#Mechanical Sub-Engineer

[jobsnotices]

Kageshwari Manohara Municipality Vacancy 2081 for Various Positions

Kageshwari Manohara Municipality Vacancy 2081 for Various Positions: Assistant Computer Operator, ANM, Pharmacist, Staff Nurse, Health Assistant, Physiotherapist, Dental Hygienist, Biomedical Technician, Radiologist, Overseer, Civil Sub-Engineer, Mechanical Sub-Engineer, Architect Engineer, Civil Engineer. Kageshwori Manohara Municipality, Municipal Executive Office, Thali, Kathmandu Notice…

[mcbitchtits]

so i was keeping an eye out for anyone discussing the carbon fiber since structurally that seems like such a bad decision (but i am not a boat engineer). (i should make it clear, my impression from the one composites class i took is if you don't have an EXTREMELY SPECIFIC AND GOOD reason to be using carbon fiber, it's probably just an Expensive Material Rich Buyer Tax.) found this thread with a little more info about why the hull was composites:

what happened? well when carbon fiber fails it doesn't graciously deform, it just goes straight critical failure. why you would ever think there would be time to ascend AT ALL at ANY SORT OF SUPERHUMAN DEPTH WHATSOEVER is beyond me. (because he kept firing his engineers who disagreed with him, is the real answer. but.) (not that, like, a deformable material wouldn't also immediately cut right into critical failure at that depth; but you might have a little more time to go from sensing a potential problem to death by implosion. or possibly more reusability, idk.)

anyway, from that composites article about it:

yeah dude. sure. you'll have time to recover and avoid failure. you definitely don't need all that safety factor you call "waste"

do read the composites article if you're interested. it's like a horror story itself tbh

[thebeezcnys]

I don't think we've talked about the controls of this submarine enough. Only 3 vessels in the entire world can transport people down to these depths and these guys decided to do it with a system piloted by a BLUETOOTHED madcatz gamecube controller.

I reject literally all of your "most likely" scenarios. The most likely scenario to me is the bluetooth dongle went out. The batteries in the wireless controller went out. The knock off radio shack xbox controller got stick drift. The controller banged against the hull during the rockey launch and broke halfway down.

Literally everything else about the vessel can be in working order, but if that little tiny fragile bluetooth connection between the controller and the sub breaks then they're dead in the water. They have zero redundancies for this aspect of their design.

[randomuniversityquotes]

Statics Professor: “I’m back whether you like it or not.”

[jennawynn]

Chronotrek: The Voyage Home

Dedicated to the crew of the Challenger 💜

Hey a Black woman captain in 1986.

I thought I wasn't going to have a lot to say, then I remembered that this is the one that I'm _certain_ I've seen before, and it was probably entirely because of the aircraft carrier in it.

I was in the Navy, stationed on a nuclear aircraft carrier for most of my time in. I spent a period of time watching any Navy-related movie I could get my hands on, which is likely where I caught this one.

I had friends on the Enterprise and that I was sent to the Eisenhower instead was likely a matter of luck since one of my friends in power school did get the 'Prize.

Now... of course even the Enterprise was just a character and the actor was the USS Ranger, not a nuke ship at all, but even so, there's some funny business still. And... things may have been different in 1986, but I've never seen a rifle or a dog in the plant. Ever.

The Enterprise may have been different, but on Ike, there WAS a room called the MMR, but that's where the ship's engines are, not where the reactor is. Of course we only had 2 reactors and the Enterprise had EIGHT. Now here's the funny part, I didn't work in the MMR, I worked in the other side where the reactor is held in a room (not a small thing like shown in the movie, but a rectangular room)... but for the life of me I seem to have blacked out the name :joy: RAR maybe. (Give me a break, I got out 15 years ago and intentionally forgot as much as I could)

Also, the ship was in port and would likely NOT have had an operational reactor or, if they were hot for some reason, there would have been many more people on watch that would have noticed the stowaways for as long as they had to sit there.

Oh I also forgot- the way Chekov was collecting the radiation would NOT have been detectable by anyone on the ship via power levels, and not only that, they can't see power levels where the officer of the deck is (assuming that was the bridge)- that looked more like a radar readout anyway.

[maxillness]

╰┈➤This Fkn Bratty Attitude || MV33 x Team Principal!Reader

Warnings: 18+, oral (m), handjob, sub!max, age gap (not specified), mommy kink, choking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (m), snowballing,

Wordcount: 1.8k

Request: my request would be for Sub Max verstappen, in which y/n is the team leader at redbull and they have had a secret relationship for a while, and in a race Max's car breaks down and he shouts at his employees, including his boss his (y/n). She doesn't like his bratty attitude and teaches him a lesson. (If it's not a bother, could it include mommy kink?)

What they were doing wasn’t my exactly wrong, but if it came out that the 3 times world champion was screwing his team principal, there probably wouldn’t be much of his ego left

Not only because it would seem like she favoured Max over Checo, but also for their age gap

“Get cleaned up and get changed” She said, feeling his limp body against hers as he was coming down from the orgasm he had gotten from riding her thigh

“P-please, need one more. Please, mommy. Please” He pleaded, trying to roll his hips, but her tight grip on him prevented him to do so

“We don’t have time for that, baby. You need to be on the track in a few minutes. Wouldn’t want you to miss it, no?” She said, kissing the top of his head softly

“Mommy… Please” She loved his begging. He knew she couldn’t stand it, but they really didn’t have the time for it

“Get cleaned up, and get your suit on. Got it?” She said sternly, pushing him off of her and down to the couch a little more roughly than she had actually intended

She heard his low whimper before she closed the door and walked to the pit wall. She looked down to her thigh as she sat down. Thank god, she thought as there was no stain on her jeans from Max’ cum

She cursed under her breath as Max crashed early on the race. 12 laps, that was it. That’s what he managed before his breaks broke and was sent into the wall

“Max, are you okay?” She asked him through the radio. She heard no reply “Max?” She tried again

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. The car’s not though” His voice was annoyed, tinted with something you could describe as anger

“Fuck the car, Max. As long as you’re okay” She sighed, leaning back into her chair afterwards

With GP no longer needed at the pit wall, he went into the garage to console Max as he came back

She turned her head backwards as she heard yelling coming from behind her. Max was yelling at the engineers, mechanics and even GP

She took off her headphones and walked to the garage, wanting to see what the fuck is going on

“This is all your fault! This wouldn’t have happened if you just did your work right for once!” That was the first thing she heard as she stepped a foot into the garage

Max had now turned to her “This is your fault as well. You’re the one who hired this shit crew” He took a few steps closer to her, looking at her with determination and anger in his eyes

“This is not any of our faults” She said calmly, crossing her arms over her chest “It was a mechanical issue that none of us could prevent” She shifted on her feet

“How dare you stand there and pretend we haven’t just lost the race entirely?!” He almost yelled again

“Checo is still out there. We haven’t lost yet. Now, if you don’t want to support your teammate, go into your drivers room, shut the fuck up, and cool down” He didn’t hesitate before he turned around and walked into his drivers room

She shook her head slightly as she walked back to the pit wall “Y/N, is Max okay?” She heard Checo ask the second she had gotten the headphones back on

“Yeah. Angry as fuck, but… He’s alright” She said to him, watching as he had now taken P1 with Carlos and Lando behind him

After the race was done, Checo a beautiful p1, she had walked to Max’ drivers room, knocking harshly on the door

Max opened up. Hair damp from his shower, sweats and a t-shirt

“What do you want?” He asked, taking a step back as he sighed

He turned her back towards her, taking a step towards the couch. She walked in, closing the door behind her before gripping the base of his neck, and slamming the front of his body against the door, making him hiss at the pain

“The fuck is your problem?” She asked harsh as her body was pressed up against his back

“The car is shit, and it’s your fault” He said, trying to push off the the door with his hands that was rested on either side of his chest, but his body was pushed further into the door by her own

He secretly loved the way she was holding him up against the door like that, but wouldn’t dare speak up about it, in case she would use it against him

“My fault?” She scoffed, putting her mouth as close to his ear as she could without making contact “Do I need to fuck this attitude out of you?” She whispered in a way she knew he got turned on by

He only answered with a whimper as he shut his eyes closed, biting his bottom lip softly, trying not to rut his hips backwards into hers

“Oh, you’d like that, huh? You’d like for me to fuck this bratty attitude out of you?” Her other hand that wasn’t my at his neck, went for the lock on the door, locking it before placing it on the dip of his hip

When he didn’t answer, she turned his body around roughly, slamming his back against the door, holding her hand around his throat softly

Both his hands went around her wrist, digging his nails into the flesh as he looked intensely into her eyes, seeing them blown wide, hiding the colour of them

“Answer me” She said sternly, pressing a little firmer against his throat, earning a choked breath from him

“Mhm. Fuck, yes, mommy. Please” He whined, bucking his hip to meet hers

“You have to be quiet though, there’s still people here, okay?” She asked, knowing damn well she’s had to make him quiet

“I was earlier, wasn’t I?” He smiled cheekily like he had won some prize

“Don’t get cocky” She said before removing her hand, earning her a whine from the man “Oh, you like that? Having my hand around your throat?” She chuckled, putting her hand around him again, pushing him back against the door

He whimpered at the way her hand closed slightly around him. Her other hand ran down his chest, landing on the waistband of his sweats

He closed his eyes, whimpering at the feeling of her hand down his body “Help me out, Max. My hand is occupied” She said, referring to his sweats

His hands from her wrist went to the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down along side his boxers so they rested at his knees

His hands went back to her wrist as she spit in her own, taking it around his cock, slowly starting to move

She could see that he tried so hard to hold his sounds in, but was unsuccessful when her thumb went over the slit, making him moan

“Thought I told you to be quiet” She said, leaning in close so her lips was ghosting his

“F-feels s’good” He whispered, his lips brushing against hers, earning her a whimper “P-please, kiss me. Please, mommy?”

“When you ask so nicely” She sped up her hand as she kissed him, making him moan which was muffled by her lips

She took the opportunity to shove her tongue into his mouth, exploring his mouth like she always did

He started bucking his hips up into her hand, not helping the moans that was muffled by the woman

“F-fuck. Mommy, please- can I come? P-please, ‘m s’close” He panted, keeping his sounds at bay

“If you come now instead of inside me, I’ll pull more out of you” She said, but it only encouraged him more

She scoffed as he bit his bottom lip hard, almost silently coming, his cum dripping from his cock down his shaft and onto her hand, some also on her arm and his shirt

She caught his body in her arms as he became limp. She held onto him, soothing his back with her hand, slowly guiding him over to the couch, going to her knees in front of him as she had gotten him down on the couch

“N-no, I can’t” He panted as he felt her pull his sweats and boxers all off his legs

“I warned you, baby” She said, spreading his legs, kissing up the insides of his thighs, feeling his muscles twitch at her touch and his breathing getting yet again quick as he started to get hard again

She looked up at him as she licked a thick stripe up his shaft. She slid her hands under his shirt and up to his waist, hiking the shirt up with her

He whimpered as her tongue went over his head. He gripped the material tight under him, looking down at her as she had started bopping her head

He moaned as her tongue pressed against a vein. She took one of her hands from his waist, and pushed two of her fingers into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue, making him gag, but stay quiet

He whimpered around her fingers, bucking his hips for her to go faster, but in the progress hitting her throat, making her pull slightly back, only leaving the tip on her tongue

She was just letting it rest there, doing nothing but look up at him through hooded eyes as he stilled his hips

“‘M sorry, mommy. Please. Need it” His words were muffled as she pressed further down on his tongue, making his head spiral

She hummed around him, sending him into euphoria as he came into her mouth. His body shook rapidly as she slowly rode his orgasm out

She got off of him when she could feel the overstimulation was getting too much

She stood up, knees hurting as hell. She towered over him, putting her hand on his jaw, making him open his eyes and look up at her

She pressed her lips firmly to his, pressing at his jaw for him to open. She opened her mouth as well, spilling his cum into his mouth, making him whimper

She pulled back, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with a whine “Good boy. Get cleaned up and get back to the hotel” She said before leaving him half naked in his room

[spirit-lanterns]

FAST AND FURIOUS

synopsis: you catch the eye of the infamous street racer.

featuring: kafka, serval, seele, stelle, bronya

rating: 18+ n.s.fw (men and minors dni)

warnings: street racer! AU, dom! afab female reader (bronya), sub! afab female reader (kafka, serval, seele, stelle), car se.x, fingering, se.x while driving, cunnilingus, face riding, strap on, illegal street racing (obviously).

art credits: initial D

KAFKA

Street racer Kafka! Who catches you staring at her when she pulls up to the starting line in her sleek, jet black car. It’s smooth and elegant, just like her, as she beckons you to come over to her window, gloved finger enticing you to come closer…

Street racer Kafka! Who takes your hand into hers and plants a sweet kiss to your wrist. Her bold, red lipstick marks you as hers as she flashes you a flirty wink through the window. “For good luck, sweet girl. When I win, I want to take you home with me…”

Street racer Kafka! Who smirks when you shamelessly grow flustered and agree, letting you walk back to the crowd as she gets ready to win the race of a lifetime for you. She had plans of where to take you tonight after all. You were the one she was after, not the prize money…

Street racer Kafka! Who, as you may have guessed, wins the race by a landslide as she pulls back up to the starting line and gets out of the car, smirking and sweeping back her sweaty hair as she wanted nothing more than to get her prize. You. 

Street racer Kafka! Who chuckles as you fawn over her and pulls you in by the waist to kiss you, placing her sunglasses over your head and officially sealing you as her prize for tonight. And maybe forever, who knows…

Street racer Kafka! Who drives you back to her hotel with you in her car. Her hand on your thigh as you can’t help but follow it as it goes up up up… practically stroking up to your clothed pussy and playing with the buckle of your shorts. “I don’t think I can wait anymore, sweet girl…” Kafka purrs lowly, one hand on the wheel while the other begins to tug your shorts downward. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my eyes on the road…”

Street racer Kafka! Who slips her fingers into your panties and starts massaging your clit with her eyes glued to the road, her experienced driving making you wetter than you already were as she was just so good at multitasking. 

Street racer Kafka! Who starts plunging her fingers deep into your walls and driving her fingers faster as she accelerates. The car streaking down the road as the adrenaline of speeding and getting fucked by Kafka at the same time had you squirming and squeezing at her fingers. “Let’s see if I can get you to finish in time…” She laughs softly, deciding it was time for the main event.

Street racer Kafka! Who has you squirting all over her hand and passenger seat as she pulls up to the hotel parking lot with a smirk, slowly pulling out her fingers from beneath you and humming in satisfaction at the mess. “Looks like I won again…”

SERVAL

Street racer Serval! Who is an experienced mechanic and personally built her car to make it the fastest anyone has ever seen. Not only is it fast, it’s flashy, and Serval grins with confidence as she leans against the hood of her car with her arms folded, waiting for the race to start.

Street racer Serval! Who notices you admiring her car (and her) and smirks to summon you over for a closer look. “Don’t be shy, you can take a closer look…” she grins, taking your hand as she shows you all the special little features of her car. “Pretty isn’t she? She’s a beauty, just like you…” 

Street racer Serval! Who sighs when the crowd gathers to finally start the race, a smile stretching upon her lips before casting a small wink over to you. “Wish me luck, princess. I’m winning this for you!” She flashes you a blinding smile and gets into her car, revving up the engine as she prepares for sweet, sweet victory.

Street racer Serval! Who wins her race with ease and gets out of the car with satisfaction, fist pumping the air before taking her custom helmet off and smirking. “Phew…that was a close one…!”  she laughs out humbley, dropping her helmet to the floor as she waves you over to come join her on the stand. 

Street racer Serval! Who’s all sweaty and messy from the ride, yet still looks hot as ever as she pulls you in for a hug and lifts you off the ground, so happy to have won for you. “Taking you out to eat, what do you say?” She smiles flirtatiously, looking at you with hope in her eyes. Of course you agreed…

Street racer Serval! Who took you out to eat but not in the way you were expecting. Her face buried deep in your folds as she licked and speared her tongue into your hole to taste all you had to offer. “Tastes like victory alright…” she couldn’t help but joke, lifting up your thighs to keep you spread as she ate you out quicker than she could even drive her car.

Street racer Serval! Who was currently eating you out on her winning car in an abandoned parking lot after the race. Your legs spread over the top of her painted hood, as she wanted nothing more than to see your cum drip down your legs and onto the glossy paint that she herself had applied. “Don’t worry, I could always give her a good ole scrub. For now though, you could make a mess of her however you please…”

Street racer Serval! Who groans when she sees how much you leak onto her car, glistening cum sliding down her hood as she smirks and licks it all up…

SEELE

Street racer Seele! Who is rough around the edges and comes in with a slightly scarred yet durable car. She was a champion racer long before this race, and this car was the one that helped her win on many numerous occasions…

Street racer Seele! Who can’t help but let her eyes wander through the crowd and spot you smiling in the distance. Her cheeks go red at the sight before she blushes and looks away, grumbling to herself and scratching the back of her neck nervously. 

Street racer Seele! Who was usually very confident and snarky before her races. Seele was known to be a very reckless and “go with the flow” kind of driver so she had survived many dangerous stunts and tricks. However, it was her first time racing in front of such a pretty girl like yourself, and she couldn’t help but want to show off to you. 

Street racer Seele! Who blushes as you hand her a water bottle and say “good luck!” to her in that sweet little voice of yours. It had Seele smiling awkwardly as she flashes you a confident smirk. “Thanks. That money is as good as mine…”

Street racer Seele! Who speeds through the road and decides to go the extra mile to show off to you on the cameras. Taking a quick yet very dangerous detour with ease and sliding right through to first place. 

Street racer Seele! Who’s slick back hair is all wild and messy the moment she gets out of her car, heart thumping from the adrenaline as she just pulled off some of the most dangerous stunts known to man for you. The moment she sees you cheering and running over, she laughs and shyly takes your hand, squeezing it before kissing the top of it charmingly. “You’re a cute cheerleader…”

Street racer Seele! Who blushes madly when you grab her hand and whisper seductively in her ear. Telling her how she “deserves a wild ride tonight and should go a round or two” with you. The racer too flustered to even fathom the thought of saying no to you. 

Street racer Seele! Who is gasping for air underneath your cunt as you ride her face to your heart’s content. Hands gripping on her dark purple as you moan and writhe at her tongue thrusting in and out of you. She’s so fast, so lithe. The leather of her gloves gripped your hips firmly as she drove your body back and forth on her tongue, savoring the tang and precum of your body…

Street racer Seele! Who looks up at you dreamily in the dusk of her backseat car. Breath coursing through her throat as she groans and pushes her nose deeper against your clit, too sex-drunk in her prize to notice how you’re tensing up on her touch. Too dumb to realize until it was too late, as you creamed all over her face and let it spill down on the leather seats of her car…

STELLE

Street racer Stelle! Who arrives at the race in a battered up and beaten down car. Does she care? Of course not. This trashed up car is her baby and she loves it! No matter how many people laugh at her…

Street racer Stelle! Who just looks so cute and happy to be there as she looks around with big ole puppy dog-like eyes. She spots you smiling at her in the distance and gives you a playful wave. Honestly, you felt bad that everyone was laughing at her vehicle, she was just too cute! And she didn’t deserve to be teased like this…

Street racer Stelle! Who seems to ignore all the teasing and flashes you the most confident of smiles! She jogs up to you with contagious excitement and shakes your hand as you approach. “I saw you looking at my car. Do you like it? I scrapped it myself…!” Ahhhhh that was adorable and you couldn’t help but agree. How could you not love this woman? She was adorable!

Street racer Stelle! Who tosses you a good luck charm before running back to go start her car. It was a small, battered up raccoon keychain with the fur all matted and gray from use. You didn’t mind, in fact your heart swooned at the sight as the little chubby raccoon plush reminded you of the goofy woman.

Street racer Stelle! Who…surprisingly wins the race!? When she gets out of her car she has a look of pure shock and adrenaline before grinning and fist bumping the air. “Noice!” She chants, looking over at you in the crowd with a smile. “My good luck charm worked…!”

Street racer Stelle! Who is way too happy about winning the race with her dingy old car. So much so that she rushes up to you and gives you a big hug, lifting you off the ground with hidden strength and smiling ever so sunnily. She has to show her gratitude! She has to!

Street racer Stelle! Who shows her gratitude to you by pounding into you with a strap on she had in her car. Happy grunts emitting from the overgrown puppy woman, as she sinks her cock deeper into your walls and loving how you twitched and gripped onto her shoulders for dear life. “Is that good? I hope it’s good…nngh…mmpf…”

Street racer Stelle! Who doesn’t stop when you climax for a second time, or a third, or a fourth. Her relentless stamina allows her to keep plowing you with your legs in the air as she spears you open with all that she has. “Thank you…thank you thank you thank you…” she’s so grateful and happy to please, gasping and kissing your neck feverishly. “You deserve more…I’ll give you more…”

Street racer Stelle! Who leaves your legs sore and neck covered in bites the following morning. The poor puppy woman looking at you with an apologetic gaze, before murmuring a small “Sorry…” when she sees you unable to walk…

BRONYA

Street racer Bronya! Who is the heiress of a wealthy family but sneaks out at night to drive in street races. She always pulls up in a sleek, brand new and expensive car that she borrowed from her mom, but that’s okay because her family has like eleven others hidden away in their garage…

Street racer Bronya! Who people thought was too delicate and princess-like to race in such dangerous events, yet here she was. Dressed in leather attire and a stone cold look on her face as she prepared herself for the race. She’s not overconfident or cocky, but you could tell she was a professional given how calm she was at the starting line. 

Street racer Bronya! Who glances at you through the crowd and keeps silent as she watches. You’re a pretty face, and it’s cute how curious you look as you admire her expensive uniform and car. ‘I suppose I could treat her for the night…’ Bronya thinks, ‘Perhaps I’ll even get her to experience the ride with me…’

Street racer Bronya! Who somehow gets you to sit in the passenger seat of her car before the big race. Her calm nature puts you at ease despite how dangerous street racing can be. “No need to worry, I’ll keep you safe.” She says softly, a gentle smile splayed on her lips. As she kicks the engine to start…

Street racer Bronya! Who’s car is so fast and sleek, it sends your heart rate racing. Despite the speed bursts however, Bronya makes sure to keep one hand over your chest to protect you everytime she makes a sharp turn. Gray eyes sharp and focused, as she keeps a hand on the steering wheel while protecting you at the same time.

Street racer Bronya! Who streaks through the finish line with you cheering on beside her. A soft chuckle emitting from her throat before glancing over at you. “How was that? Pretty nice, hm?” She blushes when you suddenly lean in to kiss her cheek, eyes wide before laughing bashfully at the reward. “Ah…thank you…”

Street racer Bronya! Who somehow found herself gasping in her seat with your fingers playfully teasing her. Unable to hear what you were saying as the most she could make out was “so good…” and “you deserve this, doll…”

Street racer Bronya! Who is just so surprisingly cute and whiny under that cold exterior. Gripping onto your wrist and trying to push your fingers even deeper while she moves her other hand to unzip the leather racing uniform. As the zipper is seperated, Bronya’s cute breasts spill out from beneath the confines and urge you to move over and fondle them. You cooed at how cute she was reacting to your touch, as she was acting like such a spoiled princess that you always knew she was…

Street racer Bronya! Who realizes she has to get back home before her mother wakes up, but decides ‘fuck it’ and continues riding your fingers with lust. Tongue lolled out in utter ecstasy as she drives your fingers faster than she could drive her car…

[epiphainie]

engine purr (1/1)

bucktommy, mechanic au, age gap, 40-yo tommy, s1 buck, dom tommy, sub buck, humiliation, face-fucking, first-time bottoming, rimming, daddy kink, under-negotiated kink

rating: E

words: 15k

summary:

“Oh! Yes. My car, my Jeep, I mean,” Buck said, gaze falling on the hands reaching for a rag. “It just sputtered and died on me right outside of town and there was no reception… I-I didn’t know what to do so I just… walked.” He swallowed and looked up again. “I thought I could call Triple A? Or maybe 9-1-1?” The guy looked at Buck. There was a slight furrow to his brows, a tinge of bemusement in his eyes. The lines of his face were sharp and straight everywhere, but well-worn too, making Buck realize he was older than him by at least a decade and some change, if not more. “That’s not for 9-1-1. And Triple A costs an arm and a leg if you don’t have a membership,” he said in a languid voice. “Lucky for you, though, you walked into this town’s one-and-only repair shop.”

buck takes a road trip before his new job, the jeep breaks down in the middle of nowhere, a small-town mechanic helps him out

read on AO3

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Emergency room [S. R] +18

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 12k

Summary: Spencer forgot to mention that you're still his emergency contact. You wouldn't have had a problem with it if you weren't his ex of over a year and the hospital took you out of the bed because he had a car crash

contents: exes to lovers, car accident, hospitals, mention of injuries (nothing graphic), mutual longing, SMUT, porn with plot, a little sub!spencer if you squint, penetrative sex (p in v), vanilla sex

Maybe there is a mistake with the grammar and pronouns, I swear I checked it the best I could but surely something escaped me! Enjoy :)

The ringing of your cell phone snapped you out of your hard-won reverie a few hours ago, and you sighed audibly into your pillow before opening your eyes. The device was somewhere on the nightstand, so it was enough to reach out and feel the wood a little to take it.

Virginia Hospital Center. 

You hoped the caller ID was wrong, which was highly unlikely, and you swiped to take the call, wondering what it could be.

“Virginia Hospital Center, may I speak to Ms. Y/N Y/L/N?” With a shaky voice you answered in the affirmative and then the woman continued: "I am calling because you are the emergency contact on file for Mr. Spencer Walter Reid, who has just been admitted to the emergency room”

Hearing this, you jumped out of bed like a spring and felt how a chill ran through your entire body, a sign of the obvious panic that had just invaded you.

"What happened? He's fine?"

“He suffered a car accident and now he is being transferred to the operating room. It is imperative that you show up at the hospital so that you can account for any complications and can help us complete the information in his medical history."

The woman behind the phone was barely finishing saying that when you were already looking for your car keys and a decent change of clothes. You only took what you had in your bag before getting in your car and starting the engine to start the march, even with the adrenaline that you had coursing through your system. The hospital was a bit far away, so every time you accelerated too much you had to remind yourself that you could have an accident too, and then that would be the last straw. With that constant change of speed, you managed to get there in almost an hour, a little less than the time it would normally take, but still too long for your liking.

Somewhat agitated you rushed to the reception desk, where there was a nurse whose voice you recognized from the previous call. She had to reassure you a bit when you desperately asked her, almost with tears in your eyes, to tell you where Spencer was and what condition he was in. 

“What relationship do you have with the patient?”

“I am his…” Your breath caught for a moment, thinking about whether it would be correct to tell the woman the truth or not; In the end, you decided to lie to her "girlfriend"

You and Spencer hadn't seen each other, at least not physically, for a little over a year. You often saw him on the news, in one or another now-forgotten photo that fell by accident from between the pages of your books, or in the articles on the internet about the conferences he gave; but you had never dared to contact him to go out, just as he hadn’t called again. You thought that eventually, you guys would meet again even if it was by chance, but you never imagined that it would be under these conditions. 

“Can you help me answer a few questions?” she murmured and to each question she asked you answered almost mechanically. You were quite surprised that, even with the time that had already passed, you still remembered everything perfectly, as if it were your own medical information that you were providing.

The woman informed you, as kindly as she could be, that Spencer had already been in surgery for an hour and that when the doctor came out he could explain what had happened in more detail. You thought about the hit he had suffered to end up there and the anxiety of knowing if he was okay was eating away at your place in the waiting room, where you alternated between biting your nails and moving your leg up and down to calm down.

You wondered, meanwhile, why he still had you listed as an emergency contact. You knew he wasn't a person with many friends, but it sounded more practical for that position to be filled by someone he lived with more often, like Prentiss or Hotchner, not you. It wasn't the first time you'd been in a hospital with Spencer as a patient and you tried to remind yourself that those other times everything had gone well, but on those other occasions he'd always gotten immediate care because he'd been working or it was simple things like a cold that had become too bothersome. You wondered how far he had crashed, how long it had taken the ambulance to get there, how much pain he had experienced. You were really worried, until after half an hour that seemed like an eternity you heard the nurse call you and a doctor appeared next to her.

The first thing you asked, with a trembling voice, was if he was okay, and when you felt the doctor's soft nod you felt your soul return to your body. Then he explained everything that had happened in greater detail: Spencer had been hit from the side by a drunk driver who had entered at the same time as him and who, unfortunately, hadn’t survived. The surgery had been delayed because Spencer had a stab wound to his leg, dangerously close to the femoral artery and at risk of bleeding, as well as multiple pieces of glass buried deep in his torso, which punctured muscle and could damage vessels, nerves, and tendons. He had made the emergency call before falling unconscious and the doctor in front of you emphasized that if it hadn't been for the speed of the report things could have ended worse.

"Right now he is in intensive care, you can come in to see him until he wakes up"

"And how long will that take?"

“It varies from patient to patient. I can't give you an exact answer, but it won't be for another hour or two”

You warmly thanked the doctor for the job done and somewhat disappointed, but definitely calmer, you returned to your seat in the waiting room. You asked if you could stay there the rest of the night even if it wasn't on his side and the woman agreed. A little less upset, you searched in the hospital for a place to prepare coffee and after obtaining a well-charged one you waited again.

At some point you curled up in the chair and after an hour, and the fact that the coffee had no effect on you at all, you had already fallen asleep. Luckily your sleep was light, so you could clearly hear when a new nurse murmured your name and said that she would guide you to where Spencer was, who had woken up a few minutes before. During the walk down the corridor, she warned you that in intensive care only visits of less than an hour were allowed and when you entered the room full of stretchers protected only by curtains, she took you to one almost at the end, indicating that your patient was there.

You didn't go in immediately, because you needed to get some air first to gather the courage to do it, and when you finally did, a sea of feelings flooded you. Spencer looked fatigued and a little pale. His eyelids were closed and if it hadn't been for the heart monitor next door emitting soft, continuous beeps, you would have thought he was already in a better place. 

Carefully you approached a chair right next to the stretcher and once seated there you remained silent for a moment, until you felt the need to hold his hand as a way of comforting yourself, as if you were closer this way. Said action didn’t go unnoticed by the man, who, when he slightly opened his eyes, believed that his mind was vilely deceiving him, and a second later your name left his lips as a scratchy and confused whisper.

"Hello" was all you managed to say, holding back the tears that had already pooled on your lashes. "How are you feeling?"

“I feel like everything around me is spinning”

With a little more confidence, and so that he wouldn't strain his eyes, you approached the edge of the bed, still not letting go of his hand.

"The doctor said you really had a bad accident"

"The other man? He is…?"

"Dead" you completed in a whisper, completely admiring your friend's pure spirit that allowed her to worry about who caused him to be there "He was drunk when he hit you and they couldn't do much"

"Oh," was all Spencer said, with a genuine tone of pity. You didn't know what to say, or even what to do, you were just looking at him as closely as possible to reassure yourself that he was okay and with his whole body. Your hand hadn't let go and he seemed comfortable with it.

"Do you want me to call someone?"

"A doctor?"

"To a friend"

"They..." Reid still looked disoriented, as if he couldn't even remember the conditions in which he had the accident, and when he finally got his thoughts together, he looked back at you, "Why are you here?"

“I am your emergency contact”

It took him a moment, again, to process the words. When he was aware of the situation, he closed his eyes tightly as if he had done something terrible, and looked at you with shame.

"I'm so sorry"

"Don't you want me here?"

"What? No! Of course I want you here. It's just that I didn't want to bother you with this, I… I thought I'd change that information when I found a better candidate and I never did, so months went by and I… forgot. Well, I didn't forget, but I didn't want to change it because I didn't think it would be necessary and right now I think I should have discussed it with you and I never did, so I'm sorry. Are you upset?”

“Spencer, relax,” you exhaled gently, rubbing your fingers over the back of his hand “There's no problem staying here, I just want to know if you need me to call someone. They didn't let me stay here for long."

“Call Hotch. I want to let him know that I'm taking a vacation."

It was difficult for him to keep his eyes open continuously, probably from the remaining effects of the anesthesia, so you just nodded and did as he asked. Spencer listened to the entire conversation in which you explained what had happened and even answered some of his boss's questions himself, assuring him that he was as well as he could be after an accident of this magnitude. Aaron also promised that the team would visit him as soon as possible, and he asked you to keep in touch, with an odd familiarity that made you smile.

After finishing the call, you returned to your chair and leaned over to brush his hair off his forehead, taking the opportunity to caress his face carefully. Spencer, still with his eyes closed, smiled at the touch.

“You cut it” you observed “Are you still doing it yourself?”

"Yes, still"

You smiled at him and he smiled back, but neither of you said anything else. There would be time to answer questions later.

Although he seemed to be asleep, he was aware that you were by his side for another long time, and when you said goodbye you promised that you would return there as soon as you could.

The next morning, after taking a shower and calling work that you had an emergency, you kept your promise. Spencer seemed a bit more recovered on this second visit; his color had returned to his cheeks, he was almost sitting on the bed and could basically keep his eyes open for more than ten seconds at a time. The doctor had told you that he would stay there for observation for the rest of the day and once he moved to a general room you could be with him for as long as you wanted. For now, you would have to make do with that sixty-minute visit.

"Do you feel better?"

"Not really. But I'm not complaining, it could be worse” he replied, settling better on the bed and wincing.

“I told the doctors no… I asked them not to give you Dilaudid” you confessed, with a bit of fear of his reaction “No type of morphine, in fact. They told me that they could substitute another analgesic, but that you would feel a little more pain than you normally would. Still, I insisted. I hope you don't mind"

“The doctor told me. And I appreciate it,” he murmured sincerely. He couldn't describe the ease he felt when he found out about it, for he had been drug-free for too long to mess it up by carelessness. Luckily, he had you.

"How have you been, by the way?" you shyly exclaimed, taking a step closer to him "I don't mean right now, but... during this time"

"Relatively well" he replied, inviting you with his eyes to sit in the same chair you had been a few hours ago. In doing so you hoped that he would develop a more complete answer than just two words and then he began to relate to you some events significant enough to deserve a mention.

One of the things you'd always loved about Spencer was hearing him talk, whether it was for a minute or an hour. With other people he talked fast, afraid someone would ask him to shut up, but with you he always took his time. In his words there was no sign of spite towards you, even when you thought you deserved it, always showing the beautiful heart that he harbored in that chest.

“I have also been giving conferences more often and that makes me happy. Many of the people there don't understand what I'm talking about, but those who do always come up and ask me questions. Sometimes Emily or Rossi accompany me and other times I go alone. Oh, and I'm taking a PhD."

"Another?" you said surprised, although you didn’t doubt his ability.

"I've been kind of bored, if I'm honest" was his poor explanation from him. You wanted to remind him that no one went into PhDs just because they were bored, but he was a genius you were talking to.

You didn't dare to confess to him that you had been watching some of his labor movements, but just knowing again a little about the things that were happening to him made you feel good.

“Have you been alright?” he continued, looking genuinely interested in hearing your answer.

“I have been able to defend myself, yes. Do you remember when I told you about asking for a promotion? Well, it finally happened a few months ago and the extra money has been doing me good. I have a little more work freedom, too, and I'm considering moving”

“Where do you plan to move to?”

You explained some of the options you had in mind and after hearing each one he helped you learn about some of the pros and cons in terms of costs, services, and security in the area. You would have continued your talk if it hadn't been for a nurse coming in. She was the same one that had received you the night before and you smiled kindly when you recognized her.

"Good morning, how are you feeling, Mr. Reid?" she asked, as she maneuvered to change the IV pole bag.

“Better than yesterday, definitely”

"You don't have to worry, you will recover soon"

"I hope so" he smiled.

“You gave your girlfriend quite a scare, that's for sure,” she teased, nodding her head in your direction.

You tensed at that, and if you had been an ostrich, you would have buried your head in the ground. Spencer watched you from the stretcher with a little smile and answered something you didn't understand to the nurse. They exchanged another couple of sentences until she was gone, saying goodbye cordially to both of you.

"Did she misread the situation or is there something here I'm missing?" he asked you once you were alone, looking genuinely amused.

“Okay, I admit it, maybe I lied a bit last night. I thought they would have more compassion and trust in a girlfriend than an ex-girlfriend" 

"And your real boyfriend isn't going to be upset if you're here taking care of me?"

Ever since you met him you could say that if Spencer lacked a quality, it was subtlety and now he himself was showing it. You knew that there was enough trust for him to tease you like that, but you also knew that asking about your love life was some kind of revenge for having lied to the staff and so you decided to humor him.

"No, he isn’t very jealous to say. On the contrary, he is open-minded and right now we are trying to have an open relationship. You know, I see some people, he sees others, but we still have our thing."

Spencer's previously mocking expression immediately changed upon hearing you say that, having no idea how he would be wise to react. But you couldn't stand it for a long time and you burst out laughing, clarifying between laughs that you were only joking.

“Well, even so, it is likely that at some point in your life you could be in such a relationship, there are even those who think that it is healthy and mature when both people agree”

“It's not quite my style. I prefer safe monogamy or if the guy is very stupid, the sex without commitment for a single night” you laughed slightly.

The deadline for the visit had already expired and with all the sadness you had to say goodbye to him, promising that you would return as soon as he came out of intensive care.

“You've done a lot for me, but it's okay if at some point you're too busy to come, okay? I will understand"

"Don't talk nonsense" you exclaimed firmly, while you leaned down enough to give him a hug without hurting him. Suddenly a new concern invaded you and you felt that you had to ask him a question that you had omitted: "Unless you have a psycho girlfriend who is after my head, do you?"

"Do you think if that was the case, I wouldn't have mentioned it already?" he muttered obviously and now it was your turn to smile.

You didn't want a nurse to come in to get you out of there by force so you took your things and looked at your ex-boyfriend one last time to wave goodbye.

You always thought that when a relationship ended it was because either party had made a serious mistake: “I slept with your best friend”, “my family secretly hates you”, or “it turns out I'm still too in love with my ex to love you”. But when you decided to break up with Spencer, you found that that formula didn't apply to everyone.

Perhaps it was an unfortunate combination of situations, feelings, and problems that led to things simply stopping working overnight. You didn't know how to explain it, none of you, but you guys couldn't even kiss the same way you used to. Your work exhausted you, his work exhausted him, and in the end it was you who decided for both of us that things would be better if everyone took their own path. This isn’t to say that the breakup was less painful, it was just that the hope of being able to have a friendship after it made the grief more bearable. But none of you was able to forget what had happened to pretend to be friends and so, little by little, you stopped seeing each other. Over a year passed with neither of you discussing the silent breakup and, though you and he couldn't have known it, even your respective group of friends suffered a little from the pain of parting from a couple they'd swear would walk down the aisle.

That was why a part of you was guiltily glad that you could see him again and that things weren't at all awkward, like you always imagined they would be. It was your same Spencer, just a little teasing and with less hair, but other than that he had barely changed. He still had those kind eyes that once saw you as if you were the most beautiful person on earth.

You took advantage of the way home in your car to think about everything that was happening to you and for a moment you wondered if with Spencer's recovery all relationship with you would end up withering like a flower with the arrival of autumn or would be reborn as they do in spring. 

"I don't even know why we're playing, we both know you're always going to win" you complained, throwing your pathetic poker hand onto the bed sheet, as he laughed.

The hospital called you when Spencer was admitted to the general ward and you had stayed with him ever since. There was a television in the room, but you knew that he was not a big fan of technological entertainment, so before coming back you decided to take as many things as you needed so that you could kill time; a few books, a deck of cards, a book full of word scrambles and crossword puzzles you'd picked up at a newsstand on the way, and even a blank notebook that could do multiple jobs.

He would stay there for about a week (the doctor explained that it all depended on how fast he healed) and that morning you had gone to talk to your boss at the office to ask her for a couple of days so you could stay with him. You still had a week of vacation available and although he felt extremely guilty you insisted on staying there, after all no one from the BAU could leave their post for that long. In addition, urgent or essential things could be done from home and it was enough to connect for a couple of hours from your laptop to solve them.

Spencer hadn't told you, but he felt comfortable having company during his stay there. Hospitals weren’t his favorite places and having such a familiar presence comforted him.

"I'll let you win once if it makes you feel better"

"If you wanted me to feel better you should have done it without telling me, now I know you were just being silly" you huffed, shuffling the cards with both hands.

"It's all about math, it's really not that complicated"

“Why have you never thought about betting big in casinos? You're from Vegas, you must know a lot. And you could become a millionaire with it."

“It is illegal, in fact, and I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Pahrump because of my card-counting ability. So sorry to disappoint you, but those plans wouldn't work."

“A wasted talent. What a pity” you sighed, starting to hand out a new game.

While you were doing that, a nurse came into the room carrying a tray with food and your friend's eyes sparkled, because being fed intravenously for a day and a half hadn’t been very to his liking. When he put it down in front of you, you noticed that everything looked appetizing considering it was hospital food, and after thanking the man he took the dessert and spread it in your direction.

“You don't like Jell-o anymore?

"Yeah, but I know it's your favorite," he added, shrugging and starting to eat the main course voraciously.

"I'm not going to take advantage of a sick person"

“You aren’t taking advantage. I'm giving it to you" with a smile you put the dessert on the nightstand, ready to return it to him if he wanted it later, and as seeing him eat your own hunger woke you up, you told him you'd go out for a moment to look for something.

You were surprised that across the corridor, at the reception, there was a group of people that you recognized immediately. Morgan was the first to notice you and had to turn twice to make sure his brain wasn't playing tricks on him. Then he motioned to Garcia, who was holding a bouquet of flowers and a balloon, and she waved her hand in your direction with a huge smile.

“Are you really who I think you are?” he asked, once they approached you.

"It seems so" you laughed, under the watchful and surprised gaze of almost everyone present.

The team greeted you with hugs, seeming genuinely happy to see you around and asking about the status of your mutual friend. You related all the medical details of the accident, the care they had taken and in the same way you told them that you had been there throughout the entire process.

"And how is he now?"

“He is fine, just a little sore. But the worst is over, the doctor says he will recover soon”

"It's a relief that everything was quick, I don't even want to think about what would have happened if the doctors didn't arrive on time"

"Do you think we can stop by to see him?"

"He'll be delighted, I assure you" you answered happily "He's in room 501, I'll come back to you as soon as I find something to eat"

Everyone thanked you and set out to find the room, except for Aaron who stayed in the hallway so he could talk to you.

"How has everything been?"

"Okay, as far as that goes," you smiled, arms crossed over your chest, "How's Jack?"

"Growing up" was all he said and you didn't need more to know what he meant "I just wanted to tell you that the plan is to stay here for a few hours, in case you want to come home and rest"

Although you didn't often see him, Hotch had always been particularly nice to you when you were the boy's girlfriend, and he had also tried to cheer the man up when he found out about the breakup: he was especially fond of both you and him.

“Oh, thank you very much for that, Aaron. I was going to go get something to eat, but I don't have much of an appetite for fast or canned food, so I could probably eat at home and come back."

"Do what you have to do. We'll be here,” he assured you.

"You're not going to ask Spencer to go back to work, are you?"

"I won't ask him, I'll be lucky if I convince him not to do it" you giggled to see that Spencer was still the same stubborn person as always, and you thought about whether it would be correct to ask your ex-boyfriend's boss a personal question. You had always seen someone strong in him, of course, but he also had a gentle and understanding part.

"He told me that he's been fine, but… has he really been?"

You wanted to hear from someone else how he had been, because you knew that it was likely that the chestnut omitted the bad parts of the story just to not worry you.

"I don't know what can be considered ‘fine' in Reid's life. He has kept up his spirits and as far as I know his mother is doing well. He doesn't drink, he doesn't smoke, and even though I've insisted on it, he refuses to see a therapist, but I guess he finds another way to deal with the problems. There have been bad days, but he always gets over it” you felt calm when you heard that and you nodded with a smile.

“He is always like that. It makes me happy that he has you"

"Sometimes he's not that happy" he sighed, probably with some important background for those words "But in the end it's like in all families, right?"

"I think so" you smiled bitterly. He was watching you carefully, trying to read your micro-expressions as much as possible. After all he was a profiler, that was his job. "Then I'll go home quickly and come back as soon as possible, okay?"

“Good luck, drive carefully”

"It was nice to see you again, Hotch."

Spencer hardly even noticed your absence with the bustle of his friends in the room and when you came back you were even wearing other clothes. During their visit you were just a listener to the funny stories everyone seemed to have and from time to time you answered a few polite questions from others.

You talked to them about your plans to stay there daily and you agreed that they would take turns helping you for a couple of hours each, when possible, so you would get some rest as well. Also, most volunteered to replace the amount of blood he had needed in surgery. All the attention had the man a bit dizzy, but still he felt lucky for the people around him.

The days went by and sometimes you smuggled in a snack that wouldn't harm your friend's health so he could eat during the afternoon. You had convinced him to see one or another movie, you had brought some yarn and needles for you to resume knitting lessons that had been forgotten for many years, and in general you could say that you had a good time with him. Chats with Spencer always felt natural so topics of conversation weren't a problem either, as he would be able to recite facts to you from memory as long as you guys didn't get bored.

The doctors came in frequently to check that everything was in order and every time you heard positive responses about the recovery process you felt calm.

You'd come home at night because Spencer insisted on it, but the next morning you'd leave your apartment as early as possible and spend the rest of the day there.

Although you didn't want to admit it, you were more and more convinced that those days by his side became the spark of happiness that your life needed. All the time was only yours and served to recover some of the lost things.

“Do you want me to read aloud to you?” he offered an afternoon and you put aside your occupations to accept the offer. You had gotten him a copy of The Narrative of John Smith by Arthur Conan Doyle because you knew he loved that book and that was the one selected for the activity.

Contrary to what many people thought, he was a great speaker and the sound of his voice brought to the surface memories that you thought were lost.

"What are you reading?" you had asked that night, after brushing your teeth and putting on your pajamas. Spencer spent at least 10 minutes reading before going to sleep, enough for him to devour an entire book, or at least a large part of it.

You assumed that his current reading would be something related to a case, but you were surprised to hear the answer.

"Alice in Wonderland"

"Why are you reading Alice in Wonderland?" you asked helpfully, as you slid under the covers into the space next to him and peered over the side.

“My mom used to read it to me when I was a kid and I wanted to reread it. It's a nice story"

"I have never read it. I just watched the movie"

"You are committing a sin. The cinema will never do justice to the original stories.”

"And why don't you read to me a bit?" you asked nicely, followed by a short kiss on the lips "I like listening to you and maybe you will help me fall asleep"

You carefully slipped in until you were comfortably recharged on his chest and when you were ready he complied with your request, beginning with the story he knew by heart.

Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it…

It became a habit and sometimes you guys wouldn't even finish the books because you always picked another one that seemed interesting, even if it was in a different language because you knew Spencer would translate it for you. It was those kinds of actions that allowed him to feel useful around you and thus show you how much he loved you. 

You had already read that book once, as you were also an enthusiastic Doyle fan, so he felt free to choose one of his favorite chapters. You didn't lie down as comfortably as you used to, but you still enjoyed reading, with a big smile to return to that habit of yours that you loved so much.

In the midst of everything you reflected that, perhaps, the love between you was something that had not completely disappeared, but rather a latent feeling that had now found an opportunity to appear.

Loving meant many things and if you didn't love it then you wouldn't be there at that moment, but somehow repeating an exclusive activity from your time as a couple made you miss that greatly. Spencer hadn't read to anyone else because he knew that was just yours.

This time you didn't fall asleep when he finished the chapter, but you kept looking at him the whole time, afraid that it was just a ghost in your memory that would evaporate in your hands as soon as you dared to touch him.

Luckily he was very real and inside that small hospital room, you could travel to the past as many times as you wanted without being disturbed. And for now, that was enough for you two.

A whole week passed and everything seemed to be going great. That day Spencer had convinced you to watch a Korean movie he had on DVD and you were about to leave when he cleared his throat to get your attention.

"Before you go, do you think you could do me a favor?" he asked. He could move a little better now and right now his feet dangled to the side of the stretcher, from where he watched you slightly nervous. You didn’t imagine what this behavior was due to.

"Whatever, what do you need?"

"I didn't ask before because... I'm a little embarrassed, to be honest," Spencer wasn't watching you speak and your brow furrowed in obvious confusion at that "But... I asked the nurse if I could take a shower now and she said yes, but I need someone to help me"

Your mouth opened with a soft oh and then you understood why he seemed so shy about the request.

“You don't have to do it if you don't want to” he added “I know it can be awkward, I just don't know who else to ask and you know it bothers me so much being so dirty. I hadn't tried it before because it literally hurt to breathe, but now that I feel better I think I really need it and I would really appreciate it if you… you know."

"It’s okay, Spencer," you replied, taking a few steps toward him, "There's nothing in there that I haven't already seen.”

“I will wear underwear, I don't have to be completely naked. You would just have to help me wash… some parts”

“Then why are you making this fuss? Let's give you that shower!" you laughed, sitting down next to him so he put his arm around your shoulders and you could help him up.

He was still having a bit of trouble from the leg injury, but the bathroom wasn't that far away and you managed to guide him there. The shower was surrounded by a plastic curtain, with a proper chair for patients and a hose with a shower head at the end. You helped Spencer into the chair and while you recovered from the effort you took a look around; there were some toiletries on a shelf that would surely do for him, and a white towel as well.

“Morgan brought me some new clothes and the nurse said we could ask the store manager for a gown,” he muttered, before you started doing anything. You took off your shoes and left them nestled to one side, always feeling his gaze following you.

When you noticed that he didn't take his eyes off you and was just there, sitting, you spoke:

“Should I help you take off your gown or do you take it off yourself?” there was amusement in your words and Spencer, as if taken from a trance, hastened to find the knot of the garment for himself. He was already wearing his underpants below and it only took him to get rid of the material so that he was half naked.

You hadn't seen his wounds until that moment and you couldn't help but wrinkle your face imagining the pain he must have felt. His stitches were still there but they were already healing and he would have at least four scars, plus one twice the size on the leg opposite where he had taken a bullet; that added up to five marks adorning his body. He was never an athletic person, but since he wasn't a very keen eater either he was able to keep himself in shape. Personally, you had always been attracted to him in every possible way, so his physique was never something that bothered you: thin, muscular, with some paunch, you were going to like him no matter how he was.

“Are you going to help me or are you just going to stare at me?” he countered, looking down at you with that expression you knew was the boldest thing he could get, and you snorted a laugh.

"Shut up"

You stretched to reach the shower head to warm the water, not wanting him to catch a cold and knowing that a warm shower would make him feel better because it would relax his muscles. Once it was at the right temperature, you wet his hair a bit and took shampoo in your hands to wash his head. He gave a barely audible moan as you began to massage his scalp and closed his eyes so he could enjoy your touch. Once you were done there you took a sponge and started cleaning his shoulders, torso, and back, trying to be as careful as possible. Sometimes you even let your fingers slip through the side of the sponge to touch his slightly tanned skin, as smooth as it had always been, while you gazed at those moles you'd kissed so many times. The first time you had sex with him, as you watched him in the twilight after the act, you had tried to study every part you could, from the little freckles on his back to the birthmark on his leg, and right now you felt like crying to see those little things about him again.

You were enjoying treating him like this so much and not to mention Spencer, who felt like he was in heaven to feel you so close to him. He could smell your perfume, a little worn, but still present after the whole day and from time to time he dared to look up to meet your face. And every time he looked at you, he remembered why he thought you were the most beautiful woman of all.

"You didn't have to give me the whole shower, you know?" he joked at some point, when you lovingly washed his hands “I just wanted you to help me with the parts I couldn't reach. But honestly, I'm not complaining about this."

Of course the two of you had ever taken a shower together, but it had never been anything like this. They were always things to optimize time, like when you were short of time to go to work or too tired to shower separately. This act was something different, something more private and delicate; it was too domestic. You were taking care of him and at the same time enjoying seeing him in such a docile position, peeking at you from time to time.

"I'm just doing an old friend a favor" you answered with a smile, although when you heard the words out loud it immediately faded.

An old friend. Was that what you were now? 

The place was silent for a moment, with only the sound of water dripping on the white tile floor.

"Did you ever miss me?"

His question had taken you by surprise and you remained silent before answering, trying to figure out what relation the question had to the situation. From the way he'd said it, you almost thought it was one of those things that burned in his chest and he'd needed to exhale.

"Yes, sometimes" you finally answered. He seemed satisfied with the answer "And you?"

"Many times," he laughed, a bit of guilt tinging his words.

A part of you wondered what he was trying to tell you with that: was it a confession… or a declaration? Ending the relationship had been imminent, and if you hadn’t done it that day you could have done it months or even weeks later, however, you weren’t going to lie in saying that you weren’t tormented by the thought of what would have happened if you had tried just a little longer. And that was accompanied, of course, by a tremendous feeling of nostalgia. You wanted to correct your answer and tell him that you had actually missed him terribly, all along, but you couldn't bring yourself to. And he, who couldn't read your mind, thought that he had simply bothered you with an out-of-place comment. 

"You can rinse off while I get a new gown, what do you say?"

Spencer nodded at the idea and then you walked out of there, your cheeks feeling strangely hot. What was happening to you? Did you still have feelings for him?

Maybe the real question was, have you ever stopped feeling something for him? 

It didn't take you long to get what you needed and you came back to find it wrapped in the towel. After he got dressed, you maneuvered in the same way to help him out, although now with the added problem of the slippery floor, and before long he was lying back on the bed.

"I feel much better now" he smiled at you. From the bedroom window you could see the night sky and then you realized how long it took you to shower.

"Do you want me to do something else?"

Your curt response wasn't because he deserved it, but because you were too confused to stay there any longer.

“No, everything's fine. Thank you very much for this”

"You're welcome" you smiled.

"Well... I guess you'll want to go now”

You still knew Spencer too well to know that that slight frown between his brows was a sure sign of concern, and you felt bad for speaking to him in the way you had. To atone a bit for your guilt, you approached him and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning against his body in a hug.

His body still felt warm and comfortable and just as if it had been made to fit yours. His arms held you firmly when he was finally able to react and you felt his chest deflate a little, as if he wanted to give you more space to feel close.

Time passed so slowly that you didn't even know how long you stayed in that position, just enjoying the closeness and his gentle hands rubbing your back.

"I like how you smell" you exclaimed in a low voice, fearing to break the tranquility of the moment and you felt his chest vibrate with a laugh.

“Did you know that your sense of smell is directly linked to the attraction you feel for a person? Your nose captures the pheromones that the opposite body secretes and if it considers it a good candidate to mate then it is pleasant”

"I think it's just the shampoo," you laughed. You turned your head up a bit and Spencer, by inertia, turned down to meet your gaze. "Although I wouldn't need to sniff you to know if I wanted to mate with you”

The joke had been so natural that you didn't measure the weight of the words until they left your mouth, and the worst thing was that the position you were in hadn’t been the most appropriate. You could feel his breath mixing with yours and it was enough to get a little closer to melt your lips in a kiss.

You had put yourself in that situation, as if your body was unconsciously looking for his own, and Spencer hadn't refused at any time. Just like how no one had forced you to stay with him all this time and you still had.

Your boss had been too permissive with the situation during that time, but you were sure that she would no longer be so if more time passed, so you would have to return to the office the next morning. And Spencer had at most two more days before the doctor released him.

And what difference did it make if you kissed him at that moment? Would you ever get a chance to do that again? You didn't have to think about it too much, because he was the one who started closing the distance; an inch, then another, until you felt your lips brush against each other. And he would have kissed you if it hadn't been for the unwelcome ringing of a cell phone that made you jump away.

"It's... yours" you stammered, handing him the old artifact that announced Penélope García's contact calling him.

While he was having a conversation, you didn't even look at him, but started packing your things spread out around the room so you could get out of there as quickly as possible. You could tell by the rush in the man's words that he could read your intentions and wished he could talk to you before you left.

"Everything's good. Thanks for calling, Garcia. Yeah, I love you too. Bye”

"Look the hour! I have to go, I'll go back to work tomorrow and I want to have everything in order" you said as soon as he hung up the call, waving your hands in the air as you spoke as a sign of your nervousness "I'll try to come back tomorrow, but... I don't know if work let me"

“Okay, you've already done too much. I'm fine now,” he assured you, giving a thumbs up with a tight-lipped smile. Even though you wanted to say something the words didn't come out of your mouth, so you just raised your hand to say goodbye and then you rushed out of there.

All the way home your mind was busy processing the feelings that almost kiss had evoked in you and, to be honest, they all ended in the same thing: the wish that he had cut the distance completely. That desire followed you when you showered, when you went to sleep, when you woke up, and all through the workday the next day. Minute after minute your mind could only think about him and what would have happened if you hadn't been interrupted by that call.

As you had feared, you didn’t have time to visit him at night and since you didn’t find the courage to call him personally, you only asked the hospital to pass on the message. You intended to see him a day after that, figuring that the matter would have been forgotten, but your plans were thwarted when Spencer called you to say that they had just authorized his medical discharge. He sounded calm and, of course, happy, when he told you that an ambulance was going to take him to his apartment.

"That's wonderful" you answered honestly. You were sitting at your work desk sorting out some documents, so you held your phone between your ear and your shoulder.

“I just wanted to thank you for everything you did. For all. I… I don't know what he would have done without you here. And you didn't have to, but you still did it. So, thanks"

"I already told you before, you don't have to thank me for anything"

"But I'd still like to," he murmured firmly, "Would you let me buy you dinner sometime?"

You were silent for a second, honestly confused by what he was asking. I mean, you knew what he was inviting you to, but you didn't know why. 

"Dinner?"

“Well, it's the least I can do for you. I have to use crutches for a while again, so we couldn't go out to a fancy restaurant or anything. It would just be us in my apartment, do you still like Italian food? Rossi taught me a great recipe and I think I cook decent enough.”

“Ah… yes, I would love to” you stammered. You thought that after his recovery you would not speak again and things would return to how they were before; but apparently Spencer had other plans.

"How about Saturday?"

“Sounds perfect to me” you breathed out, still a bit surprised and quite nervous about the proposal you just received. Even if it was merely friendly, you were happy to know that he still wanted your company.

Perhaps you had been too hard on him and on yourself by not allowing things to just follow their natural flow, holding onto the misconception that you and Spencer Reid no longer had romantic feelings for each other.

"I'll meet you here then, do you still remember how to get there?"

“If you have the same address, then I still do it”

"Good. I was just calling to ask you that. I guess you're busy working."

"Only a little"

"Well, I'll let you do it. Thanks for accepting"

"Thank you for inviting me"

You guys were silent for a moment and you wondered if Spencer was smiling the same way you were.

"Bye," he said kindly and after saying goodbye you hung up.

You were left smiling like a fool at the idea that your first date in a long time would be with the only man who years ago had been capable of stealing your heart and after taking a few minutes to process it you went back to your work, but not before pointing with circle the date on your calendar, like a teenager in love.

When the day finally came you made sure to look for a nice outfit before your dinner with him, holding yourself back from looking too excited. You rarely wore dresses but, if your memory serves you, he really liked how you looked in them, so you made sure to look for one that would accentuate your figure and make you look more youthful. You carefully combed your hair, put on just a little makeup, and came on your way to buy a bottle of wine. You still remembered the information that he had told you about which wines were best suited for each meal and although you still didn’t know about dinner, you brought a bottle that it presumed to be Italian.

When you reached number 23 on the second floor, you knocked on the door and after hearing a couple of noises, he finally appeared in front of you.

"Hey!" he greeted you happily. He was using his old crutches, had shaved off the facial hair that had appeared during his hospital stay, and was wearing a black apron with white lettering, which Garcia had surely given him, and which read: Kiss the cook. Please I'm very lonely “Come in, come in” 

"How are you?" you asked, stepping into the apartment and greeting him with a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“I’m okay, dinner is almost ready. I had technical complications because I didn't consider that cooking with crutches is more difficult than doing it without them, so I just hope it tastes good" he complained, moving deftly through the apartment to the kitchen "Sit down, I'll join you in a moment"

When he got lost in the kitchen you took the opportunity to take a look at the place. He kept having piles of books both on the shelves and stacked on the floor, on his desk, next to the chair. There were a couple of new artworks on the green wall along with the ones you'd helped him choose in the past, and picture frames everywhere: him with his mom, several with his co-workers (old and new). and you were surprised to see that even you had a space. The frame was smaller than the others, maybe to make it more discreet, but it was carefully arranged on the shelf that, by chance, or perhaps not, contained many of the books that you had given him.

"Do you need help with something?" you half screamed, hearing the crash of some pots and he denied in the same way. The air smelled delicious and your stomach rumbled with anticipation. After a few minutes Spencer was with you, both sitting in the brown leather chair where you had spent so many afternoons together.

“You just have to wait for it to cool down a bit and we can have dinner”

"I brought a wine" you murmured as you handed him the bottle. He examined it and congratulated you on your choice, telling you that it would go perfectly with the pasta he had prepared. "Are you still taking any medication?"

"Not anymore. The doctor prescribed me some things for the pain, but… I'm not taking them” he said, with a guilty smile on his face “I like your dress, by the way”

Hearing this, a satisfied smile spread across your face and you modestly thanked him for the compliment.

As he said, dinner was ready in a few minutes and you accompanied him to the dining room to serve a couple of dishes. Spencer seemed to have put an effort into everything, as he looked really exquisite and you didn't hesitate to compliment him on it even before trying it on. Dinner remained pleasant, with a couple of laughs, jokes and a flirtatious look that sometimes you weren't even aware of. Now that he had gotten rid of the apron, you could see that he was wearing a purple button-down shirt that you had always liked on him, because it fit in all the right places to make him look gorgeous. Besides, that color had always favored him.

Once you were finished, you offered him a drink of wine and he agreed, listing the digestive benefits the drink had for you. He asked if you wanted to go into the living room to be more comfortable and then both of you walked to the rickety chair, taking the bottle with you. Within a very short time the liquid in it was almost completely finished and both he and you became gigglier.

Unfortunately for you, with the laughter that came, your self-control also left. Every time he spoke you couldn't help but let your gaze slide to his lips, a little to be able to correctly understand the words that came out of it and another little just to be able to appreciate the pink color they had; they still looked soft, and you wondered if they would feel soft. 

You didn't know Spencer was aware of the struggle you had inside of you, as he kept talking, laughing, and just looking so handsome while you fell apart. After a couple of minutes, you couldn't resist it anymore. Your body was vibrating with the desire to have him, maybe because of the alcohol in your blood or maybe because he looked strangely attractive when he rambled on about his PhD research.

“Spencer” you stopped him suddenly. He looked at you with a hint of concern for having overwhelmed or bored you with his talk about him and you thought he couldn't look cuter that way.

"What's wrong?" he started to say, but the question was drowned out by your lips trapping his.

You kissed him fast but deep and all the weight of guilt fell on your shoulders when you looked at his reaction; he kept not looking at any specific point and breathing heavily through his mouth, totally petrified by what you just did.

"Sorry, I don't know why I did that" you stammered. You regretted it just because you made him uncomfortable, not because you didn't want to kiss him “I messed it up, didn't I? Are you mad at me?" you wanted to know, panicked, but now it was your words that were cut off by a kiss.

He wasted no time and taking advantage of your shock one of his hands came up to hold your cheek, while he leaned more in your direction. His lips tasted of wine and nostalgia, they tasted of an overflowing love that you had finally agreed to continue feeling for each other.

He kissed you so hungrily that he was making you completely dizzy and you only separated when it was absolutely necessary to breathe, repeating kiss after kiss. He lowered his other hand to your waist to try to get you closer and you, reflexively, climbed onto his lap. It was then that you guys really looked at each other; wet lips, messy hair, hot pink painted cheeks and completely agitated breathing.

"Uh, I..."

"It was too much?" you said fearful. His hands had automatically gone up to your waist, since that position was already quite familiar to him, and yours were on his shoulders.

"No, no. I mean… only if this is okay with you”

You could have told him you were sorry, but that would be a lie. You loved being so close to him, you loved that you finally had your courage, and you loved that he cared about what you wanted. And you were going to tell him, that's for sure.

"I am telling you the truth?" you gasped, carefully holding his face to force him to look you straight in the eye. They were the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen: "Right now all I can think about is how much I need you"

No more words were needed for what happened next. You melted into a kiss again and when you pressed your hip against his, he sighed against your mouth, feeling his crotch suffer the consequences of the heated kisses you were giving him. For a moment he wanted to feel sorry, but he knew better than anyone that you already knew perfectly every inch of his body and from the smile he felt on his lips he suspected that you were enjoying the heat in that area more than you should. It was satisfying to see that you still had that kind of power over him, where you barely touched him and he was already a mess. But you couldn't speak more highly of yourself, because when his hands went to your hips you felt like putty between his fingers.

"You want to…?" he started to say, but your insistence on kissing him barely left him thinking "Do you want us to go to my room?"

Spencer was afraid he was going too fast and scaring you with it, but he couldn't find another way to interpret the result of what you were doing. He just wanted you to be as comfortable as possible.

"Yeah, I think so" you answered in a whisper.

You got up from your seat and took his hand intending to help him up, until the crutches next to the sofa reminded you of the man's physical condition. Spencer looked at the hesitation in your eyes, but he didn't give you time to back down, because in one quick movement he was on his feet and crossing to the door that led to his room, ignoring any kind of pain he might feel.

Once there, he sat on the bed and pulled you towards him to continue kissing you. None of you bothered to turn on the light to continue what you were doing. You thought the position might strain him so you gently and carefully pushed him back to lay him flat on the bed. This allowed him to better knead the soft meat on your thighs and you rewarded him with enthusiastic kisses on his neck.

You separated a little until you were sitting on his hip and then you undid the buttons of his shirt. You made sure to gently kiss the wounds he had made and Spencer just sighed with each touch of your lips. A little needy to kiss you, he also stretched out his hands to your dress, asking with his eyes for your consent to lower the zipper and get rid of it.

The dress was left tossed somewhere in the room and you leaned in just enough for him to smear kisses down your shoulders and across your chest. You could tell that he was taking his time and that only increased your desire to have him, to feel him inside you and make you his as he had done so many times.

  “Y/N” he whispered against your mouth and you just hummed a nod “Darling, can you help me take off my pants?”

The nickname had come so naturally from his lips and had sounded so delicious that you had to suppress a groan. He called you that all the time, he was a very vocal man and it wasn't uncommon to hear him say those kinds of things. Both in bed and out of it. 

You did exactly what he asked and you took the opportunity to slowly pass your hand over the bulge in his crotch, hearing him let out the first moan of the night.

“Hey, do you have a… uh, some protection?” you asked timidly. You loved him and trusted him, but a baby wasn’t what you needed; at least not at that time.

"In the usual drawer"

As if no time had passed, you rummaged with your hand in the left side of the second drawer in the nightstand, until you found what you were looking for. Sudden and unwarranted jealousy swept over you as you wondered if he had invited other women to spend the night and if those others could find things as naturally as you had. No one knew Spencer as you did, you were sure of it, because he wasn't a man who opened up easily to others. And no matter how many people had passed through your life, no one would understand you as much as he did. 

Once you put the condom on, you took the opportunity to pump it up and down with your hand and the man's whining made you realize that he had really missed you. Both of you were trembling with anticipation, so with one movement you discarded your missing items and climbed back into his lap. Still a little fearful you looked at him and even in the middle of the darkness you realized the loving eyes on you.

“If it hurts just tell me and I'll stop. I know you're still delicate and I don't want to hurt you.”

"You would never hurt me" he answered and although you wanted to believe that they were limited to his injuries from the accident, you knew that it wasn’t so.

Those words carried more weight than you thought. They were a vote of confidence that he gave you over your entire person, not only his physical condition, but also his feelings and desires.

When you became one you groaned in unison and took a moment to get used to each other again. Your movements became soft, constant, and deep and he, unable to do more, just enjoyed that feeling.

After a few minutes, things went beyond the physical plane you were on; you realized that no one, ever, could make you feel what he did. You felt complete, whole and loved. You loved to hear everything that came out of his mouth and respond with an even more obscene sound. You loved that he knew the right points to touch and when to do it, you loved that he looked for your kisses in the middle of the act and you loved that being with him everything became so passionate and intimate. At that moment it was just him and you, no one else. As it always should have been.

After a while both bodies were already covered by a fine layer of sweat and your hands, small compared to his, leaned on his biceps to be able to move better against him.

"I missed this so much" you confessed, your voice muffled by uncontrollable moans "I missed you so much, you don't know how much I did"

He wanted to answer you, but the truth was that for the first time he had run out of words. He could only feel your body pressed against his and your boobs bouncing with each thrust.

There were certain gestures, movements, and sounds that told Spencer when you were about to arrive, so when he heard your erratic breathing and sensed your hesitation, he placed both hands on your hips to help you keep up.

At some point you felt the knot in your belly forming and you just let yourself be guided by it, anxious to feel the ecstasy exploding in you. It was enough to feel your walls pressing against him, your loud moans and a couple more pushes for Spencer to reach his own orgasm, wishing that the hot liquid had filled you instead of the barrier that protected you.

Your body fell against his, completely surrendered, and you felt his chest rise and fall as you tried to catch your breath. One of his arms, still clad in his shirt, slid around your waist and his lips groped for your forehead to place a small kiss. You were exhausted, but at the same time overflowing with joy, and he shed a single tear. Maybe because he had had a good orgasm in a long time or maybe because of the overwhelming reality that you had just made love to him.

For a few minutes you stayed like that, so peaceful and calm that you feared falling asleep in his arms.

“Y/N” he whispered, your name slipping from his lips so softly you thought you misheard.

"Yeah?" you inquired in a whisper. You two had always liked to talk for a bit after the sex rush wore off, as a way to keep things romantic.

"Risking to ruin the moment, can I ask you something?" he murmured and you rearranged yourself to face him to watch him. He looked so handsome, with dilated pupils and a flushed face, that you thought you might take him again right then.

"Whatever you want," you replied, gently brushing back the hair that had stuck to his sweaty face. You were drunk with love, he could have asked you to lower the moon and you would have done it without hesitation.

"What did this mean to you?" he added cautiously. You knew better than anyone that Spencer needed a certain security in things as well as people. The question would come eventually, though you thought you would have more time to think of an answer that would suffice. “It's okay if you say you just felt like doing it or that it was something that happened in the moment, I understand. I just... I don't want to get the wrong idea."

“And what would that wrong idea be?” you asked curiously. Suddenly he had become shy and just avoided your gaze without knowing how to respond to that, but you took him by the chin to force him to pay attention to you "Spence?"

“I don't want to have any illusions about you. If you don't see something in the future with me, that's fine, but at least I'd like to know."

They were not aggressive or demanding accusations; they were just sincere words with which he sought to protect his heart.

"I honestly don't know what's going to happen to us," you replied. A disappointed expression came over his face and you took him by surprise when you reached up a bit to kiss him again, but this time reassuringly and gently "But today I realized that you are perfect for me, in all the senses. And that I can never love someone like I love you. Does that answer your question?"

“I guess I feel the same way” he replied, but this time he was smiling slightly “And I know that we should have ended a long time ago, but… if your heart agrees, I think I'd like to start over. We were both in a bad situation back then, but now things could be different."

And of course they were going to be, because a part of you was convinced. You loved him, you had admitted it, and you knew he felt the same way about you. That was enough.

"I guess you're right. As always, Dr. Reid” you laughed, hearing his melodious laughter as well.

"For once, that makes me happy" he confessed and almost a second after that you heard him let out a weak moan that made you aware that you were pressing your chest against his still-fresh scars.

But to be honest, any previous signs of pain had been dwarfed by the pleasure of your body grinding against his.

"Maybe I should move" you apologized, but when you tried to, he didn't let you, instead tightening his grip on his arm against you.

"Don't do it” he begged you "Stay here just a little while longer"

For him, you could stay your whole life if he asked you to. Now you were sure of that. He was sure of that.

And now that you two had it back, you weren't going to let it go.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14

[hunkledunk]

I'm seeing a number of people defending the use of a logitech controller being used in the Oceangate sub claiming it's totally normal for heavy machinery to be controlled by such devices and I feel the need to yell from the rooftops that, while it's faaaar from the worst factor at play here...

NO, IT IS NOT ACCEPTABLE TO USE A BUDGET THIRD PARTY VIDEOGAME CONTROLLER TO DRIVE A SUBMARINE

Listen. I hear you. You can use a commercial videogame controller for a lot of surprising things. They're ergonomic, incredibly easy to use, highly familiar to a massive portion of the population, very adaptable to pretty much any system you can slap a usb drive to, but do you know what they're not?

Reliable

They're made with cheap parts and are NOT built to last. I've had to replace dozens of videogame controllers for multiple different systems and for a variety of reasons. Compatibility issues, degrading input accuracy, unresponsiveness, all the way down to plain old wear and tear. Shit, I had to replace a dualshock 4 controller this month because holding directly up on the left analogue stick would have the input wavering 8~ degrees left or right.

I watch a castlevania speedrunner on twitch who uses the Logitech f310. It's an extremely similar model to the one used in the Oceangate sub. He talks about having to replace it every couple of months because they wear down so quickly. These are not devices made to steer one of the single most dangerous vehicles humans have ever created. Let me reiterate, even professional videogame players and speedrunners don't trust their controllers to last longer than half a year at best. Not that Mango is going to be using the sub to practice his tech skill but it says a lot about how temperamental these things can be.

The fact that it's got those little dongers on the analogue sticks for more precise movement should tell you everything, really. They recognise that the accuracy of that thing simply isn't good enough. It's not even a digital input modifier like hitbox controllers have, it's a cheap ass 3d printer looking plastic cone on a third party video game peripheral. It's not a budget issue either. If they needed more accurate fine controls the could've gotten a steering mechanisms with more accurate fine controls.

There's so much wrong with the Oceangate sub that it's a miracle anyone thought it was a good idea. There's no seats. You're bolted in with no way to open the sub from the inside. All the controls are digital with no mechanical backups. There's no distress call system. There's no black box equivalent. The one porthole isn't rated for depths even half as deep as they're going. Communication is demonstrably unreliable. All issues way more likely to cause a catastrophic incident. I would be surprised if the logitech controller specifically was the root cause of this one incident but don't let the truly comically bad engineering of the sub in almost every other sense trick you into thinking that it's acceptable for such an expensive and dangerous vehicle to be steered by a device many wouldn't trust to control mario with a consistent level of precision.

[cheriladycl01]

Sidewomen - Twitch Quartet x Youtuber/Streamer! Reader

Plot: Y/N started a youtube group with 5 friends from school, and they all got famous. They had one video with the Sidemen, which led to them jokingly being called the Sidewomen. What happens when she comes onto one of the F1 boys stream.

Back when you were younger you and your friends would make funny videos, it was a group of 5 of you. You guys always joked about how you were the off brand spice girls, all having majorly different looks and personalities but somehow made it work.

As you guys got older, and content wasn't just silly kid like videos your subscribers grew, as did your names in the community. You ended up getting lots of attention and ended up making a video with the Sidemen. It was one of their $200 dollar v $20,000 dollar holidays. Josh and one of your girls, y/f/n, were the people out of the challenge and prepared it for you.

On one team, it was you, y/bf/n, Tobi, Simon and Harry and on the other team it was your your other two friends with JJ, Ethan and Vik all on the other team.

You guys lucked out in the video and ended up getting the $20,000 holiday being sent to The Sands Hotel in Barbados. You guys spent the week there doing watersports, art, sightseeing and relaxing. After this video, people jokingly started referring to you as the Sidewomen. You guys did similar challenge videos on the joint account you all had, but on your individual accounts you all had different passions.

One of you big ones was gaming, as well as travel. One year in 2019, you'd done a Budget Travel with me around the world. Where you'd followed the F1 Grand Prix around the world, attending each race with the cheapest ticket you could get, and the cheapest flights and standard accommodation. You camped at Silverstone, which was difficult considering you had at this point 10 million subscribers and people had noticed you.

This got you a lot of traction and in Abu Dhabi the last race of the season you were given a paddock pass upgrade. You filmed around and showed what was offered at the different hospitalities and you met some of the pit crew, but out of respect you didn't haggle any of the drivers.

They noticed this. Of course they did.

There was a buzz when you'd come into the paddock. One majorly different from when different celebrities came in. You knew the sport and you knew the sport on a technical level. If you wanted to in a different life you'd be a commentator or an engineer.

The drivers were shocked that every time they saw you to try and say hello, you were busy talking to a mechanic from Aston Martin, or a Social Media Member from Red Bull, or the coffee girl in Ferrari hospitality... you were seemingly walking around and talking to everyone but the drivers.

Once the pandemic hit, in early 2020 and it was said that the Australian GP had been cancelled and the rest of the season seemingly had as well.

But this was fantastic for content creators, you were now pretty much what everyone was watching. So when you saw Lando, George, Alex and Charles all streaming on twitch sim racing against each other you took the opportunity to be a menace.

You subbed to each of them, tier 3 of course before gifting out a load of subs.

"Thank you so much y/t/h (your twitch handle) for the 50 gifted subs, that's insane" Charles said seeing the notification pop up. Everyone in chat started to go wild, realizing it was you.

"Thanks for the 50 gifted y/t/h, really appreciate it!" George had said before proceeding to crash into a wall and look at the camera in defeat before reversing his car and driving towards the pit lane.

"Ah thank you, how do you say that name... y/t/h? Thank you for the 50 gifted, I'm still new to this so I'm sorry if there was a message with that and it didn't pop up for whatever reason, mods ... let me know" he says, as sweet as ever making your heart warm.

"y/t/h ... what the hell is up!" Lando exclaims being the only one to actually recognize your twitch name and know who you were.

"Lando who are you talking too?" George asks hearing the boy not muted.

"Wait you guys know Y/N Y/L/N right?" Lando asks having made you a VIP in his chat so he could see your messages easier and seen that all of them didn't have the realization that it was you.

"Yeah, her videos have saved me in quarantine!" Alex exclaimed remembering that him and his girlfriend Lily often binge watched her videos, calling her their shared wife as a joke.

"Oh, yes she's the one that did the 'Not a rich man's sport series' right? Where she did every single GP but on an minimum wage workers affordable budget to show you can still do it! I love that series!" Charles exclaimed.

"Dude, who doesn't know Y/N, I grew up watching her because she was only like 3 years younger than me and she was incredibly relatable. I watch her whole groups videos" Alex admits before Lando bursts out laughing.

"Okay, so how haven't you realized she's in your guy's chat and is gifting subs to you!" Lando laughs, he starts DMing you on Instagram asking for you discord.

"SHE'S WHAT" Charles exclaims, before looking over into chat to see them spamming your name.

"No way" George says quietly.

"OMG Lily! Come here, our wife is in my twitch chat" Alex shouts out before everyone goes quite.

"Huh?" Lando asks with a little bit of a choke.

"Lily and I agreed we can have one genuine celebrity crush, but its gotta be mutual and its Y/N so she's our shared wife now" he explains making the rest of them all laugh.

"Hello everyone!" you say as you joined the discord call before all hell breaks loose.

"I cant believe this right now" George mutters to himself, Alex was yelling to trying to get Lily to come join him and to come on camera to say hi to you.

You launched up your own stream so the boys could also say hello to you properly.

"Hey stream! What's going on, yes you guys will be meeting some very cool people today. We have Williams Racing Driver George Russell, Red Bull Racing Driver Alexander Albon, Ferrari Racing Driver Charles Leclerc and lastly Mclaren Racing Driver Lando Norris joining us today" you introduce before they all say hello on discord. Your chat was half and half, either spamming that you were streaming with the zoom zoom car men, and the other half asking who the hell these people were.

"Holy shit, there's 30k people watching us online right now" Lando says looking at your view count going up.

"So, Lando suggested that you guys interview me, or like give me a quick fire quiz about 2019 considering i was there for all races!"

"Ohhh okay sounds interesting! I'm first!" Alex offers and you smile at the camera.

"Where was my first race with Red Bull?" Alex asks and you smile.

"Spa right?"

"Ding Ding" Lando shouts loudly making you flinch and laugh at the sound.

"Okay my turn! How many podiums did i have in 2019, and where were they" Charles asks.

"Oh come on, he wins in Spa, he wins in Monza ... you had two" you recite the quote of the year to him and see a big cheesy grin on his face.

"My turn how many points did i get in my rookie season of 2019" George asks and you sigh.

"Such potential there George but unfortunately you came out with 0 points!" you shake your head sadly.

"Okay me next hmmmm, my rookie season was wasn't great either... I don't know what to ask. Oooo what was my highest position?" he asks and you look stumped for a second.

"P6?" you ask more than answer him.

"Actually fella's i may have to check that myself" Lando pauses not quite sure.

"Why on earth would you ask a question you don't know the answer too..." you exclaim in outrage, looking to the camera with a 'wtf' look.

"Look, last year was ... well I don't even know how to describe last year!" Lando exclaims before he cheers.

"You were right it was in fact P6 i got that in Bahrain and Austria" he explains.

"Look, even though i had a weird and wacky year from staying in a hostel in Belgium to a Love Hotel in Japan ... I remembered everything from that year!" you say backing yourself up.

"Okay back to me, where was my highest place drive in Torro Rosso?" Alex asks.

"Oh fuck, in Torro Rosso, mmmmmm. Oh my gosh my mind has gone blank for any races higher than P8 for you. P8?" you ask sheepishly knowing its not but its the only race you could think off.

"Nope it was P6 in Germany!" he laughs and you sigh with an 'oh damn it' and a light smack on your desk.

"Fuck"

"Okay me me! Who did i race for before i moved to Ferrari?" Charles questions and you role your eyes before looking over to chat who are spamming Tifosi.

"Alfa Romeo Sauber and lets be for real you slayed that rookie season pookie" you say, and everyone laughs.

"God what is this pandemic turning us into... slay ... what even is that?" Lando ask like one of those old middle aged mums who squint when you show her something on your phone.

"SLAYYYYY" you scream and chat start to spam the emote you made for it.

"Okay, well what was my lowest race finish?" George asks.

"Erm including DNF'S?" you ask and see him shake his head before saying no on his stream.

"P19, you avoiding that 20 like I avoid my ex-man boi" you chide making everyone laugh.

"France is not you friend" you admit, looking up to double check you were right, showing chat George's statistics from the 2019 races.

"Okay, and me what is the name of the new esports gaming org that I am going to launch soon"

"Quadrant, which chat... he wants me to leave to leave fnatic for them. Chat what do i do?" you ask and chat spams you with yes or no's and its funny to see the split and the argument. Twitter would have a field day over this later.

"Oh god Y/N why do you have to create chaos everywhere you go!" Alex laughs before he makes a weird noise.

You change tabs to check his screen, and see Lily. You gasp loudly making sure everyone can hear.

"What?" George asks.

"Alex who is that beautiful woman on your screen and is she single" you ask, knowing full well its Lily his girlfriend since last year. You'd seen their posts on instagram.

"No way, she didn't just say that. Your lying" you hear Lily mumble before looking unsurely at the camera and chat to see if they would tell her it was all a joke.

"Y/N this is Lily, she's my ..."

"Yeah i don't care about that lemme talk to her, cos she's gorgeous" you say and Alex hands Lily the headphones.

"Hey darling" you try and say in a seductive voice and you see Lily fold on stream, banging the desk lightly and biting her lip.

"Your hand in marriage please Y/N?" she asks and you nod enthusiastically to chat.

"Lily, we spoke about this... she's are shared wife" Alex admits making you stifle a laugh before returning serious.

"Alex, get away. You aren't involved here!" you say before everyone laughs, joking how they feel like they are interrupting your's and Lily's first date.

Afterwards you spent a lot of time streaming with them, you couldn't travel as much as you used to for your YouTube channel so you ventured out of your usual stuff, going as far as to start a podcast and join a gaming org.

It was even sadder, not streaming with Charles, George and Alex anymore. Sometimes Lando continued to stream, but after the pandemic you didn't get to see that silly and chilled out side of them as much.

You'd gained... and managed to save a lot of money in the pandemic. So come the 2022 season, you were offered a 'small' and 'unprofessional' job by Formula One, you were basically your own social media for them. You were given a paddock pass to every race, you were given podcast privileges with pretty much whoever you wanted and they paid you all to give them more traction.

You created the opposite of your first video where you went on the best flights and the snazziest hotels, even going on Max's private jet for one event.

Everyone loved it, and you still did your normal videos on the side, like day in the life, and those aesthetic travel videos that everyone secretly loves, lifestyle and beauty videos etc.

Apart from the fact that the pandemic was awful and harmed many and really created a rift between some of you friendships and family and had, at one point got you nervous about your income, had actually paid of and turned out to have one of the best outcomes for your future in content creation.

A/N: My heart really goes out to anyone and their families who were affected by the pandemic, it was an insane time for all of us and is shocking that it genuinely happened in our life time. But it taught everyone so much, and we all learned a lot while this was occuring!

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, smut, NSFW, sex & intimacy, praise kink, brief thoughts of exhibitionism, p-in-v, fingering, hand job, some sub/dom dynamics, sub!Simon for a bit, soft!Simon, property damage, bike crashes (wear helmets everyone), violence, past toxic relationship, sabotage, attempted murder, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your fingers tighten around Simon’s waist, the helmet you’d been given pressed into his shoulder as the both of you slice through wind—an engine roaring below you from the Honda Rebel 500. The fit was a tight one, Simon not having a proper second seat beside the passenger kit he’d been quick to install not a few hours before when you’d hesitantly asked for a ride into a neighboring town. Your body was directly above the back tire, and Simon had been firm in his words when he’d been adjusting the back suspension in the bustling shop.

“You’re not lettin’ go until we get there, copy? I feel your grip loosen, I’m pulling over.”

You had begrudgingly agreed, needing the high-quality art supplies a twenty-minute drive away. The stores here didn’t have what you needed, and, not owning a car as this town was entirely walkable if need be, this was your only option. 

Once you’d gotten on that bike though, Simon hadn’t needed to reiterate himself about holding on—you did that all on your own. Yet, that wasn’t to say you weren’t enjoying this.

Lips peeled back into a smile, your eyes stare out across the unfolding hills and mountains in the distance; fields of verdant grasses and trees. The vibrations of the Rebel left your head jittering, but this view was the clearest you’d ever seen. 

Chuckling, the driver under your rib-cranking hold blinked at the nearly missed sound, only able to tell from the movement of your chest at his spine. Simon’s sunglasses glinted over the thin sliver of flesh that would otherwise be the only piece of his face visible, and his fingers twitched as he stared ahead at the open road. The man had given you his leather jacket, taking a spare of black coloring like an all-dark cat, his boots and pants matching the theme that carries over. 

You shout above the whipping of the airways. 

“This is amazing!” Simon puffs a laugh at that, though his heart patters ever faster like a dog at the turn of a key. He doesn’t answer, even if his lips itch into a smirk to tell you he’s appreciating the spinal re-adjustment you’re giving him. 

Your laugh echoes out through the scenery, and your heart has never been more full. 

It had been a decent amount of time since Simon and the others had come into town—three weeks since you’d been hired on your off days to go and paint the mechanic’s shop. A base coat had already been applied, then the secondary and the final with the help of a very animated Soap saying that no one could get to the tops of the walls better. Gaz had seen him hit himself with the soggy paint roller not five minutes later after trying to flip it, and that had been the end of the interference on your work.

All that was left was to start the mural.

There hadn’t been a peep from Graham or his goons—they’d even left you alone on your walks back home. As much as you wanted to be elated about it, there was a brief stint of paranoia in the days that had followed the party. Graham Whitaker was a coward, but he didn’t…let things go. 

But holding onto Simon Riley as he pulled into the nearby town made that sharpness at the back of your mind flee in an instant. The mountains and fields dissipate to tiny houses and long stretches of connected businesses—sun-washed bricks surround you as Simon shifts the tires to dodge potholes. 

His head moves slightly to the side, and you hear the call through your borrowed helmet. 

“Where am I headed?”

“East side!” You rest the bottom of the helmet on his shoulder, seeing a sliver of his October browns through his sunglasses as he rips his eyes back to the road. “Look for the rose bushes!” 

“Makin’ me go deaf,” Simon mutters to himself, but he does as you instruct. Parking in the street outside of the art shop, he moves out the kickstand with one foot—the other resting on the ground so you don’t tip. He gives you a look over his shoulder to get off first as the engine cuts and the jungle of keys comes to silence inside of his pocket.

Giggling, you let go of his hard waist and step out to the concrete of the sidewalk, turning around and fixing the strap of your carry bag with a hidden grin. 

“I think I just found a new form of transportation.”

“Then you can forget about it,” Simon smirks, taking off his sunglasses and sticking them to the neck of his compression shirt. “Helmet, Sunshine.” He reminds, looking around for a moment. 

You slap your hands to the side of the item around your head as you continue to giggle like a child, elated and feeling the throws of wanderlust—you’d never felt so alive than when watching the world pass by at your sides. How quickly you can form a routine of boring days, one after the other. You felt…light again. 

A finger grabs at the visor, flicking it up as your crinkled eyes come into view for the gruff man and his raised brow. 

“You drunk?” Simon stares, tilting his head as he looms closer, studying you up and down. 

“No, Brown-Eyes,” you roll your eyes teasingly, waving his hand away as you unclip and pop the helmet off before it’s leveled back to him. He takes it and holds it loosely in one grip, blinking at you slowly. “I’m excited. Can I not be excited, then, huh? Not happy seeing me enjoy your company?” 

“Let's get this over with, yeah?” Simon shakes his head but his amusement is heard, slipping past as you eagerly follow after, expression airy. 

You hum, leaning into him and smirking. 

“C’mon Simon, you’re completely taken with me—I can see it.” There was no question that the two of you had become close. There was rarely a night when he didn’t come to visit you at the bar; had even taken up walking you back home too, though there was little need to. Simon had said it was because he had nothing else to do, but you doubted it. Since the shop had opened, there had been no shortage of work.

The man grunts as he opens the door for you with a shoulder, sending you a blank eye. “Taken aback.”

“Fucking jerk,” you grin at him as you slip inside, face loose with banter. Simon chuckles lowly and follows, standing behind you as his boots clop to polished tile floors. 

This place was exactly how you remembered it—holding an old feel with the beams in the ceiling and the raw brick walls. There are tables with paints and brushes, all neat and orderly with unique looks and designs to them, even the wall has shelves of old wood holding hidden nicknacks and unique wonders. 

Simon gazes around with a glint of interest in his eye, understanding now that the painting was better off in your hands. He has to wonder how you managed to find a place like this. 

“Over here,” you say. Walking to the very back, your hands are already reaching for the quality brushes you’d need for the mural. Simon’s hands slip into his pockets, stance casual in a way he’d thought he’d lost a long time ago. 

It was no secret that Simon trusted very few people. It wasn’t just because of his past military experience, it was his life in general—each turn led to something that could go wrong like a gun in the hands of a criminal. But you had been nearly sly in the way you’d grown on him. 

The quick-witted comments, the way you spoke and carried yourself; your light and unapologetic attitude. He was ashamed to admit how many times he’d stared at the bar from his shop’s garage—under the body of some car with grease up to his elbows, legs dangling as his back was on top of the creeper. Brown eyes that can pinpoint your form before his mind blanks and sweat pools at his collarbone. 

It was something that Simon was afraid to name.

“Bloody expensive,” the man mutters in the present, fingers pushing at the price tag of some paints nearby. “You sure you need this shit?” 

“It’s not shit, Riley,” you scoff, grabbing two large brushes and three smaller ones from wall buckets, pointing one at him. “But I have to agree on the expensive part. You should see how much I would spend when I was really into art. You’d puke your blackened guts up.”

Simon hums, giving you his attention as you peer at a table of rich paints in smaller cans a few feet away.

“Why’d you stop?” He asks, the soft tinkling of piano music coming from somewhere in the back. 

You pause, your back turned to him as you look at the label of a small aluminum container of enamel paint for vehicle detailing. Licking your lips, you clear your throat and ease out a nonchalant, “Graham,” and end the conversation there with less blood spilled. 

Your Ex had almost sucked all of the individuality from you—you’d barely made it out as you are. 

Simon’s eyes darken, clenching his jaw after a moment as looks away. It's only when you put back down the enamel paint can that he speaks again. 

“He wasn’t worth your time,” he eases out, giving firm advice like orders. As if he wants you to believe what he’s saying to the fullest degree. “You know that?”

You snort, turning back around. “Yeah, I know it. Why do you think I threw the guy out? He ran through women like a damn kid with a stack of new playing cards.” 

Simon blinks from over his mask as you walk to the counter, putting down your brushes and adding in a few containers of nice pigment. As your fingers ding the bell up front, your free hand digs for your wallet. 

Before you can pull out the wads of cash that you’d need to pay, smelling of booze and all, a credit card hits the table. You stare at it in silence for a moment. 

“Simon?”

“You’re putting it on my wall,” he rolls his shoulders to dispel tension from the previous conversion as the employee comes out from the back. “M’not going to make you pay for the tools to get the job done. Not a fuckin’ heartless bastard.” 

“Heartless? No,” you tease, though your face burns and crashes with a fiery inferno of adoration. Inside of you, your stomach flips and your throat tightens. Oh, it was coming on bad, wasn't it? “A bastard…?”

“Shut it,” Simon glares from the corner of his eye as you raise your hands innocently. 

“Alright, alright. A very handsome and generous bastard, better?” You hear a hum, a huff of breath. 

“Getting there.” 

The ride back was much the same, but it still filled you with awe. Your hands were looser now, even with the added weight from your filled bag, but that didn’t mean you weren’t aware of Simon’s presence. Once more your helmeted head was set at his shoulder blade, resting as your lungs pulled in fresh air even if it was a bit heated from the barrier. Simon had pushed the thing back onto your head the minute your leg was about to straddle the bike, firmly grabbing your chin and tilting your face forward as he shoved it on.

“Safety first, Sweetheart.” You had sworn you nearly went weak-kneed at that. 

But the sturdy presence before you made a very comfortable headrest even if the longer ride was beginning to make your legs ache and give you a migraine from the noise. 

Your hand was flat to the man’s covered flesh, the oversized jacket around your frame, and in that moment you discovered that you were almost entirely submerged in Simon Riley until it became impossible to remember who you’d been before him. You were drowned in his scent—his presence an ever-present weight of purpose and prospect. 

Blinking over the view and feeling Simon’s pulse under your fingertips, you realize with a start that Graham had never made your stomach fill with butterflies over a simple word; never made you pause or have to re-think your thoughts because you’d entirely lost them when he entered a room. 

With so much going on, and at the same time so little happening…what exactly were you supposed to make of it? There was no question you liked Simon—there was no question he liked you, either. It was obvious by the looks Price would give the two of you when you came by with lunch for them all; free drinks. 

How the both of you would sit and talk, exchanging stories while Simon showed you the adjustments he had made to his bike. The issue was that you and Brown-Eyes were stubborn. Pigheaded.

Emotionally constipated.

Your eyes drag along the view, but they always shift back to the body that’s stuck in your grip; how his heat moved through his clothes, warming your wind-beaten hands. You’re right there at his back, hanging off him and you feel…good.

There just had to be something to make one of you snap.

Entering the garage, Simon once more parks his bike and lets you get off first, and you unclip your helmet and slip the object from your head with a puff of air. 

“Thank you, Simon,” you breathe, watching him stand. “Drinks on me tonight, okay?” 

“No need for that,” his brows pull in, confused. “If I didn’t want to, I would have told you.” 

Your hands pass the helmet, which he takes as your fingers brush one another's lightly. You repress a sharp inhale, scoffing playfully at him as your eyes soften.

“I’m not going to leave without saying thank you and you taking it, Brown-Eyes.” 

“Well, then I just took it, Sunshine.” Simon motions his head outside. “Now get going ‘fore I come to my senses.” 

Laughing, you shrug and take your leave, all of your items safe in your bag for a time when you could use them next. 

“I’m already gone,” you breathe, and a soft brown gaze sticks to your form as you cross the street and slip inside to clock in. 

A truck parked down the street has its window glinting in the sunlight. It seems to agree.

—

Simon tipped back the last of his bourbon and sighed, putting it down on the bar top as you polished glasses. 

“Anything happen today?” He asks you as you put the sparking material to the light, tipping it to try and find smudges before it passes your acute inspection. 

“Nothing interesting,” you respond, humming. “Had to kick a few guys out, but it was nothing big.” 

Simon’s interest makes his eyes shift to you like a wave, head tilting to stare as the warm light cascades over your figure. He waits for you to continue, but when you don’t, he prods with a slightly concerned undertone.

“Why?” Your lips twitch as you turn to look at him, exasperated. 

“Put a cork in it, Big Guy, it was just a few who had too much to drink—I cut them off and sent ‘em home.”

Simon grunts, “That’s a girl.” 

You ignore the way your heart jumps to your throat and the tingling of your arms. “Anything with you?” Your voice is higher than it should be. “Beat off any bartenders from your property?”

“Can only think ‘o one,” he speaks slowly, his voice wafting about as the both of you were the only people here. Your chuckle makes his heart constrict in on itself.

“Oh,” you tease, face pulling in with mock confusion. Your body moves closer as it leans into the wood. Simon’s lips twitch from where they're visible, the fabric of his balaclava pulled over his nose. “Tell me about her.”

“Yeah?” He speaks in a low murmur, eyes half-lidded in that dead-and-buried kind of way—only he could pull that off and still look so handsome. You had said once that he felt like danger, and you suppose that had to be true. Simon Riley was danger, and you had taken those snake fangs and put them directly in between the cross-hairs of your neck and your pulse, waiting, wanting for that fatal strike. 

You had bet that the sting of those fangs might just be the best pain you’d ever felt.

Simon Riley was unabashed freedom.

 “She likes to think that she’s the bloody boss o’ me,” Simon grunts, scars, and tattoos on full display; there’s blackened grease on his fingers, under his nails. You listen with bated breath. “Comes ‘round all the time now, hangs like she’s under a noose. I can’t figure her out. Not for the fuckin’ life of me.”

Simon doesn't know what he’s saying, but he can’t quite help himself when you’re looking at him like that. Your eyes going wider, your usually snappy and quick tongue silent as you take his words in like law. It was addictive to see you gobsmacked—the man has to stop himself from thanking Graham Whitaker for being such a fucking fool even if the thought of ever being near that man again made him want to clench his fists.

“And?” You push, trying to force your mouth into a playful smirk, but anyone can see it for what it is. Your faked emotion falls short, leaving behind only that which Simon can claim to be the sole owner of. 

Astonishment. Admiration down to its base form—a woman gazing at something that should not be, and yet is here among the ashes and ruins of broken earth and open roads. A sliver of sky between the rain clouds.

“And?” Simon mirrors, that numb mock. 

The both of you are closer now, puffs of air hitting the other. Everything in this bar became a backdrop, shifting colors and images like some dream. The dart in the ceiling was nothing to you—the tables that needed to be buffed, the bottles restocked; even the trash that you usually took out at this time was only a shape in the corner of your vision. It all blurred around him, and while you spoke again, Simon understood that he had left the city for something new; something that he could revel in and worship like he had his guns and his duty. 

Your sentence is whispered. 

“Why did you come here?” To this town? There was no answer for that. It was picked at random—even Price knew that. It was nothing special, not even to the bugs. But here…

Simon parts his lips and utters on the lightning of the air particles, all rushing past as if he was still on his motorcycle with you—your hands around his waist and your nails digging into his flesh.

“For a bartender that keeps making my damn head spin.” 

For a long minute, there’s nothing that happens. The AC whirs and the lights outside flicker over the stretch of the empty street. In your chest, your heart hammers with the strength of the Titans. A mechanic, a veteran; a man with broken, October eyes. 

How could he be the one thing you were looking for? 

Your eyes stay locked, those shredded flecks of color holding secrets that you want to know instantly—you want to learn his tattoos and the way he thinks, know Simon's dreams and aspirations. To you, that was better than any physical destination or journey because it was one in and of itself. 

Simon was an enigma. 

“Keep talking,” you mutter, lips so close now that they brush the man’s own. He doesn’t blink as he watches you, his lungs unsteady in his chest as he takes down a deep breath. 

“Why’s that, Sunshine?” His voice is raspy, and his accent makes you shiver. 

Simon’s tongue comes out to lick at the corner of his mouth, sneaking back in as your gaze flickers down to watch pupils blown. “Because I like it when you speak to me like that,” you have to admit, a whine trapped in your throat that you won’t let out.

There’s a low chuckle that makes your legs close together, moving like honey through your veins. 

“Can do more than talk.”

This is a game—a test—can either of you go this far? Is it more than lust, is it more than some strange attraction between two people who don’t belong here? A relationship of need rather than want?

You don’t care enough to test it, because if there’s one thing that this town taught you, it's that you don’t need to worry about the future so long as there’s something promising right in front of you. 

And Simon Riley was as promising of a man as you had ever met.

Your lips meet his, and his hand is eager to snap to the back of your skull, pushing you into him as your eyes pull shut and the edge of the counter digs into your guts. Air is exhaled from your nose, mouth heavy, and skin hot as it digs and molds to the rough scrape of Simon’s stubble. His fingers pulse into your scalp, waves of something sawing you open as he stands quickly from his stool and pulls away only to push right back in. 

Your hands move into fists on the counter, stuck in this dance of wet lips and shaky legs. 

Simon groans into your mouth, shifting his head as a purr emanates from his chest and makes you respond with a silent gasp that he takes advantage of. A tongue slips to run over your own as the lights glint outside, pushing itself in before retreating just as swiftly before teeth nip at your swollen bottom lip. Your eyes snap open, locking with deep wells of brown that seem more endless than the depths of space. 

You both breathe heavily, the bar silent to the two souls that seep into one another. Not once do either of you look away from one another. 

The man seems hesitant, and before he speaks, the rasp in his voice is felt as he blinks. 

“These parts in me have been shuttin’ down, Sunshine.” Your brows slightly pinch in for a moment, confused at this turn in tone—cocky had gone to still-stone as if Simon had laid eyes on Medusa herself. 

But you know what he means. You’d seen it in his stature and how he spoke to others; you knew nothing much of his past beyond a handful of stories from his service and none of them had been pretty. And of his childhood, you knew nothing. 

You know it can’t have been good. 

Your head softly tilts, a small, delicate smile forming the words of some long-lost deity.

“I’m sure you have the tools to fix them, Simon.”

He blinks at you, fingers still stuck to your head. “Don’t know if I remember how to use ‘em.” 

Simon’s giving you a way out of this if you want to take it; you know that he thinks you should. 

“...Then you’ll just have to teach me, won’t you?” You whisper, stubborn as always. “I told you I was good at keeping secrets, right?” He hums, eyes the most open and soft you’d ever seen them as he melts—forehead connecting to yours as your smile grows wider, truer. “Then I’ll keep yours closest, Brown-Eyes.” 

You both kiss once more, more delicate as the man takes a deep breath of you. Your smirk pulls along his flesh like a brand as he holds in a quiver. 

“What’s a bartender without a bottle of Bourbon on her shelf?” He growls into you, and not wasting a moment rips his lips from yours and wipes at his face with the back of his arm. 

“Such a mouth,” he mutters, moving as you stand there to push open the half-door to let him get to you. You stand waiting, pulse wild and lips tingling. “Cameras?”

Your head shakes without you knowing it, and a finger is hooked under your chin, maneuvering it as he sees fit. Another grabs onto your hip, kneading it slowly as you melt into him. Your hands grasp into the back of his belt and his eyes spark—hips canting instinctually.

There’s a hard prod at your inner thigh. 

“Only one at the door.” You set your chin to his chest, gazing up. “Back room?”

“Won't have you on the floor,” Simon says bluntly, unphased. Your core pounds, stomach tightens as you have a sudden need to get rid of your pants and touch yourself as dampness pools through your underwear. 

“Such a gentleman,” you’re breathless, voice airy. “Guess I’ll have to be on top.” 

Simon’s breath gets caught as you slip past him, sauntering to the back door and pushing it open as you slip inside. You had already started fumbling with the zipped on your pants as the man pushed on the barrier just before it could close, coming in and letting it slam behind him as the click of a lock could be heard. 

With your shoes off, you can feel Simon’s eyes burning into you as your fingers send the zipper down your navel, the sound of the metal teeth being separated from one another a call to action. When your thumbs hook the top, ready to send the fabric down, you let the man watch before your eyes shift back up to lock together. 

Simon’s gaze was intense—unblinking and unmoving beyond the slam of his heart and the pulse of the erection in his pants, begging to be palmed as you stood only feet away. The man’s hands clenched, knuckles going white. 

While holding eye contact, you let the pants—and your panties—drop to the ground with a whoosh of fabric. Simon tenses, but doesn’t look away.

You smirk, taking a few steps forward.

“I’m surprised.” Your hand captures his waist, one moving to stroke along the prominent v-line that’s hidden by his shirt. Simon’s heavy breath meets your head as his blown pupils make his eyes look black entirely. He’s almost in a trance. “Usually I’d be having to snap my fingers.” 

“Better than that,” he grits out raggedly. You have to agree. 

Your mouth finds his neck as he leans back against the door, letting you do what you wish as his hands settle on your hips once more, rubbing up and down as your own eagerness drips from you. Simon clenches his jaw as you bite down, taking and sucking on the skin as he hisses when you give him hickeys, eyes fluttering. 

“‘Such a mouth’ you said,” you comment, hand falling lower to hear the jingle as you unclip his belt. He stares off as your hand rests and cups him, sharply inhaling when you rub your palm over the large tent. Simon fights the sway of his hips, but the widening of his legs is telling enough, pelvis knocking forward as you groan, a line of slick falling down your thigh. “I’d bet you’d like my mouth, Brown-Eyes, wouldn’t you?” Your joke and your teasing of his dick—your hickeys and your sly eyes—they all at once snap something inside of him. 

You find yourself manhandled with a squeak of shock and a jump in your gut as your legs dangle, moved back, and pressed into the very door where Simon had been moments before. Your feet settle as his figure descends.

“Your mouth, Sunshine?” Brown eyes glint, staring you down from where he taps your legs open to the air, kneeling with an open belt and pre-cum staining his pants. “Want to see what mine can do?”  

There’s no more than a dangerous smirk before his face slots itself into the clutch of your pussy. 

You gasp, hands going down to his covered hair as his nose slides along your clit, making lightning go up your spine as you push down on him, grinding as a long stripe is licked, tongue flattening out at the nerve before a loud groan makes Simon’s mouth vibrate as it attaches itself to you. 

Giving you your own medicine, teeth lightly bite, tongue flicking as your cunt clenches over nothing, fingers grasping guilty as your head knocks back with a loud whine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, toes curling as your hips move back and forth. 

Your body can feel his smirk, your juices leaking out to drip at his chin, falling down his throat as this beast of a man sucks and mewls around your clit like he’s possessed. Hands grasped your thighs, holding them open. Well, one anyway. 

Lost in the movements of his mouth, cursing and gasping as he keeps trying to build you up to the point of rapture with every hard flick and measured nip, there’s no way your dopamine-addled brain can comprehend the fingers at your cunt before they’re already inside and curling outward. 

You moan out his name pleadingly, the pace of your hips instantly increasing as Simon’s chuckle makes your lungs constrict. A separate heart-beat lives in your navel, skin sweaty and slick making its way down his fingers. 

“Being so good,” your voice breaks as Simon’s wide eyes from below meet you as your head lolls forward. He stutters, hearing the wet squelching of your pussy as his movements cease for a moment. You whimper, face pulling in, and he instantaneously gets back to it with increased fervor and ferocity as if he’d never just felt his cock twitch in his pants and his abdomen bunch up.

Your eyes widen, rapturous moans falling from your lips in blown-limpness as his mouth and fingers do sinful things to you.

The sounds coming from below were feral and animalistic at best, sopping wetness and loud groaning—it makes it all so much better. 

“So thorough for me, Simon. Making me feel so good Brown-Eyes,” you babble, tightening your core and palming hands shoving him impossibly farther into you. “Such a fucking perfect mouth—perfect fingers, knew you could make me cum on ‘em, please, Simon, fuck, oh God right there,” you break off of the praise into desperate whines. Your quivering body shakes and ruts faster, Simon’s stubble making it all burn in such a way that leaves you gasping, back begging to arch as everything comes to a tipping point.

Simon can feel it by the way your walls flex and pull in, how their slipperiness gets so loose it’s not even a problem to finger-fuck you even as your cunt bares down like a noose. Your fluids drip past his elbow, falling to his pants as his pelvis involuntarily tries to get friction from his zipper by humping the air in broken intervals. 

He’s breathing heavily, but not as much as you are, broken up by groans, grunts, and his open mouth licking of your engorged clit. He’d never admit to you how much your praise was making him want to bust in his own fucking pants. 

“S-Simon,” you knock your head back into the wall, eyes going glassy as the knot in your navel goes painful, a vile itching so very close as your spine begins to arch for the man’s viewing pleasure. “So close, oh God, so fucking good. Need it, Simon, need it from—”

Your breath hitches, fingers twitching into tight fists of fabric and the hair underneath as your walls clamp down. 

Orgasm ripping through you, your voice lets out broken, airy, moans of Simon’s name like a prayer, hips continuing to spasm and toes curling inwards. Not letting up his assault, the smug man’s tongue and fingers draw the entire experience out until your legs are too weak to hold you, having to be pressed back into the wall by white knuckles and fingers stained with your cum. You hear it drip to the floor and see it when your half-lidded eyes blurrily make out the ragged appearance of an arrogant Simon, clear beads falling off of his chin and his lower face decimated by your pleasures. The bottom of his balaclava is stained—sopping with absorbed juices. 

You both stare—you, lust-blown, and Simon, ready to grasp at himself and stave off the near-painful erection that needs to be taken care of. 

But you’re true to your words.

Not seconds after your release had flooded him, your hands pushed at his chest and shoved him to the floor. Simon grunts but lets your hands quickly fiddle with his zipper and send it down. Not a moment is wasted, and the man’s hands move your hips higher as you pull his pants and boxers down just enough to let his dick spring free and slap his abdomen. 

Your hand curls around it and he groans long, pushing up into your hand as you stroke him quickly and mercilessly with the spread of his weeping tip. Simon’s words come out as a way to steady himself, but the work of your hand is easy to get lost in as his voice is a growl.

“Tase so bloody good, Sunshine, yeah? Be needin’ that every day,” his mouth is taken in a kiss, and you tase yourself on his tongue as he shakes and his fingers flex into your flesh. “Fuckin’ hell,” he says as you lick his lips, panting below you as he quickly loses himself. “Not gonna…”

Simon’s orgasm builds incredibly fast—and not once does your hand slow in its course. He blinks in a blind panic, mouth letting off soft sounds of confusion as he looks down to see his red cock and how you play with it like a toy. You chuckle at him as his sounds get louder, legs rising, and the slapping of skin on skin addictive. 

“You are good with your mouth—and your hands. Should have guessed really, you are a mechanic after all. Got yourself all worked up.” Simon's hand comes up to your head pressing your lips back to his as his abdomen tightens and quivers, thighs shaking as his hips try to meet your break-neck pace but just can’t.

What were you doing to him? Why can’t he last longer than a few mere minutes? 

You break off and connect your forehead to his, brown eyes fighting to not go blurry and his mouth open with fast breaths. You push out as you feel his tip twitch and spurt prematurely, “Be a good boy and cum, Simon.”

He groans loudly, eyes fluttering as they try to stay locked to yours before the wet splatter of his rapid ejaculation layers yours as well as his abdomen sticky and soaked. It keeps going, not stopping until Simon’s eyes have come back down from where they had fled to the back of his head and his small grunted whine lets you know you should stop pumping him so violently. 

You release his member and go to rub along his abdomen, massaging the skin and laying kisses on his clothed chest slowly. His hands loosen on your hips, thumb pulling back to carefully run circles into the flesh as you hum in appreciation. 

Simon's quivering slows to a stop.

“You sure you only work a bar, then? Bloody fuckin’ hell.” Simon hisses, looking down at himself. “Made a fuckin’ mess, yeah?” 

“Only fair,” you mutter, moving up to press your lips together as you both sigh. Simon’s breath hitches as your stomach rubs him. “I like having you under me. It’s nice to see you look confused.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, and a red sheen comes to his flushed face. “Won’t happen again.” 

Your face goes mischievous, head tilting. Simon growls a weak, “Don’t.” You chuckle and hide your face into his neck. 

“Don’t test it?” You ask into his flesh, your body still pulsing and needy at the display you’d managed to pull from the stoic man. Your tongue licks over your placed hickey with a newfound appreciation for the black and blue mark, blowing on it as Simon feels himself harden again. “Or don’t acknowledge that Simon Riley has a praise kink and when a woman tells him what to do he—”

Your spine settles to the floor, hands stuck on either side of your head and digging into the wood. Simon’s eyes glint primarily, and you keen to him as your arms move to wrap around his neck as your cunt tightens.

“Thought you said you didn’t want me on the floor?” He grasps your chin, moving his face to be above yours so he can speak plainly and dead-like. A surge of power takes over his voice, and you yield with a rising of your legs and a shiver as his fluid-slick abdomen slides over top of yours.

“That was before you made me cum in a matter of fuckin’ minutes by just stroking my cock. Now,” he breathes, “now I’m going to fuck you how you deserve.” 

He grasps your legs and pulls them around his waist, locking them as he lines up his half-hard dick and bullies it inside of you, your arching back bends into him, but your shocked moan is cut off as Simon starts to move. The pressure inside of your pussy is tight enough to feel like it could snap—your gummy walls taking the curve of his veins and the grate of his head as the tip curves upward. On girth and size, Simon is the largest you’d ever taken, and your face pulls in with a mix of pain and pleasure before the latter takes over completely. 

“Get me to be your toy, eh, Sunshine?” Simon keeps your chin grasped, not letting you look away as you try to garble words over the heavy slap of wet skin. “Keep me ‘ere so you can play with me like you’ve been doin’ from the start?” 

“So full,” you seem to have lost that edge, staring up into brown eyes as your spine digs into the wood below you, your cunt taking the fast slaps of Simon’s prod as it reaches every part of you that you could ever ask. Every trust makes your legs tighten, clamping down to keep him there and ring pleasure like water. “Such a big cock, Simon.”

He huffs, but his pace increases, panting at you as your lips meet for a sloppy and slobbering kiss of teeth and saliva. Sweat falls from both of you, coating your faces and lower halves with more liquid to make this dance easier—staining already ruined clothes. 

“Splitting you open, am I? So tight,” Simon grumbles, grunting as his elbows shift to stay beside your head. “Gettin’ me off so easily, need ta return the favor for making me feel so good, Sunshine. Bloody perfect cunt, takes my cock like it was made for it. Hear that?” Your skull moves to push into the side of his face as he bites at your neck, ravishing you as the forward and backward motion of his body makes your mouth hold back mewls of raw need. So many sounds—so loud and wet it was lewd, borderline obscene with every pump of the man’s hips that more just spilled out of you, pooling with every back and forth spreading of your hole. 

Simon bites a long whine back and angles himself higher, making you shout and cry as a burst of white light explodes in your eyes.

“Making me want to fill you full of myself. Over and over, make you drip with it—go until you can’t walk. You’d take it too, yeah? You’ve got such a good look on your face, you bloody love it when I stretch you open like this—takin’ my dick so well, Sweetheart.”

You were both animals trying to get fix after fix—drunk off scent and a biological urge. 

At the words, your pussy tightens around him even more, Simon holding back a loud groan and letting your little puffs of air grace his ears along with the ravaging dig of his fucking.

“You like that?” You whine, face burning as a hand descends to play with your clit. You gasp loudly and moan, not hiding the way your hips jump and rut and fight to keep Simon’s cock taking you raw.  

“Simon!” You call loudly. “I like it—fuck I love it, Brown-Eyes. Keep touching me, please, please keep going. Keep talking, love it when you talk like that.”  

“Makin’ fun o’ me,” he scoffs, “but the little temptress has the same bastard kink, eh? It’s alright, then. I’ll just help me get you off—”

The front door of the bar opens from beyond the wall. 

The both of you stop all carnal desires instantly, wide eyes snapping back and locking with each other. A pin could drop, fast breaths and fast hips held back even as you both quiver and your nerves plead to keep going. The need doesn’t last long. Simon's fat hand covers your mouth as your eyes glint with panic before getting right back to it. 

You try to speak, to get the words out that you should go out there, but it’s all cut off by the way he rubs you every right way. Your hand anchors to his back as someone walks around the bar, their voice muffled just like yours is, but this person has no idea you’re getting railed in the back room by the mechanic from across the street. 

Simon’s eyes are dark and urgent, but his hands can't as the slap of skin that’s still incredibly loud, and the wetness that follows all but telling. Your moans and whines are hidden, kept back by a tight palm as he smirks down at you. His hips are bruising yours and you can feel the hard bone of his pelvis as it slots itself fully into yours.

“Good girl,” he whispers, accepting the words with hard thrusts that make you whine like a dog, pawing at his gargantuan shoulder blades. “Keep quiet. I’ll make you feel good.” 

Your heart hammers, walls flexing and clamping at the words. Outside the walking continues, searching for you, no doubt. Simon's hips increase, almost cruelly, and your cut-off cries spill from between his fingers. 

The bastard chuckles and watches, letting your hips meet his as your release builds with the added need to finish quickly. 

It was rabid now your back arched, how the person outside mattered so little to you now, in fact, maybe you even wanted them to hear you like this—being fucked so perfectly to the point where you had tears in your eyes and your body was growing numb; mind blanking to only pleasure and the grating press of a foreign entity all the way to where it digs at your cervix and makes you see starts with every addictive thrust.

You can’t hear anything over the previous sounds, that and rough breathing are the only things in this hot room—the air tense and ready; anticipation a drug of the highest order. 

“C’mon,” Simon grunts into your ear, hand flexing as his lungs burn. He wasn’t far away either. “Let me see it—how your face screws up all nice and pretty for me.”

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you can only stare at the ceiling as the door of the bar slams shut once more, whoever there leaving. Simon releases your mouth and you fall apart with a spine-breaking arch and a high, feral, keen.

Your release is subsequently followed by Simon’s own, his body spasming as he gives three more violent pumps before the warmth of his cum seeps into your womb with a loud groan and a pound of his fist into the floor. He grinds you both through the aftershocks, the sparks of electricity that make both of your hips jerk just a few more times before you fall limp and useless. 

Simon stays inside of you as he shifts to the side, hooking one of your hips over his thigh as you stay face-to-face as your bodies gasp and pant for air. 

When the two of you come back to yourselves, some delirious minutes later, the first thing that you both notice is the tightness of your clothes and skin. Glancing down at the mess you’ve made of yourselves, you both slowly look back into each other's eyes, pausing.

You’re the first one to snort, before you have to hold your loud laughs back behind your hand. 

“Well, I sure do have some more secrets to keep,” you say through your fit, knocking your head to Simon’s chin. The man is smiling, his eyes crinkled and mouth jerking in a series of chuckles.

“Proper few.” The laughter died down to a simmering emotion of amusement. 

You smile at Simon, and he stares back, a hand coming up to touch your cheek delicately before it traces the lines of your face.

“You know I meant it, right?” You ask him, and those browns blink at you in question. “What I said before we decided to fuck. About keeping your secrets.” Simon’s face gets slightly more serious. Your hand cups his cheek, feeling the stubble on your fingertips. 

“Simon,” you say, “I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing, okay?” 

He watches you for any glint of hesitation—of a lie. But there is none.

“Why,” Simon asks. Your answer is simple as you smirk, recalling words from a while ago. 

“You’re just going to have to stick around to find out.”

Simon shoves his lips to yours and drags you back on top of him.

—

You both exit the back room two hours later, clothes ruffled and bodies far dirtier than ever. You have a limp in your step, a pulsing ache between your bruised legs, and yet you’d never felt better. 

Simon presses a kiss into your temple. 

“Walking you home,” is what he says, and you sigh through an adoring look. You were tired, incredibly tired, and you hoped that Simon would share your bed tonight so he could hold you like he did back there. 

“Deal,” you wink, and the man huffs a chuckle, back to that same stoic mechanic that you knew. 

It’s only then that you realize that Celina had never shown up for her shift. Pausing behind the counter, you blink and look around, confused as you flatten out your clothes. Simon catches on quickly, brows pulling in with concern. 

“Something wrong?”

“Celina,” you tell him, “she never showed up.”

A beat. 

“...Probably kept away,” Simon tries to lightly say, implication enough to make you scowl. 

“No,” you utter. “She would have tried to break the door down if she actually came in. She never would have walked away.”

The man hums, pulling down his balaclava and looking about. 

“What do you want to do about it?” It wasn’t mocking—he was being honest. Your lips thinned out in thought. 

“Well…I can’t leave the bar unattended, she needs to be here in order for me to go home.” You motion a hand helplessly, shaking your head and walking forward. Through a sigh you grumble, “I guess I have to call her or I’ll—” A shadow darts from across the street and your head snaps to the dark window. 

Words coming to a swift stop, you gaze outside with blank eyes, mouth open in confusion. Simon stands taller, not having seen the strange event but not liking the shock on your face as he pivots to the view to study it. 

Brown darts over the street lamps and the closed body of his shop, along the sliver of the obsidian street and the tops of bushes in the plant boxes. But there was nothing there and Simon glanced back at you from over his shoulder with furrowed brows. 

“Thought I saw someone in a…” you frown, eyes not leaving the window as your heart tightens. “In a mask.” 

“Mh,” Simon watches for a moment before he grunts and tension seeps into his muscles. “Mask?” 

“Like yours,” you say quietly, suddenly very still. “Without the skeleton.” 

Simon moves back slowly, one foot backing up before he’s behind the counter again and shifting nearer to you—your eyes flicker upward but swiftly return to the view. He pulled out his phone from his wrinkled pants, and no sooner had he put it to his ear that you saw the individual again. This time it wasn’t just one shadow, it was three, and there wasn’t just a flash of black mist and then poof gone again—it was worse than some schoolyard prank. 

There was a bat. There was the swing of a strong arm. The glass explodes with a resounding shatter and the shrill yell falls from your mouth not milliseconds later.

Getting tackled down, Simon keeps your head to his chest as he shifts to hit the ground first, body sliding slightly before you’re forced under him and protected by his bulk. Grasping at him, you clench your eyes shut as large projectiles are hurled through the broken window and make contact with the bar shelf right above the two of you. 

But Simon doesn't move for a second. Not as the bottles shatter and drown him in alcohol and colored glass, not as the bricks fall back from gravity and strike his spine with a loud thump. He holds you to him, curled over your body as if in reverent worship, grunting as he takes the beating without thought to anything else but your safety. Loud shouts and laughter echo in from outside, but your wide eyes only stay and focus on Simon, his fingers gripping across your back and creasing your shirt. You flinch as a spec of glass knicks your arm, slicing through it with a sharp drag of an uneven edge. 

Simon growls into your scalp, but as he attempts to squish you farther into him, the barrage, just as it had come, entirely stops. 

Staying there, breathing heavily and your mind panicked, you have no time to think before Simon shoves himself up and snaps his enraged eyes forward. Like a large beast, his hands are in shaking fists, alcohol dripping from his shirt and glass pinging against the wood. You can smell blood. 

“Simon,” you say in concern, moving to stand up quickly as you try to get your breath back.

What the hell had just happened?!

“Stay there!” he barks, eyes tight as they dart back and forth to nothing until they find something. 

No one was there anymore, but in that absence, the true damage was brought to light. You ignore Simon’s words and shift until you can peek over the top of the counter, fingers shaking and mouth dry. The man beside you is stone-still, his darkened eyes lighting like fire and brimstone as the anger can all but be tasted in the air. 

The mechanic’s shop across the street. Seen through the broken remains of the bar as if a tornado had come through on the dusty air. 

It had been ransacked.

—

The illumination of the police lights takes over everything, pushing the dark away as Sheriff Russel tries to get statements from the two of you. But your attention keeps getting brought back to the stiff-standing presence of Simon. 

He hasn’t spoken beyond clipped sentences, even when he’d called Price, Johnny, and Gaz to explain the situation. 

“Can you explain what you saw?” The Sheriff eases, and your attention is drawn back. 

“It wasn’t much,” you stutter, shaken. “Shadows—men wearing masks. One had a bat and hit the window before they started throwing bricks.”

Simon’s eyes shift over the damage, numb gaze finding more broken glass, thrown paint, and dents in the garage door. The front had been trashed with garbage, and the lobby was ruined—it was by some miracle that the bikes had been left alone for whatever strange reason. 

It didn’t make him any less full of wrath. 

Your hands are still shaking, and your arm still leaking small droplets of blood down your flesh. Simon’s injuries were worse; he’d taken the brunt of it, but he didn’t seem to care at all, even as the crimson liquid stains his wet back.

“Simon needs medical attention,” you speak lowly to the Sheriff, head moving forward. “Can we do this later at the station?”  

“I’m fine,” the man in question grunts, voice deep with anger before turning and walking back to the two of you. Not once do his eyes stop searching the area; on high alert even now and not eager to be out in the open. Those old instincts were creeping back over him, and he wanted to get you somewhere safe so he could handle this situation himself.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know who was responsible and while property was one thing, your comfort was another. 

How dare anyone do something like that to you. 

“You’re bleeding,” you explain, eyes tight. A hand brushes over your arm, taking it up and inspecting the small cut that you wear. 

Feet shift, and through a clenched jaw Simon utters, “So are you.” 

“You know what I mean, Brown-Eyes,” you try to make him listen, but it’s fruitless. 

“Don’t worry about me,” the Sheriff walks to assess the damage, letting the two of you speak in hushed whispers and firm looks. 

“You sound stupid,” you hiss, and Simon’s fingers rub your skin softly, his study of your body taking place in a slow sweep. “Of course I’m going to worry.” 

“Need to stop shaking.” Your face creases at the comment. 

“I’m not shaking.” Simon grabs your hand and puts his fingers through yours, raising it between you so you can look. Your eyes shift down, and your limb can clearly be seen vibrating like an engine in his hold; the fingers unable to close fully. 

Not speaking, Simon cups it with his other hand and presses, grounding you as your lungs take a deep breath before you can clear your throat. 

“I’m fine,” your words barely make it to the air. 

“...Now who’s sounding like me?” The man mutters eyes creased as he stares. “Breathe.” 

You listen, taking another deep breath and staring at Simon’s chest.

“Up ‘ere,” a finger moves out to tap under your jaw, making you tilt your head up to lock with his browns. “There we are, then. Focus. M’right here.” 

“You’re good at this,” you grumble, put off by your own separation from your body. 

Simon tilts his head. “Had to be.” 

You spare a strangled huff at that. 

How quickly things could go wrong—you had thought that tonight would be the best night of your life, but now it was just one single instant that things had made sense, the rest a stain on your memory. 

“You know it was Graham and his friends?” Simon nods, still watching you and making sure you’re calming down properly, waiting for that adrenaline crash. He knows. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Right now?” The man pauses. “Nothing. You’re coming down with me to the Bed and Breakfast. Staying there.” 

So that was how Simon shifted his priorities, walking you down the road as more and more police showed up—there would be more talking in the morning, you had given them everything you’d known so far. It was also how you were mobbed by three more concerned mechanics as you entered their temporary living situation until houses were purchased, blue and brown eyes blinking at the two of you quickly. 

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” Gaz had asked, but you were much too tired to speak beyond leaning into Simon’s shoulder and grunting. 

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Johnny had muttered, only in boxers as he’d shoved out of his room. “Heard the sirens—what’s been happenin’ without me?”

Price had been the one to finally settle everyone and push out a stiff order to leave Simon and you alone for the night. With various glances and tense looks, you were both allowed into your room with little more trouble. 

It was tiny but clean, and Simon had locked the door with a grumble and moved you over to the bed so you could sit, moving off to run a bath. 

You heard the pipes squeak—the whoosh of water as it entered the tub. 

Your mind has still not entirely caught up to itself as Simon leads you forward and begins undressing you; taking off your top and letting you shift out of your own pants. The bathroom tile is cold, and you wrap your arms around yourself when you’re entirely bare as you can’t find the words to speak. That is, before Simon takes his shirt off and you see the damage that’s been done. 

You gasp, hand reaching out but stopping above the cut skin surrounded by a million bruises and large welts. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper, delicately touching the skin. None of the slices were deep, but the horror was still there. “Simon…”

Brown eyes soften, and the balaclava is removed as well before a kiss is dug into your forehead. The shade of his hair matched his eyelashes, and now with the full picture, he was as handsome as you imagined him to be, though to all others the scars and the crookedness of his nose might be a shock. You hadn’t expected anything different. 

“Just bruises, Love,” he pets your neck, thumb running over your pulsepoint. 

“You’re all cut up,” your eyes water, but your stubbornness holds them back as you try to take everything in from his willingness to show you his face to the events of tonight. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know that he would do something like this, really, he was always a jerk but he was never…never bold like this.” 

Cupping his cheeks, you kiss his jaw, salty water tracking down your face as you hear Simon take in a breath. He pulls you closer and hugs you tightly, curling over you as if another barrage of bricks was imminent. 

But there wasn’t going to be any danger here. Not with three other veterans down the hall.

“He ever…?” You shake your head, shakily uttering a quick response to Simon’s trialed-off question.

“No. No, I’d never stand for that.” The man’s broken body loosens, a long sigh exiting his nose in blatant relief. 

“Good,” is all he says. “Deserve better.”

You sniffle, getting a reign on your emotions. “I’ve got better.” 

During the shared bath, you clean the others’ wounds, your back to the wall as you run water over the stretch of Simon’s shoulders, washing away the blood. Your nails drag over his skin as he shivers, not looking back at you as he reaches behind and takes one of your hands into his. The black stain of his tattoos rubs along your bare arm as fingers intertwine, your limb moved and held to his abdomen as you kiss one of the knobs in his spine softly and hum to him. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin. 

Simon doesn’t respond, only leaning back into you more. 

—

Two days pass with no sign from Graham or his friends—Celine, either. Everyone in town was on edge, and in that time you’d been put on paid leave from the bar on account of your involvement and the potential involvement of your coworker. So, you spent most of the time at the shop with Simon, as he’d asked you to so he could keep an eye out.  

You had thought that maybe this was a one-time event, and had believed it, as well. Graham had made a point, and being the idiot that he was, he’d pay for it. If he was smart, he’d be out of the country by now—there was no mistaking Simon’s vendetta now. Price had to reel him back in the day after the vandalism. 

You’d woken up to an empty bed, having been fitted into one of Simon’s incredibly large shirts and sweatpants for pajamas, and heard arguing. Feet padding like a cat, you had pressed your ear to the door and listened with held-back breath, as if only a peep would make the heated conversation stop.

“He made her bleed, Price. He put her in danger!” 

“Get your head on, Simon, you aren’t in the service anymore,” Price had hissed, shadows slinking along from under the door. “You can’t do anything about it.”

There had been a low growl, an aggravated breath. 

“I can’t sit ‘ere when he’s waiting like a fucking robber. This is my responsibility— happened on my watch.”

“Since when did that fucking happen, Simon, eh? What’s been going on with you two?”

A pause. “...It’s complicated.”

“Then un-complicate it—you’re thinking like a damn soldier.” 

So here you are, fixing the streaks of miscolored paint that had been spattered over the mechanic’s shop as Simon comes out, wiping his hands with a rag. 

“Good thing I didn’t start on the mural yet,” you comment to him, stepping back and putting your roller down. The rag is offered and you take it with a small smile while you slide it over your fingers. “Else I would have tracked him down myself.”

“Would ‘ave helped.” October eyes flicker along the drying paint—the marks still visible. “M’sorry.”

“If you won’t let me apologize,” you raise a brow in challenge. “I won’t let you either.” 

Simon’s eyes crinkle from behind a new balaclava, missing the skeleton details. “Cheeky.”

“It’s called being truthful, Riley.” You sigh through the tilt of your head. “But the bad news is that I had to use up the paint, and I’m not even halfway done with this. It didn’t help that they used a darker color than what I wanted as the backdrop.” 

“Want to take a drive out, then?” The question is swift and honest as it's aimed at you like a distraction from the anxiety. Simon motions his head to the garage. “Got a bit before I’m needed, m’sure you could use a break, yeah?”

“You don’t have to,” you utter, moving to rest a hand on his bicep. He almost purrs at the touch, leaning in. 

“Want to,” Simon grunts slowly. “Bikes are still good. Bastards knew I’d skin them if they touched ‘em.” 

“I’m sure,” you chuckle, teasing him through a smirk. “Big Bad Simon Riley.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathes at that, turning back around as you follow after, laughing. 

You both get onto the Rebel, and the brown leather jacket moves your way along with the helmet, slipping it over your head not seconds later as Simon grabs his spare. 

“Are you sure you shouldn't ask for another helmet?” You had brought it up the first time as well—the prospect of a crash. 

“Only a small ride—I’ll go slow, Sunshine.” Knuckles tap the top of the helmet in reassurance. “Matters more that you’re the one wearing it.” 

Your face creases up, but you sigh and nod, wrapping your hands around Simon’s waist and tightly holding on as the engine starts rumbling below you. Moving your feet up to the rests, you scoot closer as the man pushes off the ground, flipping the kickstand back up before he leans forward slightly and lets the bike do the work.

As before, the two of you get out of town and nature opens up—but as soon as you really start to let your worries slide away and focus on Simon’s pulse and the freedom he gives you, there’s a cold wind from the west. Coming up and dragging along with it, a dark rain cloud sits over you both about a seven-minute drive in.

“Should we pull over?!” You shout in question as raindrops begin to patter off your helmet. The bike makes a strange chirping sound, and you blink over Simon’s shoulder until your attention is taken away by his answer. 

“Soon!” You nod, trusting him to know, and ease back. Your fingers trace the small bulge of scars at his waist, shivering. 

One minute later, you’re about to say you can see the town ahead when that chirping starts again. Brows furrowing, you grunt in the back of your throat and yell, “What’s that sound, Simon?”

He glances back briefly, unable to hear you.

“The sound!” Simon’s fingers flicker, head moving down to the bike below him—the hum of the engine was too strong up here, he can’t hear anything out of the ordinary. 

“What are you—?!” 

There’s a great shriek of black metal, and the Honda Rebel 500’s front wheel breaks off from the motorcycle fork and the bike flips. 

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[shadowmaat]

Jedi Service Corps

The Legends-fueled propaganda of "bad students get sent to the Agricorp/Services" has always bothered me. First of all, forcing kids into a career not of their choosing isn't the best way to encourage them to perform well.

The Services in general seem to get a bad rap, and TBH it's kind of bizarre to assume that every kid who winds up being taken in by the Jedi wants to grow up to be a cop. LOL!

There is so much untapped potential being ignored, and even within the four pseudo-canon branches there's a lot to explore.

Agriculture. Farmers Without Borders. LOL! It isn't just about growing plants, it's about analyzing trends, understanding ecosystems, geology, climatology, politics, etc. There's mechanical engineering so you know how to fix the machines that do the hardest labor (often illegally, given corporate software locks and so forth). Probably a lot of fiddly stuff with plant genetics, too, given similar issues with seed corporations.

Being Jedi, I'm sure they're also aware of the need to include "ornamental" plants to help with the emotional welfare of hurting/devastated populations.

Education. This field must be fucking wild. Sure, you have your future creche masters and archivists, but I imagine there are those who do public outreach, too, and go to schools to teach kids about what the Jedi do beyond waving laser swords. There's probably also a need for teachers in isolated/rural areas to help with basic things like reading, writing, and maths. Ditto areas devastated by wars and natural disasters, where kids need a safe distraction from trauma. I bet Educorp and Agricorp team up more often than people might think.

There's also the sheer variety of topics. Even something basic like history will have a wide net. Galactic history, region-specific, planetary, etc. And then there's the arts. Music, singing, dance, physical media, holo media, theatre, and so much more. There will be differences between species, understanding what they need to know, how they learn best, and what their aging process is like. Teachers to cover the full range of mortal maturity, from teaching toddlers to old-timers. And don't get me started on teaching "forbidden" topics in repressive communities.

Medical. LOL. Every. Single. Species. And often subtypes between them. So many specialists needed. And again, you probably have a number that specialize in helping in disaster areas. Hello, Educorp, let's help teach these people how to best care for themselves. Maybe Agricorp can help with showing folks how to purify their air and water. There must be SO many diseases, some of which have inoculations and so that don't. And again, figuring ways to smuggle medicine and supplies to those who need it despite the extortionist rates corporations charge. Repairing faulty equipment, finding work-arounds when the parts aren't there. Triage. Using the Force to help heal is all well and good, but sometimes they still have to get hands-on.

Even with non-emergency stuff, I imagine they're still kept busy. The idea of a Jedi "country doctor" settled in some remote area sounds delightful. Communities that get "lost" in the shuffle or otherwise overlooked. Veterinary medicine as a sub-specialty.

Jedi having a special "knack" for determining what's wrong with someone, finding early warning signs before it's too late, etc. Comforting the dying. Comforting the survivors. ALL the mental health stuff and neurodivergence.

Exploration. Jedi Starfleet. LOL! It isn't all about discovering new worlds, though. Sometimes it's rediscovering planets and cultures that have been forgotten. Charting new hyperlane routes and hoping the end doesn't pop you out in the middle of a star.

I betcha you could fold so many things into this one. Botany. Archaeology. Xenoanthropology. Medicine, of course, since new worlds/people means new poisons, venoms, and diseases. New or ancient languages? It'd help to have someone around who could work on translating. Diplomats to help you talk to people. Geologists. Zoologists. A bit of everything.

Sure, there'd be room for solo missions, but I imagine there'd be bigger ships that they'd launch from. A place to come back to so the brains can pore over everything you brought back and see what they can determine from it. And big ships (or any ships really) means pilots, engineers, general crew, logistics, and all those fun things.

Anyway, I can see plenty of room for additional corps, too, but of the ones that get mentioned in Legends there's still a huge playing field.

[buckysgrace]

3. The Mysterious Mechanic

Closer to My Heart Masterlist Single Dad! Billy Hargrove x Fem!reader

You can't seem to escape Billy, meanwhile he makes a deal with a friend.

Friday wouldn’t come soon enough. You kept reminding yourself that, gleeful to the fact that you’d also be getting off early. You really needed the hours, but your car desperately needed to be fixed. You were sure you only had a few more days before someone called to get your car removed permanently. 

You crossed your legs as you waited in the front lobby, bouncing your knees as you ensured for the hundredth time that you had left all of the correct instructions with your sub. The same sub that had worked there for years, but still, you didn’t want the schedule to be disrupted for the kids.

You had tried to distract yourself with the book you’d been trying to read through for the past few months. It was more than a struggle. You just couldn’t get into it. Or your thoughts kept wandering. You couldn’t really decide or come to a conclusion, as you caught yourself searching for designs in the seat cushion next to you. 

“Hey uh-,” You felt your eyes widen, your head snap up towards the voice that approached you, “No way. You’re the one with the shitty car?” You exhaled roughly, feeling your body tense and your veins warm at the blonde that approached you. No way. You were unsure of why your luck had been so bad recently. 

“My car is in perfect condition,” You said in defense of yourself, then stalled at the way he snorted, “Almost perfect condition.” You corrected yourself a second later. Your car was anything but that. It was in pretty rough shape, but he didn’t have to rub it in your face. 

“Right,” He said with a laugh, “Uh well your perfect car has a lot more wrong with it than a flat tire.” Billy looked at you amused, blue eyes almost sparkling like he was awaiting your response. 

“Like what?” You asked with a soft hum, trying to keep your tone at bay as you shook your head. He pulled out a piece of paper, but didn’t look at it as he began to list off the many things.

“First of all, when was the last time you changed your oil? Or even had it looked at?” He asked seriously with a shake of his head, “Your wheel alignment is all fucked up and your engine shakes when you turn it on. And you have terrible music taste.” You wanted to believe him, but felt like he was just pulling your leg. And your music taste was fine. 

“Real mature,” You said with a sarcastic laugh, feeling the familiar burn beginning to flow through your veins, “I want a second opinion.” You said as you narrowed your eyes at him, watching as he cocked his dark eyebrows towards his forehead. 

“Kind of defeats the purpose of following me to my work.” He stated as he scoffed, making your eyes widen into huge saucers. You couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. That you would follow him? 

“I did not!” You protested as you pointed a finger towards him roughly, “You’re the one that followed me!” You told him shrilly, losing your composure completely. He tilted his head, pressing his lips together as if he did not remember. 

“I did?” He teased, his lips pulling into a smirk as you felt your pulse quicken. You had never had someone make you so angry before. You couldn’t understand the hold that he had on you. 

“You’re infuriating.” You told him seriously, trying to resist the urge to reach out and jab him with your finger. He was more than infuriating. He was annoying. A pain. You hoped he stepped on all of Theo’s legos tonight. 

“I’ve heard worse,” He said dryly, “So you just want the tired fixed or all of the above?” He asked dryly, looking bored as he rested his hip against the small desk. You looked for only a brief second. 

“Is anything really wrong with my car, or are you just trying to make me pay more?” You asked him seriously, raising your brows as you inhaled sharply. You didn’t want to assume the worst, but you were also clueless when it came to cars. 

“No offense,” He said as he drifted his eyes back towards yours, “But you work two jobs and drive a vehicle that sounds like it’s going to explode. You’re not the one I’d try to take money from.” You winced, a little hurt but knowing that it was all true. Your hands shook regardless. You felt like screaming. 

“Well-,” You breathed in deeply, pressing your tongue against your teeth as his words washed over you, “I suppose that’s fair.” You admitted as you rubbed your palms against your jeans, willing yourself to stay calm as you thought over your options. 

“But if you really think I’m trying to get… whatever from you,” He started before he gestured over his shoulder, “You can get one of the other guys to check it out.” He shrugged his shoulders, looking like he could care less. You sighed. 

“No,” You responded as you crossed your arms over your chest, “It’s fine. You’re fine. I mean okay. Just fix my car.” You gestured back towards where he came from, a little angry that your car had to be in that bad of shape. You supposed you wouldn’t care if it was anyone else talking to you. 

“Huh,” He grinned from ear to ear as he leaned against the doorway, his elbow high above his head. You stared at his face. Just his face. Definitely not his muscles or smooth, tanned skin, “I could’ve sworn Theo mentioned something about learning when to say please the other day?”

“Please fix my car.” You spoke between gritted teeth, not liking how he was throwing your lessons back in your face. Theo was a three year old. You were a grown adult. You were allowed to pick and choose when you wanted to use please or thank you. Now did not seem like that time. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” He grinned as he pulled a packet of gum from his pocket, “I guess I’ll fix your car.” He watched you, eyes holding onto your gaze roughly as he obnoxiously chewed on his gum. You turned away first, a little intimidated by how long he held eye contact. 

“Thank you,” You quietly simmered in your spot for a moment before you reached forward, snagging a piece of his gum from his package, “I appreciate it.” You replied sweetly, batting your eyelashes as he looked towards you in irritation. One win for you, you’d take it. 

“So I guess I won’t see you tonight.” Billy started as he handed you your keys back, watching the way you quickly snatched them from his grip. For looking so kind and sweet, you certainly had a mouth on you. It made him wonder what else you were hiding, if you were really that innocent. He quickly shook those thoughts away. 

“Sorry but you’ll have to waste someone else’s time.” You grinned tightly, looking like you were seconds away from smacking his hands away. He dropped the keys lightly into your grasp. 

“Ouch,” He mocked as he held his hand over his chest, “That stung.” He said as he shook his head, knowing it was no surprise that you worked with children. That’s all you had up your sleeve was childish insults. 

“You’re unbearable.” You spit out a new word to him, making him chuckle as he waited for you to continue signing your name on the receipt. Despite your differences, he had taken some pity on you. You got a bit of a discount, but he’d never admit to that. 

“I’m surprised that your stick can go up any further.” He told you dryly, enjoying the fire that spread through your eyes. Besides everything that was annoying about you, you were pretty. He couldn’t deny that even if he wanted to. 

“You’re-,” You rounded on him, eyes flashing and eyebrows furrowing like you were ready to give him a piece of your mind. He waited, watching as you took deep breaths and the crease between your eyes slowly softened, “Have a great night.”

He finished up at his usual time, scrubbing his hands clean and changing into a new outfit before he headed towards the daycare. Some days he wished that he had someone to help him out, but others he was glad it was just him and his son. He wasn’t sure that he could handle someone else doting on him. 

“How was it today?” Billy asked as he pulled the car door open, watching the way Theo’s backpack bounced against the back of his legs. He was the smallest in his class, but Billy only thought that made him cuter. He’d grow. 

“Good!” He started as he hopped to the car with him, “But I miss my teachew.” He replied before he sighed dramatically, pouting his lips out as Billy finished strapping him into the carseat. 

“She’s that great?” He asked as he tried to keep his tone relaxed, fighting the urge to be dry and bored. You couldn’t be that incredible. Not with your judgy tone and eyes that always seemed to look down upon him. 

“The bestest.” Okay, Billy couldn’t deny that his statement hurt just a bit. But he quickly reminded himself that Theo was too young to know how big of a nuisance his teacher was. He shouldn’t dislike his teacher either. Billy could play nice for a little bit. 

“What do you want for dinner today?” He asked instead, even though he almost felt too tired to make anything. Some days he just wanted to stop at Mcdonalds. That seemed like the best choice with how tired he was, but he wouldn’t do it. Not today at least. 

“Hm,” Theo drew out dramatically, twisting his ankles around as he thought dramatically, “Tacos!” He grinned happily before he began to recount everything that had happened today, starting from the second Billy had left this morning. 

Their apartment was nothing special, a little small but plenty spacious for the two of them. They both had their own rooms, but Theo still kept his toys and things littered about wherever he could. 

“If you want to make yourself useful,” Billy started as he glanced towards his shorter friend, who had been waiting when they arrived, “You could set the table, since you’re freeloading anyways.” He mumbled, feeling like he should be used to him hanging about. 

“I am not a freeloader,” Tommy replied, fake hurt as he placed his hand over his chest, “Okay maybe I am a bit.” He shrugged as he looked over at Theo, watching as he began to color a brand new picture. 

“Go set the table.” He grumbled as he shoved the plates at his chest. The least he could do was help out in some way.

“I’m just saying-,” He started again as he grabbed silverware from the drawer, “You obviously feel something for this girl.” Tommy continued on as he began to set the small round table, making Billy scoff in disbelief. 

“Hatred.” Deep, seething resentment. That was all he felt for you. You’d had no issue laying into him since the first day you’d interacted. As if he didn’t know how to take care of his own son. 

“Why?” Tommy asked curiously, eyebrows raised as Billy felt himself take a deep breath. Even the mention of you made his blood boil, his pulse quicken. 

“Why do you care?” He asked seriously, unsure of why this had become Tommy’s business. You two had spent the past three years tiptoeing around one another. There was nothing hidden beneath that. 

“Because you’re an ass,” Tommy said with a nod of his head, “And you need to get laid.” He replied as he looked Billy up and down, wrinkling his nose up in disgust. Billy rolled his eyes. It had been a while, but he had more important things to deal with than sex. And you were not on his rader.

“What dat?” Theo appeared, standing in the doorway with big curious eyes. Billy paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to move the conversation in another direction. Theo was too smart, too curious. He demanded to know everything. 

“I thought you were playing with your trucks.” He stated as he rubbed his fingers through Theo’s curly, blonde hair. The toddler huffed before he fixed it. 

“What laid mean?” He asked again, tilting his head as he looked up at his father. Billy pressed his lips together, not at all upset with him wanting to know answers. He just didn’t need to know this. 

“None of your concern,” He chuckled as he kissed the top of his head, “Did you put your toys away?” He asked seriously, watching as Theo paused for a second. 

“Uh…”

“Go put them away,” He hummed as he gave his shoulders a little tap, “Dinner will be done soon.” He replied, trying to get him to get busy. He stalled though, glancing at where Tommy kept flipping the plates back and forth. 

“Tommy?” He asked sweetly instead, swaying back and forth on his little feet as he grinned towards him. Tommy laughed as he rested his hand on his hip, looking like he was close to telling him what he meant. 

“No, no,” Billy laughed as he picked Theo up, swaying him softly to earn a giggle from him, “You can’t run to Tommy just because I didn’t tell you an answer.” He told him as he pecked his cheek repeatedly, making the little toddler kick his feet back and forth. 

“Teachew says it good to ask.” Theo said between giggles, smiling brightly as he held onto Billy. He did his best not to scoff, figuring that you would encourage something like that. Okay, it wasn’t bad. But you said it, so it was annoying. 

“Of course she does.” He grumbled as he sat Theo back down again, smiling as he locked his arms around his leg. He gave Billy a tight squeeze, then grunted as he tried to pick him up. 

“What if your dad dated her?” Tommy asked casually, brown eyes pointed down towards the table so he couldn’t be met with Billy’s glare. 

“Tommy!” He shouted in disbelief, shaking his head at Tommy’s suggestion. It was insane to begin with, but he didn’t want Theo to get his hopes up either. Tommy was certainly crossing a line. 

“Daddy,” Theo gasped, his eyes wide in excitement as he pulled on Billy’s jeans, “You wike my teachew?” He grinned from ear to ear, joy wrinkling across his features as Billy felt his pulse thump a little harder against his bones. 

“Not like that,” He said quickly, feeling bad at the way his son’s expression fell, “She’s kind of weird.” He teased, trying to play off the conversation. He shot his friend another glare, but he quickly ignored it. 

“No nice.” Theo pouted his lips out, reminding Billy as he dragged his feet over to the table. He struggled for a moment, but managed to pull himself up into one of the big chairs. 

“I mean she acts weird,” He clarified a second later, “She’s dorky.” He said a second later, trying to make it not sound mean. He didn’t want Theo to think badly of you, not that he would. He seemed fascinated with you. 

“She hilarious.” He replied, showing off the new word he must’ve learned as he held his chin high. Billy grumbled and shook his head, wondering why they had to have a conversation about this in the first place. He disliked seeing you and talking about you was no better. 

“See,” Tommy grinned from ear to ear as he pulled Theo onto his lap, “He agrees. You should go out with her.” He rubbed his cheek against Theo’s, earning another giggle from him as his blue eyes sparkled to life once again. 

“I’m not going out with her.” Billy dismissed with a shake of his hand. He wouldn’t be caught dead seeing you like that. He was sure that you probably carried glitter and crayons around in your purse. 

“With someone,” He tried again with the same glint in his eyes, “A bind date. You always liked those.” Tommy said with a shrug of his shoulders, lightly moving Theo back and forth to keep him laughing. 

“When I was dating,” Billy told him seriously, “Which I’m not. I’ve got too much on my plate.” He shook his head as he turned back to the stove, knowing that he hadn’t been on a date since Annie had passed. Sure, he sometimes flirted but it never went further than that. He just wasn’t ready yet. And between work and caring for Theo, he had no time. 

“Oh you’re no fun,” Tommy scoffed with a roll of his eyes, “Just one date with someone I know. It’ll be fun.” He suggested as Billy shut the burners off, allowing the food to cool down before Theo started to eat. 

“You’re setting me up.” Billy told him seriously, figuring that he knew what would happen. That someone would be you. He had a gut feeling. He wasn’t falling for it. 

“How?” He asked seriously, “I’m not going to show up to Theo’s school to ask her out for you. And by the sounds of it, she wouldn’t go out with you either.” He said honestly, making Billy nod his head in agreement. There was no way that Tommy actually knew you like that. It wouldn’t be you. But he still wasn’t sure.

“Because she doesn’t have any taste.” He mumbled as he thought about the ridiculous outfit you had on earlier. He was sure that the other night had been the first time that he had seen you in real mature clothes. You weren’t dressed like an oversized toddler then. The thought made his throat dry suddenly. 

“So you’ll do it?” Tommy asked seriously, “C’mon. What’s the worst that could happen?” He pouted his lips out, whining as Theo faced him. He paused for a second before he did the same thing, fluttering his eyelashes and holding his hands up to his chin. Damn it. 

“You swear you won’t find her?” Billy pointed a finger at him sternly, hoping that Tommy knew that if he did such a thing he’d get punched. 

“Scouts honor.”

“You’ll watch Theo?” He asked softer, worried about what Theo would do. They had never spent more than a night apart. Billy’s whole life revolved around him. He was sure even if he went on this date, the whole time he’d be thinking about him. 

“This adorable guy?” Tommy pinched at his cheeks, earning a giggle from the little boy, “Of course.” He smiled brightly as Theo swatted his hands away, his cheeks turning a bright pink. 

“One date.” He held his finger up, feeling like a stone had just landed in his gut. He hadn’t been on one in so long. He wasn’t sure he knew how to do it anymore.

“You’ll be fine, daddy!” Theo grinned as he waddled over, throwing his arms out dramatically as Billy bent to lift him into the air. He squealed at the motions, features wrinkled up in delight as he brought him against his hip.

“You think so?” He hummed out, feeling a little bittersweet suddenly. He wished that he could’ve met his mother. He would’ve loved her. And she would’ve been so proud of how he turned out. 

“Mhm,” He giggled as he played with the necklace that Billy was wearing, “You get me a mama?” Billy still felt a little lost when he was asked that question. It hadn’t been the first time Theo had asked him and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last time either. 

“Uh,” He stalled but continued to bounce him softly, still not sure how to answer that question. His relationship with Annie had been brief, but hopeful promises were made when they found out she was pregnant. And then they weren’t. He just wasn’t sure if he felt right replacing the woman who had died bringing their son into the world, “You have a mama, remember?”

“Yeah,” He replied, his face falling as he held onto him. He was too young to understand yet, still too little to grasp the truth of it all, “I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders before he dropped his head to Billy’s shoulder, sighing deeply. Billy knew that it was hard for him to understand why some kids got a warm mother’s hug and all Theo knew was a gravestone.

“But we can have tacos tonight,” Billy hummed softly as he rocked him back and forth, giving him a little squeeze, “Then maybe when you stay with Tommy he’ll let you pick out a few movies?” He suggested, feeling like that was the least he could do for getting them in this difficult conversation.

“Oh yeah,” Tommy nodded along eagerly, “And as much candy as you want.” He added a second later, causing the three year old to cheer in excitement. Billy laughed as he held onto him, deciding that Tommy could deal with the sugar high on his own. 

Tags: @cassandracorvo @marshmallowgem @shes-an-odd-bird @stormy-stardust

[maxillness]

Invisible || CS55 x Mechanic!Reader

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, oral (m), self inflicted orgasm denial, (slight) sub!Carlos

Wordcount: 1.1k

I actually love this so much

She told herself that she would focus on her work and not her love life. That seamed to go right into the drain when she started working for Ferrari’s F1 team

There was one person who stood out from the rest of the crew. One of the drivers actually

Carlos Sainz

She adored him, not because he was a driver, and a god damn good one, but because he was pretty

He had pretty eyes, his hair was pretty, his smile was pretty

She was in love with him

But she has to do it from a distance. She was pretty damn sure he didn’t even know she existed

She admired him from a far. From the back of the garage

He had DNF’ed in the race. Crashing into the wall during a turn where he had hit the apex a little to far out

He was furious as he slammed the door to his drivers room

She decided if it was worth it going over to him, knocking on the door, asking if he was okay

But seeing she had probably been invisible to him, he wouldn’t who she was, and that wouldn’t be worth it

But when Leclerc had gotten the fastest lap the next lap, she decided it was worth trying

She walked over to his room, avoiding the other engineers and mechanics

She hesitated for a moment before knocking softly on the door

“What?” His tone was stern and it slightly broke

She opened the door slightly, just so she could peek in. His eyes were puffy and red. He had been crying

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to see if you were okay” She saw the confusing look in his eyes “Oh, I’m one of the mechanics” She said, opening the door further

“I know. Y/N, right?”

He knows me

“Yeah” She smiled slightly “Are you okay?” She asked now fully stepped into the room

“Why are you asking?” He was now standing up, taking a step towards her

“You were furious, and I’ve never seen you like that, so I wanted to know if you were okay” She stuttered slightly as he walked closer

“I don’t- We don’t even know each other” He closed the door behind her, stepping so close she was pressed up against it, but still leaving space for her to slip away

“I know, but I’m a nice person, and you were in a bad state, just making sure you’re okay” She gulped as he hooked his middle pointy finger under her chin, making her look up

“With those gorgeous eyes looking at me, I’m so much better” He stepped closer, leaning his head down, lips mere inches away

She put both her hands on his jaw, pulling him close, connecting their lips

He kissed back, putting his hands on her hips, trapping her body between his and the door

As the kiss got more sloppy and wet, his hand went to the lock on the door. She took the opportunity to turn them around after he had locked it

Her lips traveled to over his jaw and down his neck, leaving a trail of marks, surly to deepen in the next half hour

“Fuck. Hermosa” He whimpered when she found and sucked on his soft spot below his ear

“Yes?” She teased, going to her knees, pulling his race suit from his hips and down to pool at his ankles

She pulled his boxers down as well, looking up at him doing so

“You’re so fucking- Ah” His sentence was cut short when she started placing kitten licks on the head of his cock

He threw his head softly against the door, screwing his eyes shut, scrunching his face together

He grabbed her shoulders as her hands went to the back of his thighs. She licked up a thick stipe his now fully hard cock

He moaned when she took all of him into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks. She choked around him when he hit the back of her throat

“Fuck” His breath shuttered as the vibrations around him

He forced his eyes open to look down at her. She was already looking up at him. The most beautiful eyes from below him

He moved a hand into her hair, making a make believe ponytail as she started moving her head

She grabbed his thighs harder, making marks with her nails, as he started thrusting into her mouth, making more moans leave his mouth as he hit the back of her throat at every thrust

His other hand came up to his mouth, trying to silence his moans so the whole garage wouldn’t hear him

She would’ve loved to hear his loud moans and whimpers, but she knew they couldn’t get caught

She started feeling him twitch inside her mouth as his body shook slightly

He pulled her head back by her hair, whining at the loss of contact between her mouth and his cock

“What? Want to come in my instead” She smirked, getting up with a small groan from the pain in her knees

“Why else would I stop that close to my orgasm?” He asked, but kissed her lips before she could answer

His hands traveled down her body, down to the waistband of her pants. She put her hands on his biceps when he unbuttoned her pants

He turned them around when he had zipped them down. She stepped out of her pants quickly

He kissed her roughly. His hands went to the back of her thighs, picking her up, making her yelp and put her legs around his hips

She whimpered low when he drew the head of his cock between her folds. She connected their lips when he slowly entered her, muffling their moans to a low mumble

His grip on her thighs were tight, making sure she wouldn’t slid down the wall

He started thrusting into her. She forced her tongue into him, muffling his moans further, exploring his mouth

She could already start to feel him twitch inside her, but she was no where near her orgasm

Her hand drew from around his neck and down his torso, in between their bodies and down to her clit

She started circling it, her tongue still in the drivers mouth, pressing lightly down onto his tongue

She started clenching around him, his thrusts getting sloppy and his grip on her thighs softer

She felt her orgasm nearing “Come for me, Carlos” Her words sent him over the edge, biting down on her shoulder as his body shook, filling her up

The feeling of his cum dripping down from her cunt to her ass pulled her over the edge as well, clenching rapidly around him

His face was still damp from sweat when he hid it in the crook of her neck, hugging her from behind when they had gotten their clothes back on

“You’re not invisible” He sighed, kissing her neck softly “I’ve always seen you”

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4861

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

11. Palmiers

Bucky

Because he’s on the far end of the spectrum, Bucky’s sex drive is affected by his condition. He wakes up hard almost every morning of his life, and Steve doesn’t need much encouragement to get himself worked up into the same state very quickly. Mutual morning jerk offs were always bound to become part of their routine.

They take a shower and stand toe to toe, hands sliding and groping all over each others’ slick bodies, pulling on their cocks until both of them are shooting off against each other’s bellies. The water washes it away, and Steve gives him a deep, happy kiss. “Mmm. Mornin’.”

“Blegch. Go brush your teeth, you heathen.”

Steve laughs and gets out of the shower. Bucky stays in for a few minutes longer, adjusting the spray to its hardest setting and letting the hot water beat down on his back and shoulders. He sighs and stretches his neck this way and that, trying to get his vertebrae to pop, but his muscles are all too tight, and the stretching just seems to make it worse. Bucky drops his head in defeat. In all honesty, his shoulders and neck and back are all pretty fucked after months of near-constant use of his prosthetic.

Steve’s right: he doesn’t usually wear it this much. And he’s also right that Bucky’s been wearing it all day every day because he wants to feel powerful and able bodied in front of Mary. As per usual, Steve is the first one to have noticed what maladaptive behavior pattern he’s doing and why, and pointed it out to him. It really is for the best, Bucky knows. Because he can’t sustain wearing the arm all the time anymore. The thing is just too damn heavy.

The engineers who designed it have made tweaks and adjustments over the years. They’ve done all they can to lighten the load as much as possible, but the thing still weighs over twenty pounds. Twenty pounds doesn’t sound like much, but when it’s pulling on the same muscle groups day in and day out, everything in Bucky’s body winds up getting strained and unbalanced. He understands better now, how women fuck up their necks so badly from shouldering their purses (or their tits) around. A little bit of weight makes a big difference.

As a Dom, Bucky may have a tiny problem admitting when he needs help. He has to be in quite a bit of pain, trouble, or both, before he’ll ever speak up and allow himself to be vulnerable like that. It’s an inherent behavior that shrinks have been trying to therapize and medicate out of him since he was a kid, but nothing ever changed it much. Falling in love with Steve helped; Bucky can let himself be more vulnerable around him. But even still, it’s no small thing that he regularly approaches his husband to ask for help in getting his arm back on correctly (Bucky can do it, but it’s a pain in the ass, getting the mechanism lined up just right before it’ll take). 

He gets out of the shower and dries off, then approaches Steve with the prosthesis. “Gimme a hand?” 

Steve makes a cheerful noise of acknowledgement around his mouthful of toothpaste, spits and rinses, then takes the arm from Bucky. He lines it up just so, and then Bucky feels the deep shudder of the arm’s inner workings coming to life as they recognize their mate. The arm attaches and Steve lets go. 

“Thanks babe.”

“Uh huh.” 

It’s as Bucky’s bending over and pulling up his underwear and joggers that a spasm runs through his back and he cries out in a pained, “Ah!”

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

Gritting his teeth, Bucky slowly stands back up. He’s able to get his pants up, but when he tests the movement of his neck and shoulders, the pain flares again. It feels like everything between the base of his skull and his mid back is seizing up. “Fuck,” he hisses, frustrated. It’s his day off. He’d been planning to go to the gym for his long workout. 

Steve steps up and puts a worried hand on his left shoulder. “Babe? Do you need it off?” 

“No. I need some painkillers and a magnesium tablet,” he grunts, already turning around (full body, because turning his head is a bad idea right now). “Fuck.” He starts off for the kitchen. 

Steve follows along with worried protests, telling him to lay his “stubborn ass” down and he’ll get it for him. Bucky ignores him and goes to the kitchen cabinet where they keep their supplement stuff. He winds up yelling again when he tries to reach up and grab the ibuprofen. “Fuck!” he says angrily.

“Babe, I said to let me do it,” Steve scolds, his hand back on Bucky’s shoulder. “And let me take this off. It’s hurting you.”

“Steve, back off,” he snaps, angry and waspish from being in pain, and from being frustrated with his own goddamn body. 

“What’s going on?” 

Bucky turns his head without thinking, hisses in pain, and then turns himself full-body to face in Mary’s direction. She’s standing there looking at the two of them in concern, one hand holding one of those swirly, flaky, crack-cookies that she makes, and the other holding a cup of tea. Her eyes widen at the sight of Bucky’s arm and body, reminding him that this is the first time she’s seen him without a shirt on. “Nothin’,” Bucky grunts.

“Shit,” she says. “Are you guys fighting? Is this a couples’ fight? I’ll just …” She turns to leave back towards her room.

“We’re not fighting,” Steve says. “Buck’s just being an ass. He gets that way when he’s in pain.”

Bucky would turn his head to glare at him, but it isn’t worth another flair of agony in his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he says, when Mary comes back over. “It’s fine,” he stresses. He opens the pill bottle and dumps three capsules into his palm. “Jeez, will everybody stop babying me? I just need a glass of water.” 

“I’ll get it,” Steve says, causing Bucky to huff once again. “Don’t be a jerk, babe.”

“Why are you in pain?” Mary asks, her eyes tracing all over the left side of Bucky’s scarred up body. “Is it … does your arm hurt?” 

“No. It just fucks up my muscles, sometimes.”

“Your muscles?”

Bucky sighs impatiently. “Steve, do you know where the heating pad is?”

“I’ll have to look.” Steve has returned with a glass of water, and Bucky tosses back the handful of pills, wincing at how even the slight motion of raising his arm up makes his trap twinge in protest. “Ugh.” 

“You should get a massage,” Mary suggests, and Bucky fights not to lash out at her. She doesn’t know that one of his biggest pet peeves in life is having other people tell him what he “should” do.

“My PT maxed out back in October,” he tells her. “Doesn’t renew again till January.”

Steve takes the water glass from him once he’s done. “Go lie face down on the bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll find the heating pad.”

“Well I could do it,” Mary blurts out. Both Bucky and Steve pause and look at her. She looks surprised, too, as though she hadn’t been planning to say the words until they were out of her mouth, and now doesn’t know how to continue  “Um, that is ..." she gestures weakly with her cookie. “I just meant I know how to, if you wanted.” Eventually her cheeks color and she looks away. “Erm, Nevermind.”

“Wait,” Steve says. When Mary turns back, he’s looking at her earnestly, and Bucky thinks, Oh no. “You know how to give a back massage? Like a real one?”

“Yeah. My, ah, my ex always had neck problems, so.” She shrugs, looking embarrassed. “I took a class at the community college, learned the basics.”

Bucky blinks. That’s the subbiest fucking thing he’s ever heard. “You did this for the husband that beat you?” he drawls, immediately regretting it because it comes out sounding way more derogatory than he intends it to. “Sorry. I just … actually would pay good money for a massage right now. If you know how to do it.” 

Mary bites her lip, looking deliciously shy and sweet. Bucky’s mood sours as he realizes that she doesn’t really want to. He’s about to let her off the hook, but then some unconscious movement he makes without meaning to has him flinching in pain again. “Sheezus,” he complains. 

“It’s not usually this bad,” Steve worries.

“I must’a slept on it wrong.”

Mary nods, as if this settles it. “Okay. Well, go in the bedroom and tie your hair up so it's out of the way.” She turns to Steve, all but dismissing Bucky now that she’s got a task to complete. Bucky fights back an amused smirk as he heads towards the bedroom, and he hears Mary bossing Steve around, telling him she needs dry oil, the heating pad, towels, and all the seat cushions off the couch. 

The fuck does she need those for? Bucky thinks as he pads back into his and Steve’s room.

He finds out a moment later, when Mary and Steve come in with a couch cushion each, and Steve goes back out to get another. They lay them in a line on the bed, and Mary directs Bucky to lie on top of them, with his body placed just so and his face down just there, and … Oh. He gets it.

She’s left space between the cushion under Bucky’s chest, and the next cushion up, which supports his forehead. The gap creates a drop through for his face—like a massage table. And when she shapes the towel into a donut shape and sticks it there, it's pretty much perfect.

“Oh,” Bucky says, as he’s settling into place. “Oh, that’s actually really smart.” He can’t see Mary from his position, but somehow he senses her preening over the praise anyway. Steve returns from the bathroom with the heating pad and oil. “Found this stuffed in the back of the linen closet. I don’t know what ‘jojoba’ is, but, um … it’s either that or the virgin olive out in the pantry.”

“Do not use that,” Bucky grumbles. “Shit’s expensive, and I don’t wanna smell like garlic truffle for the next three days.”

“That’ll work fine.” Mary is totally task focused, ignoring Bucky’s surliness and telling Steve to apply the heating pad across Bucky’s shoulders and neck for thirty minutes before they get started.

“Thirty minutes?!” Bucky complains, unable to see anything but the top of the bedcovers as the two of them go out into the hallway. 

“Just relax, Babe,” Steve says (and if Bucky isn’t mistaken, he sounds amused). “Take a nap.”

“I just woke up!” He scoffs at the bedspread when the door quietly ‘snicks’ shut and he realizes that he’s been abandoned. “Well okay then,” he mutters petulantly. Steve is right: he does turn into an ass when he’s in pain. Hmm. Maybe he should work on that.

Steve

Steve turns the tv onto a low volume so they can talk without Bucky hearing. “Sorry about him,” he says. “He’s a humongous jerk whenever he’s feeling crummy.”

“You mean it’s not just all the time?” Mary drawls.

“He’s … just one of those people you have to learn to love before you like them.” Mary raises an eyebrow, and Steve winces. “Er, that sounded harsh. Don’t tell him I said that.”

She twists her lips and looks down. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“Thanks, Hon. You want more tea?” 

“Yes please. There’s more of the palmiers in a baggie next to the coffee pot, if you want any.” 

“Heck yeah, I love those things.” Steve had thought the prepackaged ones at Starbucks were good, hadn’t even realized that they weren’t supposed to be all stale and hard like that. Just another commercialized pastry that Mary’s gone and ruined him for. He goes into the kitchen and makes himself coffee and Mary tea, knowing by now how she takes it.

She thanks him silently as he returns and joins her on the couch, both of them sitting close to one another on the chaise, since it’s the only part of the couch that still has its cushion.

"Palmier is French. Know what else they call these?" Mary asks.

Steve's lips quirk. Mary's always got these little facts she knows about the origins of this pastry or that. It's cute. Endearing. "No," he plays along. "What?"

"Elephant ears, because of the shape, see?"

"Oh yeah. Huh. That's neat."

She goes back to eating and sipping at her teacup, and after a moment of unrequited, affectionate staring, Steve looks away. "Elephant ears," he murmurs, trying not to be mopey. "That's funny."

They split the palmiers between them, and aside from the sounds of them munching cookies and sipping their drinks, it’s quiet for a long time. Steve made both the tea and the coffee very hot, so they at least have the excuse of cradling and blowing on their steaming mugs to keep the silence from being too awkward. Mary keeps her eyes trained forward, but Steve gets the sense that she isn’t really paying attention to the home renovation program that’s playing on the tv. His suspicions are confirmed when she eventually asks,

“So: His arm.”

Steve inhales slowly. “Yeah. His arm.”

“What happened?”

Steve frowns. He can tell by her inflection that she’s asking not just about the arm, but about the state of Bucky’s entire left side from shoulder to hip. “We were in the army,” he confides. “Deployed overseas. I made captain young, but he was a specialist in the field: a sniper. So I wasn’t put into the same types of situations as he was. His convoy got blown up by an IED. And when the dust settled …” He shrugs. “No more arm.”

“Oh.” Mary sits there and absorbs that information. “I guess I kind of figured it was something like that. I mean what else is there, besides like, a shark attack or something?”

Steve’s mouth twitches. Shark attack, ha. He’ll have to suggest that one to Buck. Might be fun to lie about, the next time a stranger asks. “Naw, just a boring old bomb. And afterwards, well. It was a long road for him, after. He didn’t have the arm when I met him.”

Mary turns her head, surprised. “Oh. You two didn’t meet in the army?”

“No, after. I met him at the V.A., when he was already angry, hurt, and didn’t want to be where he was.” Steve looks over and gives her a meaningful look. “Kind of like when I first met you.” 

Her eyes widen, and then her face colors and she looks away again, pulling her knees up and hunkering over her mug. “Was I really that bad?” she mumbles.

“... You were pretty bad, Honey.”

She frowns and doesn’t say anything, and Steve decides to leave it alone. “So yeah, his arm. He got into a program for experimental cybernetics. It was a big gamble. Back then, he still had his arm down to nearly the elbow, which meant he could use a lot of the different types of prostheses they had on the market. The less arm you have, the less they can do for you. The surgeries for the implant required removal all the way up to and including his left shoulder blade. So if he went through with it and the procedures didn’t work out, he’d be left with less function than he started with.”

“Jeez.”

“Hm, yeah. It was a risk.” Steve stares across the living room as he remembers all of the hospital stays and surgeries and revisions and therapy appointments. “Luckily it worked out. They replaced some bones with metal supports, some of his natural muscle with enhanced synthetic tissue. His body didn’t reject any of the junk they were putting in him, which was the biggest worry. All in all, it took five surgeries over the course of three years, and then a shit ton of physiotherapy. Buck says it was worth it, now, but it wasn’t a walk in the park when it was happening, I’ll tell you that.”

Beside him, Mary makes a sad little noise in her throat. “But … all that and it still gives him pain?”

“Yeah. He gets PT for it, but like he said; it never winds up lasting the full year. I force him to my veterans' support group when I can, but he’s gotta be in a really charitable mood for that.” Steve snorts humorlessly. “He’s always hated being disabled. It doesn’t jive with his DPD. You know that stereotype about men: never wanting to stop and ask for directions?” 

“Yeah.”

"Well it's true. And then you take a guy who’s as far on the spectrum as Bucky is, and it’s ten times worse.” He widens his eyes in emphasis and gets a little giggle out of Mary for it, which makes him warm with pride. He pulls his feet up onto the couch next to Mary’s and nudges her knee with his. “Just fair warning: He’s the worst patient I’ve ever seen. So don’t take it personally if he’s grumpy at you in there.”

Mary frowns and looks away. “Well, I mean I don’t have to do this. If he doesn’t want to.”

“Pretty sure he wants to. And he needs help with it, whether his stubborn ass wants to admit it or not.”

She nods, though she still doesn’t look confident. “It’s been over a year since I worked on anybody …”

“Well then this’ll be good practice for you, won’t it?” Steve nudges her again in encouragement and tells her to finish up her tea: He doesn’t expect Bucky’ll lie around patiently for much longer.

(“Oh, and Hon, maybe don’t tell him we were out here talking about him this whole time.”)

(“Duh.”)

In the bedroom, Mary climbs onto the bed next to where Bucky is laid out on the couch cushions. She takes the heating pad off his neck and puts it aside, looking nervously over the broad expanse of his back. “Um …” She reaches for the oil bottle and pumps some into her hands. She spends a long, long time just spreading it between her hands and staring at Bucky, until finally he snaps,

“What’s the holdup?��� 

“Babe, be nice,” Steve warns. “Mary? You need anything?”

“Um, no. It’s just … usually I'd ..." She makes an aborted move, like she's thinking about repositioning herself, but winds up staying where she is. "Right," she mutters to herself. "This'll work fine." She reaches forward like she’ll start rubbing Bucky’s back, hesitates, shuffles closer to his side, then sets her hands on his shoulders.

Bucky doesn’t so much as twitch, but he’s not used to new people touching him, and Steve would bet money that his eyes are clenched shut right now.

“Okay,” Mary warns. “I haven’t done this in awhile, so don’t get your hopes up for a miracle or anything.”

“Anything’ll be better than what I can do myself,” Bucky says gruffly, voice somewhat muffled by the cushions. “Just go to town. You can’t hurt me any worse.”

Steve can see Mary’s face, and he knows by now what she looks like when she’s flustered. Awkwardly, he steps to the side, heading for the door. “I’ll just go watch some—”

“No!” Mary squeaks, and when Steve turns back around she’s looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t leave,” she says, like being left alone touching Bucky is the worst possible thing that could happen. Steve doesn’t miss how the muscles in Bucky’s arms do tense at hearing her plead for Steve to stay. 

“Uhm, okay. I’ll just … be over here.” He leans back against the dresser, feeling almost painfully awkward. Once again, he’s reminded how Mary has shown absolutely no desire to engage in sexual contact with them. He hopes she doesn’t think this is a ploy to force physical contact. She was the one who suggested it, after all.

She starts at the base of Bucky’s skull, rubbing her thumbs in small circles. “As I go along, try to tell me which areas feel the worst,” she murmurs, and Bucky hums in acknowledgement. Steve watches as she pushes and circles and kneads Bucky’s neck, working down on into his shoulders. He’s struck by how feminine and tiny her hands look against Bucky’s body … and then has to steer his mind away from the thought of how tiny they might look in other places.

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky gasps, when she reaches a certain spot on the left side of his neck.

She freezes. “Bad?” 

“Nngh. Good,” he slurs. “That whole area from there goin’ down into my back ‘n all around my shoulder blade is where it’s worst.”

“Okay.” She tentatively presses around in and around the left side of his neck and shoulder. “Oh, yeah. It starts right here and goes down.” She slides her hand down the muscle and hums. “Oh, I can feel it.”

(Steve tries really hard not to think sexual thoughts.)

“Riiight here? and … here?"

Between the cushions, Bucky’s voice comes out in a series of garbled moans.

“That’d be a yes,” Steve interprets, and Mary actually shoots him a grin at that. Glad to have cut the tension a bit, he dares to take a few steps closer to the bed. He peers down at what Mary’s doing, the way her fingers dig in at sharp, focused points in some places and rub more gently in others. “It’s your trap that’s the worst,” she mutters distractedly, feeling around with her hands and staring off into space with the tip of her tongue poking out at the corner of her mouth. It’s cute. “Mmm, but probably your levator scapulae, too. Those tend to get fucked up hand in hand.”

“Mmrr.”

“And here: your rhomboid.”

“Ooh!”

“Tender?” 

“Shuyeahhh,” Bucky grunts, then his breath hitches when she digs into another spot. “Oh, yep yep right there. Was’that?”

Steve can’t help but grin. Bucky sounds like he’s drooling at this point.

“Your trapezius muscle. It's big. Does a lot of work, covers a large area. Probably the main offender.” Mary hums and feels around a little more. “Oof, yeah. You’ve got a whole bunch of tension right here.”

“You can feel it?” Steve asks, fascinated. He can't see anything.

“Yeah. Here, gimme your hand.” Steve is taken aback when she grabs his hand and guides his fingers into place, her own smaller hand pressing down. “Riiight there. You feel it?”

Steve swallows thickly. “Ah, yeah.” His eyes flick from her hand on his hand on Bucky’s back, up to her face, and back again before she can catch him looking. “Y-yeah it’s hard.” He grimaces at his choice of words (If he's not careful, "it" soon will be).

“I’m gonna focus on this one for a few minutes,” Mary tells Bucky. Then you can guide me around to the other bad spots.”

“Sounds good,” he slurs. Steve is about to take a step back again, but then Bucky calls out, “Hey Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Pay attention to what she’s doin’. It feels really fuckin’ good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhm. You can learn n' do it next time,” he says dreamily. On his back, Mary’s hands still for the briefest of seconds. “S’goood.”

Steve nods and comes back to sit on the bed. “Okay,” he agrees, scooting in close and glancing at Mary. Her face looks pinched all of a sudden, her expression stiffened as if in annoyance. “I promise I’m not as dumb as I look,” he jokes, and watches as her face smooths out and she smiles a little.

“Oh! Oh no it’s … it’s okay, I don’t mind. I’ll teach you how.”

“Don’t mind me, m’just a teaching tool,” Bucky drawls, and Steve laughs and pats his shoulder. 

“Yeah you are. So shut up and let her teach.”

Bucky grunts and shuts up. Steve looks to Mary for instruction. He can tell she’s uncomfortable, but she manages to hide it well and keep herself on track. The more he pays attention, the sooner she can get herself out of this and never have to do it again. “Ready to learn,” he tells her.

“Now when you’re doing this, you can get more leverage if you straddle his waist.” She says this like it’s a foregone assumption that she would never dare to sit on Bucky’s waist, and Steve is sure she doesn’t notice the grumpy huff of breath Bucky gives.

“Right,” Steve says, pained. “Okay, so where are the bad spots again?”

“Put your hand here.” She takes his hand again and places it just to the left of Bucky’s spine at the level of his shoulder blade. “Slide your fingers out. There. Feel that difference? Feel how it changes when you move out to just … there?” She guides his fingers, and Steve nods. 

“Y-yeah.” Mostly, he’s just thinking about how nice Mary’s warm, oiled, tiny hand feels guiding his hand around. “Yeah.”

“The trap’s on top, but there are other muscles underneath of this one, and that differentiation you feel is where the rhomboid is ending and the—”

She keeps talking, and Steve tries to pay attention and learn, he really does. But his mind is a veritable sieve, for how well he retains the information. It’s all in one ear and out the other, ninety percent of his attention stuck on Mary’s hands on him, guiding him, pressing on his fingers and gliding his touch over Bucky’s skin. Fuck, how did they wind up here? 

Eventually, having taught Steve the basics, Mary lets him go and works on Bucky’s shoulders for a little while more. For the most part it’s quiet, with Bucky making soft grunts of pain whenever she finds a new cluster of knotted muscle, and sighs of relief once she works them out. 

Her hands linger on Bucky’s mid back when she’s done. She doesn’t seem to know what to do. “Erm. Okay. I think … I think that’s it.”

When neither Bucky nor Steve says anything, she retreats on her own, getting off the bed and looking between Bucky’s prone form and Steve’s sorrowful expression. “So, kay. You can get up, if you want. Just move slowly.”

Bucky’s right hand gives her the thumbs up symbol, but the entire rest of his body doesn’t move. “Thanks Mare. Just give us a second. That was really good. Thank you. Thanks for teaching Steve.”

It’s the “Thanks for teaching Steve” that seems to do it. Mary’s expression firms up and she nods curtly, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. Steve stays sitting on the bed next to Bucky in silence for a long minute, then says knowingly, “Got a boner?”

“Yep.”

*To anyone who's only ever had store bought, pre-packaged palmiers: I'm so sorry. Along with Madeleines, those should never be eaten more than a few hours max after they've been baked.

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