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screampied · 11 months ago

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#OOHMAMI! g. suguru

☆ sum. cuban link, diamond cross—you’re a big fan of suguru geto, the top street racer in tokyo. he doesn’t wanna win any more races, he wants to win you this time. keep at it and he might have to fuck you on the highway.

wc. 5.7k

warnings. fem! reader, street racer! geto, pwp, unprotected, suguru has a (dick) piercing / tats, semi-public, riding, brief ōral (f! receiving), you get eaten out his window lol, overstim, dirty talk, praise, size kink, impact play, petnames, drive safe, continuation here :)

an. chase atlantic inspired me ¯\_(ᵕ—ᴗ—)_/¯

“you, yeah you. wanna ride?”

stop thinking dirty, stop thinking dir—

you stop dead in your tracks, hearing the deafening vrooming of a certain nissan skyline gtr along with a raspy deep voice. you knew that voice, in fact you’d be a fool not to recognize the voice of the suguru geto, infamous street racer who’s won more races around the world than you could count. he’s got a big hand on the steering wheel with his dark purple helmet cracked open. growing pathetically sheepish, you could barely get any words out before you start to feel your feet gradually dragging toward his rumbling car.

“really?” you mumble, barely even pressed up against his tinted window and you could smell his loud rich cologne from there. you couldn’t help but fangirl—and oh, did he look so much better in person. geto’s got pretty long tresses of black hair that’s usually down, but in every race it’s always pinned back. a few loose strands run down his face, peeking out of his helmet and his glove grips tightly against his bedazzled steering wheel that had ‘s. geto’ carved into the material as it flawlessly spiraled around the wheel.

“reaaally,” he tauntingly repeats your word, cocking his head to get a better look at you. you could smell the thick puffed smoke that weeps out of his silvery flashy tailpipes and he hums. slouching back against his seat manspread, his foot eases off from the break and you watch as the flashy racer’s seat flies open on its on, and you step in. “i take it you’re here to see the race?”

no, no you weren’t.

you couldn’t lie to yourself—you were here to see the race, but you were to here to see geto also. you’ve only seen him during his interviews, magazines, and sometimes on tv where his races would be broadcasted for the entire world to see.

but, you managed to snag enough money to actually see him in the flesh.

without a second thought you make your way inside. on the inside, you were screaming. you were currently living every one of his fangirl’s dream. immediately once you sit down, you’re surrounded by the balmy welcoming warmth of his beloved str. you assumed it was an older model but he made it work anyway — it had cushioned seats with blaring speakers and oh, the smell . . it’s almost as if the vehicle had a signature cologne scent of its self. it’s really masculine and it makes your thighs squeeze together once you recline back a bit. his seats warmed up your backside automatically and you glance around the rest of the car, taking in its glitzy beauty.

it’s pretty, you’ve only seen pictures. ogling near his rear view mirror, you see fuzzy dice dangling as he’s adjusting it. the rest of the cars usually gathered near the meet up spot before the race actually starts.

“she’s pretty, isn’t she?” geto snickers, noticing you gawking at the inside of his car.

indeed, you heard about how geto built this entire thing from scratch. before doing street racing as a little side hustling hobby, he used to be a mechanic. a well known one, but that wasn’t as fun as actually racing.

geto tosses an arm behind the head rest of your seat, preparing to go in reverse. “had her for about two years. haven’t lose a match, since.”

“not one?” you murmur, wanting to call his bluff. sure, you’ve never seen anyone covering him losing a match but that was a bit hard to believe.

“doubtin’ me, sweetheart?” he rasps, and you feel the rough jittering of the car. geto’s backing up safely, curving his wheel briefly to drive out of one of his many garages.

sweetheart, you don’t know why but that single pet name had you feeling hot for a moment. once your eyes dart back toward him for a split second, you spot a toothpick sticking out from the corner of his crooked lips. he’s so pretty — he’s got a natural smirk that’s tugging against the corners of his lips. as he starts to drive toward the starting point for the highly anticipated race, a gloved thumb taps against his furry steering glimmering wheel. with a low hum, he glances at you. “seatbelt, silly girl.”

shit, you snap on your seat belt moments later and notice even his signature’s all over his seatbelt covers. ‘suguru geto’ in bright bold letters.

drafty air wafts against your skin as he’s still creating distance with just a few miles. once he reaches near the starting line, you hear his foot tapping against the break.

one, two, three . . three, two, one . . he’s bored.

geto positions his rear view mirror for the millionth time before noticing you zeroing your eyes at his gear shift that glistens from the dozens of rhinestones that glue against the cover. countless diamonds stick up and down the leather skin of the handle and it’s so pretty.

“hold on, sweetheart,” geto purrs, his eyes slowly locking onto the flagger that’s stood in front of the row of cars.

geto’s still got a firm hand gripped onto his wheel, his right foot just barely hovering over the gas. come on, he just wanted to get it over with. you could almost smell the competitiveness dripping from his body.

it was intense, you could almost feel the anticipation as if you were in the driver’s seat. the tall woman that’s dressed in nothing but sheer black carries a hefty checked flag, swaying it in the air every few seconds. as she safely spaces herself between the cars, she does it two more times and you realize it’s almost time for take off.

the cars that were lined up beside and next to geto start to rev their engines and so does he. it’s a roaring groan, and his rousing wheels burn into the hardened cement, his gold pipes coughing up clouds of purple smoke. geto gives his wheel one more tap with his thumb before glancing at you with a cunning grin. “lie back, i take off pretty fast, heh.”

and he wasn’t kidding.

the moment the flagger does a final up-down sway motion with the flag, all race cars accelerate quickly past the starting point. you sink back into the plushy seat as he meanly yanks back his stick shift.

his engine’s loud, and within seconds he’s already in the lead. it’s like he wasn’t even trying. frantic turbo spits through his rusted pipes and you can feel his car speedily pass through each poor vehicle that tries to get in his way.

vroooooom, he’s flying by each checkpoint and you could almost smell the adrenaline that’s coursing through his pulsating veins.

the thrill . .

you felt it all ghost through your own veins, feeling the frigid air roaming through his vents tickle against the hairs that stand up on your arms. geto makes a few sharp turns, keeping an eye on the time every so often. his personal best was around five minutes and seventy-seven seconds. with a coarse grip, he’s tilting his steering wheel while the thunder of his engine growls louder and louder within each whizzing mile.

over time though—you can’t help but be a bit nosy. your eyes shift toward the racer and god, you’re just now noticing how handsome he was.

geto usually wore sweats along with his street gear. he didn’t have to wear his helmet but he preferred it just in case. its all black with a splash of purple—you can see his signature lazily signed near the very top. outlined beside his name was a curling design of smoke. the part where he sees through was all darkly tinted so you could hardly see his face unless you squinted or he took it off.

it’s like it added more to his appeal in a way. he sat manspread and doing so, it gave you a one way ticket to stare straight down at his barely hidden bulge.

fuck, your mind started to ponder. you had so many unanswered questions. isn’t it painful driving around that hard—

“hey,” your raunchy thoughts get rudely interrupted and you don’t even realize how many minutes had passed from you being cooped up in your own lewd fantasm. geto’s driving a bit slower now, around sixty mph instead of his usual two hundred. he’s way in the lead, first place. one hand’s lazily on the steering wheel and he fakes a yawn.

oh he’s cocky.

with a quick glance out his mirror, he knew the other cars were far behind him and he now starts drifting near the freeway. with an intrigued hum, he notices just exactly what you were staring at. his lap. “don’t tell me this was the ride you thought i meant, sweetheart.”

“i—”

it’s like his cologne got louder.

you choked on your words, wondering if you were hearing right. suguru, the suguru geto was flirting with you?

and the thing that got you the most was that he wasn’t even looking at you anymore—every few seconds, you’d lock eyes against him near the ear view mirror, feeling hot once his eyes slowly rove down your figure through his dark tinted helmet.

not only was his cologne loud but so were your thoughts—shamelessly, you did think he was referring to that kind of ride minutes earlier.

and the more you stared at his hardened bulge through his grey sweats, the more you started to think. .

but, little did you know your dirty wish would be granted.

not even a few moment later, you’d find yourself fucked - literally.

geto positions you on his lap, halfway pulling down his loose sweats just so you could ride something else entirely.

instead of riding just his car — you rode his dick, and fuck was he just ridiculously big.

too big, and he knows it. geto groans once he’s buried full inside, lodging his thick cock in between your slimy gummy walls. “shit,” he’d hiss, his head occasionally tossing back once the ring piercing that’s stuck on his tip tap tap tap’s away against your precious g-spot. it swirls all around the inside of your cunt and your thighs struggled to stay open. it tickles, but you were far from laughing. he’s so big, easily rearranging your insides and be barely even had to move a muscle.

he’s ruthless - but your hips were even more ruthless though, far more.

geto knew all too well that this was dangerous—just one swerve from the swerving stimulation of bodies smacking against his and game fucking over.

you moan, burying your face into his neck as your hips continue to move against him. he’s still burning gas as your cunt’s just merrily drooling all down his length from each slapping thrust.

belatedly, your brows furrow, almost forgetting why you even showed up to this event. well, part of why you came. “f- fuck, what about t- the race?” you speak in a breathy tone, your tempo becoming more and more relentless. the salaciously enticing jerk of your unsteady hips gradually turn into rough unstable bounces and he kisses his teeth. geto feels the convulsing veins that run down his cock pulse right through him and between your walls, you feel it too.

“oh, sweetheart,” he huffs, his back of his helmet hitting against his headrest. looking at you with hazy hooded eyes, he flashes you a sleazy grin. “technically, i already won,” and you gasp, feeling him reach a gloved hand down between your rickety thighs. his touch was so gentle, you felt yourself shuddering from both twin digits that drag further down your chest. he cups one of your bouncing tits that pop out of your tank top, brushing a thumb against your sensitive nipple. “god, what a pretty fuckin’ body. look at you girl,” and he’s still got a hand on the steering wheel.

a trembling whimper dies out your throat at the feeling of his swollen fat cockhead vigorously thrusting in and out of your dribbling entrance.

you’re just so soaked. it’s like you can’t help but be sopping wet on his lap and he loves it. sloshes of sobs echo out of your pussy and your legs pathetically quaver directly on top of him.

both of you groan in complete unison and a big hand of his creeps further down, giving your ass a teasing squeeze. “fuuucck, reel those nasty hips. ride it baby, ride me, yeah,” and you hear the grumbling revs of his engine ring against your ears louder. it makes the entire car shake a bit despite him pushing down a few miles. with widened dewy eyes staring at the back of his car, you squint, seeing dozens of cars trying to catch up to geto.

they didn’t have a chance,

they looked like tiny splotching dots in the far distance. geto even had the audacity to not do his usual speed and yet he was still dusting the other racers.

typical.

“s- suguru,” you whine, the undersides of your thighs sticking against him. each time you bounced back on his cock, each ruthless ‘pap pap pap’ of your skin mashing against his and the clingy recoil never fails to leave you brain dead for a few seconds. he’s so thick. you swivel your hips around him, gasping every time his dick piercing scrapes against your clit. the cold material makes a good portion of your thighs quake and you can’t help but coo out a few sweet ‘ooh’ or ‘ah’s right next to the shell of his ear. your panties were lazily shoved to the side and he didn’t even bother taking them off.

yet.

“so fuckin’ big, shiiiit.” you’d whimper, trying to swerve your way all around him. he’s just too big, you were even surprised he fit. you had to go down slow, aligning yourself against him — every few seconds his cock would pop out of you, making that cute squelch sound that makes his suck his teeth in annoyance.

“mhm, ‘n you’re takin’ it so well. you’re a big girl, fuckin’ take it,” he rasps in a hushed tone, nipping a few teeth near the inside of your neck. his helmet along with his toothpick ends up falling near the side of his seat with a loud thud.

your hips were killer.

unlike any opponent he’s had to go up against. you’re happily squeezing around him like a vice, taking in his curved inches like a champ. “f- fuck, who taught you how ‘ta ride? heh, tryna give me a run for my money, hm pretty?”

your whiny moans only pitch louder once he grips a nice chunk of your ass with one hand, peering at his bedazzled dash. the speed was a bit over one fifty now but it didn’t even feel like it.

“ugh, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasp, growing more and more dumb the faster you bounced on his heavy throbbing cock. his peeling sack hangs from underneath and he’s so swollen, you feel it.

maddened angry balls entirely reddened and puffed up from the delicious stimulation. with every sharp pull of your hips bouncing up and down, he feels himself shriveling — he’s so sensitive inside of you, and he can almost taste his own pleasure. whilst you continue to twirl your ass around in rotation for him, you couldn’t help but shamelessly salivate at the thought of imagining just how full he might be.

“sugu—fuuuckk,” and a bead of sweat races down the side of your face. geto’s primarily focusing on the road, it’s an easy straight shot and with how it was practically the middle of the night it wasn’t that many cars except for the one’s participating in the annual street races.

“bet you are. sloppy girl,” he huffs, groaning at the echoing loud smacks of your ass. you’re mercilessly clamping down his lap over and over, preparing to gush all over the dick that’s currently nestled inside of you. he’s got such a mouth watering curve of his cock that makes your stomach twist and churn.

the kind of curve that doesn’t involve his motor vehicle, that kind.

geto’s dick knew how to do swerves on its own, it even knew how to carve an entire bumpy race track allllll through your insides with his fat pink tip. “touch yourself, pretty. gimme a show before you mess up my fuckin’ seats.”

you could hear the sass in his voice along with a drip of vex and you’d giggle if you weren’t being ruthless stuffed full of inches. “o- okay,” you breathe through clenched teeth, guiding your hands up and down your body. geto’s dark eyes stare at you intently.

he stared at the way your hands caress your pretty plump tits, feeling down the valley of your exposed chest. his eyes flicker toward you then back at the road, then at you again - he repeats it, feeling his own muscles starting to tighten through his clothing. “ngh, suguru. can’t hold—”

your addictive slams against his cock got more intense until he’s fully buried balls deep inside of your squeezing cunt. you hear the saturated plops that’s squealing out of your pussy and you can’t even believe that’s you that’s sounding like that.

your poor sweet cunt was louder than his radio, completely shrieking over some random chorus of a heavy metal song you didn’t even know was playing in the background.

“fuck, cum then. cum on me, girl,” he grunts, one hand grabbing a nice fat piece of your ass again before spanking it.

you moan, the sharp brief twinge of elation sending you a shiver that immediately sends convulses between your thighs. lewd filthy thoughts foil at your brain and pretty soon, the car steams up with steamy clouded fog.

erratic sharp breaths match each other’s pace and you’re left breathless. geto feels your legs on the verge of giving out and he snickers, bringing a gloved hand to stroke against your sopping pussy. “go on, don’t be shy. should make ya lick up the mess later anyway.”

whimpering, your release comes and fuck, a sharp scream ripples out from your throat once you’re finally coming undone on his cock. the wrinkled skin of his base continues to stick against his sack due to you bouncing against him.

it’s hot, literally.

with both plush mounds of skin harshly plummeting on top of each other, the heat of the car made it feel like the air conditioner wasn’t even on. “thaaat’s it, work those hips, goddamn,” and abruptly, he cuts off from his words after feeling his mushroom tip reach a certain spongey spot that’s buried way inside of your gripping walls.

you gasp once you feel him throb inside with a soft upward shimmy of his hips. milliseconds later, your thighs collapse down on him and you feel yourself succumbing. you’re creaming down his shaft with your slippery slick while at the very same time, struggling to catch your breath. as you weakly try to continue your grinding with your feeble knees, geto uses a single hand to quickly make a detour.

he was close.

the race car makes a swift turn to the left lane, driving a few more miles before he then turns the opposite direction — pulling over safely. with a cooing skrrrrt, his rubber tires come to a cruising stop and geto groans, gripping at his tensing bouncing thigh with his glove. the finish line was just a few feet away but he could care less.

once he puts his car in park, geto falls back into his seat with own sable dark eyes flickering back to the very depths of his skull.

you rode him good, good to the point where he doesn’t even know what to say for a hot second. blinking twice, geto smears his glossed lips together before exhaling, “phew,” and he swats another palm against your ass. black unkempt strands of hair tape against the center of forehead like glue whilst he’s finally got a good grip on your hips. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum too,” and your puffy folds continue to dribble with honeyed slick.

you’re damping his cock and the squelches you make, they were loud.

so wet and slimy. he could listen to it all day, just the sound of your sweet cunt whimpering out sweet sloshes of nothing. the overwhelming sensitivity leaves a sourly candied taste in your mouth and you whine, feeling him squeeze a hand against your right hip. with a raspy out of breath tone, he strokes a thumb underneath your quivering bottom lip. “ ‘s okay if i cum inside, pretty?”

“y- yeah, please,” you babble out in broken cries, feeling your tummy frantically heave in and out.

as he grabs your hips, steadying you—you intake a breath, remembering how many inches he was buried inside. your tummy tucks inward and you whimper, feeling him preparing to shoot pure blanks. with a size like his, geto’s cock never failed to leave its sloppy infamous mark.

you’re just marveled at how fat his tip is, it’s voluntarily french-kissing up against sweet beloved cervix that’s screaming out curses just as much as you. he’s got two hands on your veering hips, smooth fabric of his racing gloves sliding up and down your wobbly. with pouty compressed lips, you moan, bringing your hands to grab onto his shoulders. “cum, cum in me—fuck.”

geto huskily groans, tossing his head back once your hips zealously reel into him right as he gives you the final perfunctory thrust that finishes him off. immediately, he’s shooting out ribbons of hot cum that pour into you. you’re panting as he slows down, glossy eyes raking at his body. you could see a bit of his tatted sleeves peek from underneath his shirt - his tense muscles bulging.

“god, better take all of it,” he groans, pretty black lashes sticking against his droopy hooded sockets.

it spurts out slowly but surely.

globs and globs of frothy cum bubble down the swollen sides of his cock and you feel it all. it’s toasty and warm and as he’s pouring his all into you, painting your gummy walls his pristine-white color, you couldn’t help but lean in.

geto’s matching your breathy irregular pants before he feels your trembling lips crash onto his. “mmf,” he moans against your lips, tilting his head back slightly to a certain attractive degree. a hand of his reaches toward his radio, turning the middle notch all the way down just to hear the squelches of his own seed slobbering down your slick cunt.

he tastes sweet. you moan at the lingering taste of fresh cooling mint that lives on his tongue, feeling his hands tighten around your waist.

oh, he’s obsessed—

screw the race by this point, all he wanted at this moment was you.

geto’s still got such a large load that’s dumping into you raw and it even oozes down past your thighs, a few creamy droplets plopping down on his velvet seats. he grunts, both twisting tongues ferociously tangling against each other whilst your pussy’s still squeezing down on him like a vice. a glossed translucent ring forms around his base and he feels you trying to touch yourself with two curious fingers.

with a slight smack, he swats your hand away and you whine in his mouth. “heh, hands to yourself,” you pout because earlier he let you touch yourself but now, no. he teases, breaking away from the hot kiss. a stringy cobweb of saliva tears back from both lax plump lips before he playfully nibbles on your chin. geto notices how slumped out you were and a broad open hand of his crawls between your legs. “ooooh,” and he lifts you up from his swollen flaccid cock, gazing at just how much of a fill he’s pumped into you. “well look at that,” and you whimper, feeling him strum a thumb down your drooling cunt. “would be a shame if it all went to waste,” then he quirks a brow, sliding a tongue across his lips. “princess, stick your head out the window for me real quick.”

“out the wind—”

and not even seconds later, you find yourself literally being bent over, halfway hanging out of his rolled down tinted window. geto wasn’t done, at least not yet.

your sheeny glossed lips immediately part into an ‘o’ as a sweet gasp leaves your lips. with clammy hands, they grip onto the edge of his window and you whimper once he delves his long tongue inside of your cunt. your fingers gripped against the window so hard that it ends up leaving dozens of your cute fingerprints against the tinted glass.

“oh my goddd,” you babble out in elongated sweet syllables. with your pretty eyes bulging, you gasp at feeling the tip of his tongue swirl all around inside of you.

geto lowly grunts, lapping his twitching pink muscle down your runny folds back and forth. between your legs—he’s a menace, and it was no prying him off.

at all.

he doesn’t even bat an eye at the simple fact that he’s eating his own cum out of you, unapologetically savoring the bittersweet taste that lands right on his flavored tastebuds. your legs were so weak and you can feel his warm breath continuously fan against and on your sopping folds as he chuckles.

“my my, look at her. this prize’s way better than some money,” he hums, using a leather thumbed glove to swipe down your entrance. he’s slow, dragging it all the way down just to watch spurts of your slick pop onto his digit. you’re just so wet, metallic fingers of his ghost further down your clit before you whine. geto sees your cunt pulsing from the sheer thrill and he snickers, smacking a palm right against your slobbering core. “she’s fuckin’ nasty today, yeah?” and his eyes flicker toward your drooling cunt, giving it a teasing suck. “mmph, listen to her with me, gorgeous,” and one spank against your pussy turns into one, then two, then three.

growing quiet, you listen to the weeping sounds purring out of your own cunt. so loud, so shamelessly loud. you could hear it and he barely even had to touch you. you’re drenching up his seats and you couldn’t help but bite your lip, feeling your heart pound ruthlessly out your chest. his tongue knew just where to go—it’s creating a path of its own, laying flat against your clit before sucking against every tender spot. your legs were on its final hinges. you felt like they were about to snap shut. you’re staring out the window, still not seeing any cars which was good.

if anyone saw you like this, being eaten out in this kind of position, you don’t know what would happen.

geto resumes to flick his long tongue down your swollen slit, lapping up the last few droplets of his own cum that tries to dribble down the crevices of your thighs. another final swat from his mean palm sets against your clit and you let off a cute squeal, your tummy instinctively caving in. “so much back talk from a pussy this fuckin’ sloppy. oughta teach it some manners, pretty girl,” he grumbles, and your eyes blissfully roll back once you hear him starting to sluuuurp.

geto had no shame — it was decided, this was far better than any race he’s ever had.

his teeth nip near the inside corners of your thighs before he trails back to munching on your clit, burying his nose deep. “mhm,” he groans, and it only takes a few seconds before his jaw finally locks. geto reaches down, giving his cock a few solid pumps. his pretty reddened tip was angry, it still had dried spurts of cum racing from the sides and he grunts at the memory of being inside of you only just a few minutes ago. whilst his face’s shoved right between your thighs—you don’t even realize you’re trying to reach back to grab onto his hair. you’re hesitant though, and he finds it cute. departing his wet slick lips briefly, a wry grin spreads against his lips. “kinky,” the dark haired man flicks a tongue across his lips, savoring your juices that smeared against his mouth. “don’t be shy. do it,” and you moan once he teasingly whistles against your pussy, kissing against your nub. “pull my hair girl. pull.”

you give it a good yank and his head pushes forward into you—geto’s lengthy tongue dips further inside your cunt and you whimper, gnawing the inside of your stiff jaw. “fuck,” you gasp, and as his tongue gradually curls various bubbly letters inside of your pussy.

it multitasks, continuing to send your entire body a plethora of fluttering butterflies. he was so sloppy, seeping from the corners of his mouth with your slick and just your slick. his head moving side to side eagerly and every few seconds, he’s got to flick away long shaggy strands of his hair. geto’s proudly devouring you entirely whilst you’re just literally hanging out his window.

“oh, come on. harder, sweetheart. even i can do better than tha—ngh.”

with more force, you tug roughly on his pretty black strands and you heard the most sluttiest moan pour from his lips. god, he was so close that you could literally feel that infamous smug grin spread against his lips. geto brings a fat round thumb to run down your drooling cunt, giving it a ‘good job’ kiss. “atta girl. that’s my girl.”

geto ends up coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of over and over and over again.

he’s mean with his tongue, slurping everything out of you until you had no more - nothing more to coal his chin with. his favorite thing to do was to playfully bite against your clit, feeling you writhe and shiver all because of his mouth.

you end up leaving his entire chin with a pretty stream of your syrupy slick. geto’s panting, falling back after talking you through your nth orgasm, and with a peek through his rear view mirror, he spots the remaining race cars that were finally approaching the finish line.

“ah, about time,” geto rolls his eyes, sliding his lips near the corner of his chin where a bit more of your slick laid.

he acted like it was nothing, like he didn’t just have his tongue shoved inches deep inside of your cunt, stuffing his race gloved fingers in and out of you until you gushed right down his lengthy thick digits. you’re just sat on his lap, and you’re too dumb to move an inch. “heh, comfy?” he purrs, dragging his seatbelt across both stacked bodies. you fall against his chest, inhaling his signature manly scent and feel the car jolt once he puts it back in drive.

needy silence was your only reply and he tsks, resting his chin on top of your head before driving toward the finish line. it was barely even a few feet away, and waiting there was a bunch of fans that were awaiting to greet their new winner.

geto couldn’t care less though—he had you on his lap and he could already feel himself bulging again.

he found it cute how you were just clinging onto him now.

maybe you were delusional—maybe it was the fangirl in you screaming, begging for more, but your body wasn’t just begging anymore, it ached for more.

he drives you back toward the car meet up spot, helping you fix back your skirt. with wobbly legs, you step out of the flaunting vehicle with the help of his burly arms wrapped around you. “t- thank you,” you pant, trying to catch your breath, even still. geto stands up tall and he completely towers over you. you feel so small all of a sudden, watching as he puts his helmet back on.

“anything for a fan,” he coos, and he brushes a thumb against your lips. just a single gesture just as that felt so intimate. your eyes lock with his for a long moment, and just before you could say anything more, he mumbles. “oh, you probably want an autograph?”

your eyes light up and you grow sheepish, awkwardly tugging on the vip-checked lanyard that wraps around your throat. “yeah, please.”

“such manners like a good girl, cute,” and you bring out a magazine with his face plastered on it as a headline for this week’s up and coming races in tokyo. “nah,” he waves it away, and as your brow quirks, he takes out a sharpie. geto slides the cap in between his teeth before he glances at you. “pull your shirt down real quick, sweetheart,” and without a second thought, you tug down the hem of your shirt, barely exposing your chest.

geto’s eyes rove down your skin before he swiftly signs right against your left tit. the ink softly runs against your skin and you gasp, watching as he marks up the upper part of your chest. “aaaand, perfect,” he concludes, adding a ‘xo’ at the end of his signature. geto puts the cap back on and he flashes you a sly expression. “so i’ll see you at the next race?”

he starts walking away before you could even reply and you feel the weight of your shaky legs grow heavy. “y.. yeah,” and with dewy eyes, you watch as he steps in his car, playfully revving his engine at you.

the cool air sets against your skin once more as you stood there with shaky legs. the car meet slowly gets more crowded as the rest of the racers pass the finish line.

but, your brows furrow once you realize you felt a bit . . . empty between your legs.

with a soft gasp, you squint near the inside of geto’s car before he pulls off.

hanging over his rear view mirror instead of the fuzzy dice you once saw—was nothing other than your panties,

his real prize.

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rightnewshindi · 1 year ago

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श्रीखंड महादेव की पहाड़ियों पर फटा बादल, 300 लोग और उनके वाहन फंसे; स्थानीय लोगों ने दी शरण

Kullu News: श्रीखंड महादेव की पहाडिय़ों पर बादल फटने के चलते जहां भारी तबाही हुई है, वहीं श्रीखंड यात्रा पर निकले 300 लोग भी यहां फस गए हैं। हालांकि सभी लोग सुरक्षित हैं और स्थानीय लोगों द्वारा उन्हें शरण दी गई है, लेकिन जगह-जगह सडक़ खराब होने के चलते उनके वाहन भी फंसे हुए हैं, जिसके चलते वह यहां से नहीं निकल पा रहे हैं। ऐसे में अब जिला प्रशासन द्वारा सडक़ों की मरम्मत की जा रही है और कुछ जगह पर अब…

#cloud burst #hills #local people #people #shelter #Shrikhand Mahadev #stranded #vehicles

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chicagotowingcompany · 5 months ago

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Emergency Towing vs. Regular Towing: Understanding the Key Differences

When your vehicle experiences a breakdown or needs transportation, selecting the right towing service is crucial. However, not all towing services function the same way. The primary distinction between emergency towing and regular towing is the urgency of the situation. Recognizing these differences enables drivers to make informed decisions quickly, reducing stress and potential safety hazards. While both services involve vehicle transportation, emergency towing is tailored for urgent, high-risk situations, whereas regular towing is planned in advance for non-urgent needs. Understanding these distinctions can help you choose the best option when facing a roadside issue.

What is Emergency Towing?

Emergency towing provides immediate assistance to drivers dealing with unexpected breakdowns, accidents, or other roadside emergencies. Most providers aim to arrive within 30 to 60 minutes, depending on location and traffic conditions, ensuring a prompt and reliable response. This service is available 24/7 and prioritizes safety while minimizing traffic disruptions.

Situations That Require Emergency Towing:

Car Accidents – If your vehicle is involved in a collision and is unsafe to drive, emergency towing can remove it from the scene.

Mechanical Failures – Sudden engine issues, overheating, or transmission malfunctions may necessitate immediate towing.

Flat Tires Without a Spare – If you experience a flat tire and lack the tools or spare to replace it, emergency towing provides assistance.

Dead Battery – If jump-starting is not an option, a tow truck can transport your vehicle to a repair facility.

Stuck or Immobilized Vehicles – Vehicles trapped in mud, snow, or ditches may require professional towing for safe extraction.

Emergency towing typically utilizes specialized tow trucks, such as flatbeds, wheel-lifts, or heavy-duty rigs, depending on the type of vehicle and the severity of the situation.

What is Regular Towing?

Regular towing is a scheduled service used when a vehicle needs transportation but does not require immediate roadside assistance. For instance, if you sell a vehicle to someone in another city, you may arrange for regular towing to deliver it safely. Unlike emergency towing, this type of service is pre-planned and primarily used for non-urgent situations.

https://chicagotowing1.weebly.com/blog/5-situations-where-emergency-towing-becomes-essential

Common Uses of Regular Towing:

Relocating Non-Operational Vehicles – Transporting a non-running vehicle to a mechanic or storage facility.

Moving Classic or Luxury Cars – Owners of high-value vehicles often use regular towing for safe transportation.

Repossession Services – Lenders may utilize towing services to recover vehicles from defaulted loans.

Scheduled Towing for Repairs – If a vehicle needs towing for maintenance but is in a safe location, regular towing is a budget-friendly option.

Regular towing services generally operate during standard business hours and tend to be more cost-effective than emergency towing since there is no urgency involved.

Key Differences Between Emergency and Regular Towing

While both emergency and regular towing serve the fundamental purpose of vehicle transportation, they cater to different needs. Emergency towing provides immediate assistance in critical situations, ensuring safety and a rapid response, while regular towing offers a cost-effective solution for planned vehicle transportation. Knowing which service to use can save you time, money, and stress.

To stay prepared for any roadside situation, research local towing companies, read customer reviews, and store the contact information of a trusted provider in your phone. A little preparation today can make all the difference in an emergency.

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recoverpal · 1 year ago

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Recovery Services for Stranded Vehicle Borehamwood | Recoverpal.uk

Want to book a Local recovery driver in Borehamwood? Recoverpal.uk is the best online platform to get expert Recovery services for stranded vehicles with instant quotes in minutes. Do visit our site for more details.

https://recoverpal.uk/

#Recovery services for stranded vehicle Borehamwood

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lost-technology · 10 months ago

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In '98 he drove without incident in at least one episode. But kind of wrecked things in every other episode? Definitely "Vash can't drive" was a running gag in the manga. Poor, poor Angelina II.

Vash is allowed to be a horse chocobo thomas girl but he's not allowed to know how to drive a car. If stargaze even implies that his 150 year gay ass knows anything about driving no the fuck he does not

#in my long fanfic I've been doing for about a year now...#that has stampede setting as a setting base...#he's great with toma / has a good way with animals #but he is mentioned as almost killing them all when Rem tried to give him shuttle-piloting lessons #nai was a good little pilot though #and later on he gets stranded in the town that gives him his nickname when he wrecked a borrowed vehicle off-screen #because my fanficcer's ass loves the running gag and will not let him live it down

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reasonsforhope · 7 days ago

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"Fifteen years ago, solar power was nearly four times the cost of fossil fuel alternatives.

For context, 2010 was back when the iPad was first released, Instagram was launched, and “TiK ToK” by Kesha was the number one song on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

Needless to say, a lot can change in 15 years — including the affordability of solar power.

According to two new United Nations reports, renewable energy has passed a “positive tipping point,” and solar power is now 41% cheaper than fossil fuels.

“The fossil fuel age is flailing and failing,” UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres said in a speech on July 22, as the reports were released. “We are in the dawn of a new energy era. An era where cheap, clean, abundant energy powers a world rich in economic opportunity.”

“The sun is rising on a clean energy age. Just follow the money,” Guterres said frankly, pointing to the figures in the reports which found that green energy outpaced fossil fuel investments by $800 billion in 2024 alone.

Last year is evidence of a decade-long trend towards renewable energy — despite federal attempts to slash it under Trump’s second presidency.

“The year 2015 marked a turning point in global climate governance, with the adoption of the landmark Paris Agreement at COP21,” One report, titled “Seizing the moment of opportunity” said, in reference to the promise 195 countries pledged to hold the global average temperature to well below 2 degrees Celsius.

“The cost of utility-scale solar PV has fallen by 80–90% each decade since 1960, whereas the costs of fossil fuels are highly volatile and show no long-term decrease,” it continued.

“New solar PV has been undercutting new coal- and gas-fired power plants in most of the world for six years, and the gap in their average lifetime electricity generation costs continues to widen in favour of solar. Meanwhile, global manufacturing capacity of renewable energy technologies is outstripping demand: Announced solar PV and battery projects can already cover the global deployment needs of the tripling renewable capacity by 2030 goal.”

For example, the report noted, electric vehicles are up from 500,000 to 17 million since 2015.

Other astounding figures from the UN reports stated a 74% growth in electricity generated globally from wind, solar, and other green sources — just in the last year.

And 92.5% of all new electricity capacity added to the grid worldwide came from renewables in the same time frame.

“Countries that cling to fossil fuels are not protecting their economies, they are sabotaging them,” Guterres said in his speech, pointing to countries like China, India, and the United States, which still rely heavily on coal, oil, and natural gas.

“[They’re] driving up costs, undermining competitiveness, locking in stranded assets.”

Guterres’ impassioned speech came to a head as he said that there is security in renewable energy.

“There are no price spikes for sunlight,” he said. “No embargoes on wind.”

“This is not inevitable. We have the tools, the instruments, the capacity to change course,” Guterres said. “There are reasons to be hopeful.”"

-via GoodGoodGood, July 26, 2025

#united nations #global #solar #solar power #green energy #climate change #wind #wind power #climate crisis #renewable energy #sustainability #climate action #climate hope #environment #solarpunk #fossil fuels #good news #hope

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 7 months ago

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Neighborly (Part 2)

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: near death experience, hypothermia, cuddling for medical reasons, implied medically-related stripping, implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

It was supposed to be a two-shot.

The cold burned.

Once the sun set, the weather front moved in, and the temperature plunged. Snow fell thick and fast, just short of a whiteout. Your feet sank to the ankle, then to the shin, and your aching trudge became a slow-motion nightmare. It was about that time you realized – you were in real danger.

It was a two-mile walk – uphill, through old snow and frozen sludge – from your stranded vehicle. Home was closer than town, so you put your head down, buried your mittened hands in your armpits, and threw your emergency blanket from the car over your head as a bright orange cloak. And you set out.

It really took you too long to leave the car, but it was a life and death decision, and you waffled between shit options. On a busier road, you’d stay in the car. But this kind of snowfall would keep people home for a day or two. More than enough time to freeze to death, curled up in the driver’s seat.

If you lived, you’d make a better emergency kit for your ride.

In the meantime, the path demanded all of your attention. Even under fresh snow, it was easy to follow the road. Thick forest covered this stretch, and there was nowhere to go but forward. Hopefully you wouldn’t miss your drive. Should luck bless you for the first time in a decade, you’d see your neighbors’ lights in the dark.

But you had miles to go, yet. And the footing was terrible.

Old snow, half-melted and refrozen, threatened to turn your ankle with every step. Staying upright took work. Every muscle joined the battle, from your toes to your shoulders. Your abs clenched, and your thighs soon shook from exertion. As cold as you were, sweat stuck your hair to your face. Your neck.

The wind turned the moisture to ice.

Pins and needles prickled under your clothes.

Worse, and worse, and worse.

But there was no choice, so you moved on. No one was coming, so you would go. Keep calm and carry on and all that noise.

You had tea at home. An electric heating blanket under heavy quilts. Dry clothes and fuzzy socks.

So, you walked.

One foot in front of the other. Wobbling. Trying to find safe footing.

You crashed to your knees, bracing for pain that didn’t come.

Fuck.

You were losing sensation in your extremities.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The fresh layer of snow swallowed your hands where you’d braced to catch yourself. It didn’t look right from your perspective. You hadn’t punched holes into the drift. You’d joined it. Flesh flowed into freeze, and it sucked the heat from your body. Hungry. Careless.

Physically shaking the image from your head, you rose. You pushed on. Slow and unsteady as your thoughts lost traction on the creeping ice.

It never seemed right that such an oppressive season made the world so bright. Even on a moonless night, the snow practically glowed. When you first moved to the mountain, you’d look out the window and marvel at how clearly you could see the world you couldn’t explore. The endless white always looked so inviting, but it kept you locked away, isolated.

Snow ate the color out of the world. That was why it sparkled so brightly in the sun, full of ingested prisms stolen from kinder seasons.

What colors, you wondered, would it digest out of you.

Once you were buried.

Lost to the white void falling without. Swelling within.

Everything felt damp. Warm. Your muscles went syrupy. You were your own personal swamp, and you panted, dropping your blanket. It was too heavy, too waterlogged anyway. You couldn’t carry that weight forever. It fell easily. All you had to do was let go.

Your feet turned, and you began to ascend. Uphill. That was correct, somehow.

Fuck.

You were on fire.

The snow was up to your knees and still falling. Maybe, if you just took a nap, you’d wait it out. Better to travel in the daylight, right?

No. Not quite right.

One arm hung out of your coat, and you couldn’t shake the second free. It clung to your wrist like a needy child, and you just wanted rid of it. Wanted to be free and finished and home.

Lights blazed, and it felt like dawn. Had you walked all night, or did you just look up?

The path split. Or you thought it did. The snow covered the way, but your instinct sniffed out the divide.

You wanted to be closer to the lights. Lights were good. Even though they hurt your head. They looked so pretty, flushing the snow gold. You imagined they’d paint you gold, too. A Midas-touched statue – pretty, lifeless, and cold.

Snow always looked so soft. You’d felt cheated as a child when you discovered it was nothing like the fluffy duvet you imagined. But in a pinch, it was wonderful.

It held you, gathering you up as you sank. The flakes landing on your cheek didn’t melt anymore, and frigid works of art gathered on your eyelashes, slowly eating the lighthouse you’d followed home from the bright white dark.

-------------------------

“Fucking hell.”

Death had a British accent. Not bad. A shame you somehow disappointed him.

“Johnny! Get some towels. Clean shirt and sweats.”

You blinked up at Death, swimming through waves of unfamiliar sensations to get a glimpse of the end.

Really, you’d hoped for Death to wear a kinder shape – like in Sandman – but the grinning skull seemed appropriate. It was the rare case where the destination mattered more than the journey. Or the escort.

Being dead was exhausting. As curious as you were about Death’s face, the quiet void already had a deposit on your soul. Resting limp in the psychopomp’s arms, somehow you relaxed further. He was so much more solid. More real. Soon you’d melt between his fingers and rain into the underworld.

“She isn’t shivering.”

Dreams ate your mind. Time rose and faded like steam as strange hands prepared you for burial. Your grave was warm. The soil packed tight, wrapping around you as the first gnawing sense of dread woke with the agony in your hands. Roots squeezed around you, tightening as you writhed against the sting in your feet.

You did not rest in peace.

You’d fallen into hell. Your skin burned, your muscles seized, and a sharp scream of a moan shrieked through clenched teeth.

“Easy, easy.”

A broad palm pressed over your heart, hauling you back to a second pulse. Someone else’s words rustled over your hair. Someone else’s breath pushed someone else’s chest flush against your back. Their smell and shape surrounded you.

A someone. A living someone.

That finally reminded you of the need to wake.

To rise from death.

Every inch you climbed towards consciousness scorched you, and reality came in bursts of pain. Your fingertips felt like you’d clutched red-hot iron, and shivers wracked you like private earthquakes. Everything wanted to tear itself apart, escape the pain radiating from every other piece. If the stranger wasn’t holding you together, you’d shatter like your poor, ugly mug.

You had a body but no control.

The stranger shushed you, a second hand settling over the top of your head. Locking you in. Keeping you in your flesh. You thought he might stroke your hair like a cat’s fur, but nothing moved between you besides the heat seeping from his palm to your scalp.

If you had a choice, you’d go back to sleep, but you were too aware. Pain dared you to relax, running knives along the underside of your skin, threatening to stab you inside out with the next shudder.

And you didn’t know where you were – or who was cuddling you back to life.

Helpless as you were, you knew to be afraid.

“Johnny,” the chest behind you rumbled, “she’s coming to.”

Wrath caught on the name. It bit the hook and followed the line to the light so your eyes could flutter open. They were painfully dry, and the gathering tears offered some relief, but you recognized the mohawk over broad shoulders leaning through the doorway through the blur. Your restrained whimpers turned into a growl.

“Think she recognizes ya.”

“Aye.” Johnny approached, kneeling by the bed you found yourself in. His pretty face was all bent out of shape with apprehension. “How you feeling, hen?”

You wanted to shout at him. Or slap him. Both at once and more. Instead, your shaking tongue fumbled the words, and your arm flopped weakly under the quilt, thudding into the branch-like arm caging your chest.

Which meant –

Wait.

If Johnny was in front of you, you must be in his house. He lived alone. Except for a hulking giant in a skull mask.

Like he could read the fresh stiffness beneath your shivering, Ghost said, “Spotted you from the window. Had to get you dry and warm, but you’re safe. Body heat’s best at this stage. We’re both dressed, and if you can’t stand it, I’ll trade out for a fleet of hot water bottles.”

You struggled to pick up his words and put them in order. They bobbed through the snowmelt in your brain like so much flotsam, a murky sea you already worried would drown you. But you did it. You got it all. But it was a lot.

He was barely more than a stranger, and you found yourself in bed with him.

But a man so hesitant to show his face wouldn’t be eager to show more skin than necessary, and while it was hard to tell what fabric was clothing and what was bedding, nothing but cloth touched you. Except for the hand on your head. Which was fine, actually. It could be better than fine if you thought about it much longer.

How much did it cost such a reserved person to get so close? You were no better than a stranger to him, too.

He saw you in trouble and moved to help. Everything he said was practical. Reasonable. He’d probably saved your life.

You felt you understood Ghost. Maybe it was the confusion or the onset of a fever, but you got him. And he was so, so warm. You wanted to crack open that giant chest and burrow inside him like a tauntaun.

When you felt better, you’d make it up to him. You’d apologize for being a burden and make your imposition right. In the meantime, you didn’t want him to leave you alone with some shitty substitute.

You wriggled, trying to put your hand over his, but something was over your fingers, and you had to guesstimate. Maybe you patted his knuckles. Maybe you smacked his wrist. Hard to know. But you felt you made your point.

“S’fine.”

He shifted in response, settling in for the long-haul. “Good.”

You tried forcing yourself calm. Everything had a mind of its own, though, and you curled up tight, trying to preserve heat even when it was given freely. Ghost supported your new position, bending his knees to keep contact, spooning with purpose.

How far had your temperature dropped for you to be this miserable? Very. Dangerously. Fucking shit.

Johnny cleared his throat. “I could join? Help get you toasty?”

Though you were still in gods damned agony, you wouldn’t let Johnny Fucking MacTavish join you under the covers if he was the last thing between you and death. You’d already touched the door to Hades that evening, and he hadn’t been the one to bring you back.

You lashed out the only way you could.

“No.”

The first word you managed to say clearly. You sent it off with a scowl, daring the Scotsman to try you.

He practically jumped back from the bed, anxious expression washed clean in shock. You’d never told him no. Never drawn a boundary. Never shared your anger or hurt.

Well, you’d finally learned your lesson.

Fuck that man.

He wouldn’t be getting anything from you ever again, not even a clear conscience.

Ghost hummed, his thumb stroking over your temple. “Got you right pissed off, has he? What’s he done? He the reason you got caught in the storm?”

Nodding was easier than speaking. You’d said the most important part.

“Thought as much. You’re too well prepared. When you feel up to it, you can tell me what Johnny needs to set right, yeah? He’ll clean up his mess.”

Across the room, where he’d stumbled after your rejection, the man in question blanched. “I didn’t – I couldn’t – What did… Ah, Christ. ‘M so sorry, hen.”

“Plenty of time to talk later,” Ghost said, still fully felt and entirely invisible at your back. “Let her rest. When I’m confident she won’t choke, you can make us something warm to drink.”

Johnny accepted, nodding with big eyes. His shoulders rose to his ears as he turned on his heel and marched away, fists squeezed tight.

He’d only been out of the room for a minute when you heard something crash, and you jumped.

Ghost just hugged you tighter and sighed.

Eventually, you did sleep. It was a night for achieving the impossible, apparently. Ghost kept one hand on your chest, waking or sleeping, and as the daylight slowly burned away the icy mist in your head, you realized he was monitoring your heartbeat. Keeping his arm around your chest was better for your recovery, and you might not have reacted so calmly to a hand on your neck.

You still felt like shit.

“How bad was it?” you whispered.

Asking was a struggle, and not just because your lips cracked and burned around your voice. Staring doom in the face only scared you if you recognized it, and you were afraid to hear how close your choices had brought you to the point of no return. Words could hurt. Knowledge could hurt.

“Should’a taken you to a hospital,” Ghost murmured. “No way to get there in this weather.”

You closed your eyes, burying your face in the pillow. You did it in defiance of the windburn over your nose and cheeks. In defiance of your chapped lips. Dead people couldn’t feel pain, and it was hardly the worst you’d suffered through the night.

“Your shivering’s manageable now. Think you could drink something?”

Could and should.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go tell Johnny. Stay here.”

You didn’t answer, but you swam all the way under the heavy quilts as his solid heat left you. With only your eyes peering over the blankets, you watched him – probably cold in his thin t-shirt and worn sweats – breeze across the room, quiet as his namesake. He had a lot of tattoos, a whole sleeve. You couldn’t catch all the shapes as he moved farther and farther away, but deathly themes curled like gun smoke and curses up from his wrist, towards his heart.

Once you were alone, you examined yourself under the covers. There were socks over your hands, impromptu mittens. You’d worry about any horror beneath them later. You wore a loose tee you’d seen on Johnny when he was resting up, staying comfortable as he nursed his cold. The gym shorts they’d dressed you in were bunched up where the drawstring fought to draw them into a smaller size, and the fabric would fall to your knees if you stood. Maybe farther.

They’d dressed you in a piece of each man’s wardrobe, and the embarrassed heat creeping up your neck was almost as warm as Ghost.

But you wouldn’t read between the lines. There were no lines. They’d saved your life and carefully explained their actions. It didn’t mean anything else.

They were only being neighborly.

#ghoap x reader #ghoap fic #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap x ghost #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod x reader

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gghostwriter · 7 months ago

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Time Gave No Compass, Were There Clues?

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times fate brings you to cross paths with a certain handsome stranger and the one time he purposely crosses with yours Trope:It’s fluff in a meet cute type of way w.c: 5.6k+ a/n: this is connected to ‘One Single Thread of Gold’! This took forever to make simply because I had this fear that the second part wouldn’t come out as great as the first and I’ve been in a writing funk lately—not quite sure if my writing worsened or got better during this period but at this point, maybe I shouldn’t care that much anymore? That’s a lie so please comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The first encounter—a knight in a vintage blue vehicle

The drumming noise of the rain against the vinyl awning of the Japanese restaurant became the perfect soundtrack for watching countless strangers scurry to the nearest shelter.

It was the night that you have dubbed your unluckiest as a woman in Washington—up until he came along.

According to the morning weather forecast, there was little to no chance of rain. A radiant reprieve from the downpour of light rainfall the city had been experiencing three days in a row. A believer of facts you were, excitedly slipped on your new pair of heels and joined the outside world, sun shining up above the sky without a single speck of dark cloud lingering in its wake.

The work day was nothing special—jumping on video calls with your boss, answering international emails from the magazine’s sister branches abroad, and reviewing articles set to be published for next month’s print.

Nothing unusual. No sign that the day would roller coaster down and up again, before ending right before a drop, leaving you white knuckled with anticipation.

As you were exiting the diner with your freshly cooked to-go in one hand, the weather decided to beat the statistics presented by the news forecast. Rain poured down hard, effectively stranding you on the covered sidewalk.

“Oh,” you mumbled under your breath, forced to settle down on the empty outdoor seating. The gust of cold wind that caressed your cheeks to turn pink reminded you of comforting childhood memories—warm cocoa, blanket forts, and cuddles with your precious teddy bear.

It brought a smile on your face, recalling the time when life was still simple.

Working as a writer for an established fashion magazine had its own ups and downs. You felt lucky enough to be given the opportunity to work with living and breathing artists, all the while having the flexibility to live anywhere in the country.

Your boss initially found it odd when you mentioned temporarily moving back to Washington. It wasn’t a state well-established in the industry after all. It was a city filled with starched pressed suits, neutral ties, and newly shined loafers—the epicenter for politics and everything serious.

The ridiculous misconception about fashion and its frivolousness caused your nose to scrunch. It was the same idea that pushed newly graduate you to move to New York and burn the midnight oil to be where you were now, highly respected in the circle.

She understood your truth—the need for a change of scenery before jumping back in to the game with fresh new eyes. Jokingly, she wagered you’d only last two months away from the Big Apple before coming back. It had been six months since then and you were starting to believe the urge for the city that never sleeps will never cross your mind again.

As you mused about the trajectory of your career, the clouds started to let up, enough that you took the chance to open your compact umbrella and possibly ruin your heels to get to the nearest subway entrance just 10 minutes away.

A mistake that you realized halfway as a sudden blast of strong wind flipped your umbrella inside out, rending you vulnerable to the hasty returning rain.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as water started to stain your light purple satin heels, turning them near black.

Definitely ruined.

The flickering light of the entrance and the still warm spot underneath the restaurant pulled you in two different directions. Should you just brave the weather already starting to look like a drowned animal or should you go back with your tail tucked between your legs?

As you debated your next move, being poorly protected by your broken umbrella and soaked by the tormenting weather no less, a blue vintage car came to a stop beside you and honked it’s horn.

“Um—do you need help? A ride, maybe?” a voice shouted out of the rolled down passenger window, barely heard against the torrential downpour.

A good Samaritan was rare this day and age. So uncommon that it made you immediately wary. You looked around, making sure it was you the stranger was addressing before uttering a reply.

“Depends on who’s asking,” your free hand clutching the ends of your spoiled umbrella. “Are you a serial killer by any chance?”

He paused, caught off guard with your question, and chuckled. “What? No, no. Not at all, just a concerned citizen.”

You bit your lip, wavering between accepting his offer at the risk of your life, before reaching to open the passenger door. “Fair enough.”

The stranger promptly layered a black windbreaker on the tan leather seats. “Sorry, it’s just—did you know that wet leather can lead to discoloration?”

Your eyebrows raised, shuffling to get comfortable on the seat—mindful of your back not touching, before giving him a nod. “Yes, actually I did but it’s great to see someone else know about it too.”

He pressed his lips together into a tight smile and reached forward on the console, tinkering with the unlabeled knobs, turning up the heat.

Your eyes tracked his every movement, curious as to any indication to who this mysterious gentleman was.

His nails were light pink in color, clean, and cut short—possibly for a desk office job. His fingers were long and bony, model length you’d surmise—a little calloused on one side of his middle finger possibly from holding a pen too tight. The back of his hand veined and wide in size, big enough to dwarf your dainty slim hands in comparison.

Your cheeks heated up, feeling guilty for gawking at a man’s hands before spilling your address without so much of a thought for your safety.

The stranger blanched, clearly caught off guard with your trusting nature. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to go with strangers willingly? Or provide vital information about yourself for that matter?”

You appraised his profile as his eyes trained on the road.

Hazel colored hair that curled around his face. Sunken eyes framed by long, dark lashes that any woman could envy. A tall and straight nose bridge. Maroon pillowy lips and a sharp jawline perfectly matched with a five-o’clock shadow.

He was handsome.

Pretty even.

The type you’d see a casting agent and photographer fawn over.

Shoulders seemingly angular and wide, stretching his black knitted cardigan well. It’s arms pushed up to showcase his forearms lithe in form with muscles flexing underneath as he twists the wheel to take a right. His seat pushed the farthest it could go, highlighting how tall he could be.

Your handsome gentleman could rival male models that graced your magazine’s editorial pages.

“Well, you don’t look like a serial killer and I think I’d take my chances with you than out there—” a flash of lightning trailed on the darkened sky followed by a loud clap of thunder. “—yeah, I stand with my choice.”

His laughter mid-pitched, filled the confined space. “And how does a serial killer look like?”

“Sinister and not trustworthy. You look neither, by the way,” you shrugged.

“Actually, there’s a minor percentage of killers that don’t fit in your description. Ted Bundy is an example, he used his good looks to lure in unsuspecting women.”

You hummed in agreement. “You’re right and you could definitely use your looks too but I still doubt you’re one. Let’s call it intuition and if I had to guess, you work at a desk job. Finance or Human Resources, maybe?”

“Are you saying I look—” he cleared his throat, a wrinkle appearing between his well shaped brows. “—handsome?”

“Well, at the risk of sounding like I’m flirting with you—which I’m not, well, maybe. But yes, I think you’re good looking. Handsome.”

The pink flush that slowly darkened to a cherry red started its descent to his exposed neck, making him look more endearing. His reaction made it quite obvious he was never one to receive such flattery about his appearance which made you question the eyes of the women around him.

He was utterly distinguished and dressed in this comforting nerdy fashion that added to the appeal.

“I take it you’re not used to compliments.”

The long lashes that framed his molten chocolate eyes fluttered, as if highlighting is naivety in dealing with the opposite sex.

It sent butterflies free in your stomach.

“Yeah, but thank you. And I’m really not a serial killer—I wouldn’t be using a memorable vehicle in picking up a victim in a crowded street with city cameras around. Not that, that information helps me state my case. In fact, it’s making it worse—” he rambled out, easing the car into a stop beside your apartment complex. “What I meant was, I-I think you’re good looking too, beautiful.”

You laughed at the absurdity of where your night has ended up.

The air trapped between two bodies crackled with an energy you couldn’t name. It was humming below the surface, making you feel hyper aware of the man who drove you home.

It was igniting.

Possibly the start of something.

In contrast, the outside was quiet and still. The rain had finally come and gone, leaving behind its comforting atmosphere.

The lamp posts reflecting off the puddles of water, tinting the streets a warm, honey gold color. Leaves dancing, like string puppets controlled by the forces of nature. The wind whispering and giggling—to what, you didn’t know but you felt it wasn’t important to dissect. No more important than the stranger who’s scent, aged books and cedar wood, intermingled with yours, vanilla and a hint of amber.

“Thank you for the ride,” quickly exiting the vehicle. Suddenly you felt shy as the last few minutes replayed in your head—how trusting you were to take his offer and how naive it was of you to let your guard down.

The sound of a subsequent car door opening echoed on the empty street. “You’re welcome and you’re wrong, by the way.”

“Wrong about what?” You twisted to look back.

The street lights hitting his face, casting a mysterious shadow on his handsome features.

“About me working in finance or human resources.”

Huh.

Your steps faltered to a stop.

That was a first—people around you always did say you read people best.

He was an exception it seemed.

An anomaly.

A mystery you wouldn’t mind taking a second try in solving.

“Better luck next time then. I hope to see you around,” you waved as you opened the heavy metal gate behind you.

His hand mimicked your goodbye before promptly reaching down to open his car door, effectively disappearing from your gaze as you pushed the main door open to the lobby.

As you watched the remaining water droplets slide down your coat, waiting for the rickety elevator to descend, an all important question popped in your mind that you never uttered into the world.

His name.

You forgot to ask for his name.

Hurriedly running back to the entrance, your stained heels clacking on the stoned pathway, you opened the gate just to spy the gentleman’s memorable light blue vehicle rev forward to blend into the chilly city night.

Damn.

The second—a shared cup of Joe between two no longer strangers

The sun peeking underneath the cotton candy white clouds did little to fight off the inevitable Autumn air. Weeks of sunny days from the past storm is nearing its end causing the city occupants to flood the streets and parks for their last soak of Summer.

Weeks have gone since your enthralling encounter with the handsome stranger and his vintage blue car. You’ve spent days replaying the memory in hopes of finding any more clues on who he was or even how to run into him again. Nights lamenting over the missed opportunity and the bitter what-if that came with it. The thought, now hazy from time passed, seemed to be colored in this golden hue you couldn’t quite describe.

A sigh escaped from between your pale pink lips.

The moment was captivating.

He was beguiling.

But until you run into him again, his very being in your mind lived rent free.

Hand adjusting the pale pink scarf wrapped around your neck, you stepped into the warm quaint bakery down by the office. The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasting coffee beans enveloped the otherwise packed store. It was still early on the day and otherwise sleep deprived workers were queuing up for their daily fix.

This had been your spot since renting a small office space to commute to. Given your need to separate home from work, you’ve opted to find a studio you could call your temporary ‘work room’. It added extra expense, you’d agree but the comfort of being in a sea of strangers going to and from added a sense of productivity you’d never quite get if you created a makeshift office in your one bedroom apartment downtown.

You squeezed your way towards the front to view the pastry selection when you spotted him.

The gentleman in question at the counter, clearly holding up the line.

He flashed Sarah, your usual fixer as you joked, a tight smile filled with apologies and embarrassment.

Destiny seemed to have heard your calls and to that you were grateful.

Not wanting to let this second chance encounter go to waste, you excused yourself to the register and deftly slid your card on the white granite counter.

“Hey Sarah, do you mind adding my order with his? And a one of your buttery croissants would be much appreciated.”

Her eyebrows raised, clearly wondering the reason behind your surprising actions. Eyes flickered to the stranger beside you muttering his light disagreeing reaction before nodding towards you, as if agreeing with what she saw. “One long black and a flat white coming right up.”

“Hey stranger, fancy seeing you here,” you cocked your head to the side, loose tendrils escaping the confines of your loose bun.

The same blush that haunted you graced his face. “Hey—hi, it’s you! It’s nice to see you again,” his fingers proceeded to fiddle with his leather worn wallet. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. Pay for my coffee, I mean.”

“It’s no problem at all, just think of it as my payment for the ride the other day and also a thank you for, you know, not turning out to be a killer, like you kept bringing up.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling close. “Well, I just wanted to instill some extra caution in you. It’s good to think well of people in general but it doesn’t hurt to be wary of them either. Especially the statistics of you—a young woman being targeted is quite high no matter how safe Washington seems to be.”

“I did get an earful from my friend about the reckless act I did. So, safe to say I’ve learned my lesson—” you paused, flashing Sarah a smile as your hands wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee and the bag containing the pastry. “But between you and me, I think she was more miffed about something I didn’t do.”

He mimicked your movements and proceeded to guide you to the nearest available standing table, his free hand hovering near the small of your back.

“And what was it?”

“Not getting your name.”

His free hand wrapped around the strap of his satchel, pulling it towards the front of his body as if it was a shield that could hide away the blush that slowly crept down his neck.

“I, yeah—Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

You introduced yourself with the same enthusiasm, finally at ease for knowing who he was.

“Well then, Spencer Reid, was I really wrong or was that just a lie to throw my deductive skills off course?” your hands pushing the packets of sugar towards his steaming open cup.

He thank you silently, counting at least 8 packets of sugar before returning the remaining ones in the jar. “What do you mean?”

“You not working in finance.”

“Well statistically speaking, more than 43% of the offices located here don’t belong in the finance section,” he grinned.

With his eyes twinkling, he further continued. “21% of those are actually the government sector while the remaining are a mixture of publishing, business, and IT.”

“You sprouting off statistics doesn’t really sway me from my guess, you do know that?” You hummed, watching him dump and stir all the sugar into his dark cup of Joe. The idea of how sweet it would be sent a slight shiver down your spine. “If not finance then hmm—what about teaching?”

Appraising his get up for the day—a purple button down layered with a seemingly fraying cardigan and a black overcoat. He reminded of you of those quirky university professors that students would have no problem having a crush on.

“You look like a young college professor with a couple degrees under your belt. Maybe literature? Or math?”

An airy laughter emitted between his lips. “Why is it always returning back to math?”

“I truly don’t know—” you shrugged. “You look smart and academic so that’s my best guess.”

“There’s actually a statistic on how many academically gifted people end up in the field of science rather than in math but I don’t know if you’d like to hear it.”

You leaned forward. “I actually do but that would cement my idea of you in maths.”

A ring from his pocket interrupted his reply. Spencer clambered to answer the call even before its’ third ring.

“Yeah. Okay, got it. 5 minutes.”

Any humor or lightheartedness the conversation brought had been erased from his face. It must have been work and the gravity of his responsibility must be heavy—definitely not finance and maybe not a professor then.

“I have to go—” Spencer tightly smiled, hands pulling the satchel and drink closer to his body. “It was really nice seeing you again.”

You nodded, wordlessly walking out of the shop with him. As he started to step away from your presence, he turned back one last time to further throw you off course.

“You were right about one thing.”

Brows furrowing together, you shout back. “Which one?”

Spencer just smiled and shrugged his shoulders before turning forward, picking up his pace and leaving you further baffled about his mystery.

The third—a run- in during an otherwise idle day

The white noise the train against its tracks threatened to lull you into a daze. Its compartment surprisingly sparse with occupants during this otherwise tranquil Saturday. Everyone seemed to be at nearby parks, watching the leaves slowly turn this red-orange hue.

Your companion in hand—a book with its spine cracked and front cover folded backwards, sat idly on your denim lap. It was a tattered and worn copy of Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. When you were in your teens, it had been the gateway to your love of classic literature and it had been your favorite ever since.

The bench you were seated on shifted and with it, medium brown brogues registered in your periphery.

Inwardly, you scoffed at the stranger invading your space when there were a multitude of empty seats available in your section. Briefly you wondered if this was going to be another day of being picked up by men who didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘no’ which inevitably would ruin your day.

As you were debating on nicely excusing yourself away, the man cleared his throat.

“Hey—hi,” he sheepishly greeted in this voice that had been replaying in your head since that rainy weekday night.

You blinked away the surprise—the bafflement that fate had seemed to cross your path with his again and again and again. It always happened when you least expected it. After all, you spent numerous days craning your neck for even a small glimpse of Spencer Reid to no avail. Your eyes would subconsciously sweep the streets for a view of any suede coat matched with a purple pattern scarf. It had been your own version of Where’s Waldo—a past time that your friend joined as you forbade her (and by extension, yourself) from looking him up online.

You wanted to keep the mystery and it seemed fate was rewarding you today.

“Hi-hey Spencer. This is a surprise,” your cheeks stretching wide from the grin you gave him.

His fingers brushed a nonexistent stray of hair behind his ears. “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it was you. The odds of ever seeing you again—or anyone I’d know on the train is low, with how many people Virginia has.”

“Isn’t it fascinating?” your hands closing the book that no longer held your attention. “How we seemed to just run into each other? Funny how that works.”

“I mean, you could say that—not that I believe in destiny or fate with how abstract and little scientific studies it has. Maybe we just run in the same small schedule or circle.”

Your eyebrow raised, appraising his look.

His hair looked unruly—with one side more flattened the the other, possibly slept on. His clothes, although free from any stains that would indicate it as yesterday’s, had crease marks that were reminiscent of its folding. They were clean but also not pressed—came from the satchel then. The very same bag laying on his lap, no doubt filled with dirty laundry and other necessities.

“I don’t think so,” you pondered on. “Are you just on your way back home from work, by any chance?”

“How’d you know that?” His voice cracking at the end.

You shrugged. “I pick up on things, small details and all that.”

“That’s really good. Must come in handy with your work as a journalist.”

Now it was your turn to be surprised. “How’d you know that? How’d—what gave it away?”

“It was an educated guess which—” he flashed you a grin. “—you just confirmed now.”

“Touche. Although that does seem unfair,” you pouted. “You know my occupation but I can’t even get yours right.”

He tilted his head to the right, eyes twinkling with life that keeps you pulled in. “You’re welcome to guess. In fact, I could give you a clue if you wanted—” he paused waiting for your agreement which you readily gave. “—alright you were right about one thing the last time: the one about me having multiple degrees.”

“You look young so I’m guessing a genius?”

“Well, my co-workers do like to tease me as one and it is true so yeah. I am a genius.”

The way his eyes shifted showed how bashful he was in admitting out loud he was one. You briefly wondered if there was ever a time where he felt embarrassed about it—probably in high school, you’d surmise. Teenagers, after all, had the tendency to ostracize anyone who doesn’t fit the rigid status quo they’ve collectively agreed upon.

“That’s amazing!” You gushed. “And it does narrow it quite down, actually. Do you happen to work for the government? I mean, I’m sure they try to collect the best minds our country has to offer, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do work for the government. And you’re right, they do tend to employ gifted adults as a way to also surveillance them—to make sure they don’t turn into anti-statists or anarchists.”

You pondered over every detail he presented. Freshly manicured nails tapping on your leg before finally guessing. “Okay so, I was first going to say NASA because—” you shrugged. “—it’s space but then that would be too stereotypical of me to assume. Plus, you’ve thrown off just about any deductions I’ve made during our first two meetings—”

Spencer nodded. He seemed proud to listen to you ramble your way through.

“—I was also going to guess administrative work but it’s a weekend and you’re just on your way home so that’s a no—”

A small spread on his face.

A good sign that you were in the right direction.

“—it can’t be the judiciary too, right? I always imagined them to be wearing neutral suits and have this stoic air around them—”

He chuckled.

“—so I’m guessing law enforcement? Can’t be a regular cop, they have uniforms. So, for the FBI? Or am I just reaching?”

Spencer vigorously nodded his head, the wavy tendrils tucked behind his ears escaping their confines.

“That’s right! Wow—you’re really good at this. Maybe you should have also been scouted!” He teased.

You giggled, the happiness from getting it right and the idea of you working with a gun seemed ludicrous. “Sadly, I may be too clumsy for that kind of work. With my type of luck, I’d probably trip over my feet and mess up a crime scene.”

The automated voice announcing the next station broke through the lighthearted conversation. Spencer’s eyes widened ever so slightly, indicating that this was his stop.

“I guess this is it, huh? See you soon then, Spencer?”

He sandwiched his lower lip between his pearly teeth. “Would you be interested in purposefully seeing each other next time? I would love to get to know you more—over dinner? Coffee? Any would be great—you don’t have to say yes of course but yeah.”

“Can I say yes to all of the above?” You teased. “I would love to.”

Spencer started to get up, hands pulling on his satchel to secure it. The train was coming to a stop and you could begin to see the stop come into view.

Your hand quickly reached out to tug on his rolled sleeve. “Wait—how do we contact each other?”

“It’s tucked in your book. My number, I mean,” he laughed. The sound coaxing you to release your own. “See you!”

Your eyes tracked him getting off the train and his would meet yours one last time, before disappearing towards the station’s nearest exit. Your hands hastily opened the front page to where a new object was slotted in between without you knowing.

His calling card.

Federal Bureau of Investigation - Behavioral Analysis Unit SSA Dr. Spencer Reid 1-761-xxx-xxxx

Giggling, you fished your phone from the confines of your wallet and quickly sent out a text.

Hey. Are you a magician too, by any chance?

The fourth or better yet, the planned first—two strings interwoven by fate

Spencer hadn’t been able to explain the circumstances that led him here tonight—walking through a nearby park in the sparkly but cold weekend night with a beautiful woman right by his side.

The dinner date had gone surprisingly well. So great in fact that he didn’t want it to end. Suggesting to walk you back home rather than use his blue well beaten vehicle left parked near the restaurant was his idea to prolong the night.

He was well aware that you both could be exposing yourselves to a seasonal bout of cold but for the first time, it didn’t matter to his overactive and over-analytical brain. Nor did it seem to matter to you—given with how vigorously she accepted his suggestion to walk.

Your dainty right hand was wrapped around the bouquet of flowers he personally selected. An array of daisies, daffodils, and sedums.

Joy from having to meet you, to new beginnings, and affection.

Spencer wanted to convey what he had been feeling since that run-in the coffee shop. Regardless if you knew what they meant.

This was all uncharted territory and the incidents that brought them into each other’s worlds was baffling to say the least.

Was this the really the works of fate?

Does this prove that destiny is true and the notion of having free choice is a lie we tell ourselves?

He concluded it probably didn’t matter.

All that mattered was where he was now—with you.

“So you really took all those degrees all together?” you clarified, eyes widening from disbelief. “The amount of studying and writing you’ve done must have been massive.”

“Well, it did help that I could read fast—20,000 words per minute, but I could still remember my hands cramping from the amount I had to type down.”

“Of course you can still remember, with your eidetic memory and all. That must be nice—never forgetting any novel you’ve read.”

He shrugged. “It does have it’s perks but between you and me, there is a downside to it.”

You halted in her step, staring inquisitively up at him.

Spencer found it cute—how even with yout heeled boots on, you could only reach up to his chest. It gave him this sense of protectiveness over you being.

“Oh yeah, like what?”

He pondered. “Well, we did have this one vampire case and one of the victim’s laptop password was ‘Cullen’ and I didn’t get the reference—thought it was ‘colon’ actually. So I decided to read the first book and didn’t like it.”

“You actually read ‘Twilight’?” You giggled. It sounded like wind chimes echoing through the trees.

“I was curious!” His voice went up an octave. “Is that what teens are reading, really? What ever happened to reading ‘Lord of the Flies’ or Franz Kafka during high school, for that matter?”

“The one where a group of boys are stranded on an island or the one where the protagonist turns into a cockroach? Doesn’t really read romance for teen girls, Spencer.”

He chuckled. “And a 104 year old vampire does?”

“It’s about the idea,” you continued on walking, free hand swinging in between you—all he had to do was reach out and intertwine it with his but could he do that? Should he? Would she want that? “How Bella is your average, teen next door and someone like Edward, mysterious and handsome, could fall for her. It’s about the premise—I mean which teenage girl didn’t dream of something like that?”

“Does that include you too?”

You laughed. “I mean—Edward isn’t really my type but sure, I guess.”

Spencer decided to do it. He tentatively reached out his pinky to yours, looping them together.

There, a small touch you could say no to.

He waited for the reaction. From himself, there was a lack of worry for germs (this surprised him) and from you, the possibility of rejecting his small advances. With a breath lodged in his throat, Spencer watched a shy smile grace your face and cheeks turn further pink.

Empowered by the reaction, he reached out to intertwine the rest of his freezing hand with yours and proceeded to tuck both into his coat pocket. Spencer felt his cheeks emit warmth, wondering where his courage came from. If Morgan just saw him now, no doubt he’d get a pat at the back and a whispered ‘you’ve got serious game, kid.’

“It’s a good thing he isn’t my type at all, don’t you think so?” You whispered. “I mean, you don’t sparkle in the sun, do you?”

His laughter echoed through the otherwise empty streets.

“Oh god—that was so so bad. Ignore my cheesy flirting, please.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, feeling lightheaded from your presence. “I don’t think I do, actually. We could check—” clearing his throat “—once the weather gives way to the sun.”

It seemed like you got what he was subtly stating. “That long, huh? I’ll hold you to that promise.”

“Please do.”

Both your steps slowed to a stop in front of your apartment complex.

Spencer sighed under his breath, he really didn’t want the night to end. There was still so much to talk about—anything and nothing at the same time. Is this what they meant when they said time flies when you’re having fun?

“Well,” you squeezed his hand twice. “This is it. I had fun tonight, Spencer.”

He squeezed back in return. “I did too. Can I—call you again?”

You nodded, a single tendril of hair escaping from its' loose bun.

Mesmerized, Spencer reached forward and secured it behind your reddening ear. “Get home safe.”

“I doubt anything would happen between my way up from the elevator to my door but I will. Drive safe and let me know you got in safely, got it?”

He reluctantly let go of your hand, slowly backing away without turning his back on you. Each second seeing you bundled up in a coat with flowers still on hand was an image he never wanted to forget, never wanted to miss.

As he was a few steps away, the wind carried your sweet voice to his ears.

“Hey, Spencer. There’s one thing I think you forgot to take with you.”

He patted his coat, unsure as to what you were pertaining to. Eyes scanning his being when the distinct sound of your heels against the pavement, getting closer and closer, made him look up.

A pair of soft warm lips met his cheeks.

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

His jaw dropped. The act short circuited his otherwise intelligent brain. It felt like every thought had dropped away, turning insignificant, compared to the tensed silence between two individuals once considered strangers but now intertwined in a way he could not explain in any language he knew.

Little white specks floated down from the sky, coloring the moment in the lightest color ever possible—a hue that symbolized new beginnings.

Before his mind could catch up, Spencer felt himself moving.

Towards you.

Closing in.

Cupping your cheeks.

And meeting his own lips with the ones that short circuited his brain.

In that moment, all he could comprehend was the smell of you—like freshly cleaned laundry dried under the sun. The taste of you—cherries with a hint of the red wine you drank over dinner. And the feel of you—warm, hands grasping his coat tight, flowers dropped on the ground, momentarily forgotten.

These were details he willed to engrave in his eidetic memory. Observations he doesn’t want to forget.

And you, the single woman he hopes to never lose.

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

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paranoiddreams · 6 months ago

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tw. reader has implied daddy issues lol I can’t help myself, Nobara Yuji and megs are in grade school tgth, not proofread bc I’m too lazy right now lol. I had fun writing this.

Megumi stares into the glass bowl of the gumball machine in the window of the corner store as he waits for his dad to finish picking out the parts for his broken down car. His eyes are trained on a blue gumball stuck beneath the turning blades at the bottom of the machine. But when he reaches into his pocket for a quarter, he only finds the wrapper of the lollipop he ate earlier.

The sound of footsteps catch Megumi’s attention, and he looks to the side to see a woman standing in front of the gumball machine next to him.

She looks inside of it for a moment before reaching into her pocket as he just did. Only she actually pulls out a shiny quarter and pops it into the machine’s slot.

“Aren’t you too old for that?” Megumi asks in a small voice.

The woman turns her head and looks down at him. “Are you the gumball police?” She asks with sincerity Megumi is only used to hearing from teachers at school.

He shakes his head, strands of inky black hair falling over his face softly. The woman’s sincere face cracks with a soft smile before she reaches into her pocket again. She pulls out another shiny quarter and holds it out in front of Megumi as an offering.

“Go ahead, I’m not gonna bite,” she says, sensing the little boy’s hesitation.

Nobara told Megumi about this during recess while they sat on the swing set with Yuji: “don’t take candy from strangers,” she said, waggling her finger to get her point across.

Megumi takes the quarter from the woman’s fingers swiftly before putting it into the slot of the machine in front of him. He’s not getting the candy from her, he thinks, only the vehicle to get the candy.

When he twists the metal knob of the machine the blue gumball trapped in the bottom falls down with a clink. He reaches in and grabs it with his tiny fingers.

“Where’s your mom, kid?” The woman asks, now leaning against the window of the store.

Megumi chews his gumball and looks up at her with an oddly stoic face. “Dead,” he mutters, words slightly muffed.

The woman’s eyes widen slightly for a moment before she clears her throat awkwardly. “Dad?” She asks hesitantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“He’s getting a new tire for Betty,” the little boy says, slowly blinking his green eyes like a cat.

“Betty?” The woman echoes.

“Daddy named the car that. He says it’s a long story from before I was born.”

She nods softly, blowing a big red bubble with her gum. “Dads are weird like that,” she says.

“How do you know?” Megumi asks, cocking his head to the side like a befuddled puppy.

“Because I had one…for a while,” the woman shrugs. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes trained on the cars passing by outside.

“A while?”

She looks down at him, huffing with amusement softly. “You’re nosy, huh?” She says. “Yeah, I had my dad for a while.”

“Did he die?”

The woman looks at him silently for a moment. “No.”

“Did you lose him?”

Megumi stares up at the strange woman, his jaw slightly sore from the rubbery gum.

“Something like that,” she finally says.

The little boy opens his mouth to say something, but a gruff voice interrupts him. “Brat,” the voice bellows, “time to go.”

The woman looks up from Megumi’s small face, only to be greeted with a larger, more scared, version. A man with short stubble and muscles that look too toned to be real, stands behind him.

“You bothering this woman?” The man asks his son, eyes raking over the woman in front of them.

“No,” Megumi says, looking over his shoulder, “she gave me a quarter.”

The dad smirks. “Bribing my kid?” He asks the woman.

“Yeah,” she snorts, “bribing a little kid with a quarter is my go to.”

Both of them look at each other silently for a moment, but Megumi can clearly sense the unsaid words between them. He’s seen people stare at each other like they are in the Disney movies Nobara makes Yuji and him watch.

“Toji,” the man says, his scarred lip quirking up.

“Y/n,” the woman says back. “I was just making sure the kid wasn’t alone.”

Megumi looks up at his dad, gauging his reaction. He’s never seen his dad look at someone like this.

“Say thanks to the pretty woman, Megumi,” Toji says, still looking at y/n.

“Thank you,” Megumi mutters. He still wants to ask the question his dad stopped him from asking, but with the way he’s looking at her, he feels like this won’t be the last time he sees you.

Just comment on this post if you guys want to be added to the taglist!! <3

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fairy-angel222 · 1 year ago

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𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—“i just wanna be one of your girls tonight,”

pairing: geto suguru x fem! reader

synopsis: you’ve had a crush on your brother’s best friend for a long time, and just wanted to have his attention at least once

content: smut, weed consumption, blowing smoke into your mouth, choking, fingering, mirror sex, praise

You would do anything for the attention of Geto Suguru. There was just something about him that you needed. Yes he was your brother’s best friend. And yes he was three years older than you. But that really meant nothing.

Your teeth bit down painfully on your bottom lip as you watched Geto flirt with an older girl. His signature smirk on his face as he leaned onto her locker, hands in his pocket with his lips moving in the sweetest words.

You wish it could’ve been you. The way she got shy, her face flushed red as she tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear with a perfectly manicured nail.

All you could do was watch with longing as his arm wrapped around her waist, her head on his side before they began walking the halls together. His smirk never faltered as he nodded along to her words.

Lucky. You thought to yourself, a tight lipped smile painted on your face.

You finished packing away your books, slamming the metal blue door shut before making your way to class. You’d always be his best friend’s little sister.

“Fuck- sorry..” you trailed off as you looked up to find his eyes staring back down at you. A smile on his face and his eyebrow raised as broad hands held onto your waist to steady your frame. “Language sweetheart. And careful now, wouldn’t want Gojo to kill me, would we?” he teased.

Your mouth opening and closing with no words escaping. “U-uh y-eah, well n-no, i mean no.” So fucking embarrassing.

Geto only chuckled, shaking his head in amusement then walking off with a grin. “Bye little Gojo.”

There he goes with that stupid nickname again.

…

The day goes by with nothing on your mind. Well, except Geto of course. He would be coming over to your house later to hang out with your brother. And as always, they would have girls over.. and you weren’t invited as Gojo put it.

Leaving your classroom, you passed by your locker to collect your things. Swinging your bag over your shoulder and making your way to the school’s doors. “Hey y/n,” a deep voice called. Turning around to see Geto jogging up to you with a girl’s arm hooked around his. A brunette this time.. great.

“Yeah?”

“Gojo asked for me to take you home, so you’re stuck with me.” He stated, winking jokingly before draping his arm over your shoulder as he walked you and his girl of the day to his vehicle.

If only he knew what that mere gesture did to you.

You took a seat in the back of his vehicle. Awkwardly watching as his hand squeezed the thigh of the girl in the passenger’s seat, massaging her skin until she was looking at the side of his face with nothing but want.

You blinked your attention away from them, resting your head back and looking out the car window instead. The ride to your house was silent apart from the girl’s constant giggling. And you kept your focus on anything but them, missing the way Geto glanced back through the rear view mirror. His head tilted and a small smile on his face.

She’s jealous, cute.

…

“We’re here,” Geto announced.

Walking into the house and greeting your brother in a hug before flopping down on the couch with his girl on his lap.

Gojo had his own blonde sat next to him, her legs on his lap as she played with his hair. “Hello little sister, not even gonna greet your favorite big brother hello?”

You gave a short wave before going up to your room, locking the door shut before flopping onto your bed. You wanted him.. so bad.

Maybe if you were just two years older.. granted, 18 and 21 wasn’t even that bad.. but maybe he would watch you then.

You sighed, closing your eyes as you heard loud music fill the house, the group most likely beginning their drinking and make out session by now.

Grabbing your phone, you plugged in your earphones. One of The Girls by the weeknd blasting through your ears as you let your mind wander. Geto, his hands, on your body.

You let out a soft whimper as you allowed your hand to roam to your chest, squeezing your tits and rolling your nipples between your soft fingertips.

“Mmm..” you moaned, imagining his hand instead of yours as you trailed it lower, slowly pulling down your pants and letting it slip inside the white lace of your panties. “Fuck.. Suguru,” your fingers rubbed along the line of your slit, teasing your clit before you finally allowed them to dip into your wetness.

“A-ah, so good,” you threw your head back into your pillow, thrusting your fingers in and out of your dripping heat with desperation. Trying your hardest to curl them to reach that good spot. Almost there.

“Fuck.” you yelled out in frustration, they were not enough. You needed his. His long, veiny fingers.. you needed them in you, around your neck, squeezing at your flesh. Anything.

Sighing loudly, you stood up. Walking over to the door of you and your brother’s shared master bathroom. You would usually knock. But he and his friends were clearly getting drunk— and high, downstairs. So there was no need.

Pushing the door open, your eyes widened at the sight of Geto leaned over your counter. A blunt between his lips as red eyes stared at you through the mirror, his face drenched with water.

“A-am sorry, I thought it was e-empty.” you rushed out, your thighs clenching as you watched his muscles flex as he gripped the counter’s edge even harder.

“Wait,” he called out, stopping you mid track from closing your side of the door. “Come here.”

You gulped hard, shakily walking over to him. “Y-yeah?” Geto smirked, “you know, it’s cute how flustered you get around me.”

You could feel your cheeks heat up, your brain scrambling to find something to say. Geto only chuckled, “wanna try?” holding the blunt out in your direction. “I.. I don't think Gojo would like that.”

He shrugged, “I won’t tell.” Before stalking over to you and backing you up against the counter. You yelped as his arms hooked under your thighs, swiftly lifting you onto the counter top before situating himself between your legs.

Geto’s fingers hooked onto your chin, your eyes meeting his as he lifted your head towards him. “Open.” You did as told, parting your lips and watching as he took a hit, blowing the smoke into your open mouth before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

Your stomach burned with heat, your pussy drenched as his lips found your neck. You let out a soft moan, your hands wrapping around his neck while your fingers tugged at the back of his hair. “What about your girlfriend downstairs?” you spoke between moans.

“Not my girlfriend.” he reassured “And tonight’s all about you.”

You were in heaven, it was even better than you imagined.

Setting the rolled paper down, Geto helped you remove your shirt, pinching your nipples and twisting them softly just to hear you moan. “You sound so pretty.”

Geto hurriedly peeled off his shirt, his abs on display making you bite your tongue. “Touch them.”

“W-what?”

“Go ahead, touch them.” Grabbing your hands and placing them on the hard muscles.

You could only whimper when Geto pulled your pants off of you, his eyes going dark at the sight of the white lace covering your pussy.

He looked down at you with a look of confirmation, you looking up at him through long lashes as you nodded. “Please.”

That was all he needed, ripping the flimsy material off of you and admiring your glistening cunt. His fingers found your wetness, rubbing up and down before sinking them into you. A loud moan escaping your lips making his eyes widen.

“Shhh, don’t wanna get caught do you.”

Geto’s free hand made its way up to your mouth, muffling your mewls as he curled his fingers up into you. Perfect. They were hitting inside you so good, and you allowed yourself to moan his name over and over into his palm. His eyes never leaving yours as he fingered you dumb.

Your eyes rolled back and your mouth hung open, drool coating his hand as you rocked back and forth on the marble top. It was happening, it was actually happening.

“Is this what you wanted baby? This what you been waiting for?”

You nodded, your eyes teary as the pads of his fingers pressed into your g spot with every thrust. Your legs hooked tightly around his waist, your toes curling as you began to tremble.

“Cum for me,” he whispered in your ear, hot tongue making you moan out as he nibbled on your lobe. You could only let out a soft cry as you clenched down on his fingers, rocking your hips onto his hand and fucking yourself through your high.

Geto watched in pure lust as you came, your glassy eyes looking up at him before shutting in pleasure, your head falling back as you met your release. You looked like a fucking angel in his eyes. And he wanted nothing more than to be the demon to corrupt you.

“Good girl.” he smirked.

You smiled, your eyes trailing to the blunt once more, making Geto’s smirk grow impossibly wider. Picking it up and bringing it to your plump lips. “Inhale... there we go. Now let it sit.. and exhale.” he coaxed, “You like that?”

Your head felt so dizzy, intoxicated even. And you nodded, watching as Geto took his own hit before blowing it out onto your face.

His fingers were dripping with your slick, and he brought them up to his mouth with a smug smile. Using his tongue to lick up your sweetness before connecting his lips to yours again. The kiss was hard, sloppy, and you moaned loudly into him.

Pulling away, Geto flipped you over. Using his knee to spread your legs apart and push your chest down onto the cold marble. You let out a needy whine, meeting his eyes in the mirror as his hand wrapped around your neck. The other lining his cock up with your hole. He let out a choked groan as he eased into you. A loud moan being drawn past your lips.

“S-so tight, fuck.” Geto’s lips parted in a loud groan, using his now free hand to pin both your smaller hands behind your back. “Beg me.. beg me to ruin you.”

You let out a broken cry. “P-please Geto.. please fuck me, ruin me, anything. ‘M all yours.”

You let out a string of high pitched noises when he began slamming his hips into yours. His tip piercing deep into you with every thrust.

“F-fuck, y-you’re.. s-so,” you let out a broken mewl, “so d-deep.” Geto tightened his hold on your neck, lifting your head slightly to force your eyes to stay on his. A deep growl sounding in his throat when you closed them.

“Look at me when i fuck you.” he demanded, your eyes shooting open and meeting his immediately.

Your mouth hung open in a small o. Soundless cries filling the room as you watched your body jerk forward with each movement of his hips.

You were so tight around him. Even tighter than he had imagined. And he couldn’t help the moans leaving his own mouth as he destroyed your pussy.

“Does that feel good? Does my cock feel good inside you baby?”

You nodded with a whimper, your breathing heavy as you were forced to watch yourself be fucked dumb.

“Words sweetheart.”

“Y-yes, it feels s-so good Suguru.”

“That’s my girl.”

You could feel your legs going weak, your knees trembling as you were fucked into the counter. “Nngh- Sugu,” you moaned, a smirk on his face as he thought back to mere minutes ago when you were moaning his name from your bed. Now you didn’t have to imagine, he was right there.

“‘M so close,” you mewled.

“Yeah? Gonna make a mess for me? Show me how much you wanted this?”

His back hunched as he flattened his chest against you, the position allowing him to hit deeper than you thought was possible.

“F-fuck,” you cried out, your eyes widening with tears as you felt his dick fucking you so deep, so good. The pleasure was too intense. The coil in your stomach painfully ready to snap.

“Look at how good you look when you fall apart on my cock. Come on baby— cum for me again.” He encouraged as he rolled his hips up into you, forgetting about being quiet as he relished in your loud moans and cries. You sounded so pretty for him. And for him only.

A loud scream fell past your lips when his dick hammered against your g spot. Your legs shaking uncontrollably as you began to gush around him. Eyes rolling back as you basked in the pleasure from your high.. the highest you’d ever been.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” he dragged out, breathing getting heavy and his thrusts sloppy as he gave your pussy its final thrusts.

“Wish i could fill you up more than anything. Fuck, wanna make you mine. Wanted to for so long.” he moaned, voice cracking slightly as his abs tensed.

Geto groaned, pulling out of you before spilling his cum onto your ass, his head thrown back as he let rope after rope fall onto your plush flesh.

Strong hands held you up before you collapsed, holding you tight against him as he breathed heavily into your back. Your chest heaving in an attempt to steady your own breathing.

Your heart clenched as your eyes trailed over the scene in the mirror. You, Suguru.. together, sweat coating both of your skins.

Geto’s voice was soft as he mumbled, “Want you so bad.. need you to be mine. I can’t wait anymore.”

Your heart rate sped up as you felt your tears at the brink of falling. This wasn’t a dream. “I— I..” you were at a loss of words.. he wanted you too.

“It’s okay, I know. You don’t quite make it discreet.” he joked, pulling you into a tight hug and placing a kiss onto your head.

Geto cursed, letting out a long sigh and picking up the still lit blunt. Taking a puff before releasing it above your head. “What the fuck am i supposed to say if Gojo finds out.”

Oh yeah.. your brother. He would most definitely not approve.

Just then, a knock sounded on the door. A very drunk Gojo slurring, “Yo Suguru? You in there? I need to piss.”

Geto only shook his head with a silent laugh. While you, you couldn’t be bothered. You had him. You actually had him. Suguru was yours. And you weren’t just one of his girls. You were his girl.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #geto x reader smut #geto suguru x reader smut #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #geto smut #geto x reader #geto suguru

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chicagotowingcompany · 23 days ago

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Understanding Emergency Towing After a Car Accident

A car accident can turn your day upside down in an instant. In the midst of shock, confusion, and concern for everyone’s well-being, arranging emergency towing may become a top priority—especially if your vehicle is severely damaged or blocking traffic. Knowing how post-accident towing works can help you take the right steps without adding more stress to an already difficult situation.

When Towing Becomes Necessary

After a crash, your vehicle may not be safe to operate, even if it still runs. Significant engine damage, fluid leaks, deployed airbags, or issues with the wheels or axles are all signs that a tow is needed. In some cases, law enforcement or an insurance adjuster may recommend that you don’t drive the car, even if it appears functional.

On busy roads or highways, police may call a towing service on your behalf to clear the scene quickly. If this happens, you might not have a say in which company tows your vehicle. This can lead to unexpected fees, so it’s wise to ask where your car is being taken and get the tow truck driver's details.

https://chicagotowing1.weebly.com/blog/knowing-when-to-call-for-towing-or-roadside-help

Who’s Responsible for the Bill?

Emergency towing costs following an accident are often covered under your auto insurance policy—particularly if you have roadside assistance or collision coverage. Some policies reimburse you after you pay upfront, while others may work directly with the towing provider. It’s important to save all receipts and take note of where your vehicle is being transported.

If the accident was caused by another driver and they’re deemed at fault, their insurance may handle your towing costs. Keep thorough documentation of the crash, including photos, driver information, and towing company details, to make the claims process easier.

Steps to Take at the Accident Scene

Once everyone is safe and emergency responders are on the way, document the accident before your car is moved. Snap photos of the damage and surrounding area, then notify your insurance company as soon as possible. If you’re not familiar with the towing provider, be cautious before agreeing to the service—unreliable tow operators sometimes take advantage of chaotic accident scenes.

In summary, emergency towing plays a crucial role after a collision. By staying informed and prepared, you can make smarter decisions and minimize added stress when every second counts.

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mandoalorian · 3 months ago

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the mechanic's girl [mechanic!bucky barnes x f!reader]

Synopsis: When your car breaks down, you pull into Barnes Auto Fix, and encounter Bucky, an older-looking man with a metal arm and a haunted past. As he works on your vehicle, you notice the way his sweat-soaked vest clings to his chisled frame and can't help but let your neediness and desire get the better of you.

Warnings/Rating: 18+ explicit content, no minors, smut, age-gap (reader is in their 20s), dom!bucky, he’s rough and possessive with you & talks you through it, unprotected p in v, m receiving oral, cunnilingus, spanking, biting, choking, allusions to cheating, daddy kink, breeding kink, praise kink, sex-tape, this is just pure filth, also the reader doesn’t have a clue about car stuff lol, she’s not dumb she’s just like me<3

Word count: 3800>

Masterlist

You pushed open the creaky door of Barnes Auto Fix, the bell above jangling weakly as a gust of swelteringly unbearable air followed you inside. The day had been a scorcher, the kind of hot, humid hell that made your clothes cling to your skin like a second layer, sweat beading on your forehead and dripping down your spine.

The air inside the garage wasn’t much better. It smelled of motor oil and metal, with an undercurrent of gasoline, and the faint hum of an old radio playing a scratchy rock tune filled the space. Your car had sputtered to a stop just a hundred yards down the road, and you’d barely managed to roll it into the gravel lot outside, your thighs sticking to the vinyl seat, leaving you peeling yourself off it with a grimace.

Behind the counter, a man looked up from a greasy engine part he’d been inspecting. His stormy blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch, pinning you in place. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair falling messily over his forehead and a scruff of stubble along his jaw.

His white vest was soaked through with sweat, the fabric clinging to his chest like it had been painted on, outlining every ridge of muscle, every dip and curve of his torso. The humidity had left a sheen on his skin, droplets of sweat rolling down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of the vest. A faded denim jacket hung open over the vest, and his left arm, shimmering metal from shoulder to fingertips, caught the dim light of the garage. Bucky Barnes, the name stitched on his jacket told you, and the way he looked at you, like a predator sizing up its prey, sent a shiver down your spine despite the heat.

“Car trouble?” he asked, his voice low and rough, carrying an edge of authority that made your stomach flip. He set the engine part down with a deliberate thud, wiping his hands on a rag, his movements slow and controlled. The motion made his biceps flex, and you caught a whiff of him—a heady mix of sweat, motor oil, and something unexpectedly delicious, like cedarwood and leather, a scent that made your mouth water despite the oppressive heat.

You nodded, brushing a strand of sticky, sweat-dampened hair from your face. “Yeah. It just… died. I don’t know what’s wrong. Can you take a look?”

His eyes raked over you, slow and unapologetic, before he gave a sharp nod. “Bring it around front.” The command in his tone left no room for argument, and you found yourself moving to comply, your heart racing as you felt his gaze on you the whole way.

By the time your car was in the garage, the afternoon sun had dipped low, but the humidity hadn’t let up, the air thick and heavy, pressing against your skin like a damp blanket. Bucky popped the hood and got to work, his hands moving with a quiet confidence that spoke of years of experience. You sat on a stool nearby, sipping a lukewarm soda he’d pulled from a mini fridge in the corner, the can slippery with condensation in your hand. The silence between you was heavy, broken only by the clink of tools and the occasional grunt as he worked.

You couldn’t stop watching his hands—those strong, capable hands, one flesh and one metal, as they worked with precision. His fingers, smeared with grease, wrapped around a wrench, tightening a bolt with a deft twist, and you found yourself imagining those hands on you, the way they’d feel, firm and unyielding.

The thought sent a wave of heat through you, pooling low in your belly, and you shifted on the stool, pressing your thighs together to ease the ache. His white vest was practically obscene now, the sweat making it stick to him like a second skin, and every time he leaned over the engine, you caught another whiff of that delicious scent, a mix of hard work and raw masculinity that made your head spin.

“Fuel line’s shot,” he said abruptly, straightening up and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. More sweat rolled down his temple, catching in the stubble on his jaw, and his vest clung to his chest, the damp fabric outlining his pecs, the faint outline of his nipples visible through the thin material. “I can fix it. But it’s gonna take a while,” He announced, taking a step back from the vehicle, his gaze locking onto you. “You got family? A boyfriend to come pick you up?”

The way he said it wasn’t a question—it was a statement, or an assumption, even. And the weight of his gaze made it clear he wasn’t waiting for an answer. But regardless, you gave him one. You swallowed hard, nodding. “Okay,” you said, testing the waters. Bucky didn’t shift, his blue eyes like steel, boring into you like you were some sort of spectacle. “Family is on the other side of the country, and no, no boyfriend.”

You hopped onto the edge of the counter, legs swinging beneath you. Bucky’s jaw ticked, but he said nothing and just went back to work. You felt the shift in the air, the way his presence seemed to fill the room, commanding every inch of space. You tried to make small talk, asking about the town, the garage, but his answers were curt, his focus on the car unwavering.

He’d bought the garage a few years back, he said, after getting out of the military. Didn’t like people much. Preferred the quiet.

The hours passed, and you found yourself helping him with small tasks—handing him a wrench, holding a flashlight while he tightened a bolt. His hands brushed yours more than once, the contact leaving a smear of grease on your skin, the warmth of his touch lingering even in the stifling heat, and each time, your breath caught, the intensity of his proximity making your pulse race.

By the time he finished the repair, the storm had arrived, the storm that you both had known was forecasted. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and rain began to fall, a steady patter that quickly turned into a downpour. You stood at the garage door, watching the water stream down the gravel lot, the rain a welcome relief from the oppressive humidity, though it did little to cool the heat simmering beneath your skin. There was no way you were driving in that.

You heard the faucet turn off as Bucky had finished washing his hands, dropping a towel haphazardly by the sink. A signal that the work was complete.

Your eyes were locked onto the brewing storm outside, a flash of lightning making you jump slightly, and you realised you were holding your breath.

“You’re not leaving,” Bucky said, his voice a low growl as he came up behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. The scent of him hit you again, stronger now, a delicious mix of sweat and cedarwood that made your knees weak, and you noticed his vest was still clinging to him, the damp fabric outlining every inch of his torso in a way that made your mouth water.

You turned to face him, your back against the doorframe, and his eyes were dark, predatory, as they locked onto yours. “I… I guess not,” you managed, your voice trembling under the weight of his stare.

He stepped closer, crowding your space, his broad frame towering over you. “Good,” he said, his voice rough with intent. “Because I’m not done.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs as he reached out, his metal hand gripping your waist, pulling you away from the door and into the garage with a force that made you stumble. He didn’t let you fall—his metal hand caught your arm, steadying you, but there was no gentleness in his touch, only a raw, commanding strength that sent a thrill through you.

“With the car?” You asked, biting your lip incredulously.

“With you.” He replied, his voice dark like honey. Before you could process what was happening, he had you backed up against the workbench, the edge of it digging into your lower back as he pressed himself against you, his body a wall of heat and muscle.

“Bucky—” you started, but his lips crashed into yours, cutting you off, the kiss hard and demanding, like he was claiming you.

His metal hand stayed on your waist, holding you in place with an iron grip, while his flesh hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back to deepen the kiss. You gasped against his mouth, your hands grabbing at his shoulders, feeling the slickness of his sweat-soaked vest, the hard planes of muscle beneath it, and he growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you.

“You’ve been watching me all day,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a rough rasp as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes blazing. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. You want this, don’t you?”

Bucky brought his hand down to his belt, undoing it and unlacing it through the loops of his light-washed, oil-stained jeans. You glanced down, a knot in your throat forming when you noticed his bulge pressing against the denim.

You nodded, breathless, your body trembling under the intensity of his gaze. “Yes,” you whispered, and that was all he needed.

He lifted you onto the workbench with a roughness that made your breath hitch, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks as he stepped between your legs, forcing them apart. His lips moved to your neck, his stubble scraping against the sweat-dampened curve of your throat as he bit down lightly, drawing a whimper from you.

“That’s what I thought,” he growled, his hands sliding under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head in one swift motion, leaving you exposed to the humid air and his hungry eyes. “What’s a young thing like yourself doing this far out of the city, alone?”

His metal hand pinned your wrists above your head against the workbench, the coolness of the material a stark contrast to the heat of his body as he pressed himself closer, his hips grinding against yours.

“Fight with my boyfriend,” you mumbled, ducking your head down as warmth crept across your cheeks. "Needed to get outta there."

“Ah,” Bucky let out an airy chuckle. “You told me you had no boyfriend.”

And yet, he didn’t step back. If anything, he pushed closer to you, his frame towering over you. There was no room for running. No room for escape.

“I’m going to break up with him.” You announced, your eyes nervously meeting his, anticipating a reaction.

“When did you decide that, doll? When you were watching me hunched over, fixing your car?” He raised a quizzical eyebrow, almost in disbelief. Almost like confusion was masking itself. Was he impressed?

Yes. Yes. You’d watched Bucky working meticulously in the heat, his skilled fingers doing laboured things that your boyfriend wouldn’t have the first clue about. When you didn’t reply, Bucky grazed his teeth over your neck. You gasped, fingers curling around the edge of the workbench.

“You’re mine now,” Bucky said, his voice low and commanding, and the possessiveness in his tone sent a wave of heat straight to your core. “You ever been fucked by a man as old as me?”

His hand found your neck, his thumb brushing over your jaw as he admired your face. You felt a pool of heat coil into your abdomen. God, you could burst just from the way he looked at you.

“Just how old are you?” You asked.

Bucky laughed darkly before turning his back on you, like he’d vetoed the question. Fine, he didn’t have to answer, but from the look of him, he had to be mid-40s. You briefly considered the age gap, but ultimately, you were definitely okay with it.

“I want to remember this,” he said, his voice dripping with dark promise as he reached into a drawer on the workbench and pulled out a small, battered camcorder—the kind that was popular in the late ‘80s, with a clunky lens and a red record button. Your heart skipped a beat, a mix of nerves and excitement flooding through you.

“You’re gonna look so good on camera,” he said, setting the camcorder on a tripod nearby, angling it to capture the two of you against the workbench, the storm outside framing the scene like a gritty, intimate movie. The red light blinked on, and the air felt heavier, the moment charged with a new kind of intensity. You felt exposed under his gaze, under the lens, but the way he looked at you—like he owned you—made you want to give him everything.

He released your wrists, but his hands didn’t stay idle. He tugged at his own vest, peeling the soaked fabric off and tossing it aside, revealing the sweat-slicked expanse of his chest, the dark hair dusting it, the scars that told stories of a hard life. His scent enveloped you completely now—cedarwood, leather, and that delicious musk that made your head spin—and you couldn’t help but lean forward, pressing your lips to his collarbone, tasting the salt of his skin.

He let you, but only for a moment. Then his hands were on you again, rough and insistent, one gripping your thigh to pull you closer, the other tangling in your hair as he tilted your head back, forcing you to look at him. “Not yet,” he growled, his voice a low rumble. “I fixed your fucking car. You’ll do what I want first.”

He kissed you again, hard, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as his hands roamed your body, possessive and unyielding. Then he pulled back, his eyes dark with intent as he pushed you down onto your knees in front of him, the concrete floor rough against your skin.

“Show me how much you want this,” he ordered, his voice rough with desire as he unzipped his jeans and pulled them down to his ankles.

No fucking underwear. Holy shit.

You looked up at him, your breath coming in short gasps, and the sight of him—towering over you, his chest heaving, his white-hot intensity burning in his gaze—made your pulse race. Your hands trembled as you reached for him, pressing soft kisses along the taut skin of his lower abdomen, feeling the lingering heat of the day on his skin.

He was fucking huge, thick, a distinguised vein running up the base of his cock. You already felt full just from the sight of him, and you suppressed a moan as your core clenched around nothing. His muscles tensed under your touch, and he let out a low groan, his hand resting on the back of your head, guiding you with a firm grip. You parted your mouth, and he nudged himself against your lips, asking, no, begging for entry.

You could barely take half of him before you were gagging, unshed tears glossing over you as you looked up at him with big, doe-like eyes. Obscene sounds filled the room as you sucked, the taste of his sweat and precum leaving a saltiness on your tongue.

His grip tightened in your hair, a silent command for you to open wider, and you obeyed, your hands and lips working in tandem, drawing out every shudder, every growled curse that fell from his lips.

Eventually, your nose was pressed against his stomach as he’d pushed himself down your throat. The sounds he made—low, guttural, almost feral—sent heat pooling in your core, and you felt a surge of power, even as he dominated the moment, knowing you could affect him like this.

You pulled off him with a wet pop, gasping for air as a string of your saliva connected your lips with his cock. But before you even gave him time to adjust, you were back on him, this time licking a stripe down the underside of him before palming at his balls. He was loaded, and as you took him between your lips again, he made you feel small.

“Agh!— fuck,” he hissed, his hips twitching and bucking into you.

The camcorder’s red light glowed in the corner of your vision, a silent witness to the way Bucky’s chest heaved, the way his metal hand flexed against the workbench as he braced himself.

Bucky grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you off his cock with a groan, not wanting to finish yet. No, not before he had the chance to feel your pussy.

He yanked you back up to your feet, his hands rough on your arms as he spun you around, bending you over the workbench with a force that made you gasp. The edge of the bench dug into your hips, and his metal hand pressed between your shoulder blades, holding you down as he leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re so damn perfect like this,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, and the praise, paired with the roughness of his touch, made your knees weak.

Your breath hitched, fingers scrambling to hold onto the edge of the bench as he kicked your legs apart with one boot. You gasped, but he was already behind you, already shoving your skirt up and groaning when he saw you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he muttered, large hand smoothing over your ass—before he brought it down with a sharp crack that echoed through the garage.

You cried out, thighs clenching. “Bucky—”

“Say it again.” Another slap. “My name, sweetheart. C’mon.”

“Bucky,” you whined, louder this time, desperate, humiliated, soaking wet.

He chuckled low in his throat, and then he leaned down, biting your shoulder, hard. “You wanna act like a needy little brat, I’ll treat you like one.”

You could barely breathe as his fingers slid between your legs, rough and unrelenting, no teasing this time. “So wet for me already,” he growled, almost to himself. “Bet none of those boys your age ever touched you like this.”

“N-no,” you stammered, rocking back onto his hand.

“That’s right,” he said, dragging his fingers down again, slower this time. “You’re mine now. You get that?”

You nodded, but it wasn’t enough. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look over your shoulder at him. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

He kissed you then—filthy, biting, possessive—his hand still between your legs, the other wrapped around your throat like he couldn’t stand the thought of letting you go.

“Good girl.”

And then he turned you around, lifted you like you weighed nothing, and laid you flat on the bench.

“Now keep those pretty legs open, sweetheart,” he said, undoing his belt with one hand, the clink of it making you shiver. “Daddy’s gonna ruin you.”

Your back hit the cool metal with a clatter, tools shifting around you, but you didn’t care—not with the way he was looking at you. Like he was starved. Like you were the one thing he wasn’t supposed to touch, and he was gonna do it anyway.

“Look at you,” Bucky muttered, tugging your thighs wide open, eyes locked on the mess between your legs. “So fuckin’ wet already and I haven’t even gotten my cock inside you yet.”

You whimpered, hands gripping the bench behind you for balance. “Please—”

His hand came down hard across your inner thigh. Crack.

“Did I tell you to beg, baby?”

“N-no, Daddy,” you whispered, voice breaking.

“That’s right,” he said, dark and smug as he palmed himself, already leaking at the tip. He wrapped a hand around his cock, giving it a few rough strokes, eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t beg unless I say. You take what I give you. And you’re gonna thank me for it, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you said, breathless, almost crying with need.

"Yes?"

"Yes Daddy." you huffed, correcting yourself.

He didn’t wait any longer—he lined himself up, dragged the head through your slick folds once, twice, and then thrust in with one brutal stroke.

You cried out, head thrown back as he bottomed out inside you.

“Fuck,” he growled, both hands on your hips now, holding you still while he stayed buried deep. “So tight for me, sweetheart. This little pussy’s never gonna be the same.”

He pulled out almost all the way—then slammed back in hard, making the workbench rattle beneath you.

You moaned his name, over and over, each thrust driving it out of you like a prayer. Your legs trembled around his waist, but he just gripped you harder, biting your collarbone and fucking you rougher.

“Take it,” he snarled, one hand slapping your ass while the other squeezed your throat. “Take all of it like a good girl.”

You were already unraveling, eyes glassy, brain gone. Every time his hips slapped against yours it sent sparks shooting up your spine. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t speak.

But he wasn’t done.

He bent over you, pressing his chest to yours, lips brushing your ear. “Gonna fill you up,” he whispered, filth in every syllable. “Gonna fuck my cum into you so deep it’s all you’ll feel for days. That what you want?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you sobbed, clutching at his shoulders.

“Say thank you.”

“Thank you, Daddy—thank you, thank you—”

He kissed you then, deep and messy, swallowing every sound as he fucked you into the workbench like he was trying to break you open. Your name was a growl on his lips as he came, hips jerking, cock twitching inside you while he held you down and moaned against your throat.

The camcorder captured it all—the way his hands roamed your body, the way you arched against him, the way the fluorescent lights flickered above you. It was raw, messy, intense, and as the storm raged on outside, you surrendered to him.

Your legs were shaking.

Your back was sore.

And your thighs were soaked—dripping with his cum, your release, sweat, and something so much filthier it made your cheeks burn.

You barely noticed when Bucky pulled out, cock still hard, chest still heaving like he hadn’t even begun to slow down. He watched you for a second—just stared at the mess he’d made of you, spread out on his workbench like something for him to tinker with.

“Look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself. “So fuckin’ perfect like this.”

You whined softly, trying to close your legs, but his hands shot out—rough and fast—grabbing your knees and keeping you spread. “Ah ah. Don’t hide from me, baby. Let Daddy see what he did.”

You turned your face, embarrassed, only for him to grab your chin and force your gaze back to his. “You wanted this, remember?” he said with a smirk. “You begged for it.”

“I know,” you breathed. “I know—I just—”

“You did so good,” he said suddenly, softer this time, but still wrecked, still growling at the edges. “So fuckin’ good for me. My perfect girl.”

That made your chest flutter.

And then he stepped back, grabbed one of the old, half-clean shop rags from the nearby counter, and started cleaning you up—gentle now, but still firm, still his.

You gasped when the cloth dragged over your thighs, and he grinned.

“Sensitive already?” he teased, kneeling between your legs, his eyes flicking up to yours with that dangerous gleam.

You nodded, lips parted, completely fucked out—but glowing. His gaze dropped back to your thighs, admiring the mess he’d made, before he reached for the rag again and gently finished wiping you down. He was quiet for a moment, almost focused, but the tension hadn’t left him—it just simmered lower now, heavy under the surface.

“You took it so well,” he murmured, tossing the rag aside and smoothing his palms over your thighs. “Didn’t think a pretty little thing like you could handle my cock like that. Guess I underestimated you, huh?”

You huffed out a small laugh, still face-down on the bench, your cheek resting against cool metal. “I could barely walk before. I’m definitely not walking now.”

“Good,” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Means I did my job.”

He helped you up carefully, guiding your body until you were wrapped in his arms, your legs slung around his waist as he carried you across the garage, like you weighed nothing. He set you down gently on the old couch tucked in the corner, grabbing his flannel from the hook nearby and draping it over your bare shoulders like it was instinct.

You melted into the warmth and the scent of him, blinking up through your lashes as he sat beside you, one arm resting along the back of the couch, fingers playing with your hair.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low, a little hoarse now. “Wasn’t too much?”

You shook your head instantly, leaning into him. “No. It was perfect.”

His eyes darkened again, like just the memory of having you like that made him want to drag you back onto his lap.

But instead, he leaned in, brushing his lips over your temple. “You ever show up in that little skirt again,” he muttered, voice sinful and teasing, “I’m bending you over the hood of my car next time. Right in front of the open garage door.”

Your whole body reacted—heat flooding your cheeks, thighs clenching.

He chuckled darkly, watching you squirm. “Yeah. That got your attention.”

“Maybe I will,” you said, half-daring.

He looked at you, all rough affection and smouldering hunger, and smiled like a man who knew you were already his.

“Daddy’s not done with you, baby,” he whispered, tugging you closer. “Not even close.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

Taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

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#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #smut #mechanic bucky #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x female reader #winter soldier #thunderbolts

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