#Distributor Fronte

[ellevandersneed]

finished reading thru The Hundred Years' War On Palestine: A History of Settler Colonial Conquest and Resistance by Rashid Khalidi and I cannot recommend it enough. A lot of people and, very likely, the average person not completely blinded by Islamophobia and/or USamerican/European/British exceptionalism are probably at least moderately sympathetic to the Palestinian cause but I don't know how many of us actually understand the degrees by which Israel is based in settler colonial ideology, how it has continually attempted to subjugate and ultimately eradicate the Palestinian people, and the degree by which the US and Britain (but mostly the US ever since the Six Day War in 1967) have been complicit in this continual genocide.

This book is an amazing comprehensive guide on understanding the conflict and I genuinely think you should give it a read (or listen) if you want to learn more. It is one thing to feel sympathy and to declare support for a cause, but I think it is important to take a step further and educate yourself more on it. A ploy I have seen frequently by zionists is to tell people to "educate themselves" before commenting on this genocide, hoping to instill doubt and encourage silence. Well, here is your chance to educate yourself! I'm obviously biased in favor of this one as it is the first major text on the Palestinian genocide that I have read, but I fully believe in its quality.

You can find this book online in PDF format or, if you prefer, you can purchase a physical copy from many of the large retail bookstores; Barnes & Noble in the US sells it, and so does Waterstones in the UK. There is also an official audiobook that you can either purchase through many of the major audiobook distributors (though I recommend avoiding Amazon if it can be helped), but you can also obtain it via other means if necessary. It's actually currently up on YouTube in its entirety, though I won't link it here in case it gets taken down. (It's really easy to search for, just type in the books title + 'audiobook' into your preferred search engine or on YouTube itself and you'll find it. It's about 10 hours long which is a reasonable length for an audiobook). I'll include a link in this post to an overview/lecture/dialogue with the author Rashid Khalidi on the contents of the book conducted at Brown University in 2020.

I do ask you read this book. I think a lot of people already are. I checked a couple of online libraries that have a limited number of audiobook copies that had all been checked out and that to me implies that people do want to educate themselves. There's a sizeable stack of these books at the local bookstore I ocassionally shop at, front and center on the table in the history and world affairs section. It's not hard to find. I hope you all have a good day or evening and I know that if we all take the time to educate ourselves further and approach this genocide with a deeper understanding, we may be able to do something about it. Emotional pleas are not enough, they must be informed ones as well.

[jade-curtiss]

I'm sorry but gentrifier gotta sit down. I know it hurts, apparently, but isn't there some kind of support pillow you can get or whatever I dunno how dealing post-episiotomy must be like, do I look like someone who do that kind of shit in my life?

[hindbodes]

*GASP*

[fans4wga]

'Why creatives are seeking residuals' - thread by Stefanie Williams

[Tweet thread by Stefanie Williams @/StefWilliams25

TRANSCRIPT:

Why creatives are seeking residuals vs. "do you pay the mattress maker every time you sleep on a mattress?" A thread. I keep hearing over and over again that writers/actors/creatives don't deserve residuals for the work they create. "If I build a bathroom in a house, I don't get paid every time someone uses the toilet."

TRUE! However, your bathroom build has a set market value. Art does not. No one knows what makes one TV show an overnight success, and another a flop. No one knows what makes one song a hit, and the other a dud. If they did, trust me when I say record companies would be churning out Taylor Swifts over and over again. Studios would be making nothing but Stranger Things.

But that isn't the case. No one could predict Stranger Things would be a massive, billion dollar hit. No one could predict Taylor Swift was going to be a world wide phenomenon who literally could record herself reading Aesop's Fables and make millions of dollars. Which is why residuals are important. The pay structure protects both the creators and the publishers/distributors.

The easiest way to explain it is by referencing an author writing a book. Sure, an author might get a very modest up front fee, but the author is banking on royalties to really make money on the book — for every book sold, the author gets a piece of the pie. This protects both the author and the publisher—because if the book is a flop, the publisher doesn't go broke on a financial promise they made to the author that didn't pan out, and if the book is a mega-hit, the author didn't give away a massive, million-dollar book for 20k.

It's a sliding scale that is required for a product that has no set market value. What makes an actor's work on a hit show more valuable than an actor's work on a show that gets canned after five episodes? The market value for art almost always comes after the fact, so residuals account for that reality. They make sure the creator get compensated at a fair market rate. A person who builds a bathroom knows, upfront, what the market rate for a bathroom is. That bathroom won't suddenly be worth 1000 times more than you built it for in six months. It doesn't have the potential to be built for 20k and generate 20 million.

Residuals are a pay structure that simply account for an unsure market value. Trust me, we all wish we could quantify art in terms of dollars. But art is unpredictable. So studios and streamers -- which literally REQUIRE content to stay viable -- have to account for that unpredictability. And for studios (or record labels, or book publishers) it's always trial and error. The only way to get a hit, is to go through a few flops.

For every Whitney Houston, there was a singer you never heard of. For every Sopranos, there was a show that got scrapped mid season. For every Titanic, there was a movie that bombed. For every Twilight, there was a book about vampires that went nowhere. Residuals are kind of a reverse market valuation. They pay a fair wage for a product than can only have a set value once it's been created and effectively consumed.

And even then, shit changes. Anyone think Kate Bush would spend weeks on the top of the charts in 2022? Residuals account for unpredictable markets. And in order to have accurate residuals, streamers and studios need to be transparent and open about their data, which is one of the MANY things the WGA and SAG are both fighting for.

[gael-garcia]

PALESTINE FILM INDEX

Palestine Film Index is a growing list of films from and about Palestine and the Palestinian struggle for liberation, made by Palestinians and those in solidarity with them. The index starts with films from the revolutionary period (68 - 82) made by the militant filmmakers of the Palestine Film Unit and their allies, and extends through a multitude of voices to the present day. It is by no means a complete or exhaustive representation of the vast universe that is Palestinian cinema, but is only a small fragmentary list that we hope nontheless can be used as an instrument of study & solidarity. As tools of knowledge against zionist propaganda and towards Palestinian liberation.

The century long war against Palestinians by the zionist project is one waged not only militarily but also culturally. The act of filmmaking, preservation, and distribution becomes an act against this attempted cultural erasure of ethnic cleansing. The power inherent in this form as a weapon against the genocidal project of zionism is evidenced in the ways it has been historically & currently targeted by the occupation forces: from the looting & stealing of the Palestine Cinema Institute archives during the siege of Beirut in 1982, through the long history of targeted assassinations of Palestinian filmmakers, journalists, artists, & writers (from PFU founder Hani Jawharieh, to Ghassan Kanafani, Shireen Abu Akleh, Refaat Alareer, and the over 100 journalists killed in the currently ongoing war on Gaza).

It is in this spirit of the use of film and culture as a way of focusing & transmitting information & knowledge that we hope this list can be used as one in an assortment of educational tools against hasbara (a coordinated and intricate system of zionist propaganda, media manipulation, & social engineering, etc) and all forms of propaganda that is weaponized against the Palestinian people. Zionist media & its collaborators remain one of the most effective fronts of the war, used to manufacture consent through deeply ingrained psychological manipulation of the general public agency. Critical and autonomous thought must be used as a tool of dismantling these frameworks. In this realm, film can play a vital roll in your toolkit/arsenal. Film must be understood as one front of the greater resistance. We hope in some small way we can help to distribute these manifestations of Palestinian life and the struggle towards liberation.

This list began as small aggregation to share among friends and comrades in 2021 and has since expanded to the current and growing form (it is added to almost every day). We have links for through which each film can be viewed along with descriptions, details such as run time, year, language, etc. We also have a supplemental list of related materials (texts, audio, supplemental video) that is small but growing. We have added information on contacts for distributors and filmmakers of each film in order to help people or groups who are interested in using this list to organize public screenings of these films. The makers of this list do not control the rights to these films and we strongly urge those interested in screening the works to get in touch with the filmmaker or distributors before doing so. This list was made with best intentions in mind, and in most cases with permission of filmmaker or through a publically available link, but if any film has mistakenly been added without the permission of a filmmaker involved and you would like us to remove it, or conversely if you are a filmmaker not included who would like your film to be added, or for any other thoughts, suggestions, additions, subtractions, complaints or concerns, please contact us at palestinefilmindex@gmail.com. No one involved in this list is doing it as a part of any organization, foundation or non-profit and we are not being paid to do this, it is merely a labor of love and solidarity. From the river to the sea, Palestine

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Lamborghini Countach LP400 S "Cannonball Run," 1979. Chassis number 1121112 was originally delivered to the Lamborghini distributor for Rome, Italy, SEA Auto, who almost immediately had the car exported to the United States of America. Hal Needham. the movie's director, decided the factory original Countach wasn’t quite wild enough for the film, so it was modified by adding a new front spoiler with additional lights for night driving. In 2021 The Cannonball Run Countach made history by entering the Library of Congress National Historic Vehicle Register. 

[rafeandonlyrafe]

you made me this way

words: 1.5k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, murder!!, guns!!, blood!!, drug dealer!rafe and reader, reader kills a cop!!, romanticizing murder and violence!!, p in v sex, unprotected sex, male receiving oral

“baby, give me the gun.” rafes eyes are wide, but they're not trained on you, even as he reaches his hand out for the weapon.

you quickly turn it and place the handle against his palm, your own hand shaking when you lower it. rafe unloads the chamber before tucking the gun into his belt, his eyes still on the body now bleeding out on the deck of the boat.

“baby. what the fuck did you just do?” rafe finally drags his eyes away from the growing pool of red.

you're surprised by rafes anger, his harsh tone.

“you-you said he was in our way!” you justify your actions. 

rafe knew it was a mistake to let you into the drug game on the island, to convert you from sweet innocent girlfriend to a dealer, to the partner in his growing empire.

“so you fucking shoot him?” rafe shouts, stepping closer to you.

“of course! i did this for us rafe, for you.” you emphasize. you'd do anything for rafe, and you were just showing him by taking out the competition, and a dirty cop in the meanwhile. no one would suspect that an officer was the one rivaling with the young dealer on the island, so the best thing you could do for business was to dispose of him before he was able to get enough dirt to turn to his colleagues and become the sole distributor in the outer banks.

“we gotta get rid of his body-fuck-who else knew he was here?” rafes mind is reeling, running through all the possibilities of ways you could get caught as he looks around the isolated area, his boat anchored in the sand.

“nobody! i was really safe about it and we are close to the swamp, we can dump his body there and then no one will ever know.” you explain, having learned from rafes stories and warnings that the alligators will take care of anything left in the swamp.

“okay.” rafe takes a deep breath. “okay. we’ll figure this out. lets just get rid of this body then go from there.” “you’re hard.” you point out, rafe looking down at his swim trunks, tented in the front. “you just murdered someone for me baby, of course i’m hard.”

“fuck me.” you cross over to rafe, pressing your body into his. “fuck me then we can get rid of the body.”

“you’re fucking crazy.” rafe says, but a smile graces his lips, his hand grabbing your ass.

“if i’m crazy, it’s because you’ve made me that way.” you kiss rafe, mouth quickly being devoured by him.

rafe moves you backwards towards the sofa, the sunlight hitting the plastic waterproof material as he pushes your hips down to sit, with rafe still hovering over top you.

“suck me, baby.” rafe tugs his swim shorts down, his hard cock instantly being swallowed as you lean forward, needing to taste his thickness in your mouth.

“fuck, so good.” rafe moans, thrusting his hips forward, fucking into your mouth as you relax your throat for him to slide down. rafes hands fist in your hair as he moans, eyes flickering over to the dead body, the man that you killed for rafe, for your joint business.

“love your mouth, baby. love everything about you.” rafes soft words are contrast to how hard hes pushing his cock inside of your mouth, not even caring when you start to gag around him, struggling to breathe through your nose.

you eventually have to tap rafes thigh to take a deep breath, but your hand takes the place while you breath, continuing to pleasure rafe.

“wanna fuck you now, come on.” rafe grabs your hips, turning you over so you’re kneeling on the couch, hands gripping the back, looking over the side of the boat towards the sea.

rafe tugs your dress up, the thin cotton material revealing your swimsuit. rafe groans at the tiny bows on either side of your hip, instantly tugging at them so your bikini bottoms fall to the floor.

“do anything for you rafey.” you moan as he rubs the tip of his cock through your folds, feeling how wet you are. “anything.” you shudder as he pushes against your entrance, his cock easily entering you with how wet you are.

“i know, baby.” rafe groans, pushing into you slowly but with ease. “you killed for me.” “would do it again.” you clench your cunt around rafes cock, encouraging him to move faster.

rafe keeps the slow pace despite you whining, his hands gripping your hips tightly to keep you still. “gonna fuck you nice and slow at first. make you feel real good.”

rafe moves one hand around to your stomach, gently caressing your soft skin before skirting lower, his fingers circling around your clit before pressing over it, his fingertips soft on your sensitive pussy as he rubs.

“so good.” you moan, eyes squeezing shut instead of looking at the horizon.

“i know, baby, i know.” rafe groans, glancing over at the dead cop again, the circle of blood expanding even more. rafe knows the clean up is going to be a bitch, but it’s worth it to get rid of the competition.

“harder, please.” you whine.

“not yet.” rafe smirks, loving that you’re already begging for him. “gotta be good and still for me, okay?”

“can’t.” you whine, trying to move a little, but rafes hands are too tight, keeping you from doing anything besides squirming a bit.

“just a bit longer, mmkay? you just killed a man for me, you need to calm down and let me take care of you.” rafe flicks over your clit before continuing to rub over it.

you take a deep breath, trying to calm down and just focus on rafes cock smoothly rubbing against your walls, lightly stretching you open.

“ready?” rafe hums, and before you can register his question, his thrusts suddenly deepening and quickening, pounding into you while pulling you back onto his cock with his one hand.

“oh fuck!” you shout out, glad that there is no one in the desolate area to hear you screaming, as well as the gunshot that went off.

“good girl, good girl.” rafe moans, bucking up into you as your knees stick to the plastic couch material.

“i’m-i can’t.” you moan, letting your head fall as your body pushes forward with every thrust from rafe. “can’t.” you moan again. “feels so good.”

“you gonna cum for me?” rafe questions, his fingers still rapidly rubbing over your clit. you feel his cock swelling inside of you and know he’s not too far away himself.

“yeah.” you nod rapidly. “yeah, so close.” you squeal, feeling lucky that you found someone as perfect as rafe, someone who can make you feel so good.

“gonna cum inside you, pretty girl.” rafe warns shortly before you feel him release inside of you, his cum flooding into your pussy. his orgasm triggers you own, high suddenly ripping through your body as your cunt pulses around rafes cock, milking him even more than he thought possible.

“oh, fuck.” your body quivers when rafe gently pulls out, cum leaking from your cunt and dripping onto the sofa.

“so good, baby.” rafe says, helping you turn over onto your bottom as you slump against the couch, adrenaline from the shooting and ecstacy from the sex quickly draining from your body.

“come here.” you reach up for rafe with the last of your strength, who quickly sinks to his knees and cuddles into your neck, his lips pressing over your neck.

“we gotta take care of this body, baby.” rafe mumbles, tucking himself back into his swimshorts.

“i know, i know.” you sigh, rubbing your fingers over his scalp before allowing him to stand up. you take a moment to breathe while he goes to the captains chair, navigating the boat further into the swamp. you finally get the energy to grab your bikini bottoms at put them back on, the mess of cum now on the seat, but its nothing compared to the mess of blood you know you’ll have to spend hours scrubbing off with bleach.

“here should be good.” rafe says, standing up and grabbing the cop by his arms, dragging him over the edge of the boat with a loud splash. you peak over the edge at the body, both watching as it takes only minutes for an alligator to surface, bumping the cops arm before the gators teeth chomp down.

you gasp, more surprised that you feel nothing seeing the ferocious animal tear into a man that you just murdered.

“come on, baby.” rafe grabs a bucket, knowing it’ll be best to clean as much as you can of the boat before taking it back to the dock.

“wait, rafe.” you grab his arm, looking into his bright blue eyes. “i-i liked it.”

“what?” rafe questions, his eyebrows scrunching together.

“i liked killing him. i would do it again. for you, for us.”

the corner of rafes lip quirks up. “you better stop talking like that before i have to fuck you again.”

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[roseglazedlens]

⦑ THE FUCKING DEAD ⦒ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

➠ series masterlist | 🔃girl’s route | 🔃boy’s route |

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 LEON S. KENNEDY & CARLOS OLIVEIRA X AFAB GN! READER ADA WONG & JILL VALENTINE X AFAB GN! READER chapter synopsis: You are amongst the top five selected for this infiltration to take down Glenn Arias. An argument unfolds between the agents and you are forced to pick a side. chapter content: smut in next chapter, resident evil: vendetta spoilers, zombies, haunted mansion, explicit themes throughout this series. a/n: welcome to my second series!! (need to finish my first one oops) on a thursday one month ago, i thought to myself 'zombie threesome hehehe', then i took the idea and sprinted with it and this series is born. so, uh... zombiefuckers rise up?? « 3.3 k words | general masterlist | ao3 | reblogs appreciated! »

Millions are dying—Mass infections are happening across the globe swamping the streets with an unbeknownst fear. The symptoms of this virus are faint, indecipherable next to an x-ray of a man who is perfectly healthy. Not even the carrier themselves are aware of how the virus lies underneath their veins, dormant, until a click of button is pressed from a commander far away, then their symptoms worsen: a headache, a cold, veins turning purple as the poison hatches in them, spreading, until the only thing that can manoeuvre their limbs is the word: KILL.

That’s the greatest strength of this virus. Anyone can be infected, and maybe, you already are.

This product first reached the underground market three months ago. Called the A-Virus; a bioweapon succeeded in the market for its ability to infect targeted communities remotely and leaving no evidence on the perpetrator, which no other distributors had successfully produced before.

Engineered by Glenn Arias, the researcher sold over thousands of this bioweapon, becoming a billionaire overnight at the cost of lives lost from the whims of the rich. He supplied the wealthy and corrupted, like insatiable brats, with new remote-controlled monster trucks, who only aims to tear down families and have their victims beg mercy to a monster that will not speak reason.

Hence, this problem brought attention to a global scale, having the DSO come in alliance with the BSAA and other independent mercenaries to hunt down the vaccine and put a stop to Arias’ grand schemes. Handpicking five agents who are equipped with both experience and skill to combat a zombie attack on this scale of doom and urgency.

Those five agents are Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira, Leon S. Kennedy, Ada Wong, and you.

A plan is already in place. A distraction concocted with your intel and the help of a senior researcher of all things bioweapons, Rebecca Chambers. While Arias is busy attending fake business meetings on the other side of the world, the five of you will infiltrate his private mansion to retrieve a concentrated sample of the A-Virus. Rebecca can use the sample to reverse engineer it into a cure and send her findings to facilities across the world.

The plan sounds brilliant in writing, but when you arrived his private mansion in Queretaro region, Mexico, something is off about this place.

Arias is a mastermind, you had been warned many times, in which you appropriately prepared all your best gear for this mission to treat it with utmost gravity. You’re thinking armed guards, well-equipped security, BOWs. But when the five of you pushed open the front doors of his mansion, it was quiet.

Empty. Not a single soul. Just five of you greeted by the whisk of wind through weakly hinged windows that somehow makes the humid air stick to your skin further. Did Rebecca get the wrong info? No one lived there. From what you heard when you were in town, not even the locals dare to venture anywhere near the odd gothic mansion on the top of the hill. They said it’s abandoned, cursed, rumoured to whisk away young children if they ever step foot inside.

It’s a story they say to stop the naughty kids, you remind yourself. It’s not haunted. And you’re not a kid anymore.

The inside is abandoned. Cobwebs lay thick between cornices and carved columns, the floors laced with a film of dust on the luxurious dark wood flooring, creaking with worn age as you take each step. Besides the chandelier, every single piece of furniture is either the same colour of black or red, or nothing else. The soft red velvet upholstery and the rug are made with the same fabric. And you can find the same dark wood in every corner of this house. It’s in the tables, the shelves, the chaise, the painting frames, and stone-like head sculpture whittled with the same exact dark wood, ridged the exact uniform way.

Then, you look at the wall. Black patches of mould smearing across the burgundy wallpaper like a crime scene.

Something creaks behind you. The hair on your arms stands up as you shiver, immediately followed by a wave of embarrassment. Despite the number of times you had taken down hordes of incoming zombies like they’re cardboard targets, why is a bit of wind freaking you out? It’s not a ghost, just old foundations, maybe mice, or wind kicking something off a table, like how every old house sounds like. You look around to see if anyone else catches you jumping at nothing, before Jill says, thankfully unaware of your worry:

“God, the smell. What have they done to this place?” Her hand flies over her nose as if that will help to shield any smell whatsoever. Unfortunately, the building is moulded far beyond salvageable that the stench lingers in every part of the mansion.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. We get weeks-old corpses in body bags every day. It’s absolutely retching.” Jill’s earpiece fizzes into life, and she recognises the familiar playful lilt of Rebecca’s voice on the other side of the line.

“At least that’s refrigerated and contained, Rebecca. This fucking stinks.” Jill scrunches her face like she just ate something unpleasant.

“I’m sending my sympathies from my well-conditioned lab right now.”

Carlos appears from Jill’s behind, placing a firm, teasing hand on top of Jill’s shoulder. His wavy curls catch in the wind and his teeth glistens sparkly white. “Yeah Jill, got a problem with my natural musk?”

Jill shrugs his hand off, grimacing at his attempts at flirtation. “Take a shower first, then we’ll talk.”

In which Carlos laughs, holds his hand out at his heart as if it was just torn into shreds. “That hurts my feelings, Jill. Why aren’t you ever saying things like that to pretty boy over there?”

“I have a name, Oliveira.” The blond man turns around at the call of his nickname, familiar with the nickname, but it's not pleasantly received by him.

“I think pretty boy suits you more, Kennedy.” Carlos replies, a glint in his voice that hints something a bit less than friendliness between them.

“Ah, so you do know my name.” Leon quips back while staring directly into Carlos’ eyes, before getting cut off by Jill.

“I would, Carlos, but if I have to hear one more corny ass comeback from Leon’s mouth, I’ll throw myself out the window right now.”

“Takes a genius to get my humour.” Leon smirks.

Your eyebrows raise almost immediately to chime in. “Erm… I think we have different meanings for the word ‘genius’.”

Quiet chuckles ripple through the room. It helps that you have worked with these guys throughout the years and had come to know and get close to them—some a bit closer than just friends—but none of them are strangers by far. Usually, you would be working with only one or two of these guys, never in a big group like this, but it seems that everyone is already well-acquainted with each other.

You toss a glance at Carlos and catch him staring at you, smiling. Ah, you see now. Carlos must have been trying to lighten the mood because you had been jumpy ever since you had arrived. You nod at him, a silent thank you before the five of you venture deeper into the eerie atmosphere.

The goal is to arrive at Glenn Aria’s office. According to Rebecca’s intel, Arias hid a concentrated sample in a safe last time he was here. You will need Ada to crack the safe to retrieve the sample and deliver it to Rebecca. As you traverse the corridors, it twists and turns in different directions—whoever engineered this did not enjoy unexpected guests at all. But under Rebecca’s guidance, she walks you and your team through the labyrinth with ease and precision.

But unfortunately, not ease and precision on your part. You trip over your own leg and almost fall to the floor as you round a harsh turn according to Rebecca’s instructions, and Jill catches you right on the arm before you fall.

“Easy there.” Jill pulls you up the ground, and you regain some balance. “You good? Mind your step.”

“Why did I agree to babysit?” Ada speaks, finally, for the first time in this mission. Despite how quietly she spoke under her breath, her words abruptly cut through the air, and all attention is on her and the red sweater dress that curves into her frame perfectly now.

“Oh, I bet once you get your paycheck it will be worth it. Or will you be betraying us, huh, Ada?”

Leon smirks loudly. Ada’s face goes from tired to exhausted in one second. “You just can’t let bygones be bygones, can you?”

“That’s rich coming from someone who used to work for Wesker.” Ada’s heels come to a stop, and with a slow turn, she stares deeply into Leon’s eyes that speak a million threats without needing to be utter a word. Oh, and believe me, you do not want to be messing with Ada. You learnt that the hard way.

“Woah, guys. Let’s keep this civil. No need to get heated.” Carlos rushes to stand right between them as the duo glares at each other with passionate fury and resentment.

You nod, joining Carlos’ side to stand by him. “Carlos’s right. This is not the time to pick a fight.” But it falls on the deaf ears of Leon and Ada.

“Thousands were killed. I want what’s good for the people, and I’m not sure Ada here is on the same page.” Leon continues, adding fuel to the fire.

Ada lets out a disbelieved gasp in response, before recollecting herself and replying in her usual tone of calmness: “Someone has to pay the price. I’m just the executor.”

“Regardless of our motivations, we all are on the same side here.” Carlos attempts at resolution again, putting his hands up in between them, and fails embarrassingly once more.

The air is heated with hostility; Leon and Ada’s eyes are locked in a trance, a hazy spite that reigns their composure, that looking away from each other means forfeiting. You don’t see either of them walking away first, they are both prideful people after all.

“Uh… Jill? Some help?” Carlos looks around to find Jill, who is leaning against a wall, her arms relaxing by her sides, unphased by the fire stirring right in front of the crowd.

“Not my circus, not my monkeys.” Jill is merely waiting for either one of the parties roll over.

You feel speckles of flame through the two of them, as if steam is retreating over the top of their heads, burning not just them, but also everyone else in the room. Until the boiling point hits, and it erupts all in one second. The duo walks away, off to different directions in bitter adrenaline, until you and Carlos are just looking at each other.

“I guess we’ll take five. There’s a safe room up ahead.” Carlos is speaking, but you’re the one listening.

The five of you enters the safe room in silence. It is a storage room—despite its name, it’s quite large for a normal storage room—with boxes stacked on all ends that made the room seem smaller in comparison. A ceiling light illuminates the room dimly, but it isn’t enough to shade away years of old animosity from their past.

The lively conversations you had mere minutes ago is gone now. Just silence and awkward rustling as each of you sits in your own designated corner. Carlos and Jill find themselves a seat on top of a firm box. Leon and Ada giving each other the silent treatment, standing on farthest end of the room to each other. You are simply minding your own business, gathering materials to craft a flashbang to pass the time. Doesn’t hurt to have more supplies anyway.

There is a notable division on each side, an imaginary alliance that you choose to be on neither side. Until Leon crosses the boundary line, somehow making his way to you. He picks up an empty grenade case next to you, assembling the pieces together for your project.

“Sorry you had to see that.” A little guilt tugs at Leon’s voice.

“Not at all. I get why you felt that way.” Leon nods, a look of gratitude hanging softly through a smile. His other finger seals the flashbang cap and hands it back to you. “But you need to learn to control your temper. Especially when it comes to Ada.”

Speaking of Ada, a shiver runs down your spine suddenly. The feeling of someone sending laser signs and telepathic warnings towards you. You turn around towards the direction of the aura to find Ada, her back leaning against the wall, arms crossed without engaging or acknowledging anyone in the room. She stands by herself alone, and that’s how you had always known Ada—distant and in her own mysterious world. Not really a chatter, despite the number of times she had saved you in the past.

Ada does not look at you, but you can feel her glaring down—either you or Leon—with her entire body.

“Good to see the two of you getting along at least.” Carlos holds out two plastic water bottles to you two from a supply crate he found in the room, which Jill has finished downing two of them already.

You two gesture ‘no thanks.’ Ada does not spare Carlos a glance at his direction when he offers.

“You’re welcome, I guess.” Carlos says sarcastically, before taking in a generous sip from his drink.

There’s a moment of silence. Then, a moment of dry coughs; a squeak of footsteps, a joint click from a stretching neck. Then silence once more.

“I’ve had enough.” Jill slaps her hands on her thigh before pushing herself up from her seat. “You guys gonna keep acting like kids? Grow up, this isn’t high school anymore. Take your drama outside. If we’re gonna take down Arias, we have to get along. And yes, that means moving on from shit that happened… five years ago? Five years ago and you two are still hung up? Unlike you all, I’m actually looking forward to go home and get a decent shower, hopefully soon.”

You nod in approval as Jill speaks her mind, and you are glad at least the few of you have their priorities in order. Ada flicks her head away from Jill, but her silence is telling of how much she is thinking over Jill’s words.

“Leon, can you accept this?” Jill asks.

There’s a bit of reluctance in his voice, but he agrees anyway. “Fine.”

“Ada?”

Before Ada can respond, smoke is creeping into your vision, coming in quick. It merges into your view, obscuring it, and you whiff something artificial, some kind of chemicals that is piercing to your nose and eyes. You can’t help but wince, hands groping the air in attempts to find comfort in the person closest to you—anyone for that matter—to indicate you’re safe and is indeed not under attack. Your fingers find themselves in a fistful of someone’s shirt, muscles tensing tightly underneath the fabric on their shoulder cap.

“Leon. Is that you?” You cry out.

“It’s me. Stay close and don’t let go. It’s an ambush.” Leon pulls your arm towards him, securing your safety with his hand in yours.

There is some coughing through the air, faint panic in voices underneath the hissing of gas that seems to be coming from above. You hold onto Leon a bit tighter.

Carlos calls out desperately “Where are you guys? Is everyone okay?” as he flaps his hand around the smoke to stir it away. He finds you and Leon almost immediately, and looks down to your hands, finding them clasped tight against each other. Your hand lets go of Leon flying behind your back, but Carlos already saw it.

Jill is coughing deep from the smoke. “I-I’m here!”

“It seems like we’re all here.” Ada says, composed as ever despite the circumstances.

The smoke dissipates—until most of the fog fades away, escaping through the cracks underneath the door to the other side. Leaving the five of you standing in the same storage room darting eyes around, seemingly unharmed, and even more confused.

After what feels like a while later, Jill finally breaks the silence: “Huh. What was that?”

“No enemies.” Ada unholsters the pistol from her belt, inspecting the room and the door behind the room. “Clear on this side too.”

It’s strange. If this is an ambush, why isn’t there an attack?

Leon places a finger on his earpiece to activate his microphone. “Rebecca, come in. We’ve just been ambushed by some kind of smoke, but nobody’s hurt. Happen to know what’s going on?”

His earpiece buzzes into life. “Hmm, let’s see. From the architecture plans, I see the vents are connected to a lab below. It seems abandoned, there are no signs of anyone triggering an attack on my end.”

“Whatever it is, we need to investigate.” Leon’s voice is firm and serious. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

You swallow deeply, fear settling back inside you. “You think it’s a trap?”

“I think…” Leon pinches his chin. “…Arias knows that we’re here.”

Your heart drops—Bundle of fear, anxiety and stress springing back into your nerves as you probe at the possibility of Glen Arias knowing where you are. What you’re trying to do. Making sure you will never reach that sample despite your hardest wills.

“He shouldn’t. Rebecca, didn’t Arias get on the jet?” Carlos is also thinking too.

“Affirmative. Security footage showed Arias walking into his private jet, and it took off four hours ago. He should still be in the air. No signal of them making a pitstop anywhere.”

You hear black pumps clacking against the hardwood floor. “I’m getting the sample.” Says Ada, her foot is already halfway out of the door. “Follow me or not, I don’t care. I’m here for the objective, and only that.”

“And what if something happens to you?” Carlos asks, genuinely concerned.

“I’ll deal with it if it happens.” Ada waves dismissively.

“Ada’s right, we could be set on a wild goose chase.” Jill chimes in. “Millions of lives are dying. We don’t have time to waste.”

“I guess it’s just you and me then, pretty boy.” Carlos rounds his arm around Leon’s neck, bringing him closer in an almost choking grip, a little too close and tight to his liking. And with Leon’s history with Carlos, Leon refuses to believe this is just a friendly gesture.

Leon grimaces, removing Carlos’ hand over him. “So that’s it? We’re splitting up?” The answer is unanimous. “Fine. I guess we’ll cover more ground if we split up.”

Rebecca, through the other side of your earpiece, speaks: “Be careful everyone. You don’t know what kind of schemes Glenn Arias had set up. Please stay safe.”

“We’ll be fine, as long as we don't have any traitors in our team.” Leon says the word ‘traitor’ while maintaining eye contact with Ada. She ignores him, simply deadpans.

“Well, what about you?” Leon nudges at your arm.

You are faced with two options. Indulge in your curiosity and find the source of the gas, or stick to mission as planned? Both options will be dangerous. So who will you trust with your life?

[OPTION A] “I’ll follow the girls.”

[OPTION B] “I’ll follow the boys.”

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 thanks for reading! come check out my other works! —yours truly, rose. i love my beta reader @scar-crossedlvrs! series taglist: @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted @daydreamrot @madcap-riflette @access--granted @obsolescent @briermelli @secretiveauthor @ghosty-frog @navstuffs @slowcryinginthedark @rentaldarling @lesbntired © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[meatonfork]

Fresh Faces

————————————————————————————————————————

pairing: platonic 141 x grim 

warnings: mission gone wrong, grim having a breakdown, death, child death, drugs, vomit, usual cod violence

summary: sometimes all you need is a fresh face to calm you down

————————————————————————————————————————

the mission had gone so, terribly wrong. no one had anticipated that the cartel had known you were here. 

your target had been the biggest cocaine distributor from san felipe to guadalajara. he was dangerous, killing civilians and even his own men. 

alejandro had contacted price for help in taking him down. without hesitation, you all flew down to your favorite spanish speaking friends. 

everyone knew this mission would be hard, seeing as alejandro and his men couldn’t do it without help, but you didn’t expect it to be this hard. this gruesome. 

your team had reached the warehouse you assumed him to be in, but all you saw was a row of bodies- civilians- laid out on the ground. blood pooling on the concrete. men, women, children.

it was a murder scene straight out of a horror movie. except this wasn’t a horror movie, this was real life.

the metallic stench of blood filled your nostrils, making you gag. your eyes watered from the smell, and the buzzing of flies echoed in your ears. 

turning to ghost, you make eye contact. he shakes his head and leaves the building. 

it took you three weeks to find him. and when you did, your team took him in.

infiltrating the base was hard. somehow, he knew you were coming. your breath was ragged as you took down one of his men off sight. you all had been split from each other, relying on your comms to keep in check and make sure everyone else was alive.

“grim, how copy?”

silence.

“grim. how copy.” ghost’s voice held a slight edge to it.

nothing.

“kid! are you alive?”

finally, a crackle buzzed in his ear before your heavy breathing came through. 

“yeah, yeah i’m good. got caught up with some bastard.” blood soaked your front from the slice in his neck. he had you pinned behind a counter of a bakery. your hand barely reaching your knife held on your thigh in time to slice his throat. the blood rained down on you, covering you face, neck, and chest. 

“are you hurt?” it was soap this time.

“nah. covered in blood, but it isn’t mine.” you held a small smile on your lips as you raced across the street, navigating your way through town. 

“atta, kid. livin’ up to the name, huh?” soap chuckled a bit.

“duh. i have a reputation to hold up to serg.”

“kid, we’re on the east side of town. think you can manage getting over here?” ghost’s voice no longer held as much edge to it, but he didn’t like that you were on the complete opposite end of town from them.

“yeah, i’ll be there. don’t wait up.”

walking through the alleyways and ransacked buildings, you stumble across a house.

someone’s home.

it was quite. so quite. you make your way through the home, sweeping rooms before heading to the back door.

a gruesome sight stopped you in your tacks.

children. three of them cowering in the corner next to, who you assumed to be, their dead parents. blood and bullets holes splattered the room and furniture. 

they looked at you with wide eyes, “h-hi, guys.”

they scoot further back.

“no no. it’s okay, i won’t hurt you.” your voice was soft as you slowly reach your hand to them, the other held your gun.

you slowly took a step forward when a shot rang out from behind you.

a sharp pain grazing your arm made you spin around with a hiss. one of his men stood behind you, and you rose your rifle to take aim. he was quicker and pulled the trigger before you could. but he didn’t aim for you.

no. 

why would he aim for you?

why would he when he could easily shoot the kids behind you? 

and that was exactly what he did. 

“NO!” your voice rang out as you jumped towards him. he sidestepped you and continued firing. you finally caught him and shot him through the eye. 

you were too late.

“fuck! FUCK!” your eyes immediately watered as you looked toward their lifeless bodies. deep sobs wracked your body, chest heaving. 

your mind went hazy, a fog settling over your conscience. 

“grim.”

you don’t even hear ghost’s voice flood into your comms.

“grim, how copy?”

“grim, how copy god damn it!”

“fine, sir.” your voice trembled, and huffs of air left your lips unevenly.

“what’s wrong?” can’t get anything passed them. you knew that.

“rough encounter, sir.”

“get over here as quick as you can manage. we got him.”

“copy.”

the rest of the trip over to your team went by too quickly for you to register. your mind raced a million miles a minute. the tears never left your eyes, and breath never evened out. 

it wasn’t hard to find your boys. the humvees crowding a warehouse seemed to do the trick in drawing your attention. 

the slamming of a car door captured their attention as you threw yourself in the backseat.

“creepin’ bloody jesus!” soap jumped at the sound and turned to see you running your hands through your hair in the widow. when your fist connected with the headrest in front of you, ghost decided it was time to head back to base.

your boys tried to get you to talk, but all they got in return was silence. tears cut through the blood covering your cheeks. every time you closed your eyes, flashes of the kids looking at you desperately flashed through your mind. when it got too quiet in the humvee, your mind would make you hear their screams. it was too much.

just as alejandro parked the car, you jumped out and threw up on the ground right outside the door. 

“fuck.” your throat was raw, small hands shaking. you straightened your back and quickly walked into base. 

the guys shared a glance at each other, silently asking, “what the fuck.”

locking yourself in the nearest bathroom, you threw up once more. 

it was too much.

your cries must have been loud enough for them to hear, because a knock sounded at the door.

“one minute, please.” your voice rang out, cracking mid-sentence. 

“just me, kid. let me in.” ghost’s gruff voice sounded through the locked door. you shifted over and unlocked the door.

the click must have been loud enough to let ghost know the coast is clear, because next you knew his large hand was on your shoulder and the door was locked again.

“i’m not good at this, you know that. but, do you want to talk about what you saw out there?” his voice was significantly softer than usual.

he grabbed a small towel and ran it under warm water before crouching in front of you and wiping your face and grazed arm gently with it.

you looked a mess. hair wild, and pulling from your loose ponytail. tears streamed through the dried blood caking your face and neck. bruising was popping up on your skin, and your chest heaved with unfinished breaths. 

you finally made eye contact. 

it was still too much. 

you broke. sobbing hysterically. you couldn’t breathe.

through broken sentences and your blubbering, you finally got it out to him.

those kids needed your help, and yet they died. it was your fault. 

why couldn’t you do your job right?

it should’ve been you. 

you shouldn’t be here, breathing. 

they should. 

you must’ve almost passed out, because next thing you knew, two large hands were holding your face and ghost was crouched in front of you.

“hey. hey, that was not your fault.” he was whispering now. pulling you back down to earth. “there was nothing you could’ve done. you hear me? nothing.”

you didn’t say anything back, you just stared him in the eyes, trembling hands reaching up to wrap around his wrists. your small fingers were freezing against his warm skin.

“i want you to nod, or say something, to let me know you understand.” he was demanding, but he wasn’t rough. he was being gentle. 

you let a small nod slip, but your eyes were glazed over and not focusing on him anymore. 

he slowly let go of your face, but the sudden lack of warmth on your cheeks made you reach back out for him, a small whine leaving your lips.

“it’s okay. i’m just reaching for something.” he waited until you stilled to slowly reach for his mask and balaclava, pulling them off. 

the sudden reveal of his face made you gasp. although they were surrounded by black paint, his brown eyes seemed brighter without the mask now that you could properly see his blonde brows and lashes. his nose was crooked, like it had been broken but he set it back himself. it suit him perfectly. his blonde hair was messy, but fell close to his eyes. his lips were full, but not overly plump.

without thinking, you reach a hand out. your fingers brushed over his cheekbone, but you immediately pull it back. his hand quickly catches yours, running his thumb across your knuckles. his face is like a breath of fresh air.

you take a deep breath, “you’re pretty, ghost.”

a small smile tugs at his lips, his eyes crinkling.

“so are you, kid. so are you.”

————————————————————————————————————————

a/n: thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed <3

[gubsbuubs]

I hate it when you're right

(18+)

Pairing: Jake Peralta x Female!Reader

Warnings: Friends to lovers; LOTS of teasing, slow burn?, Smut; Creampie; Dirty talk.

Request:Could you do a Jake Peralta x Reader work partners to hookup? Like they’ve been work partners forever, until one night way too late at the bar they hook up? And realize “oh fuck maybe i do like him like that?”

A/N: Hi, my loves! I´m not dead I swear. Here's the first Peralta smut, hope everyone enjoys. 🍒

English is not my first language - My requests are open!

"How much longer is this going to take?" Peralta's agitated voice echoed through the dark alley as he paced back and forth, his restless energy practically bouncing off the walls.

I understood his frustration; we'd been waiting for what felt like hours, when in reality, it had only been about forty minutes. Compared to the nearby street, this alley was dark and dank; graffiti adorned the walls, and the air smelled faintly of waste. At the end of it stood an abandoned store, rumored to be a hotspot for illegal drug deals. After receiving a tip earlier this nigth, we had been staking out the area in hopes of catching distributors. Slowly, I watched as Peralta's impatience grew, and I couldn't help but wonder if our tip had just been a false lead.

Amidst the distant sounds of traffic and the faint hum of the city, Jake's distressed movements seemed amplified; every passing car and distant footstep only seemed to fuel his uneasiness. Honestly, I couldn't blame him; this place gave off major creepy vibes, but we had a job to do, and that meant keeping our cool and waiting for the right person to arrive.

"Hey, take a breather," I suggested, attempting to soothe his nervous demeanor. "You're coming off a bit suspicious."

He halted in his tracks, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "Sorry about that. I just can't stand waiting, you know?"

"I understand, but we really need to keep it together," I stressed, aiming to ease his tension. "Can you just stand there and act normal?"

"I'm tryiiiiiiing," his voice tinged with a hint of whining as he continued pacing.

"Well, try harder," I urged, "You look like a total cop right now."

His pacing halted abruptly, and he turned to me with wide eyes, a look of realization dawning on his face. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," he muttered frantically. "We look like cops, and we´re getting shot in the face."

"Relax, Peralta," I chuckled, trying to inject some levity into the situation.

"Y/n" He sighed deeply, standing in front of me with his hands in his pockets,"I don't want to get shot; my face is my prized possession." His brow furrowed as he confessed dramatically.

I tilted my head, "Come on, Peralta," I quipped, a playful grin tugging at the corners of my lips. "If you get shot, I think your face would be the least of our concerns. I mean, you'd be dead!"

"Man, I should've prepared a character for a cover-up," Jake exclaimed, shaking his head ruefully. "We can't just stand here looking like this... like cops."

"Well, it's a little late for that now,"

He let out an exaggerated sigh, crossing his arms in frustration. "Let me think of something," he declared, his hand moving to his chin and rubbing it thoughtfully as he pondered our predicament.

I couldn't help but chuckle softly as I glanced around at the dimly lit street nearby, feeling the tension slowly dissipate as Jake's panicked expression softened into one of contemplation.

But then, with a sudden clarity, Jake snapped his fingers, "I've got it!" he exclaimed.

His words were accompanied by his familiar, stupid, and playful smirk. It was a look that spelled trouble, and to be honest, although I knew nothing good would come out of his mouth, I couldn't help but feel intrigued.

"Spill it, Peralta," I said, my hands tucked into my jean pockets, adopting a casual stance as I awaited his response. With Jake, you never quite knew what you were going to get, but you could always count on it being entertaining, if nothing else.

"You see, Y/n," he approached slowly, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as his left hand found its place against the wall behind me, anchoring me as he leaned in. "I was thinking..." he trailed off, his tone dripping with exaggerated suspense.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes playfully at his teasing manner. "Oh, here we go again," I retorted gently, halting his advances with a hand on his chest. "Another one of Jake's brilliant ideas, right?"

"Come on, Y/N, don't be like that," he said, his tone a mix of amusement and pleading. "You know you love my brilliant ideas."

"Oh, absolutely," I replied with a touch of sarcasm. "They're right up there with 'let's infiltrate this wedding' and 'let's dress up as clowns for the undercover operation.'"

"Hey, those are classic moments in my detective history," he protested, a grin spreading across his face. "One day they'll make a movie about me."

I couldn't resist lightly patting his chest. "Sure, buddy, for sure."

As Jake leaned in closer, I couldn't deny the surge of warmth that spread through me. Despite my attempts to conceal it, his proximity was starting to affect me.

Jake and I had a playful dynamic, often flirting with each other, and he wasn't shy about expressing his interest; he even told me countless times how I was "missing out" on a chance to be with him.

And don´t get me wrong, while I did find him undeniably attractive, I was hesitant to entertain the idea of taking things beyond friendship. Our coworker-turned-friend relationship was something I cherished, and I didn't want to risk complicating it with romantic entanglements.

So, no, nothing ever happened apart from the casual, harmless flirting. Our banter kept things light and enjoyable, never crossing the line into anything more serious. Despite the occasional temptation, we both understood the importance of maintaining boundaries in our friendship.

"Seriously, hear me out on this one," he continued, "What if we… I don't know… pretend to make out? It's the perfect cover-up!" His suggestion hung in the air, and for a moment, there was silence as we both processed the absurdity of his idea. His head fell to the side, awaiting my response with a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

"You wish, Peralta." I laughed and shook my head. "I mean, I know you'd do anything to steal a kiss from me, but making out in a dark alley? That's a bit too romantic even for you, don't you think?"

"Hey, it was worth a shot, right?" As he moved to step away from the wall, I caught movement at the beginning of the street behind him. Acting quickly, I grabbed him by the tie, the one he always refused to wear, and shot him a warning look. Understanding my silent cue, he lowered his head to mine, trying to appear inconspicuous as he whispered in my ear. "Is it them?"

"Maybe," I quietly answered, my heart pounding as I realized we were being watched. The figures stood at the beginning of the street, whispering to each other; they wore on to us for sure.

"Oh my god, they know, don't they?" he whispered, his voice tinged with worry. "What do we do, Y/L/N? I don't want to get shot in the face," he pleaded, his panic palpable.

Fuck I hate when he's right...

"Screw it," I whispered, my voice filled with determination. Pulling him closer, I crashed my lips into his. He immediately reacted, his arms encircling my waist as he pinned me against the wall. His lips were softer than I imagined, but his hands were rough as they traveled up my sides to rest on the back of my neck, pulling me even closer. Although the kiss was a desperate attempt to obfuscate the approaching perps, it was evident that Jake was definitely enjoying it more than it was intended. I couldn't help but give in to the moment as our kiss intensified as his tongue traced over my lower lip, kindly begging for more.

The footsteps grew louder, signaling the approach of whoever was out there. Without a second thought, his hand found its place on the back of my thigh, pulling me in closer. With my leg lifted around him, our bodies pressed together, and his fingers lightly held me in place.

Abruptly, the footsteps ceased and a voice cut through the moment. "Hey, what are you guys doing here?" one of the men asked, his tone cautious.

Jake broke the kiss. "Do you mind?" He retorted sharply, giving the guy a pointed look, before catching my lips again. I eagerly responded, letting my hands tangle up in his hair as he leaned closer to me.

The two guys just chuckled and exchanged knowing glances before sauntering off to the end of the alley. It worked; the stupid plan actually worked.

I waited until the footsteps were barely audible before breaking the kiss. I raised my head to get a better look, and Jake let his lips travel, leaving warm, open-mouthed kisses down my chin and into my neck. I bit my lip as I suppressed a moan I knew I was holding, glancing to see the two figures waiting by the door. "Jake, they're just standing there." I breathed out.

"Keep your eyes on them," he ordered, as he pressed himself against me.

I fought to keep my focus, torn between the intoxicating sensation of Jake's lips on me and the need to maintain our cover. Despite the overwhelming desire to lose myself in the moment, I stole quick glances towards where the perps stood, ensuring we weren't drawing any unwanted attention.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and a new figure emerged, a brown bag in hand, joining the other two with a casual greeting. My heart pounded in my chest; it was going down, and we were going to get these guys. "Jake... Jake," I whispered urgently, breaking our embrace. His eyes met mine, and he immediately understood. Without hesitation, we sprang into action, charging towards the unsuspecting trio.

"NYPD!" Jake's voice boomed, cutting through the tense silence with commanding authority as he brandished his gun. I followed suit, drawing my own weapon, the weight of it familiar and reassuring in my hand. The perps froze, their faces registering shock as they realized they had been caught red-handed.

—xx—

It had been a few days since that night in the alley. With the intel we extracted from the three guys Jake and I caught, we successfully dismantled one of the biggest drug operations in Brooklyn. And to top it off, we managed to nab the ringleader himself. It was a major win for the team and definitely a cause for celebration. So naturally, we found ourselves at Shaw's, ready to toast to our victory.

"To the Nine-Nine," Captain Holt's voice resounded with strength as he lifted his glass high in the center of our circle. "To the Nine-Nine," we all echoed, raising ours in unison. With cheers and the clinking of half-empty glasses, we celebrated our hard work.

"Now disperse," he announced, his tone carrying a hint of warmth. "I want you all to have fun tonight; you deserve it." and with a wave of his hand, he indicated for us to move from our celebratory circle, encouraging us to enjoy the rest of the evening.

With that, I abruptly turned to face the bar, my attention drawn to the array of bottles lining the shelves. Caught off guard by a sudden collision, I stumbled backward, my balance momentarily disrupted. As I blinked in surprise, I found myself locking eyes with Jake, his hands reaching out to steady me by the waist. A rush of warmth flooded through me at the contact, and for a fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still as our gazes lingered.

"Whoa, sorry about that," I mumbled, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks as embarrassment washed over me.

His expression turned sheepish as he offered a tentative smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine warmth. After a brief moment of silence, he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hey, no worries," he said lightly, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. Raising a hand, he scratched the back of his neck in a self-conscious gesture. "Guess I should've watched where I was going, huh?"

Our eyes remained locked, neither of us willing to be the first to look or moove away. "Well, at least we're not in an alley this time," I blurted out, trying to break the awkwardness with a touch of humor. He chuckled softly, the tension between us easing slightly as we both shared a small laugh.

"Dark alley or not, this was a great case," he said, his tone softening as he spoke. "I loved working with you, and I think we did a great job." His sincerity warmed my heart, and his light squeeze on my side felt like a silent reassurance.

Taking a step back, I broke away from his hold, trying to compose myself. My heart raced with the sudden rush of emotions. "Well... um..." I stammered nervously, my mind scrambling for something coherent to say. "I think we should celebrate. I'll be with Rosa at the bar," I continued, my voice wavering slightly as I awkwardly backed away from where we stood. "I'll see you around, Peralta."

As I approached the bar, Rosa's amused expression was already evident. Her playful tone cut through the air as I settled onto the bar stool beside her.

"What the hell was that?" she quipped.

I offered a weak shrug, attempting to play it cool. "What was what?" my voice slightly shaking as I avoided her knowing gaze.

"Oh, come on," she teased, gesturing toward the table behind her where Peralta and Charles were now seated. "That little dance back there, the eyefucking," she continued.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, no eyes were fucking back there!" I held my finger up in protest, trying to suppress a nervous laugh.

She sighed and took a sip of her drink, her gaze thoughtful. "Man, what the hell happened on the stakeout? You guys have been so weird…the glances, the lingering touches..."

"Hey, we have been doing none of that," I lied, attempting to deflect Rosa's probing with a forced casualness. Deep down, I knew she wasn't the only one who noticed. Despite being preoccupied with the bust operation for the past few days, I couldn't ignore the subtle shifts in Jake's behavior around me. He looked at me more often than usual, sat closer, and his touches lingered longer. I understood it all too well. I wasn't oblivious. We shared a kiss, and it wasn't just any kiss. There was something there—something I couldn't shake off.

"Bullshit," she retorted, "I mean, I understand tuning Boyle out when he talks, but Jake is literally not listening to a single word."

I glanced from my drink to the booth where Jake sat, slumped against the leather cushions with his legs spread out. He appeared relaxed, toying with his whisley glass that sat on his thigh. His gaze was already on me, peeking through his lowered eyebrows.

Our eyes met, and in that moment, I found myself unable to look away from him, captivated by the intensity of his gaze. What the hell was this man doing to me? It was as if every fiber of my being was drawn to him, despite my best efforts to resist.

"See, you're doing it again!" Rosa exclaimed loudly, her voice cutting through the chatter of the bar.

I immediately shook my head, laughing nervously. "Oh my god! Doing what, Diaz?" I turned toward the bar, signaling for another round of drinks, hoping to distract both of us from the uncomfortable topic.

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as she leaned in closer. "The. Eye. Fucking," she punctuated each word.

"Rosa! No!" I exclaimed, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "No eyefucking going on," I added quickly, hoping to put an end to the teasing before it went any further.

"I know you kissed him," she said casually, her tone soft but firm, leaving no room for denial.

"What? No, that's not true!" My voice probably went up an octave, betraying my attempt at denial.

Rosa didn't waver, analyzing my reaction with a knowing look that seemed to cut straight through me.

"Fuck," I shook my head, looking to the side in resignation. "Okay, fine, I did, but it was only for the mission," I admitted reluctantly.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Sure, sure, just for the mission."

"Oh, shut up," I lightly smacked her arm, playfully annoyed. "Who told you anyway?"

"Let's just say I have my sources,", a sly smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Diaz!" I threatened, pointing my finger at her. "Spill it now or else!" My tone was half-joking, but there was a hint of determination in my eyes.

"Okay, okay," she conceded, raising her hands in defense. "It was Boyle."

"Boyle knows?" My eyes widened with shock. If Boyle knew, then everyone knew.

"Yeah, apparently Jake was glowing," she confirmed, "All smiles, couldn't stop grinning like a kid in a candy store." She took another sip of her drink, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "So Boyle insisted, and eventually, he spilled the beans."

"Man, that's so embarrassing," I groaned, feeling the heat rising in my cheeks as I buried my face in my hands.

"Why?" Rosa regarded me with a serious expression.

"Well, because, you know... it's Jake," I mumbled, struggling to find the right words. "I don't want to... to..."

She held knowing look in her eyes, like she could read my thoughts, "To what?"

"Well, you know... be with him... I don't want that," Despite my attempt at denial, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I wasn't convincing anyone, not even myself, that I didn't want Jake.

"Man, it's obvious you guys want to be with each other; just go for it," she said with a shrug, her tone matter-of-fact. "I mean, he's still eyefucking you across the room," she added, gesturing once again in Jake's direction, her point crystal clear.

"He is, isn't he?" I lightly smacked my forehead, as if to hide my face, letting out a chuckle. I felt a sense of relief wash over me; deep down, I knew she had a point.

Glancing over to Jake, it seemed like he hadn't moved an inch since I last looked at him.

"He's not the most subtle," she said, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

I pondered for a moment as I swirled my drink. Well, if Jake was willing to put himself out there to show his interest so openly, then maybe I should do the same. Maybe it was time to stop dancing around each other and just go for it.

"I have to fuck him, don't I?" I quipped with a smile, my voice low and filled with a hint of mischief.

Rosa burst into laughter at my bold declaration, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "Well, you don't have to, you know?" she replied between giggles, shaking her head at my blunt honesty.

I finished my drink and set the glass down with a determined nod. "I think I do," I admitted, my voice firm and resolute.

Rosa grinned approvingly. "That's my girl," she said with a proud nod.

"See you tomorrow, Diaz!" I said, giving her shoulder a friendly pat as I left the stool and made my way towards his table.

As I approached, Jake supported a knowing smile, his gaze unwavering from mine, completely focused on me, completely tuning out the random story Boyle was spewing about.

"Hey guys," I announced as I reached the table, "I'm not feeling really well," I admitted, but my tone lacked any hint of tiredness or distress making Jake's eyebrows perk up at my unconvincing excuse. "So I'll just head home, I think I can still catch the last train." It was a statement crafted with a specific purpose in mind—a subtle cue for Jake to follow me. So, I waited for the response I knew was coming, and Jake didn't disappoint.

Quickly drowning his drink, he stood up from his seat. 'No, no, train, come on!' His fingers motioned in an approaching gesture. 'I'll take you home.'"

"Oh…But!" Boyle exclaimed, "But you said you'd take me home…"

We stood in silence for a moment and watched as Boyle's expression shifted from confusion to realization in an instant. Standing up from his seat, he enveloped Jake in a bear hug, practically lifting him off the ground in his excitement. "You know what? It´s a great night! I guess I'll take a stroll along the river," he exclaimed cheerfully, patting Jake on the back before waving us goodbye.

The car ride had been silent so far, the only sounds filling the air were the gentle hum of the engine and the soft background music playing from the radio. Despite the lack of conversation, I couldn't shake the feeling of Jake's eyes on me, his scrutiny palpable, and I was keenly aware of the warmth creeping up my neck. Glancing over, I found Jake stealing glances in my direction, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Eyes on the road, Detective," I said, my finger lightly pushing his chin in the direction of the road, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

His grin widened, but he quickly turned his attention back to the task at hand, his fingers tapping lightly on the weel. "So, you weren't feeling well, huh?" Jake quipped, "Must be that sudden wave of 'I-can't-resist-Jake syndrome,' huh?"

Raising an eyebrow, I turned in my seat to face him slightly. "Oh, you think you're so funny, don't you?"

"It's a burden, really," he added with an exaggerated sigh. "Having to be this funny all the time,"

"Sometimes I wonder if you're compensating for something with all that humor."

"Oh, please, like you're not secretly enjoying every moment of it." He let his head fall back sligthy as he let out a troathy chuckle. "I couldn't help but notice how your eyes kept wandering over to me tonight. Got a little crush, Y/n?"

"Please, Peralta, don't flatter yourself. I was just admiring the artwork on the walls" I remarked with a sly smile as I leaned closer, my arm resting behind his seat and my breath brushing against his cheek. "You, on the other hand, were really pushing it out there. I mean, could you have been more obvious?"

"Oh, come on," he glanced over at me. "You can't fool me with that excuse. I know you were totally checking me out."

"Maybe…" I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper, a playful glint in my eyes.

"Of course you were," he replied, his hand moving from the steering wheel to rest lightly on my thigh. "And can you blame yourself? Of course not. I mean, look at me."

"Please, Peralta, you're not that irresistible." I scoffed while looking down at his hand, trying to maintain my composure despite the growing warmth between my legs.

"Oh, I beg to differ," he murmured as his fingers now traced gentle circles on my thigh, "Admit it, Y/N. You've been dying for me to touch you like this."

My breath caught in my throat, and I simply let out a chuckle as I slumped back against my seat. "You're trouble, you know that?" I shook my head, a mixture of amusement and exasperation in my tone, as I let my gaze drift out the window.The familiar facade of my building stood tall against the city skyline as the car gently came to a stop.

"Yeah, guilty as charged," he murmured as we stepped out onto the sidewalk.

With a coy smile, I glanced back over my shoulder. "You know that if you're guilty of something, you shouldn't be confessing your crimes to a cop."

"Well, lucky for me, Detective, you've been off the clock for..." He glanced at his watch as he trailed closely behind me, "...3 hours and 38 minutes now.

"I might be off the clock, but I can still cuff you, Peralta," I said, tapping the handcuffs at my waist.

As I turned the key and my fingers fumbled with the locks I heard him inching closer. I could feel the warmth of his body as he pressed against my back, with gentle precision, he lowered his head, and I felt his breath grazing the nape of my neck.

"Me, in cuffs, at your mercy?" His lips brushed against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "Oh, but wouldn't that be the highlight of your night?" His voice was low and filled with playful suggestion.

With a soft laugh, I finally managed to open the door, turning to face him, my heart pounding with anticipation. "Are you projecting, Peralta?" I countered as I met his gaze, slowly backing away, inviting him in as he approached me at the entryway.

He quickly stepped in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The room felt suddenly smaller, warmer, with just the two of us. As he reached me, he circled his arms around my waist, pulling me closer "Mehh, maybe just a little,". His fingers deftly undid the zipper of my leather jacket, and his eyes didn't tear away from my chest.

"Like what you see, Peralta?" I quipped, letting my hands meet his own on his chest.

"Yeah," he chuckled as he leaned in to press a kiss on my collarbone. "You changed your curtains, didn't you?" He added playfully, his breath warm against my skin.

"Oh yeah?" I slowly started undoing the buttons on his shirt. "I can't believe you´d noticed that."

As we reached the sofa, his hands guided my jacket off, the leather slipping down my arms with a subtle force. Our eyes remained locked as the leather pooled at my feet.

I gestured with a tilt of my head for him to take a seat, and with grin he complied, his fingers skillfully undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt. I couldn't help but admire the way his muscles flexed under the fabric as he discarded it to the side. Then he eased onto the sofa, spreading his legs and letting his arms rest casually on the back of it, lightly tilting his head back.

As I removed my pants, he drew in a deep breath, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on me. Straddling him, I rested my hands on his shoulders, sensing his firm grip on the back of my thighs for stability. With my knees on either side of him, I gradually eased myself onto his lap, the heat of his chest pressing against mine, still covered by the random top I threw on this morning.

"No perps today?" he joked, his hands settling on my ass while his nose lightly brushed against my chest, inhaling my scent. "I kind of enjoyed the audience."

I shook my head as I leaned down to grab his chin, urging him to meet my gaze. "Just you and me, Jake," I murmured against his lips. "What do you think?"

"Well, Y/n," he whispered, "I think you should really kiss me."

"Yeah, I should," I nodded, but just as our lips were about to meet, I pulled back slightly. "Or maybe I'll just leave you hanging," I teased as I leaned back, keeping him at arm's length.

Jake's eyes widened in surprise. "You're playing dirty now, huh?" His hands cupped my flesh forcefully as he pulled me forward, spreading my cheeks slightly and pressing me against him. The sudden movement elicited a gasp from my lips, feeling the subtle grind of his crotch against mine. A soft moan escaped me as I surrendered to the satisfying friction rocking my hips against his bulge.

"Maybe," I teased once again, leaning in close before pulling back again. I intensified the grind of my hips as his hands moved to my shoulders, sliding the straps of my top down, the fabric gathering around my stomach, exposing more of my skin to his hungry gaze.

"You're killing me here," he protested as his fingers traced the delicate lacy edges of my bra.

"Oh, but where's the fun in making it easy for you?"

As his head fell back against the sofa, a deep exhale escaped him, a mix of frustration and pleasure. Seizing the opportunity, I pressed my lips against his neck, relishing the shudder that ran through him, accompanied by a low sigh of pleasure. My hand lightly closed against his throat, keeping him in place as I continued to kiss upward, tracing the line of his jaw with eager lips.

"You're driving me insane," he growled, his voice thick with need. Grabbing me by the nape of my neck, he pulled me into a kiss.

As our bodies pressed together, he skillfully unclasped my bra, freeing my breasts to his eager touch. His mouth descended upon my right nipple, and as he sucked and nibbled, I couldn't help but grind against him with more force.

I tugged on the hairs at the back of his head, urging him closer, craving more of his touch. His fingers trailed down my abdomen, teasing the hem of my panties before boldly slipping beneath them.

I gasped as his cold fingers met my warm skin. "Fuck, Jake," I breathed out, my voice trembling with desire.

"Oh, my name sounds so good when you say it like that," he confessed, his fingers moving slowly against my clit. My head rested on his shoulder, and his fingers continued to explore my soaked folds, "Yeah, just like that, doing so well," he praised as he lightly brushed my entrance, slowly dipping his middle finger inside of me.

With a desperate urgency, I moved my hands to his sides, tugging at the belt loops of his jeans. "Off, off," I managed to say.

He nudged his hips forward, lowering his jeans and boxers just enough for his cock to spring out. I immediately took him in my hand, stroking him lightly as a pornographic moan escaped his lips.

His hand then moved my panties to the side, allowing me to guide him against my clit before lining him with my entrance. Slowly, I lowered myself on to him, feeling every inch of him stretching me as he filled me completely.

His right hand met the back of my neck once again, pulling me into a kiss, as his left cupped my ass with force, aiding me with the up and down movement of my hips.

God, you feel incredible," he groaned against my lips, his voice husky with desire.

With a breathless laugh, I whispered back, "You're not so bad yourself."

A playful chuckle escaped him "Always got something to say, don't you?" He teased, his hips rising to meet mine with eager intensity.

My head fell back, overcome with pleasure, as the familiar coil of ecstasy began to build in the depths of my stomach. "Fuck, don´t stop.". His movements remained steady, his hand reaching out to play with my clit, intensifying the pleasure coursing through my body. "God, Jake... it's... it's too much," I gasped, desperation evident in my voice as my hands clung to his shoulders and arms for support.

"Oh, I can't fucking last with you sounding like that," he admitted, letting his forehead rest against mine.

"Then don't," I whispered, my voice barely audible amidst the sounds of our heavy breathing and the pounding of flesh. His pace quickened, pushing me closer as I arched my back. "I´m cumming.. Oh.. Fuck"

A moan escaped his lips as he watched me with intensity, his eyes tracing every contortion of my face as pleasure surged through me. I felt the wave of bliss crash over me, my body trembling with the force of my release.

In that moment, I could tell he couldn't hold back any longer. "Do it," I urged, locking my gaze with his and giving him a reassuring look.

"You sure?" His eyes searched mine, seeking reassurance.

I nI nodded eagerly, feeling my body tremble as I sensed him pulsating inside of me. The sensation of him nearing his climax, his moans reverberating through the room, was intoxicating and overwhelming in the most delicious way imaginable. As he released into me, I let out a satisfied sigh, capturing his lips once again.

We remained intertwined, his arms wrapped around me protectively, as his cock still throbbed gently inside me. His fingers traced soothing patterns on the small of my back, and I nestled closer to him as his lips found their way to my forehead, planting a tender kiss.

"You know? I hate when you´re right," I whispered, my voice soft against his skin.

"About what in particular?" He chuckled.

I smiled against his neck, feeling a warmth spread through me. "About... this," I confessed, lifting my head slightly to meet his gaze. "That I'd been missing out."

"Well, lucky for you, Y/n, we still have plenty of time to catch up,"

--XX--

Tagg: Hi my loves, I took the liberty to tagg everyone who liked my post about writing smut for peralta - Hope you enjoy <3

@haikyuuhoee @1dilflover @Airu_wu @gingersnap126126 @Gingersnap @her5 @bellaabee @bestnottoask @Taylorswiftsboatinglicense @tortelliniturtle7 @sabage101 @izzyyyyy777 @dilflover-3 @yomamacrusty @Outsiderslover @vintagevickyy @spencerreidmyst3ry @ikea2-0 @jj170623 @icybluefox @sxphiarz @syrk @raven-kroe @longlostishmael22 @joonbum @angrygirlloudvoice-blog @mandarinmoons @apple-dilf-shake @readingblogsstuff @m1keyj @luciferdelivery @hunter-ameliaredstone @laciruelaa @iloveslashers @bellaaggg @reiderrambles @strapsforyoonie @spencerreidmyst3ry

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

FORD MUSTANG BOSS 302

BOSS-A-NOVA!

They called it The Boss and for two short years it ruled the muscle car scene in the US, establishing itself as one of the greatest road and race cars of the era. Now, it’s one of the most collectible.

In 1960s US street lingo, if something was ‘boss’ it was cool, tough, the best. And the 1969 Boss 302 Mustang wore its badge with pride. It launched just four and a half years after the first Mustang was revealed to critical acclaim and record sales. Yearly updates to keep Mustang fresh in the face of tough new challengers from General Motors and Chrysler (particularly the Camaro) resulted in the once lean and pretty ’Stang muscling up, both in body shape and under-bonnet brawn, and the 1969-70 Boss models were the zenith of Mustang styling.

Thereafter, Mustangs became increasingly bloated and anaemic as the 1970s fuel crisis and stricter pollution laws cut horsepower and stylists lost their way; the rippling flanks and thrusting nose of the late 60s/early 70s cars gave way to boxy, bland designs. That early look would not be recaptured until 2005, when new Mustangs were given retro styling.

The Boss 302 was launched at the same time as its big-block brother, the Boss 429. Both were positioned as competition specials; Ford wanted to homologate its 302-cuber for Trans-Am and the 429ci monster for NASCAR. In fact, Ford went wild with engines between 1969-70, offering nine V8s – the ‘economy’ 302, 351 Windsor, 351 Cleveland, 390, 428 Cobra Jet, 428 Super Cobra Jet, 429 ‘wedge’, Boss 302 and Boss 429.

For the Boss 302, Ford’s high-compression 302ci small-block V8 was beefed up with four-bolt main bearing caps and redesigned ‘Cleveland’ cylinder heads with bigger inlet and exhaust valves, and ports that allowed the engine to breathe more efficiently.

These ‘semi-hemi’ heads were based on the Ford 427ci racing engine’s combustion chambers, and a balanced forged steel crankshaft and forged steel conrods allowed the engine to handle high rpms for sustained periods. A single 780cfm four-barrel Holley carburettor sat atop a high-rise aluminium inlet manifold, while a dual-point distributor, high-pressure oil pump, windage tray and screw-in welch plugs were further indications of its competition intent.

A rev limiter was fitted, progressively cutting spark from 5800rpm to 6150, but it was easily bypassed and the Boss 302 could reportedly keep making power up to 8000rpm with minor mods. In the muscle car marketing war, Ford claimed a peak horsepower figure of 290bhp at 5800rpm (the same as the Camaro Z/28), but that was extremely conservative.

Two four-speed manual Top Loader transmissions were available: a wide-ratio ’box with Hurst shifter more suited to street and strip use, and a close-ratio unit for racing. Adding to the race or road options list were four diffs: the stock 3.5:1 nine-inch, Traction-Lok 3.5:1 and 3.91:1 and the No-Spin 4.30:1 built by Detroit Automotive. Axles and diff centres were also strengthened to take the loads.

Suspension was also race-inspired with heavy-duty springs, shocks and sway bar up front, and Hotchkiss-style rear suspension with heavy-duty leaf springs, sway bar and staggered shock absorbers. The left-hand shock absorber was bolted behind the axle and the right in front, to reduce axle tramp under acceleration. Amazingly for such a high-performance car, braking was still only discs and drums with power assistance.

Ironically, the Boss 302’s sexy shape was styled by former General Motors designer Larry Shinoda, who is often credited with coming up with the Boss moniker. When asked what he was working on, he replied, "The boss’s car", a reference to new Ford president ‘Bunkie’ Knudson, who was also ex-GM and had recruited Shinoda to Ford.

While the wheelbase remained unchanged at 2740mm, the ’69 Mustang was 96.5mm longer overall to accommodate all the V8s offered, although the big-blocks still had to be shoe-horned under the bonnet. Shinoda’s ’69 Boss 302 was also one of the first production cars to offer an optional front air dam and adjustable rear wing, and his use of high-contrast black panels, rear window SportsSlats, and go-faster stripes made the Boss a real attention-grabber. The ’69 was also the only quad-headlight Mustang, a feature that was dropped for 1970 models.

In 1970, American Hot Rod magazine dubbed the 1970 Boss 302 as "definitely the best handling car Ford has ever built", while the conservative Consumer Guide called it "uncomfortable at any speed over anything but the smoothest surface". Unique Cars resident Mustang maniac, ‘Uncle’ Phil Walker, never read the Consumer Guide review, but even if he had it wouldn’t have stopped him buying the immaculate 1970 Grabber Orange Boss 302 you see here.

Phil already has his beloved 1966 Shelby GT350H, but the Boss 302 really got his Mustang juices percolating. And he wasn’t alone, because the first Boss he saw, some 43 years ago, is still one of Australia’s most iconic race cars: Allan Moffat’s Trans-Am racer. Phil remembers it clearly.

"I saw Moff race it Calder and I was inspired to own one," Phil recalls. "It was the most aggressive-looking car; its stance was something you had to see to believe. It looked like it was doing a million miles per hour when it was parked.

"My Boss was originally a one-owner car and I bought it from a friend of mine in California, Dave, who I also bought my Shelby GT350H from 19 years ago. Dave found it in a barn with a blown engine, but in otherwise pretty good condition.

"The lady who owned it from new didn’t realise it had a high-compression engine and had run it on standard fuel. When it blew up she just parked it.

"Dave did a nut-and-bolt restoration over two years, then put it up on his hoist. He didn’t want to sell it, but I got my way in the end – unfortunately he had the last say on the price (laughs). I didn’t even bother to test drive it; I knew it was a good car. It had 21 (new) miles on the odo when I picked it up and only 54,000 miles in total."

Since then, Phil has only put a couple of hundred miles on the car, but that’s enough for him to have bonded with it.

"I’ve only had the Boss since January and it’s growing on me. It’s different to the Shelby. It’s bigger and very low.

"The engine is incredible. Dave is one of the best engine builders in California and when he rebuilt the 302 he changed the cam spec. US camshaft technology was okay in the 60s and 70s, but if you had a big-cam muscle car they wouldn’t idle and they were terrible for driving in cities.

"A proper Boss engine can rev to 8500rpm all day and for a V8 that’s pretty serious. But they’re not renowned for low-down torque; it starts coming on from 3500rpm. My car still has a solid-lifter cam, but it pulls like a train from 1200rpm in top gear and I can drive it around at 1500rpm in top all day.

"It’s got the four-speed close-ratio Top Loader with the long first gear and with a 3.7:1 rear end it does about 55-60mph (89-97km/h) in first gear. It bloody goes!"

Phil is a fussy bugger and his cars have to look just right, so Russell Stuckey from Stuckey Tyres has ordered him a set of genuine 15 x 8 Minilites from England to replace the standard Magnum 500s.

"I want it to look like the Parnelli Jones race car, and to get the stance I want it’s going to have 275/60s on the rear and 255/60s on the front. At the moment it’s a pretty car that is tough, but I want a tough car that looks tough. And that’s all I’m going to do to it."

After his first real fang in the Boss, Phil felt that his Shelby would be half a lap in front at the end of a 10-lap sprint at Sandown, but now thinks the Boss would be quicker. We might have to put both to the acid test one day. What do you mean "no way", Phil?

It was a nervous Phil who turned up at a Melbourne storage facility in January to pick up his new Boss 302. So nervous, in fact, that he took along Unique Cars art director Ange and a sturdy tow rope – just in case.

The storage people were even more apprehensive – they had been warned about just how anal he is with his cars, as he explains: "The lady there said, ‘You must be pretty fanatical because we’ve been given strict instructions that no one is to touch the car except you’." Fortunately, the car arrived in pristine condition.

"I was pretty excited, I’d been waiting for seven weeks," Phil laughs. "I took the car cover off it, fired it up, and it drove home like a brand new car. It was as good as I thought it would be. I spent the next three hours washing it."

Sounds like our Phil.

PARNELLI AND ME

Three years ago, my mate Dave and I were invited to a Trans-Am dinner at Portland International Raceway where Dave was racing his 1970 Trans-Am Boss 302 and I was crewing for him.

When we were driving there we noticed this black Mercedes following us. When we stopped it did too and this bloke got out and said, "I noticed you guys back at the hotel. You’re going to the Trans-Am dinner aren’t you? I’m lost." It was Parnelli Jones!

I jumped in with him and when we got there I ‘invited’ myself onto Parnelli’s table, which also included Pete Brock – the guy who designed the Shelby Daytona Coupe. There was I, Mr Nobody, with all these US racing heavies, but Parnelli was a real gentleman, not up himself in any way.

The next day they had free lap time at Portland and, when I saw Parnelli there with Ford’s new ‘Parnelli Jones’ Boss 302 tribute Mustang, I asked if there was any chance of a ride and he said jump in. We did 10 laps and the guy hadn’t lost any of his ability; my eyes were getting bigger and bigger coming into the corners.

It was a great experience that I’ll never forget. – PW

IT's MINE...

Moff’s Mustang is probably the most iconic Australian racecar and after seeing it I was inspired to own a Boss Mustang. Then, about 25 years ago, I went to Pebble Beach in Monterey for the first time and saw a 1970 Grabber Orange Boss 302, which was the colour Parnelli Jones raced in Trans-Am. That day I knew I had to own a Boss. It was the car I’d always wanted after my Shelby, which was my lifelong dream car.

My Boss 302 is fully optioned, including the Shaker, extra side mirror, tacho and rear louvres, and it’s got a lot of wow factor. When you drive down the freeway, you get the thumbs-up from all sorts of different people. I think it’s the colour.

It’s closer to show standard than my Shelby. It’s got the paint marks on the tailshaft and all the little concours details, but I’m never going to show it; I’m not into that.

The 1969/70 body shape is still the best. Ford got it right then, but lost the plot after that and it’s reflected in their collectibility today. – PW

[scaredpigeons]

Aqua Regia II: putting down the roses, picking up the sword.

Previous chapter // Next chapter

Neuvillette x Fem!reader

Word count: 2.5k

You get settled into your new position, but are you really.. settled? You realize something a bit embarrassing about your new boss too, best keep that one to yourself.

Authors note: this is where we get the slightest bit suggestive. I just cant help myself. HES A DRAGON COME ONNNN

The first thing Neuvillette notices is that his office is startlingly tidy. 

Now, he is not a slob by any means, and he prides himself in that fact— but since taking over Lady Furinas responsibilities, he’s found that keeping things as organized as he used to had become increasingly more difficult as the days went on. 

He rounded his desk, sitting down with wide eyes as he looked around at the new organizational structure of his desk. 

There is an incoming and outgoing bin on either side of his desk, filing folders clearly indicating which documents each folder holds, there's even a fresh pot of ink, and brand new pens placed neatly in an elegant holder. Across the room, against the wall in his direct line of sight is a very large calendar, Large print outlining each day's primary tasks. 

As he’s gawking at the lack of clutter, you waltz in, just as lovely as before, and he finds himself staring at you a bit more openly, though your gaze is trained upon the tray holding his favorite tea set, and a few bottles of clear liquid that he knows is fresh water, straight from the cooler. 

“Bonjour, Monsieur Neuvillette, I hope you had a pleasant evening.”

He nods as you set the tray down on his desk, carefully placing his teacup and saucer down in front of him. 

“Honey lemon, for your tea this morning.” You set the bottles down to the left of him, removing the tray to a vacant table as you continue speaking. “You have two meetings this morning, firstly with Madame Petra Voleange, who wishes to discuss the accommodations you spoke of for her son who was sentenced to the fortress last week— the young man in the wheelchair who was picking pockets.” 

You handed him a folder, which was clearly labeled and neatly sorted. “I spoke with the Duke, and this is all the information on what can be provided. Your second meeting is with Kemia, a researcher from Sumeru who wishes to gain your permission to gather information on local flora to aid in her botanical medicine research. The information she provided when booking should be in the top left hand drawer of your desk.”

He slid open the drawer, nodding at the folder placed on the top of the pile. 

You handed him another folder, much thicker and darker in color. 

“This is for today’s trial, which starts at 2:30pm. I’ve given you a mandatory two hour block starting at noon to take your lunch, and go over the information we have.”

You put a delicate hand on the backs of the two large bottles of water you placed on his desk, and he found himself staring at the way the condensation clung to your skin. 

“These are from Mondstadt’s finest spring production. I puttered around last night and was able to sweet talk a distributor into sourcing bottles from all seven nations, and he’s willing to send a bi-weekly shipment for us. Sedene told me that you are fond of the different flavors from all over Teyvat, and I saw that you only get shipments from the different nations individually, so I thought that finding a sole distributor who could outsource them for us would be much more efficient.”

He blinked at you, processing your words carefully. 

You stared right back, and as the silence grew, so did the pink on your cheeks. In the back of his mind, he thought it rather endearing that you seemed so flustered, so eager to please him. 

“Please say something, If you don’t I'm going to continue to ramble to try and convince myself that I’m doing everything correctly.” 

A soft breath escaped him, and then it fluttered into a chuckle, as much as he tried to stop it. Your gaze went wide, and you stood shock still, waiting. 

“This is wonderful, much more than I ever would have asked for.” He said, softening his gaze. He saw you relax, and smile back at him— and something inside him twitched.

 Since retaining his full dragonhood, he’s been struggling with new and confusing emotions, instincts, and for some reason every time he was in your presence he felt things he’d never experienced before. 

But—He felt so incredibly grateful for your assistance, so he tampered these strange emotions down, not wanting to speak of them and scare you off when you had just begun to better his work life.

You let out a dramatic sigh. “Thank you. I was so worried I had overdone it and you would be upset.” 

“You seem to have a lot of anxieties when it comes to your work performance. Your heart rate spiked the moment you walked in, and only now has calmed to an adequate level.” 

You gaped at him, and of course your heart rate returned to its accelerated speed. 

“I mean no offense by this,” he floundered— albeit gracefully, softening his tone. “I just mean to say that I wish you would feel more at ease here. You’re doing exceptionally well.” 

A strange smell permeated the air around you, sickly sweet and very enticing. He’d smelt something similar before, though much fainter, but he couldn’t remember when, and he knew for sure that he had never smelled anything so mouthwateringly divine as this. 

Was it a new perfume? Why hadn’t he noticed it before? 

 You seemed to turn an even deeper shade of red, before you nodded, bowing slightly before scuttling out the door, stammering about paperwork and your other tasks— carrying that sweet aroma with you. 

Strange, he thought. I’ll have to do more research into what this could be. 

He’d been experiencing many new senses since regaining his full power, perhaps a heightened sense of smell? He was not sure. All he really knew for certain was that he was thoroughly enjoying your presence here at the Palais. 

———————————————

The rain poured heavily this evening, casting everything in a deep gray filter, the dark clouds rolling over the city sky in thick droves. 

The trial was terrible. A child murderer had been left unchecked for too long, killing two boys and a girl, leaving one victim alive yet traumatized beyond repair. 

The young girl's mother had attended the trial, interrupting during the defense's deposition to scream at the accused, demanding retribution and revenge for her poor daughter, and the lives of the children that were lost before her. 

In the end, the woman had to be escorted away, and the trial continued. Justice was indeed served. But the look of broken rage on that mothers face stuck with Neuvillette the entire time, though he pushed it to the back of his mind to remain impassive to anything but the facts. 

The rain fell in thick sheets, soaking the streets and making everyone either run for an umbrella or to find shelter. He sat at his desk, back to the window as he listened to the sound of the water beating against the glass. 

With his attention drawn toward his thoughts, he almost didn’t hear you enter. He glanced at you as you walked past his desk, placing one of your hands on the window as you looked outside at the mess. 

“Wow,” you said. “It’s really coming down out there, isn’t it?” 

Neuvillette felt guilty. 

“Ah, my apologies, the rain must put a damper on your mood.” He said before he could even think to filter himself. 

He wasn’t exactly trying to hide what he was, but he didn’t think you’d quite figured it out yet. 

“Why are you apologizing, silly?” You smiled. “I love the rain. It’s so peaceful and calming.” 

His interest was piqued, and he turned towards you in his chair. “Oh?” 

You nodded. “I’ve always loved the rain. Something about water being the lifeblood of the earth, you know? The cycle continuing, nourishing us— Washing away the old, bringing in the new.” You flushed a little then, looking down at your feet. “Ah, forgive me, I must sound a bit odd.” 

“No,” Neuvillette said, seeing some clouds part ever so slightly outside, a ray of the sun peaking through to shine upon the Palais, upon you. “I quite enjoy the rain too, on more pleasant occasions.” 

You grinned at him. “Perhaps we could take a walk then? It looks like it’s slowing down, so we shouldn’t get too many odd stares if we keep to the grounds of the Palais.” 

“You wish to walk in the rain? I do not have an umbrella with me, unfortunately.” 

You shook your head, walking quickly just outside the door, where you procured a navy blue raincoat with a large hood from some void outside his office where you kept your belongings. 

“I never use umbrellas, I love the feeling of the rain directly, don’t you?” 

Something in his chest pulled, and he cleared his throat. 

“Ah, I do. I didn’t think many others felt the same.” 

“It’s quite warm today, so I don’t think you’d run the risk of catching a cold— as long as you don’t mind getting your nice clothes wet, I think we should do it!” 

You beamed at him, not knowing that he had never had to worry about catching the common cold before, yet you worried all the same. 

You seemed to be unaware of just how you affected him, how brightly you shined to Neuvillette. 

He’d not known you for long, but he genuinely hoped that you continued to stay here, working with him, because he was actually starting to look forward to coming to his office, coming to work. 

The rain clouds cleared just a bit more.

—————————————

You’re going to lose your job. 

If you cannot get a hold of yourself, of these childish, ridiculous, fantastical ideas you’ve managed to curate in your head— your boss is going to realize you’re insane and fire you. 

At least, this is what goes through your head when you look in the mirror at the crack of dawn, preparing yourself for work. 

Just over a month at this wonderful, enjoyable and well paying job, and your wonderful brain decides to throw you into a myriad of dreams in which your boss, the chief justice and newly reigning figurehead of the nation of Fontaine, was the main focus. 

It started off innocent. Dreams about normal and mundane things that happen at work. This was perfectly normal and fine, it happened with nearly every job you had. 

You reminisce on days where your dreams consisted of you bagging produce at a local fruit stand as a teenager— oh, such simple times. 

But as the weeks carried on, your dreams tended to metastasise into something less than appropriate. 

It started with his eyes. 

One day at work you caught him observing you. Now— this was not unusual, Neuvillette was a very observant person, and when in a comfortable environment, such as his office, he was not very subtle. It did not bother you, especially when you were doing such mundane things as filling out reports. But this time, when you looked up to check on him, your eyes met— and for a moment you held his stare. 

His eyes held such a depth of colour, so striking and vibrant, yet so pale and mystical.  And the way he looked at you stirred some aching, foreign thing inside you. It was like he was looking into your very soul, at the blood running through your veins. You flushed, naturally, and hurried off to procure the fresh water for his lunch break. 

You tried to pray away the heat that was quickly rushing south, antagonizing yourself thinking that somehow, someway, he was going to find out that just a singular look had you nearly swooning like a hormonal teenager. 

This look then proceeded to haunt nearly every dream, and the most recent one was something straight out of one of those light novels from inazuma. 

In the dream, you’d been arguing about something, which hadn’t happened in the waking world yet, so your brain just conjured some petty and random cause. You’d gotten frustrated, turning to stomp off. He’d caught your wrist as you were walking away from him, and had pulled you close, staring into your eyes like he was going to devour you. 

You had awoken covered in sweat, desperately needing a cold shower. 

It wasn’t even all that scandalous. You dreamed of his eyes, of light touches, familiarity, closeness. And like a fool, this still sent your heart into overdrive, barely being able to look at him throughout the day. Ever since he’d mentioned being able to hear your heart beating out of control, you tried to get a handle on your nerves around him, but this new issue only seemed to make things worse. 

One day, around the two month mark, you thought you’d been caught. 

It was just another day, you didn’t even remember what you’d said to make him laugh, but it was a short, slight wheeze that pulled almost involuntarily from his chest. It made you grin, it made you feel light. 

“Oh,” he shook his head, chuckling out your name and smiling down at you from where he stood by the window. “Your sense of humor never fails to impress, you really are a joy to work with.” 

Your heart jumped into your throat at his words, at his light and familiar tone, at his genuine smile. You felt your face heat up, and your thighs twitched with the urge to squirm, feeling some rather inappropriate things for your current setting. 

You wanted to smack yourself. You were a professional person, someone who took their job extremely seriously. You were not some degenerate whose knees buckled whenever they received praise from a handsome man, a handsome man who just happened to be your boss.

Neuvillettes nose raised a bit, and he breathed deep, as if he was smelling the air. “See, there it is again.” He said, stepping closer to where you sat at his desk, working on the weekly reports. “That scent, I only ever smell it when you’re here. Are you wearing some kind of perfume?” 

Your eyes widened. What smell? You thought back to your morning routine, deodorant, a light moisturizer on your skin, you wore your bulle fruit perfume this morning, loving the bright and citrusy scent it gave you, lasting throughout the day. You told him this, and he shook his head, brows furrowing in contemplation. 

“No, it's not that,” he said. “It’s difficult to explain, it's sweet yet earthy, rich…and incredibly enticing.” He sort of mumbled that last part, though he seemed to be speaking more to himself than you anyways. 

“Rather puzzling, and it tends to happen in conjunction with your fluster, though I haven’t quite pieced together why you’re still so anxious around the workplace, I've been quite diligent with reminding you how wonderful of a job you’re doing.” 

You did squirm this time, feeling a visceral throb between your legs, and a sudden weight drop in your chest one after the other as a thought warmed its way into your head. 

Could he…. Could Neuvillette really be smelling your arousal? And on top of that, not understanding that was what it was?

For lack of a better phrase, you would say that you’re incredibly screwed.  

[diabolus1exmachina]

Willys Interlagos A108

The Willys Interlagos, named after the famous Sao Paulo circuit, was the first sports car made in Brazil under Alpine license from 1961 to 1966. It was offered in three versions, coupé, convertible and berlinetta. The history of Interlagos, which dominated Brazilian competitions in the 1960s, is intertwined with that of motorsports in Brazil. The Fittipaldi brothers started notably in these cars, as well as José Carlos Pace. The Interlagos A 108 was strictly identical to the French Alpine A108. Only the badges and some details like the chrome headlight rings reveal its South American origins. The engine is therefore that of the Dauphine available in three versions, 845, 904 and 998 cm³. The last two years of production, the Interlagos berlinetta was equipped with the engine of the famous Dauphine 1093 Brazil competition version. It is equipped with a 1093 cylinder head with reinforced double spring valves, Gordini camshaft, standard crankshaft, 58×80 flat pistons, 32 PAIA carburettor and SEV Marchal distributor. With a production of just 822 examples, the Interlagos A 108 is a special car in the Brazilian automotive scene. With the return of Alpine to the front of the stage, Interlagos takes on all its meaning for those connoisseurs of the brand.

[fanfictionalraven]

Full Moon

Title: Full Moon

Summary: It's the reader's favorite time of year and the new guy at school asks to hang out with her.

Characters: Teen!Reader, Teen!Dean Winchester, young Sam Winchester

Word Count: 2,267

Warnings: None

Author's Note: This story was originally posted by myself under the account Winchestersgirl92. It was published October, 2017.

“To the student or students who thought it would be funny to steal the distributor cap from my car, please return it now or you will be discovered and expelled,” the principal announces over the intercom system. You smile and shake your head as you pull your locker door open. It was your favorite time of year.

There was a crispness to the air outside and a beautiful golden and auburn tint to the leaves. Pumpkins, skeletons, and ghosts lined the houses in your neighborhood. Mischief was running rampant among your classmates and even a few of the teachers had gotten in on the fun. Today was Halloween.

The final bell had rung for the day and everyone was rushing to leave. You exchange your books, depositing most of them back into your locker. Only one teacher had been cruel enough to actually assign homework over the holiday weekend. You close your locker door and nearly jump out of your skin. The new guy was leaning against the locker next to yours, an almost irresistible smirk spread across his face.

“Can I help you?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. He and his brother had moved to your school about a week ago. You could tell automatically he was a “ladies man” but you hadn’t expected to be his first target.

“I’m Dean. You’re Y/N, right?” He asks. You nod your head once, catching a few jealous glares from the girls you had expected him to make his way through. You couldn’t deny he was attractive but you had no desire to become his first conquest at your school. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Straight to the chase, huh?” You ask. He shrugs his shoulders, that cocky smirk still plastered on his face. “I’m taking my little brother trick-or-treating.”

“What a coincidence, I’m taking my little brother out too. Maybe we could take them together,” he says. You let out a laugh and raise an eyebrow at him.

“Isn’t your brother a freshman?” You ask. He nods his head. “Isn’t he a little old to trick-or-treat?”

“Nah, Sammy loves it,” he says. You shake your head, smiling in disbelief. “We’re new to the area and I’m sure you know all the good spots. So, what do you say?” He asks. What do you say? He was pretty cute. And determined. With both your younger brothers with you, nothing could really happen so you couldn’t see the harm in it. You rip a piece of paper from your notebook and quickly jot down your address.

“For your brother’s sake,” you tell him, handing it over to him. “Be there at 5:00.” He smirks as he takes it then winks at you and walks away. You watch him go then shake your head as you turn the other way.

You get home that afternoon and immediately set about getting yourself ready. Your costume was simple, a long red skirt, a white sweater with a big R embroidered on it, a ponytail with a red bow, and some simple white tennis shoes. Your little brother had decided to be Dracula this year so you help him get ready. At 5:00 on the dot, your doorbell rings.

“Y/N!! Your friend from school is here,” your mother calls out to you. You smile at your little brother then bring him downstairs with you. Dean and his brother Sam are standing in the front foyer of your house, looking around in astonishment.

“Didn’t know you were rich,” Dean says. You roll your eyes then look at his brother. He’s wearing a white sheet with two holes cut out for eyes.

“What is that?” You ask, looking at Dean quickly. Dean looks at Sam then back at you and shrugs.

“A ghost?” He asks. You roll your eyes and reach to pull the sheet off of Sam.

“If you were going to force him to come, you could have at least bought him a better costume,” you tell him. Dean frowns and his eyes fall to the ground. The second the words are out of your mouth, you regret them. You’d heard that they were living in the old motel across town which obviously meant they didn’t have a lot of money. “I’m sorry.” Dean shakes his head and looks around your house again. “We’ve actually got some of my older brother’s old costumes down in the basement if you want to find something,” you tell Sam. He glances at Dean then shrugs his shoulders. “Come on.” You take Sam’s hand and pull him through the hall then down into the basement. You find the box and open it, allowing Sam to dig through. “I’m sorry he’s making you do this. We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Sam shrugs, looking at an old Superman costume.

“I don’t mind. Never really got to do much trick-or-treating before,” he says. You frown, your heart breaking at his words. He glances over at you. “He’s been talking about you a lot.”

“What?” You ask, looking up at him. He shrugs, looking back into the box.

“Dean’s been talking about you. Since the day we started at school. He really likes you,” he says, smiling as he finds another costume. “Can I wear this one?” He asks, holding up a Ghostbusters uniform. You smile at him and nod before showing him the bathroom upstairs. Going back into the foyer, you find Dean standing with his arms crossed.

“Sam said he hasn’t done much trick-or-treating before?” You ask. Anger flashes through Dean’s eyes quickly.

“We don’t need your pity, Y/N,” he says. Your eyes widen and you shake your head.

“No, Dean!! That’s not what this is,” you start. “Okay, maybe a little for Sam but I would actually like to hang out with you tonight while we give Sam a pretty good Halloween. If you still want to.” You bite your lip. Something new crosses Dean’s face, something you said triggering different emotions. He nods and smiles a little. Sam comes down the hall and Dean’s eyes widen before he starts to laugh.

“A Ghostbuster, huh?” He asks. Sam smiles widely and nods. You look between them, missing the joke.

“Alright. Count Dracula, let’s roll,” you call out. Your brother comes running in from the kitchen, a second pillowcase in his hands. He hands it to Sam who looks down at it in amazement.

“We’re gonna get this much candy?” He asks. You laugh and nod.

“Definitely,” you tell him. His eyes light up before the four of you leave the house. Several other families are already out on your street, making their way house to house. Your brother immediately takes the lead, Sam following him closely. You and Dean hang back, awkwardly silent as you stop at the first house.

“So,” Dean says, looking around. He shoves his hands in his pockets then looks over your costume. “What are you?”

“Sandy from Grease,” you tell him, running your hands over the red skirt. You look back to find him smirking again.

“That mean you’re gonna turn into Bad Sandy halfway through the night?” He asks. You throw your head back laughing.

“In your dreams, Winchester,” you tell him before following your brothers to the next house.

“You can count on that,” Dean says. Your cheeks heat up as you stop, watching your brother and Sam run up the stairs of a house.

“So what brings you here?” You ask, looking at him. He shrugs, watching Sam.

“My dad’s job. We move around a lot. Probably won’t be here long,” he tells you. You can’t help the rush of sadness that fills you. Obviously, you didn’t know him well at this point – you barely knew him at all honestly – but you weren’t fond of the idea of him leaving so soon.

“That your way of telling me you aren’t looking for a girlfriend?” You ask, glancing at him. He laughs and shakes his head.

“Just a fact,” he says. You smile at his laughter, watching it shake his whole body.

“Well maybe this time you’ll be able to stay for a while,” you say. He smiles and reaches over, catching your hand in his own. You should probably protest, not wanting to give him the wrong idea, but you don’t mind.

“Maybe,” Dean says, stopping at the fence of another house.

The sun sets slowly, seeming to reflect the beautiful fall colors across the sky. Your little brother and Sam fill their pillowcases before you all make your way to the city park. The community festival is in full swing when you arrive. Your brother and Sam split off, finding people from school to hang out with. Dean points out a group of teenagers by the apple bobbing station. You shake your head and pull him to the far side of the park where it’s more secluded. His arm comes around your waist, holding you close to his side.

“Pretty crazy about the principal’s car, huh?” He asks. You laugh lightly and nod. “Think they’ll catch the guy that did it?” You shake your head and he looks down at you. “Why not?”

“Cause everyone assumes it’s a guy,” you say, smirking up at him. His eyes widen quickly.

“You??” He asks. You smile and shrug, looking out to find your brother. He’s running around chasing a friend dressed as Frankenstein. Dean smiles and shakes his head. “I think I love you,” he says. You laugh and look back at him. “Why’d you do it?”

“He didn’t let us dress up for Halloween today,” you say, shrugging again.

“You’re really into all this, aren’t you?” He asks. You nod, feeling his hand start to rub your side slowly.

“You get to be someone else,” you tell him. He snorts and you look up at him.

“Why would you want to be anyone else? You’ve got everything you could ever want,” He says in disbelief. You smile a little and lay your head against his shoulder.

“Money doesn’t mean everything is always sunshine and rainbows, Dean,” you say. He nods his head slowly.

“I guess not,” he says. You stay this way, his arm wrapped around you tight, for a few minutes. He presses a kiss to the top of you head. “We’ve got some admirers.” You look up and find the group from school watching the two of you closely. You roll your eyes and step out of his arm, taking his hand.

“Let’s give them something to talk about then,” you say, pulling on his hand. He smiles as you lead him away from the crowds of people to a secluded clearing behind some trees. You stop and look up at the sky. “A full moon on Halloween.”

“That’s gotta be a bad omen or something,” Dean says, shaking his head. You turn to face him and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Nah, it’s good luck,” you tell him. He raises an eyebrow, his arms snaking around your waist.

“Is it?” He asks. You smile and stand up, pressing your lips against his. It’s a timid kiss, your lips just barely grazing against his. “Guess it is,” he mumbles, nodding his head. You let out a giggle and look away.

“It’s getting late. I should get my brother home,” you tell him.

“Can I take you out tomorrow night?” He asks, his nose nuzzling your cheek. You look back at him and nod.

“Yes you can,” you tell him. He smiles and moves to kiss you again but you lean away from him, smirking. “Tomorrow night.” He laughs lightly and nods.

“Okay,” he says. You take his hand again and pull him back to the main area. The two of you find your brothers. A quick kiss to his cheek and Dean promises to pick you up at 6:00 the following night.

The next night you put on your favorite dress. You fix your hair and make-up perfectly. 6:00 comes and Dean doesn’t. You wait for nearly an hour before deciding to go over to the motel yourself. Leaving your car running, you step into the main office connected to the string of run down rooms.

“Can I help you?” The man at the counter asks, not looking up. You bite your lip slightly.

“I’m looking for a family. The Winchesters. A man and his two sons,” you tell him. He nods slightly, flipping the page of his newspaper.

“Checked out this morning. Seemed to be in a rush,” he says. You stare at him for a moment then nod. Dean said they wouldn’t be around long. You hadn’t expected them to vanish overnight though. The man glances up at you then sets his paper aside. “Are you Y/N by chance?”

“I – I am,” you tell him, cautiously. He pulls open a drawer and hands you a small yellow envelope.

“One of the boys left this in case you showed up,” he says. You frown and take it before leaving the office. You pull a note out and quickly read it.

Y/N,

I’m so sorry. Dad’s job. We had to leave. Hopefully we’ll see each other again. Until then, wear this for luck.

Dean

You empty the rest of the contents of the envelope into your hand. A delicate silver chain falls out. You look over the necklace and find a tiny full moon charm attached to it. Your finger runs over the charm before you quickly fasten it around your neck. A stray tear slides down your cheek and you wipe at it quickly. You look up at the sky and smile, the full moon shining down on you.

[seat-safety-switch]

Driving through our cities means that we don't actually interact very much with our cities. I'm not some kooky urbanist who believes in things like "farm to table India Pale Ales" and "marked crosswalks," but I do love to go for a walk. And that's a good thing, because my cars break down often enough that I get a lot of shoe miles in, too.

Most of my city is pretty dull. Industrial yards. Long expanses of highway with nothing in between. Haunted backroads. I try to avoid these parts nowadays, even when I'm in my car, lest the inevitable failure of an electrical system means that I have to walk back through them. No, sticking to the older neighbourhoods is what I'd prefer: tiny houses, Little Free Libraries, coffee shops, plaques commemorating the site of famous serial killings. You're not just walking through there on your way to the auto parts store, you're experiencing your city in a whole new light.

Back in the day, everyone had an unreliable car, and so the city had a lot more stuff in it. Tiny little groceries to get a popsicle from when your cooling system burst. Charming gas stations to push the car into, so that you could be ripped off by the proprietor. Now, with the advances in technology, modern cars are miraculous vehicles that can run up to the half-million-km mark without you so much as giving them a decent carwash. So there's no reason to, say, stop 9.5 km into your 35km commute to work, and hoof it towards the nearest mom-and-pop shop capable of grinding you a new distributor rotor.

If you ask me, that's very depressing to think about. Life should be full of unexpected opportunities for you to meet exciting new people who aren't tow truck drivers. Maybe that dude who watches your front suspension fall off after hitting a pothole will become your best friend. You'll never know, though, because your car's control arm is bolted on all the way by robots who weren't even a little bit drunk. Sad.

[pankowperfection]

A Hard Days Work

Summary: Watching JJ do what he does best turns you on

Warnings: smut, JJ's filthy mouth, spanking, rough sex, exhibitionist kink, oral (fem receiving), 18+

JJ was working late again, always staying after hours at the garage to either work on customer's cars or work on his own build. You hadn't seen much of him this week, only catching a glimpse when he finally came home hours after his shift ended to shower, eat, and fall asleep beside you. Truth be told you were missing him, missing your quality time together. So after you finished work, you decided to pay him a visit.

Everyone else had left for the night, JJ's boss telling you both to take it easy before heading out. You perch yourself on the rolling stool in front of the car he was working on, admiring the way he looks when he is working. Your sweet plan of just keeping him company is quickly replaced by something dirty. The way his strong hands looked wrapped in black mechanic's gloves, fingers curled as he held a screw in place to tighten it reminded you of how good those very fingers would feel curled inside of you. You press your thighs together, hoping to help relieve the ache as you continue to watch him work.

"Earth to y/n, you alright over there?" The deep timbre of JJ's voice pulls you from your trance. "Sorry, zoned out. What did you say?" He gives you a knowing smirk, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "I said, will you come over here and adjust this when I tell you to?" "Sure baby," you push to your feet, joining him and leaning over the engine bay. "Okay, turn it a little to the left sweetheart." You do as he says, turning the distributor slightly to the left while he watches the timing belt spin. You get distracted by his body once again, noticing how the muscles in his forearm jump out when he turns the wrench. Unable to ignore the pulsating need between your thighs any longer, you break the silence again. "J..." you whine out, waiting for him to look up at you. "Yes baby?"

You can tell by the look on his face that he knows exactly what you want, but he's going to make you ask for it. "I need you." He sighs and sets down the wrench, clang of metal slightly distracting you before he walks over, caging you in against the front of the car. "My poor baby. So desperate for my cock that you want me to fuck you at my work?" He removes the gloves, calloused fingers gliding up the inside of your bare thigh to the edge of your shorts. You can’t help the moan that leaves your lips, panties soaked through just at the thought of all the things he could do to you. “Please J. Fuck me.” “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he smirks, closing the hood of the car quickly before pressing you against the cool metal.

He kneads the flesh of your ass, landing a soft spank which makes you moan again. You hear his belt buckle clank followed by the sound of his zipper, looking back over your shoulder to watch him stroke his cock. "Good thing you wore these slutty little shorts, I don't even have to take them off." He teases his ringed fingers over the denim before roughly yanking it to the side, delving into your folds and groaning when he feels how wet you are for him. "God, you got this turned on watching me work? You should come visit more often cupcake." His thumb finds your clit and you moan out his name, desperate to feel him inside of you. The contrast of his hot skin and the cool metal of his rings sends shivers down your spine, toes curling in pleasure. "Shit J, feels so good. Please, need your cock baby."

He gives you your favorite sexy smile, dimples on display before lining up with your entrance. Wasting no time he slams inside, burying himself in one swift thrust that has you both crying out. His thrusts are brutal, surely bruising your hips as you bounce against the car each time he pushes inside. He easily pins your hands behind your back with one of his, forcing you to be at his mercy. "Fuck J," he's hitting so deep, each thrust massaging your g spot and building your orgasm quickly. "Don't you dare cum yet, I'm just getting started." With that he pulls out, roughly flipping you over onto your back and scooting you up the hood of the car. "Spread those pretty legs for me." You do as he asks, opening your knees as wide as they'll go so your glistening folds are on display to him.

Unable to resist he leans down, lapping at your clit as your hands fist into his hair. When he flicks your clit you pull hard, causing him to groan against you. "Tastes so sweet. Your legs are extra sexy when I'm in between them." Your head falls back, too overwhelmed with the pleasure he's bringing you to watch any longer. Two fingers easily glide inside, curling just right with each push and pull as he continues to massage your clit with his talented tongue. Just when you are about to fall over the edge he stops, a loud whine of protest leaving your lips at the second denial. "J please. I need to cum." "Not yet baby. Be patient, I promise it will be worth it."

He kisses a slow path back up your body, stopping to wind his tongue into your mouth, wanting you to taste yourself on his lips. His tip nudges your entrance and you shudder, so needy for him. This time he slowly presses inside, watching each inch of his length disappear before your pelvises meet. "God damn, squeezing me so tight." You wrap your legs around his waist, wanting to keep him at the perfect angle as he starts to move again. He chose this position on purpose, knowing now that you would be in perfect view of the security camera. He smirks into your neck as he starts to fuck you hard, basking in the sounds of your pleasure and how your nails dig into his back.

"You see that flashing light up there baby? That's the security camera. My boss checks them regularly after hours. He could be watching right now. Watching how much of a slut you are for my cock. Hearing how you begged me to fuck you, seeing how your face looks when you're about to cum." The thought only turns you on more, the exhibitionist in you loving the idea that his attractive boss could be watching. "Fuck JJ, please." He grins, secretly knowing that this was a kink of yours. "That's it baby, moan loud for the camera. Let Matt know how good I'm making you feel. Bet he would want you to be a good girl and cum for me. Now." You can't help but obey, falling apart spectacularly as curses and chants of his name fall from your lips like a prayer. "Such a good girl," he coos, giving a few final thrusts before painting your walls white.

You both struggle to catch your breath, sweat dripping from his brow as he takes in your fucked out look. "Is that why you came to visit me today?" You shove him playfully, pulling your shorts back into position as his cum starts to leak out of you. "Yes and no. I did just miss spending time with you, but watching you work just got me all hot and bothered. Will you get in trouble if your boss did see us?" He laughs, adjusting his own shorts before popping the hood on the car again. "Nah, those cameras don't really work. I just wanted to test my suspicions about your exhibitionist kink." You blush slightly, embarrassed that he knows but also glad that he doesn't seem to mind. "Any time you want to fuck with an audience, let me know. I would love to show off my girl, let everyone see what they are missing." He kisses you quickly, getting back to the task at hand while you fantasize about all the public places you can fuck in.

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