ignore many things, babe."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment since you had your first kiss of the evening, but you promised not to let shyness win you over this time. It was the third night and the third time you tried, the last two having ended with a sudden lock-in in the bathroom or tears of shame and frustration running down your cheeks.

"I can't. I swear I can't." You cried as Sevika kissed your wet cheeks.

"Of course you can, don't be like that with yourself."

You considered that Sevika could be your mentor in this unknown field for you, the guide that would allow you to understand sex as something more than a mere routine or necessary act. "To begin with, doll, we don't intend to have a child with this. Not even if we wanted to. Second, I've seen as many pussies in my life as I've smoked cigarettes and yours is undoubtedly beautiful."

You laughed to hide your shame, but Sevika meant it. She was decades ahead of you in sexual experiences, she knew the female anatomy in depth, taking the time to explore herself first. Sevika knew that no one could teach her how to have an orgasm, and she fondly remembers the first times she tried self pleasure in the silence of her room, picturing that pretty girl at the market who used to sell her peaches at a good price. It was another Zaun, more precarious, less saturated with pornography and violence, and certainly her brain needed little to start imagining. And the softness of the girl's breasts under her blouse, her long neck and olive eyes were more than enough to awaken that visceral desire in her.

She dedicated her first orgasm to that girl and her peach scent. It was in a way tender, but the starting point of an endless journey through the unexplored region of sexuality. She soon discovered that inserting a finger was pleasant, that if she moved it in a certain way, it was even more so. She discovered that her breasts were sensitive if touched properly, that her entire skin was a map of erogenous zones and tickles, that rubbing her pussy against the pillow was delicious, and that after an orgasm she slept better. And soon, as soon as she was over five foot seven and learned to smoke without coughing, Sevika discovered that touching herself tasted better if someone she liked did it for her.

"Slow." Sevika whispered, placing a kiss on your shoulder. "Look at yourself. What do you see?"

"My pussy." You whispered, barely giving your reflection time to look back at you.

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

"It's not bad it's…"

"Strange?"

"I don't usually look at my pussy, Sev." You groaned.

"You should, it's pretty." Sevika laughed, caressing your waist with her metal fingers. "Think of all the men who have been staring at their cocks for as long as they've been conscious of them hanging between their legs, do you think they feel ashamed?"

You hesitated. "No?"

"There are two things a man always believes to be true." Sevika said, her tone lighter. "That they have the fattest cock on the block and that they can duel a bear without weapons, and win."

You laughed, your legs shaking slightly. Sevika smiled back. "If only you had the confidence they have in themselves, doll. It would be all so different."

Your expression sobered, this time giving the gap between your legs a longer look, that much neglected organ that deserved just a little more recognition in your life and in the lives of many other women.

"Look at the labia majora, the shape of it, the length of it…" Sevika whispered. "It frames the labia minora, the ones closest to the entrance."

You'd seen them in some anatomy book at the library, but recognizing them on yourself was quite different.

"I should have shaved more." You groaned in frustration.

Sevika snorted. "Are you saying that because of you or me? Cause lemme tell you, a hairy pussy doesn't grosses me out. On the contrary."

"But it does to me."

"Mine repels you?" Sevika inquired, leaving you speechless for a moment.

"No…" you whispered. "Yours… it's yours."

"I see. Now think the same about yours, sweetie." Sevika said. "Yours is what it is and that's it. Don't you dare apologize for how your body looks. Do I apologize for not having an arm?"

And you fell silent once more. Sevika sighed, kissing your neck. “You get my point.”

Sevika reveled in your body, in your flushed cheeks and focused eyes. She loved seeing you present. “You’re already wet.” She whispered. “But it can get wetter. Take two fingers.”

Sevika brought you index and middle fingers parted to the sides of your entrance, urging you to press. “Massage, slow.” She whispered, showing you the movement.

You obeyed, following the motion timidly at first, until you soon understood the purpose. That movement, however subtle, opened a pent-up dam that began to make you wetter and wetter. You moaned, feeling the urge to touch the rest but Sevika held your wrist. “Start from edges.” She said. “Don’t rush it.”

It was one of your vices, quick, silent masturbation. With your legs closed, a hand on your mouth and your eyes closed tightly, as if you were committing a crime that you wanted to finish soon. They were fleeting moments of pleasure that later turned into disconnection with yourself.

But Sevika knew you deserved better than that.

With your index finger you traced circles on your labia majora, slowly while Sevika whispered in your ear, kissed it and bit your lobe, making you shudder subtly. It was a constant and gentle movement, with no other purpose than to explore yourself.

"Come closer to the center." Sevika whispered. "Apply pressure, rub a little."

Your eyelids fluttered at that tickling between your legs, the sticky and wet murmur of your folds that made Sevika moan softly and her breathing accelerate, her breasts pressing against your back. Your hips moved unconsciously, you looked at your hand through the mirror, delicately between your legs with the elegance of an erotic painting.

"You're so pretty." Sevika gasped. "Look how your cheeks blush."

"Yours too."

Sevika smiled. "It just turns me on like you can't imagine seeing you touching yourself."

Sevika was known to be an avid spectator. More than once she would abstain from participating and sit on the couch in the brothel with a cigarette between her teeth, asking her girl to give her a show. There was something about watching such an intimate ritual that stirred every nerve fiber in her. Watching them unfold before her, rubbing themselves the way they liked, moaning genuinely, shuddering, whimpering and sighing, being able to see how their own hand is able to take them on a roller coaster of sensations. That ritual held a power that Sevika was fascinated to behold, and tonight you were her apprentice and her muse.

Sevika squeezed your breast, playing with your hardened, sensitive nipple. She already wanted to taste them, but she had to be patient. The appetizer was your self-exploration, the dessert was her mouth between your legs.

"You know… when there's too much business to attend to." Sevika said, her grey eyes watching you. "I can't visit the girls, so I lay back on my bed with a cigarette between my lips…" she murmured. "And I squeeze my breasts. Over and over, I touch them… massage them… while thinking of old encounters, of sounds… smells. You know how I love smells."

"All of them." You whimpered.

"Yes… from the armpits to the neck, between a couple of breasts and a wet pussy." Sevika sucked in between her teeth. "All of them."

You remember how Sevika had taken to sniffing you the first time she had you. She inhaled the scent of your neck and the crook of your elbows, behind your knees and your armpits. It was a scent loaded with codes, codes that communicated intentions. The pheromones were the best card to attract the most finicky organ of the human body; the nose.

"Sev." You whimpered. "Can you…?"

"That would be the shortcut, so no. I won't touch you yet."

You groaned, tilting your head back as Sevika placed a kiss on the top of your head. "Patience." Sevika drew your hand to the shy hood at the top of your pussy. "Pamper her, that's what it's for."

You traced circles around it, letting out a gasp. Sevika kept her hand on your wrist, indicating the methodical and steady pace, drawing sweet moans from you. "I'm wet just by looking at you." She whispered.

You bit your lip, the urge to grind harder and harder. An orgasm was building inside you, steady and certain, as Sevika kissed your neck and motioned for you to quicken your pace. "Ah, fuck…"

"Moan better." Sevika said. "You can be as loud as you want here."

You whimpered, your hips seeking more contact as you moved and you rubbed against your hand. Sevika pressed her fingers against you, urging you on. "Keep going… don't rush." ​​

"Ah, Sev."

"You like it? It's better when you don' try to cum in two minutes."

You hurried your hand, but Sevika held you back. This wasn't a race and you were certainly getting ahead of yourself. "Old habits die hard."

Her metal hand held your legs apart, her other hand ascending to your chin to make you look at yourself in the mirror again. “We’ll try again, okay?”

This part was the one you liked the least. It wasn’t just the pain, it was the accumulated frustration from past sessions with no results. Sevika told you it was all in your head, that you were just as deserving of this pleasure as others. But you still felt skeptical.

“Middle finger.” She whispered, bringing it to your entrance. “Just press, darling. Soften your entrance.”

You pressed your lips together, obeying her command even though you preferred to rub. You eased the tip of your finger, gently moving it in circles. “It already burns.” You whined.

“I know. We talked about sublimating pain, remember?” You nodded. “Your body is already relaxed, you’re wet. You need to focus on breathing.”

It seemed that when it came to penetration, your body locked up. It was an overwhelming burn, a wall of fire if you will, closing in around your fingers and keeping you from entering. Sevika had tried this in the past, drawing whimpers from you that would never stop causing her guilt. This time, however, it was about allowing yourself to do it.

"I don't like it, Sev."

"You don't like it because you're predisposed to suffer." she insisted. "I know you can, babygirl."

You looked at Sevika through the mirror, her grey eyes soothing you. "Breathe, deep. One… two…" you inhaled, your hand between your legs, the wall of fire present. "Three. Exhale…"

You dared to venture deeper, your walls coupling to your finger as the burn quickened your breathing. "Shh." Sevika kissed your neck. "Breathe again."

One… two… three…

Exhale.

“Ah…” you moaned, inserting the last bit of your finger and feeling the latent but less painful tension. “Mhm.”

“Good girl, look at yourself.”

You opened your eyes, looking at yourself in the mirror. The palm of your hand rested against your clit, your finger inserted all the way in, like a new but unrejected intrusion. “Sev.”

“I told you you could, you're taking it whole.” Sevika smiled. "Can you move it?"

You barely curled your finger, but you recognized the rugous wall inside you. "Yes…" you moaned.

"Breath for me." continued Sevika, gently taking your wrist as she motioned you to curl your fingers once more. "One... two..."

"Mhm, Sev." you moaned, your eyes closing. "Fuck."

"Does it hurt?"

"The pressure." you managed to explain.

"You're tensing, baby. Relax..." Sevika let out a pant, kissing the side of your neck. "You're doing so good."

You endured and took a deep breath, curling your finger against the inner wall Sevika talked you about. You felt a tickle, barely diminishing due to an increasingly timid pain.

And Sevika seemed pleased. "You did good, baby. Rest."

You pulled your finger back when the pressure forced it, only for Sevika to cup your chin in her fingers and pull you in for a long kiss. "Well done." She said between kisses. "Fuck, you looked so beautiful."

Sevika showered you in kisses, from your mouth to your navel, repeating how proud she was of you. "You've crossed the threshold, gorgeous. You just need to practice."

You smiled, feeling the hint of a happy cry build up in your throat. But Sevika cheered you up with another kiss. "We'll try again tomorrow. Sooner than later I'll have you cumming in my fingers over and over again."

You chuckled, watching Sevika kiss your inner thigh. "It's rude to look at the food without eating it, y'know?" you teased her.

"How rude of me." she purred, her kisses coming closer to your wet and now dilated pussy. "You better moan properly, doll."

"All you want."

[starsofang]

Single Dad!Simon who vowed to never trust another woman again after his failed past. He was locked up with the key thrown away, permanently off of the market.

At least that’s what he’d told himself for years. Now, he was beginning to have cold feet.

Simon needed a nanny, one that he could trust completely. He didn’t play about his child, and he’d be damned if he got set up with someone of ill intentions.

But, he was desperate.

Price needed him back periodically, even after his retirement, and he agreed. After all, money was tight when he parented on his own with a growing child.

That was when you came in. Soap had been a pal and recommended an old family friend, somebody he knew Simon could trust with his kid. Simon was skeptical, of course, but Soap had never done him wrong. Reluctantly, he agreed.

Simon wanted to have a trial period to see if you were truly built for the task. He wouldn’t let you off easily. His child was his world, and women weren’t exactly in his deck of cards when it came to trust.

You were as sweet as honey upon the first meeting with a smile that could outdo the sun. Your voice was soft as rain, flowing out of you like a summer song. You spoke to him with the upmost respect, and even more so with his child.

Simon knew he could trust Soap in guaranteeing somebody safe. You were the perfect candidate. He just didn’t know it would lead into him feeling emotions he’d buried a long, long time ago.

Attraction. Interest. A crush, dare he say, like he was a stupid high school kid that just saw the prettiest girl in class and fell head over heels.

He had a silly crush on his child’s nanny when he fully intended to keep it short and professional. That was the way he operated. He was like a working machine, and you had undone his mechanics so easily to the point he struggled to function.

Seeing you with his child only caused his attraction to fester deeper. His child became attached to your hip, smiling more than they had ever done, rambling nonsense to him every time he returned home and you left to go to yours.

It was becoming hard to deny it. You opened an old wound of Simon’s, awakening that deep and dreadful loneliness he felt every passing day. Every smile, every laugh, every Mr. Riley even though you were close in age, all of it had him on the edge of his seat.

He wanted more. He was tired of denying himself happiness. The idea of pushing away every woman was still very vivid in his mind, but denying you just seemed criminal the more time passed.

“I never got to thank you for allowing me in to your home, Mr. Riley,” you told him one day, ever so sweet.

“Thought I told you to call me Simon,” he grunted, avoiding your eyes as the two of you stood in the doorway.

“Right. Simon,” you corrected with a radiant smile. “You have quite the kid, I’ll tell you that. I always look forward to coming over. It makes my day seeing the two of you.”

Simon could feel his heart pattering against his ribcage. His hands were sweaty, and he prayed you didn’t notice him swipe them along his jeans.

“Both of us?” he hummed.

“Of course. You’re just as exciting to see, too, Mr. Ri- Simon.”

Simon’s lips quirked up the slightest bit, but his heart was in his ass. For the first time in a long time, a woman was making him shy and nervous, and it didn’t feel as bad as it did before.

“You’re always free to come over for dinner,” he offered.

“That sounds great, I’d love to have dinner with the two of you!” you exclaimed, beaming.

He didn’t understand how you could be so bright yet so oblivious at the same time.

Simon cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. “I meant, the two of us.”

You stared at him like he’d grown two heads, and he nearly slammed the door in your face from the sheer anxiety that spiked in him. He couldn’t read your mind or what you were feeling, and Simon wished he had never said anything to begin with.

“That sounds wonderful,” you said instead. Now it was Simon’s turn to stare at you crazy. “I’d love that.”

Simon realized he was staring too long, so he cleared his throat once again, giving you a brief nod and looking away. “Alright. I’ll text you a day and have Soap pick up the little monster for the night.”

When you agreed and left with the smile that made his heart ache, he didn’t waste a second in texting Soap, telling him he’d be on nanny duty for one night that week.

Soap was quick to agree, but not without a little “You’re welcome ;)” text back.

[player042]

HEARTBEAT | kang dae-ho.

pairing: kang dae-ho (player 388) x reader

summary: during the third game you reunite with dae-ho who is everything but thrilled to have his pregnant girlfriend surrounded by death. requested here.

warning: pregnant!reader, established relationship, hot baby daddy dae-ho 😫 angsty and emotional, mention of financial struggles, survival themes, please enjoy ♥️

word count: 2.8k

The door slammed shut behind you, the loud clank of the mechanism sealing you and Dae-ho inside the small, dimly lit room just as the timer hit zero. For a moment, the air felt charged, thick with all the words left unspoken. You stood frozen near the wall, your hands instinctively cradling your belly, while Dae-ho's tall frame loomed near the door. His jaw was clenched tight as you heard gunshots and screaming coming from the other side of the door, his eyes were fixated on the floor as if forcing himself to maintain composure.

Neither of you had so much as exchanged a meaningful glance in front of the others, too scared of what even a flicker of familiarity might invite in this place where alliances were fragile, and vulnerability was a target. But here, in this room, with no one else watching...

"Dae-ho," you breathed, the sound of his name cracking the tension like a dam breaking.

His head snapped up, and within seconds, he crossed the distance between you, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you fiercely, desperately. It wasn't soft or tender, it was raw, like he'd been holding his breath for days and could finally exhale. His lips moved against yours as if trying to drink in everything he'd been forced to repress since seeing you again.

"You're here," he murmured against your lips, his voice trembling as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His hands slid to your shoulders, down your arms, as though reassuring himself that you were real. "God, you're really here."

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as the weight of his words hit you. "I didn't want you to know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"That's obvious," he said bitterly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His gaze softened, his worry bleeding through the anger. "You shouldn't be here. What the hell were you thinking? You're pregnant. And you joined this… this hell?"

Tears stung your eyes as you turned your head away, breaking his gaze. "What choice did I have?" you said, your voice cracking. "We're drowning in debt, Dae-ho. The baby needs a future. What else was I supposed to do?"

"You were supposed to rely on me," he snapped, his hands dropping to his sides, his frustration spilling over. "I would've-" He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair as he paced the small room. "I would've done something. Anything. But you just- You didn't even tell me. You just left me out of this."

"I didn't want to drag you down," you said, your voice trembling. "You've already done so much for us, Dae-ho. I couldn't-"

"Don't," he interrupted, his voice low but sharp. "Don't give me that. You didn't drag me down. You're the one thing in my life that kept me sane." He stopped pacing and turned back to you, his gaze piercing. "And now you're here, risking not just your life but our child's. Do you have any idea what it felt like seeing you out there? Pretending I didn't know you? Pretending I didn't care?"

"I didn't want to need you," you confessed, "Because needing you… it scared me. It still does."

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as he looked away, his hands balled to fists before he relaxed them again. "You can need me, damn it," he said softly, his voice low but fierce. "You think I don't need you just as much?"

You pressed a hand to your stomach, the guilt and fear twisting inside you, whispering,"If they know we're connected, they could-"

"I don't care what they do to me," he cut in quickly, his voice rising. "You should've thought about what it would do to me if something happens to you. If something happens to our baby."

The silence that followed was heavy, the air between you thick with regrets. Finally, Dae-ho took a deep breath and stepped closer, his hands finding your shoulders again. His voice softened, though the edge of desperation still lingered. "We'll figure this out, okay? We'll keep our distance in front of the others, but I need you to promise me something."

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. "What?"

"You don't take unnecessary risks," he said firmly. "You stick to the safest options. You stay out of the way whenever you can. And if there's even a hint of danger, you let me handle it. Got it?"

You hesitated, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "I'll try," you said finally, knowing it was the best promise you could give.

He exhaled, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. "That's not good enough," he murmured. "But it'll have to do."

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, holding onto each other as the reality of your situation loomed over you. His arms wrapped around you gently, one hand resting protectively over your belly.

"I'll get you out of here," he said softly, his voice full of conviction. "You and the baby. I swear it."

Dae-ho held you close for a moment longer before stepping back, his hands still lingering around your waist. His gaze softened, though the worry didn't leave his eyes.

"You should stick to Jun-hee," he said, his voice firm but kind.

You blinked at him, confused. "What?"

"She's part of my team and she's pregnant too," he explained. "If you two stick together, it'll make it easier for me to keep an eye on you. I know I can't be obvious about us, but at least this way, I'll know you're not alone. And I can look out for both of you without drawing attention."

You opened your mouth to argue, but something about the way he looked at you, pleading, almost desperate, made you pause. "You're really planning to take care of two pregnant women in a place like this?"

He huffed a humorless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just… what I do. I can't not try to help. You know that about me."

"That's not an excuse," you said back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "You're acting like this is all on me, but what about you? Why are you even here, Dae-ho? You didn't exactly tell me you were planning on joining these games either!"

His expression faltered, guilt flashing across his face. "I was trying to protect you," he admitted quietly. "I didn't want you to know. I thought I could-"

"Could what?" you interrupted, "Fix everything? Take on the world by yourself? You think that's what I wanted? You think I wouldn't have tried to stop you if I knew?"

"I didn't want you to stop me," his shoulders slumped, "I thought if I could win… I could pay off everything. For both of us. For the baby. I didn't want you to worry about anything anymore."

You stared at him, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice, but the frustration didn't subside entirely. "So you thought it was okay to risk your life without telling me but not okay if I want to do the same? That's not protecting me, Dae-ho. That's keeping me in the dark."

"I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But when I saw you here…" He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. "I didn't know whether to be furious or terrified. And now we're both in this mess."

The silence stretched between you, heavy and tense. Finally, you sighed, the fight draining out of you. "As you said, we're in this together now," you said, your voice quieter. "Whether we like it or not."

He nodded, his eyes locking with yours. "And as I said, I'll make sure you make it out of here," he said firmly. "You and the baby. No matter what."

"And what about you?" you asked, your voice trembling. "What happens to you, Dae-ho?"

"That doesn't matter," he said without hesitation. "What matters is that you survive."

The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten, and you shook your head. "I'm not letting you sacrifice yourself for me. Not again."

"We'll figure it out," he assured softly, reaching out to take your hand. "One game at a time. But for now, promise me you'll stick with Jun-hee. Please."

You hesitated, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Finally, you nodded. "Fine. But promise me something too."

"Anything," he said without missing a beat.

"You don't do anything reckless," you said, your voice firm. "No heroics, no self-sacrificing. If we're getting out of here, we're doing it together."

His lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes remained serious. "Deal."

For the first time since joining these games and for the first time for a very long time, you felt a flicker of hope, fragile, but real. Whatever came next, at least you weren't alone.

Dae-ho let out a shaky breath, and before you could say another word, he sank to his knees in front of you. The sudden movement caught you off guard, but it wasn't until his arms wrapped gently around your waist that your breath hitched. He rested his forehead lightly against your stomach, his large hands cradling your sides with the utmost care, as though you might break.

"Dae-ho," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

He didn't respond immediately, just stayed there, holding you as if you were the most fragile, precious thing in the world. After a moment, he tilted his head slightly, his cheek pressing against your belly. His warm breath fanned through the fabric of your shirt, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, tender, almost reverent.

"I can't believe it," he murmured, his gaze softening as it dropped to your stomach. He placed a hand there, his palm warm and loving. "There's a piece of us right here." You couldn't help but smile.

His voice was quiet when he spoke again, the words almost a prayer.

"Hey, little one," he murmured, his words directed at the life growing inside you. "It's me… your dad."

Your hands moved instinctively, threading through his hair. The soft strands slipped between your fingers, grounding you in this surreal moment. Dae-ho closed his eyes at your touch, leaning into it like a man starved for comfort.

"You probably can't hear me yet, but…," he continued, his voice trembling slightly, "I need you to be strong, okay? Just like your mom. And I promise,  I'm going to do everything I can to keep you two safe. You're my whole world now, you know that? Both of you."

A lump formed in your throat as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You hadn't expected this, this unfiltered love pouring from him. It made the weight of your circumstances feel both heavier and lighter at the same time.

"I bet you're going to be just like her," he said with a small chuckle, his hand gently rubbing your side. "Strong, smart, way too stubborn for your own good."

You let out a teary laugh, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Hey, don't encourage that."

He tilted his head back slightly, looking up at you with a crooked grin that melted your heart. "Can't help it. It's in the genes."

His gaze softened as he looked back at your stomach, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the fabric of your shirt, his lips lingering for a long moment. The action was so tender, so full of love, that it nearly brought you to your knees as well. He rested his forehead there again, his arms tightening around you.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "For everything. For not being there when you needed me. For making you feel like you had to do this alone."

"Dae-ho," you whispered, your own voice cracking as you cupped his face, guiding him to look up at you. "You're with us. That's all that matters."

He swallowed hard, nodding as his hands slid down to hold yours. "I swear to you, I'm not going anywhere. I'll fight through hell if I have to. I'll keep you safe, no matter what it takes."

The tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over, and you knelt down with him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed your forehead against his. 

"We'll survive this," he repeated softly, his breath warm against your temple. "And when we get out… we'll make a real life together. The three of us."

You hesitated, your heart hammering as you realized it was the moment to tell him. "Four," you said softly, your hand covering his where it rested protectively over your stomach.

His body stiffened slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Four?" His voice was cautious, almost as if he were afraid to hope.

You nodded, your throat tightening as emotion swelled. "Before I came here, I had a doctor's appointment, and… we're having twins, Dae-ho."

The silence that followed was deafening, his stillness unnerving. For a moment, you worried you'd broken him, but then he slightly leaned back on his knees, his eyes wide and glassy as they searched yours.

"Twins?" he repeated, the word barely audible. His hand shifted, trembling slightly as it moved to cradle your stomach. He said nothing for a while, just staring at you as if trying to comprehend what you'd just revealed. His lips parted, a shaky exhale escaping as his thumb traced over the fabric covering your belly.

"Twins," he repeated again, this time with a mix of wonder and disbelief. "We're having twins?"

A small smile tugged at your lips, despite the tears streaming down your face. "Yes. I wasn't sure how to tell you… or when. But yeah. Two little ones."

His head dropped, forehead again pressing gently against your stomach as he let out a quiet, shaky laugh. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. "Two," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't know whether to cry or laugh."

Your fingers softly tucked a strand of hair away from his beautiful face, "You can do both," you said gently, "I did."

He tilted his head up to look at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes took your breath away. His lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn't quite hide the tears slipping down his cheeks. "Twins," he said again, shaking his head slightly. "I didn't even know how I was going to handle one. Now there are two of them. Two little… us."

The way he said it, so in awe, so full of wonder, made your chest ache. "I wasn't planning on telling you here," you admitted, "Not in this nightmare. But I couldn't… I couldn't keep it to myself anymore."

"I'm glad you didn't," he said, his voice steadying. He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears you didn't even realize had fallen. "No matter what happens in this hellhole, no matter how dark it gets, knowing they're waiting for us? It's everything."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Dae-ho, we can't let this place take us."

"It won't," he said firmly, his jaw tightening. "I won't let it. We'll make it. I'll make damn sure of it."

His hands slipped back down to your waist, his fingers splaying over your belly as though he could somehow shield the life growing inside you from the horrors outside. "Two little heartbeats," he murmured, his voice softening. "Do you know what that means?"

You tilted your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "What?"

"It means we're going to need twice the strength," his gaze locked with yours, "But it also means we've got twice the reason to fight. Twice the reason to win."

You leaned forward, your noses almost touching, your hands covering his on your stomach. "We'll do it together," you assured quietly. "The four of us."

"The four of us," he echoed, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss so tender it left you breathless. "You're stuck with me now. Forever."

You let out another teary laugh, the sound mingling with his soft chuckle. "I've been stuck with you for years, Dae-ho. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

For a moment, the world outside that room, the horrors of the games, didn't exist. It was just two lovers holding onto each other and the heartwarming hope bound on a fragile string of the future that was worth fighting for. You allowed yourselves to feel it, this unwavering love, this promising hope that had been buried beneath the fear. It wasn't much, but it was enough to remind you both why you were fighting, to survive, to protect, and to make it out of this nightmare as a family.

And whatever came next, you knew you wouldn't face it alone.