#Engine Oil Guide

[auto-repair-peoria-az]

What Kind of Oil Does a Mercedes Use?

When it comes to maintaining a high-performance vehicle like a Mercedes-Benz, using the right engine oil is essential. Mercedes engines are built with precision, and only specific types of motor oil meet their standards. Here’s a quick guide to help you understand what kind of oil your Mercedes needs.

Recommended Oil Type for Mercedes

Mercedes-Benz generally recommends full synthetic motor oil for its vehicles. Most modern models require SAE 0W-40 or 5W-40 synthetic oil, which offers excellent protection in a wide range of temperatures and driving conditions.

Mercedes Oil Specifications

To ensure maximum performance and longevity, Mercedes requires oils that meet specific standards like:

Always check your owner's manual or consult a certified Mercedes technician to confirm the exact oil spec for your model.

Why Use the Best Synthetic Motor Oil?

Using the best synthetic motor oil helps keep your Mercedes engine running smoother and cleaner. It reduces friction, improves fuel economy, and extends engine life—especially under extreme temperatures or heavy driving conditions.

Choosing the best synthetic motor oil that meets Mercedes standards also helps maintain warranty coverage and overall vehicle value.

Final Thoughts

Mercedes vehicles are built to perform, and using the right oil is key to keeping them that way. Stick with high-quality, approved synthetic oils, and your engine will reward you with years of reliable service.

[renaultmechanic]

Renault car warning signals you should never ignore as a car owner

[cinder-stella]

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙖𝙬 𝙨𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙣…𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝘿𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙤𝙟𝙞 <18+ nsfw>

a/n: apologies in advance

(obsessed w the scent of a blue collar, strong, muscular, manly man who does his manly job and keeps his manly mouth shut cuz he’s all about his manly work and you)

You stare out the window—bored—having finished all of your household duties. You swept, mopped, fed the dogs, washed the dishes and took an everything shower. There’s only one thing missing. Your sexy beast of a man, Toji.

You could hardly wait. The second you look at your phone to check the time you hear the familiar fading diesel hum of the engine and the slamming of a truck door. Your heart hammers in your chest. You swallow, hearing the gravel crunch under his boots as he made his way up the driveway. You spring up to open the door and there he was—sweat-slick and sun-warmed, shirt darkened in patches, collar loose, sleeves rolled.

“Got caught behind some idiot on the 5,” he mutters, but you barely register the words. He’s already peeling off his jacket, then wiping his forehead with a thick forearm, veins bulging, grease still clinging to his knuckles.

God, you want to scream. You want to proclaim your love from the rooftops.

The heat of the road clings to him like cologne—sunbaked asphalt, engine oil, a little smoke, and something so distinctly him. So distinctly sharp and masculine. It’s filthy in a way that makes your thighs press together before he even touches you.

You don’t wait. You’re on your knees before he can say another word.

“Jesus,” he huffs, hand curling into your hair, surprised—but not stopping you. “You’ve been waiting all day for this, haven’t you, sweetheart?”

You bury your nose against his stomach, just under the hem of his wife-beater, inhaling. He smells like everything you crave—sweat, leather, faint aftershave drowned in skin and salt. You moan, actually moan, just from breathing him in.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” he says, voice dropping, thick with heat. “Gettin’ off on how I smell after a haul?”

You nod against him, unable to bring yourself to speak and fingers already tugging at his belt, eyes half-lidded, drunk on it.

And Toji? He just laughs, dark and low, one hand guiding you, the other cupping your cheek with rough affection. “Then be a good girl and show me how much you missed it.”

𓆩♡𓆪

[lyonnerileyauthor]

your orc mechanic 🔧

your car wouldn't start this morning. fuck. but your last mechanic, he always talked down to you, and tried to sell you things you knew you didn't need.

you'd heard about this new guy, an orc, who worked out of his garage. you didn't think orcs were car guys, but you learn something new every day.

you go in, ready to turn down all the extra services he wants to charge you. instead, he takes your keys, pulls the car into his garage, and invites you to take a look with him.

the starter plugs are bad, he says after only a few minutes of poking around the engine. the cost is parts plus labor. he glances at you over his shoulder, and one of his big tusks lifts as he gives you a lopsided grin. actually, I'll throw in the labor.

he must really be trying to make a good impression in town, you think, as he gets to changing out the starter plugs. but he watches you as he works, that grin climbing higher and higher on his cheek.

you might have an oil leak, he says after he's almost done, and points to a spot on the floor. sure enough, there's a dribble of oil there. I can fix that for you, though.

how much? you ask, because you don't have cash to throw at your car right now.

it's on me.

well, that seems rather generous, but you won't turn it down.

he takes off his shirt, exposing an incredibly large body, with a full chest and a thick belly, all of it coiled muscle under a layer of protective fat. you can't help but stare as he drops down onto the floor and slides under your car, his knees parting as he works. the massive bulge between his legs is obvious, even with loose jeans.

jeez, he's packing.

you wait patiently as he works, trying not to stare but unable to tear your eyes away. when he slides out from under the car again, he catches you in the act, and finally he shows all his teeth as he grins.

do you like what you see? he climbs up to his feet.

your mouth is painfully dry, but you have to admit the truth. yes, of course he's absolutely gorgeous. he laughs when he hears it, and closes the distance between you.

I was hoping you would, because I like what I see.

he tilts up your chin with one grease-stained hand, leaving his fingerprints behind and marking you as his. he has to lean down to reach you, and you find yourself rising up on your toes to meet him.

the orc's kiss is fierce, consuming. it's new to you to navigate around his tusks, but they frame your face perfectly as he takes your mouth, devouring you, conquering you. he pushes you up against the garage wall, making the tools hanging there rattle. the lump in his jeans presses against you as his hand ventures up under your shirt.

you explore him just as ravenously, feeling his sturdy body, the tree-trunk size of his arms. without a second glance at it, the orc clears everything off the work table and picks you up by your ass, setting you on it.

show me, he growls low in his throat. so you obey, taking off your shirt, then shucking your own pants. his pupils are huge and blown-out as he unbuckles his own belt, reaching into his jeans to pull out his cock. he strokes it as he watches you.

touch yourself. you can't help but do as he says, finding yourself already wet. his hand speeds up, pre-cum dripping from that green cockhead as he pins you to the table with his eyes.

are you ready? he advances on you, dragging you to the edge. reflexively you spread your legs, and he smirks as he lines himself up with you. I hope you can take me.

you hope so, too.

but you're so slick, so ready for him, that the soft head of his cock pushes through. you grab onto his arms as he continues guiding himself inside you, biting his lip as he tries not to plunge in deep.

what a perfect pussy. the orc grunts as he squeezes even more of that enormous beast inside you. swallowing me up so well.

you shake and moan as he reels his hips back, then slides in even deeper, until he's fully sheathed in you. you clutch him so tight your nails dig into his strong arms as he starts to fuck you. he kisses you, swallowing all of your moans and cries as he sends you spiraling up higher and higher.

then, all at once, you crash to the earth in a burst of pleasure. your scream fills up the garage as he slams into you once, twice more. he yanks his cock out and his cum arcs out, covering you.

your orc mechanic takes a deep, shuddering breath. now you smell like me, he says with satisfaction, rubbing his cum all over you. I guess I had better fix that oil leak now.

[naffeclipse]

A Drive

Reader x Mob Bosses!Sun & Moon

Commission Info

Many thanks to @vixenfoxpup for giving me a go at the mob boss brothers. They are, I'm afraid to say, still dastardly. The mob bosses decide to take you away on a little drive, but they discover something along the dark and quiet city roads, something you're not telling them.

Content Warning for suggestive themes, abduction, implied abuse, and bruises.

———

You step carefully down the street, jacket pulled tight around you, weary of each rattle and grumble from passing cars, and erupting laughter from two men just outside of a speakeasy. The coils of anxiety within you are twining so tightly, you fear something will tear. You are too on edge for a city that is so lively. 

Inhaling the thick fumes of the city, catching oil and smoke and something much more rotten underneath it all, you continue towards your home. It’s been a long day, a long week. The sky is turning red from a bleeding sunset, and the light is quickly fleeting from the dark and dreary streets. 

You might have quickened your stride if you weren’t so exhausted. A heaviness pulses behind your eyes. For several days at your job, you’ve done nothing but struggle with prose and putting together a comprehensive piece for your boss to throw into the newspaper. 

The ghost of pain flares. Unwittingly, your fingers slip inside your jacket sleeve to caress a dark blossom of purple and blue over your wrist. Your skin seems so delicate though it’s not yet broken as it holds back the damage. 

You just have to get home. Taking a corner, the street seems to fall dead before your eyes. What would usually be bustling is not hush with the shadows thickly draping the sidewalk and the slick road. Fire burns in street lamps, solitary beacons in the infant night, as doors are shut and windows drawn close, and you wonder what happened to the businesses in this area. 

The walk home hadn’t seemed so lonely before. There is another you can blame on such a thing but you bite back any accusations and duck your head to stride quickly to your apartment. Maybe you could actually catch some shut-eye and not disappoint your boss tomorrow.

There’s always something to report, something going down, someone murdered and someone found washed up in the river. Corruption thrives in the festering wounds of the city, and you bear witness. 

There has to be something someone can do. On top of your private life struggles, a helplessness sinks down and drags you into the muck of the city. 

The last rays of the dying red sunlight disappear into a deep blue twilight, and you think about lying down on your bed only to twist and turn, fruitlessly chasing some hours of snoozing. Yellow lights guide your way home, and you stare into dark buildings with indifferent streets falling behind you.

Your pulse thrums in your ears. Evening your breath, you force your stride to not show any fear. The wrong person might not like your scent, might see someone without an escort and without any means of protection, and want to try their luck.

You don’t need any more bruises tonight.

At the end of the street, a vehicle rumbles into sight. Turning into view, great big headlights cut through the night and blind you momentarily. Forced to avert your gaze, you catch the deep growl of the engine as it creeps down the street. Your vision settles with two blots of afterimages seared into them, but you catch the dark make and model of the vehicle. It’s black as a hearse and sleek as polished onyx. 

Your heart immediately leaps into your throat. You turn away, immediately walking in the other direction. Squaring your shoulders and holding your head high, you try to not run—it might push them into a chase, like a predator unwilling to allow its prey to escape.

A dozen answers race through your mind: a hit and run, an ordered target, a problem that needs to be solved with lead and gasoline. It was always a possibility in your line of work—and you’ve rocked the boat on plenty of circles within the city from the counselors’ office all the way down to the low life gangsters that seek to keep polluting the people.

Your lungs constrict and deflate. Swallowing back a whimper, you continue striding purposefully down the sidewalk as if the black vehicle isn’t crawling behind you, lights fully placed onto your figure. Your shadow is startled and jumpy, twitching arms unable to decide to prepare for a fight or to run all the way to someone who might bear witness to the crime about to occur. 

You curse quietly in the echoes of your mind. You don’t want to die like this. You don't want to die. 

Behind you, a sudden stutter in the engine sounds as it jerks to a stop. 

Your heart explodes in your chest, adrenaline fueled into the recesses of your limbs, and you take off like an alley cat escaping the jaws of a mutt.

Doors open and footsteps pound behind you. Only a precious few strides closes the distance, and hands seize you, wrapping around your waist and snatching your legs before the familiar scent of bourbon and cigarette smoke reaches your senses.

That does not quell your furious struggle, attempting to kick your legs and claw at your abductors, but they haul you back to the vehicle and stuff you inside as if you were a mere lamb.

Before you can blink, doors slam shut, the vehicle lurches forward, and you’re caught in the darkness behind tinted glass. Fabric rustles before you’re pulled neatly onto the mob boss’s lab.

“Sun,” you utter, your throat thick with panic. Across the plush seats and dingy trails of cigarette smoke, sits his brother. You meet his gaze briefly before lowering it. “Moon.”

“Turtle dove,” a cheerful coo slips into your ear. The solar theme animatronic, crowned with bright yellow rays and a notorious infamy for his underworld business practice, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His arms trap you firmly against his chest. “The attempt to fly away from us was precious, but you wouldn’t have to lose your breath if you simply stayed where you were.”

You offer a noncommittal hum, unable to argue but unwilling to concede. 

Across the seat, Moon sits in the darkness, his pale eyes glowing red with a simper. He fixes his fedora with two fingers pinching the brim.

“If you wanted us to chase you, say the word,” his growl is low and saccharine, causing your pulse to jump, “I would have enjoyed giving you a better chance.”

“What chance would that be?” you ask warily. Sun’s hand slips down your cheek with warm, slender digits leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

“Next to nothing,” Moon chuckles, “but it would have had more sport in it.”

“For you,” you murmur, unable to meet his eyes as Sun leans closely behind you. His hand softly wraps around the column of your throat, just under your chin.

“For me,” Moon grins wickedly. Then brusquely, he says, “Sunny, leave enough to share.”

“I’m not overindulging,” Sun’s voice, bouncing and dark, warms your ears until they turn red, “Not yet, anyways.”

His thumb strokes your pulse. Held still in his grasp, you fight the urge to gulp as Sun hums thoughtfully.

“Dollface, we’ve been so worried! We thought you might have forgotten about us!”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” you answer meekly. You glance down to his sharp suit. His half-lidded gaze peers around you, his eyes pale and haunting. 

You try to squirm free, to find some space where you’re not overwhelmed by the rich scent of his clothes and the metallic tang that almost hangs like blood in the air, but Sun leaves no room for escape. His arm cinches tightly over your waist. His faceplate is smooth and sleek, and his malleable mouth presses a kiss to the back of your neck, just above your jacket collar. You flinch slightly from the pressure on the sore and sensitive bruise circling your neck like a choker before flailing to cover it up.

“Where are you taking me?” you squeak in fright. Frantically, you up turn the collar of your jacket to conceal the bruises once more.

Sun becomes frozen, and you shift frantically in his lap. You almost turn to see his expression but dread what you will find. His hand falls away from your neck but they hover close to your arms, as if he wishes to grab you and whisk you away somewhere. 

“A little tour of the city,” Moon answers, and seizing his opportunity, reaches across the space and plucks you from Sun’s arms. 

The mob boss slides you onto his lap. The city lights flash past, dulled by the windows, and the night hangs heavier still outside. Your heart thunders within you. Silver and dark hands slip down your sides, rubbing you gently as if to soothe the anxiety boiling over within you. His touch slides down your legs, carefully caressing until you shiver. 

Sun sits strangely silent, as taut as the trigger of a gun. His expression catches on flashes of streetlamps, unreadable, but his eyes are wide and piercing the darkness. 

Moon at last cups your chin and turns it towards him. Attention ripped away from his brother, you struggle to not whimper under his daunting expression. His red glow dusts your cheeks. A frown forms on his face plate. He lifts a thumb and draws it in a half moon underneath your eye.

“When’s the last time you had a good night’s rest?” he murmurs. Your eyelids flutter, wondering how terrible you must look. 

You cage your tongue within your mouth, “Last night.”

His optics narrow into thin slits of red. “Naughty thing. Perhaps I should take you back with us. You would have a proper bed, and peace, and Sun and I to help you drift into dreams. Doesn’t that sound like heaven, my dear?”

You stiffen, and quickly try to deny your sleepless night, but pushing back against Moon only results in your wrist being captured.

Pain pulses, sucking in sharply through your teeth. Moon immediately becomes alert. He releases your chin to rip your jacket sleeve back and expose the dark circle wrapping your wrist like a bracelet. In response, you pull it back down.

“Take me home,” you utter.  

“What happened?” Moon growls. He lifts his head, refusing to release your arm though he grips it gingerly. “Who did this?”

“It was only me,” you answer, but you avert your gaze. “I fell down a step and hit it on the railing.”

“An accident,” Moon rasps, much lower. You fear he doesn’t believe you.

“Yes.” You unwittingly meet Sun’s gaze, and his hands have curled into iron-like fists. He still says nothing. The weight of his expression burns through you.

“Please,” you look at neither of them but plead with both, “Take me home.”

You catch the briefest glance shared between the brothers, silent and stormy. Moon shifts you back to the seat where Sun resides, and settles you between them. The quiet stretches as Sun gives a signal with his hand, and the driver turns a corner on the street. Instead of diving downtown, the vehicle returns to the higher streets where you were abducted. 

Sun’s hands caress your hair softly, twisting the strands between his fingers. A shiver rises up and over your scalp at the sweetness of his playfulness. The burn of his gaze resides on the back of your neck. Likewise, Moon’s touch does not leave your hand. His other strokes your knuckles and slips between your fingers until you shudder from the sensitive traces. 

Your street comes back into view, lonely and quiet and dark. The car parks quietly before your apartment building. A concern of them knowing where you leave is filed away for another time.

For several moments, neither mob bosses move, and you are trapped between them.

Sun grins but there is little joy in it, “We’ll see you again soon, turtle dove.”

“Very soon,” Moon echoes, his eyes darker, almost bordering on black before he at last opens the door for you.

You step out, freed. The black car peels away, leaving a scent of burnt rubber. You stand and stare at the vehicle turning away in the distance.

They shouldn’t have looked too close. Now you sit with a fear that they will go digger where they shouldn’t. It shouldn't matter at all to them.

You rub your wrist before touching the back of your neck. 

Though, this once, it matters to you that they’re involved.

[bolters-and-rivets]

I am an Iron Warrior, can confirm. that sleadgehammer was glorious

And as any self respecting Iron Warrior I will also take advantage of oportunities to operate old as fuck (endearing) multi-ton machenery when given the chance

Iron warrior fetish content

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙎𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙥𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙏𝙤𝙤𝙡

summary: mattheo realizes that not everyone knows tools like he does. characters: mechanic! mattheo. reader warnings: none! word count: 1.1k

The garage was its own kind of symphony-low, rhythmic hums from the fluorescent lights overhead blending with the occasional hiss of compressed air, the soft clink of metal on metal, and Mattheo’s low curses that floated out from under the open hood of a weathered ‘72 Mustang. The heavy scent of motor oil clung to the warm air, tinged with rubber and a faint trace of gasoline. It should have felt overwhelming, maybe even suffocating-but instead, wrapped in the gentle haze of late afternoon sunlight pouring through the garage door, it felt oddly peaceful.

You perched carefully on a wobbly stool near the corner, your floral sundress fanned delicately over your knees like the petals of a daisy, trying your best to keep the fabric from brushing anything oily. A small picnic sat beside you on the workbench-homemade sandwiches stacked in wax paper, and a Tupperware of slightly too-soft chocolate chip cookies wrapped in a blue gingham napkin. You watched him with the kind of quiet, glowing curiosity that softened your entire expression, chin in hand, swinging your legs just slightly as you admired the way Mattheo moved.

There was something almost hypnotic about him like this-sleeves rolled up, sweat-damp curls clinging to his forehead, grease streaked across his jaw and temple like accidental war paint. His hands were calloused and stained, his forearms flexing as he worked, every motion confident and sure, like he understood the car better than it understood itself.

“Hey, sunshine,” he grunted, still half-buried beneath the hood. “Can you pass me the three-eighths ratchet?”

You blinked, caught off guard, your back straightening like a student called on unexpectedly. “The… three-eighths?”

“Top drawer of the toolbox,” he added, gesturing vaguely toward the massive red chest beside you. “Should say it on the handle.”

You opened the drawer cautiously, as if it might spring to life. Inside was a sea of metal: all sleek, silver, and wildly intimidating. Some were long and needle-like, others squat and heavy; a few curved in confusing shapes that made no logical sense. You hovered a hand uncertainly above the tools, the way you might over a box of chocolates without a guide to what was inside.

After an agonizing moment of internal debate, you plucked out something that felt appropriately heavy and brought it over with both hands, like you were offering him an ancient artifact.

“This one?” you asked, hope blooming in your voice.

Mattheo leaned out from under the hood, his eyes landing on the tool you held. He smirked. “That’s a torque wrench, sweetheart.”

Your face crumpled in confusion. “Oh.” You glanced down at it, as if you could will it into becoming the right one. “It looked important.”

“It is,” he chuckled, gently taking it from you. “But not what I need right now.”

He chuckled under his breath, stepping back from the engine. “No worries. Try again?”

You gave it another shot. This time, you came up with a screwdriver, handing it to him like maybe he’d change his mind and use that instead.

Mattheo took it slowly, lips twitching. “Unless I’m planning to carve my name into the hood… still not the right one.”

You bit your lip, visibly deflating. “Sorry. I don’t really know what any of these are called. They all kind of look like… silver pokey things.”

He finally straightened fully, wiping his hands on a grimy cloth before stepping over to where you stood, his presence warm and grounding. “You’re trying,” he said, his voice softer now, the teasing gone. “That means everything.”

Your shoulders lifted in a sheepish shrug as he opened the drawer beside you, pulling out a shorter tool with a ridged handle. “This is the ratchet,” he said, his tone patient and proud, like he was introducing you to something sacred. “You hear the clicks?” He twisted it in his hand, and the rhythmic tick-tick-tick filled the space.

Your eyes lit up. “Oh! That’s kind of satisfying.”

He smiled-really smiled-and handed it to you like it was made of gold. “Exactly. And this-” he retrieved a small metal piece from the corner, “-is the socket. This one’s the three-eighths. See that number?” He clicked it into place on the ratchet, the two pieces becoming one with a little snap.

You took the tool from him reverently, holding it like a precious relic. “So… this is the ‘clicky one.’ And that’s the little hat it wears.”

Mattheo’s laugh was sudden and loud and entirely unguarded. “Clicky one,” he repeated, eyes crinkling. “Hat it wears. I love you.”

The words slipped out effortlessly, like they’d been waiting for the perfect moment to fall from his lips. Your breath caught. You weren’t sure he realized he’d said it, not at first-but the way his eyes lingered on yours, soft and certain, told you he meant every syllable.

You smiled, slow and sweet. “Should I label them that way so I don’t forget?”

“I’m already on it,” he said, spinning around to grab a roll of masking tape and a marker from the workbench. He scribbled quickly, peeling a strip off and sticking it to the ratchet. Clicky One. Another strip went onto the socket. Hat it Wears.

“I still might get them wrong,” you murmured, tilting your head up to look at him beneath your lashes.

Mattheo looked at you like you were sunlight and sugar spun into human form. “That’s alright,” he said, voice rough and gentle. “I’ll teach you. Every day, if I have to.”

You leaned in against his side, your head resting against his shoulder, the ratchet still nestled in your hands. “Even if I still call it the clicky one a year from now?”

He bent and kissed your temple, soft and slow. “Especially then.”

With a small laugh, you pulled out the container of cookies, offering him one that had broken into two slightly lopsided halves. He took it with an affectionate murmur of thanks, your fingers brushing in a way that made your heart flutter.

And there, in the middle of grease-stained floors and softly labeled tools, you realized: this wasn’t just his garage anymore. It was yours too-quietly, messily, perfectly yours.

And if all it took to stay was handing him the wrong tools and watching him laugh, you’d never stop showing up.

[tipsynight0]

Kissing the creeps

Fem pov!

Characters - Jeff, clockwork, Toby.

Tw - slight nsfw? Nothing explicit.

Summary - lipstick and creeps <33

Word count - 2.1k

Author's note- I originally wanted to try writing headcanons since I've never done them before, but then this idea just kind of popped into my head and I couldn’t stop writing! Also, crazy new creepypasta characters unlocked in the Marcy Chronicles of Tumblr. This is my first time writing Clockwork, (and Toby too 😭). I did try, though! I'm not really sure what this is, but I hope you enjoy it! <33

(Y/N) had been meaning to show Clockwork the lip gloss for a while now. It had been sitting in her pocket since she nicked it from the corner store—a sticky-sweet reminder of her impatience. But between Clockwork's constant fixing and tinkering around the mansion, (Y/N) hadn’t found the right moment—until now.

From the porch, (Y/N) watched Clockwork under the car, her legs stretched out, grease smudging the worn denim of her jeans.

The white tank top clung to her back, stained with oil, and the way her hands moved—precise, confident—left (Y/N) a little mesmerized. The creeper squeaked when Clockwork shifted, her toned arms flexing as she twisted a wrench. (Y/N) couldn’t help but smirk, biting her lip before finally deciding to make her move.

(Y/N) approached quietly, the gravel crunching under her boots, and stopped just behind Clockwork's legs. She straddled her, one knee on either side of her hips. At first, Clockwork startled, pushing herself out from under the car with a quick shove, wrench gripped like a weapon.

When she realized it was (Y/N), her tense expression softened, and a crooked smile tugged at her lips.

“Well, look who decided to interrupt,” she grunted, eyes flicking up at (Y/N) through her messy hair. Grease smeared her cheek, and there was a streak along the side of her neck. She didn’t seem to notice, too busy letting her hands slide up (Y/N)'s thighs, the calloused tips of her fingers brushing over (Y/N)'s bare skin and leaving dark smudges behind.

“I’m trying to work, trouble,” she murmured, but her hands tightened on (Y/N)’s belt loops, tugging her closer until (Y/N)'s hips pressed against her stomach.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but grin, feeling a bit bolder than usual. She let her hands trail from Clockwork’s shoulders down her arms, tracing the veins on her forearms, still warm from the effort. Her fingers came away a little greasy, but she didn’t care. She twirled one of Clockwork’s curls around her finger, brushing it off her forehead.

“I found a new lip gloss,” (Y/N) said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“Supposedly, it tastes like cotton candy.”

Clockwork hummed, the sound deep and approving. “That so?” One of her hands abandoned (Y/N)'s belt loop to skim up her side, sliding under the hem of (Y/N)'s shirt. The warmth of her palm on (Y/N)'s skin made her shiver. “Then let me taste.”

(Y/N) leaned down slowly, a little unsure, but when Clockwork’s hands guided her, their lips met. At first, it was just a brush—soft and hesitant. Clockwork tilted her head, and her mouth moved against (Y/N)’s with a bit more confidence. Her tongue traced (Y/N)'s bottom lip before she nipped at it, catching the faint taste of sugar.

(Y/N) couldn’t help the small gasp that slipped out, and Clockwork took advantage, kissing her deeper.

Clockwork’s lips were slightly chapped but warm, tasting like cigarettes and engine oil, mixing with the artificial sweetness of the gloss. Her other hand left (Y/N)'s hip to cup the back of (Y/N)’s neck, holding her there as she kissed her harder, like she was trying to drown herself in the taste.

When (Y/N) finally pulled back, her lips were tingling, their breaths mingling between them. Clockwork swiped her thumb over the corner of (Y/N)’s mouth, smearing some of the gloss across her cheek with a smirk. “Think I need more than that,” she murmured, dragging her thumb down to (Y/N)’s chin.

(Y/N) didn’t have time to respond before Clockwork tugged her down again, lips parting eagerly. This time, Clockwork’s hands roamed, fingertips grazing (Y/N)’s ribs, tracing her spine. (Y/N)’s own hands slid up into Clockwork’s hair, tugging just enough to make her groan into the kiss. (Y/N) could feel the grease on Clockwork’s skin, smearing as she dragged her closer, and the roughness of Clockwork’s hands made her pulse race.

Clockwork’s lips left (Y/N)’s for a moment, kissing the corner of her mouth before moving to her jaw, biting down lightly. “You taste good,” she muttered, and there was a slight awkwardness in her tone, like she was trying too hard to sound cool. It made (Y/N) laugh, and Clockwork huffed, nudging (Y/N)’s thigh with hers.

“Shut up,” Clockwork grumbled, but the way she kissed (Y/N) after was rougher, more determined, as if trying to distract (Y/N) from the flush creeping up her neck. (Y/N) let her, melting against her touch, fingers curling tighter in her hair as Clockwork’s mouth moved over hers with renewed intensity.

Toby was out in the backyard, the rhythmic sound of wood splitting filling the warm, sunlit air. His shirt was long gone, tossed aside earlier as the work became more taxing, leaving his toned chest bare and glistening with sweat. Each powerful swing of the hatchet made his muscles ripple under his flushed skin, his cargo pants hanging low on his hips, just barely clinging as he worked. The sunlight caught on the droplets running down his torso, tracing the curve of his abs and vanishing into the waistband.

He let out a grunt, pausing for a moment to catch his breath, his chest heaving. As he steadied himself, (y/n) approached from behind, unable to resist the sight in front of her. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pressed her face against the warm, damp skin of his back, inhaling his earthy, slightly smoky scent. Toby didn’t startle—just grunted softly, acknowledging her presence, and drove the hatchet into the stump to free his hands.

He felt (y/n)’s lips against his back—soft, almost testing—before they pressed against his ribs. A shiver rolled through his body despite the heat. Confused, Toby furrowed his brow, cracking his neck as he tried to make sense of the sudden affection. A flicker of red caught his attention. “W-what are you d-doing?” he muttered, his voice rough and unsteady, another tick making him jerk his shoulder.

He glanced down at her lips, noticing the smudged crimson, and his pulse quickened. “A-are you b-bleeding?” he stammered, concern slipping into his tone.

(y/n) pulled back just enough for him to see the lipstick smeared across her mouth. Toby swallowed hard, his throat tightening as his eyes traced the color staining her skin. He licked his bottom lip absentmindedly, his gloved hand moving on its own to touch her mouth. “W-what’s that?” he whispered, voice dropping, his thumb dragging across her lower lip. (y/n) kissed his thumb, a playful gleam in her eyes, and guided his hand to her waist.

“Do you like it?” she asked in a low, sultry voice, leaning closer.

Toby’s breath hitched, his hands instinctively tightening on her hips, gloved fingers pressing into her curves. Her lips brushed his neck, slow and purposeful, tracing the vein that throbbed just beneath his skin. His heart pounded like a war drum, and his fingers twitched against her waist, another tick slipping past his control. “F-fuck,” he whispered, his head falling back as she kissed up the column of his throat.

His hips jerked forward as her lips continued to explore, pressing heated kisses down his chest, over the faint line of hair trailing from his navel to his waistband. He was barely holding on, his body betraying him with shivers and involuntary tics. His hands slid up into her hair, rough and eager, and a guttural noise left his throat. “B-baby... a-anyone could s-see us,” he mumbled, but his words lacked conviction, especially when his hips bucked toward her again, seeking friction.

(y/n) just smiled, trailing her hands down his sides, nails scraping lightly over his damp skin. Toby grunted, his face burning, trying to bite back a moan as her lips followed the path down his stomach. His chest was now covered in smeared lipstick marks—evidence of how thoroughly she was claiming him. Toby couldn’t help the way his hands gripped her hair tighter, his knees almost buckling as she kissed just above his waistband.

A sharp intake of breath escaped him, and he pulled her back, the intensity overwhelming, his eyes dark with frustration and need. “I-I swear, if you keep that up...” he growled, words cut off by a stuttered moan as she nipped at his hip bone. He couldn’t look at her without his pulse racing, couldn’t think straight with how hot his skin felt.

When she finally drew back, he glanced down at the faded lipstick on his chest, disappointment flickering in his gaze. “D-do you have more of that?” he asked, his voice rough with lingering desire.

(y/n) smirked and pulled the lipstick from her bra, holding it up to his flushed face. The way she looked at him—so smug and knowing—had his stomach tightening, his hands itching to drag her back and make her finish what she started.

The summer night wrapped around Jeff like a second skin as he slouched on the back porch, cigarette dangling from his lips. Shadows danced across his features, broken only by the glowing ember that brightened with each deep drag. His body radiated tension.

(Y/n) approached silently, drawn to him like a moth to flame. The wooden boards creaked beneath her feet, matching the thunder of her heartbeat. His foot tapped an impatient rhythm against the steps, the only sign he'd noticed her presence.

"I'm not in the fucking mood, (y/n)." His voice came out rough, sending shivers down her spine.

Instead of backing away, she leaned down, her breath ghosting across his face as she plucked the cigarette from his lips. Their eyes locked as she brought it to her mouth, taking a long, deliberate drag. His gaze dropped to her lips, watching as she exhaled slowly before returning the cigarette. Her fingers found their way into his dark hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp in the way that usually made him melt.

But tonight was different. His jaw clenched as he brought the cigarette back to his mouth, tasting the sweet cherry she'd left behind. "Didn't I fucking tell you not to wear that shit?" The words came out as a growl that made heat pool in her stomach.

She stepped down, positioning herself between his spread legs, using her height to look down at him. The air crackled between them. "What's your fucking problem?" Her voice came out breathy despite her attempt at anger. "You vanish all day and come back like this?"

His hand shot up, fingers gripping her chin and pulling her down until their faces were inches apart. His thumb smeared across her bottom lip, destroying her careful application of gloss. Before she could protest, he pushed his thumb past her lips, the pad rough against her tongue.

"Fucking taste it and tell me if you think I want that on my cigarette." Moonlight caught the dangerous glint in his eyes, making her pulse race. "I said fucking taste it," he demanded, voice dropping to a tone that made her knees weak.

She ran her tongue along his thumb, the artificial cherry mixing with the salt of his skin. His eyes darkened as he watched her, pupils blown wide with something more than anger.

In one fluid motion, he yanked her down onto his knee, the friction making her gasp.

A fresh cigarette appeared between his lips, flicking his zippo open, his hand found her jaw again, fingers pressing into sensitive skin as he tilted her head. When his mouth met hers, it wasn't gentle – it was pure need. Smoke rolled from his lips to hers as he claimed her mouth, his tongue following to chase away the sweetness.

She coughed softly but didn't pull away, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed closer, wanting more.

His hand slid to her throat, thumb finding her racing pulse. She could feel his smile against her lips as he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice a rough whisper that made her shiver. "Don't wear that shit again. You're beautiful without it."

[littjara-mirrorlake]

Principles of Asexual Heredity in the Phyrexian Organism

We know these things for sure about Phyrexian reproductive biology:

Phyrexians reproduce asexually; it is well known that one drop of oil, from one individual, is enough to birth a population of offspring (such as all of New Phyrexia) or convert a non-Phyrexian organism.

Phyrexians natively born of the oil ("core-born") inherit mnemonic and phenotypic (appearance) information from the oil that created them. For example, core-born Phyrexians of the Orthodoxy naturally develop porcelain metal; it is an inherited, lineage-specific trait. The oil also carries ancestral knowledge such as the Phyrexian language and echoes of history.

The five suns of Mirrodin somehow caused the originally mono-black lineage of Phyrexian oil to splinter into five colored lineages. They may have all arisen from one drop of oil, but they are phenotypically diverse.

(Little canon data is given about the genealogies of core-born newts, but it would most logically follow that Phyrexians descend from single-parent lines, a family tree with continually forking branches and no unions of mating as with sexually reproducing organisms.)

The mechanism I propose for the diversification of Phyrexians on Mirrodin is mana-induced mutagenesis. As a deeply magical material, it follows that Phyrexian oil is prone to being influenced by concentrated sources of mana, such as the suns of Mirrodin (which were trapped in the core, in close proximity to the progenitor oil, during the birth of New Phyrexia). Exposure to mana can thus cause de novo mutation in glistening oil that manifests as novel phenotypic traits in resulting Phyrexians. These mutations are not random, guiding phenotypes to align with the color causing the mutation.

Then there is the issue of inheritance via phyresis, or compleating another organism which was not originally Phyrexian by introducing Phyrexian genetic material into its body. To keep it simple I will begin with mono-color infections: an organism is infected with oil from a Phyrexian whose lineage traits (i.e. white-aligned Orthodoxy lineage, porcelain) may not match their own color identity.

Hypothesis: Phenotype (what color/type of Phyrexian an infected individual becomes) is determined solely by the color of infection, not the subject's own colors. Crucially this isn't the same as color identity; i.e. one can be a porcelain Phyrexian and still have a Boros identity by gaining red-aligned values or retaining them from a pre-compleation life, even though their phenotype is white only. (Much like how elves are associated with green mana, but Simic-identity elves exist.) This phenotype color, in turn, is also what would be passed down to any newts the turned individual creates, or subjects they themselves infect.

MOM corroborates this hypothesis. A mono-black-aligned human, upon exposure to Progress Engine oil, becomes a Phyrexian with a pure blue-aligned phenotype. The changes to their color identity are additive--they retain black alignment--but their phenotype is blue only. All the transforming creatures of MOM follow this pattern.

However, Planeswalkers in ONE did not. For example, Jace was infected by Vraska, who had both black color identity and a black/Thanes-aligned phenotype, but spontaneously developed eyestalks and other traits characteristic of blue Phyrexians from the Progress Engine.

New hypothesis: Individuals with a strong enough internal concentration of mana, i.e. Planeswalkers, cause oil to mutate in vivo to align with their own color, much like how the suns mutated oil in Mirrodin's core. This further shows that mana-induced mutagenesis is color-specific. This should however create a new blue lineage, independent of the Progress Engine, also spawned of blue mana but not necessarily identical. I do not have an explanation for Jace's resemblance to the Progress Engine besides convergent "evolution."

Proposed further study (not ethics-approved): Infect a colorless Planeswalker, i.e. Ugin, with colored oil to test whether a null color identity still has mutagenic effects.

To complicate this, though, we also have examples of Phyrexians who are chimeras of multiple colors, combining traits of different lineages. Vishgraz was assembled with material (genetic and otherwise) from a white, a green, and a black Phyrexian. It makes sense that Phyrexians put together in this patchwork way could have a combination phenotype. Atraxa was not assembled from scratch, but infected with four separate colors at once. Maybe there are just four types of oil circulating in her body?

I am, of course, interested in inheritance. If these Phyrexians show combined phenotypes, what colored trait(s) do they actually pass down? Do they have individual "cells" that are still only white, only green, only black, etc., or did the colors somehow combine on the most basic hereditary unit level? Thankfully, we actually do have an example of a "chimera" Phyrexian asexually producing core-born offspring: Ixhel.

Ixhel shares multiple colors with Atraxa, not only in her color identity but also apparent phenotype (she has both Orthodoxy porcelain and Swarm copper). Two possibilities here: 1) She truly inherited both genetically; Atraxa passes down multiple colors when she reproduces. 2) Her "core" physiology is still rooted in one color, i.e. white porcelain, and the green parts were added after the fact. I don't have an answer for this, but it's intriguing to consider.

Proposed further study: Attempt to isolate the smallest "unit" of Phyrexian heredity (one single nanobot of the oil) and test if it can only store information about one color, or multiple. See if a germ is formed from only one of these units, as with eukaryotic zygotes, or from multiple.

My theories of Phyrexian reproductive biology remain highly speculative, but every new piece of data adds fuel to this fire, and I have plenty to elaborate on in later posts. If only the interplanar ethics committee would stop delaying my research.

[doiliedaze]

Intertwined, Sewn Together

Butch mechanic! Vi x Bimbo flower shop owner! reader

Warnings: Vi courting reader very obviously, flirt Vi, tooth-rooting fluff, reader is a perv a little (implied she has masturbated to the thought of Vi before), reader is such a botanical nerd and rambly mess, reader lacks common sense just a little bit, reader is whipped for Vi bad (I feel you girl), sweet to heavy make out session but nothing too major, butch bulge 😵‍💫

Genre: fluff

A/N: a lot of Adrianne Lenker songs remind me of Vi but especially not a lot, just forever! The songs that inspired this fic are crush, not a lot just forever, heavy and Constant Craving!! I typically think of bimbos to have confidence but I want this bimbo to have a more shy nature or like a quiet confident like flowers because they are so dainty but they hold so much energy and meaning! I also know nothing about mechanical stuff so bare with me…I gotta stop not knowing things in my Vi fics😅

Language of flowers guide: carnations= fascination, distinction and love | peonies= love, romance and purity | baby’s breath= everlasting love, purity, innocence | iris’s= affection and devotion | violets= everlasting love, lesbian courting, faithfulness and modesty | lavender= love and devotion gardenias= protection, hope, love and trust

These are the meanings with romantic connotations it can differ based on the connotations. Can also differ based on color!!

───────┈ · ·

“Stupid fucking car! Stupid fucking auto shops!” You mutter to yourself as you walk into the auto repair shop. Your pink bug has been in the shop for two weeks now, something about an engine? You aren’t sure but you felt like it should be done by now! You also spaced everytime you talked to your mechanic because she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen!

“Excuse me?” You say with a wobble in your voice as you tap the mechanics shoulder. She is as handsome as ever and her gaze is electric!

Her floppy pink hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Vi her name tag read but it never seems to leave your lips…well at least in public.

“Hey sweet thing, more questions ‘bout the car?” She says smoothly as she rubs some oil on her overalls.

The lump in your throat thickens when she calls you that. Gosh she makes you squirm internally well you hope she doesn’t notice too much.

“Hi…uh yes please!” You follow her mindlessly and as soon as she updates you, you focus on the scar on her top lip or the freckles sprinkled across her cheeks or the way she cocks her eyebrow when she’s explaining car stuff to you or-

“Lost?” Her voice mellows out from excited to enchanting. “No! I didn’t mean to stare I was tryna listen.” This technically isn’t a complete lie!

With a nod you can tell she was trying to think of a way to explain it to you instead of getting mad at you. That’s a constant in your life, if you’re confused you’re use to being yelled at.

When she breaks it down for you, it all comes together! Before you could say thank you she says, “y’know it’s nice when you stop by.” Her hands nonchalantly slide into her pockets. “Oh I don’t do much when I’m here?”

“You don’t need to do much sweet thing.” She took a curt step forward. “A woman like you is enchanting to breathe next to.” Her voice lowered to a husky whisper. Not a husk of lust no, a husk of admiration.

Flustered you look away not exactly knowing how to respond. So you choose to flee like the fleeting honeybee you can be. “Wow look at the time! I have to be on my way-”

“Wait! I mean…may I have your number before you go?” This time she didn’t step any closer giving you some room to breathe not wanting to come off any stronger than she already is. You can tell she had to mentally work up to it, the tips of her pierced ears were red.

Excited but trying to keep calm you give her your number…well your work number. You accidentally made your business number your personal number and never went back after you printed out 500 business cards, which was also too many business cards!

Since that day you haven’t talked to Vi…traditionally at least. She’s been ordering bouquets from your shop and shipping it to meet you in the morning. The meanings behind each are beautiful and unique!

This bouquet had carnations, peonies and baby’s breath! Which confused you when you first saw them, typically she’s put some violet or lavender in there…

Maybe it was a signal to call her, or her affections has changed?

You were going to call truly but your nerves got the best of you! So when your car was ready you were going to surprise her!

Vi is under the impression you weren’t interested in her advances until she could hear the click of your heels as you try to walk as quietly as possible. It’s hard for someone as radiant as you to go unnoticed.

“Hey sweet thing, ready for your car?” She says softly mustering her small smile.

Before she could go on you hand her a bouquet that was behind your back. It was filled with violets, iris’s, lavender, gardenias and peonies with some sticks to add a rustic flare to it.

“I know I haven’t called nor given any action to your affections but I don’t want you to think they go unnoticed! Especially after you started to stop sending violets and lavenders I knew I had to do something. I would be naive to act as though I’m not attracted to you but-”

Vi cuts you off by waving her hand in the air, “thank you, y/n I appreciate it and you don’t have to explain yourself. I’m a woman of action and you babe are showing out.” She smiles as she takes the boquete. “Y’know I’ve never been given flowers? I…thank you.” She holds them closer to her chest.

Ever since then y’all have been spending your free time together. The workers at your shop love when Vi comes by. She’s always bringing snacks and good conversation! At first the guys at the shop were slightly annoyed by your presence but when you brought baked goods along with flowers for Vi, you were welcomed.

Vi pulled up to your shop after hours knowing you were closing. “Sweet thing you ready?” She smirks as she revs her motorcycle. Although she looks so hot on it you hate being on it with her but she always takes you home.

“Course pretty” you say with a smile and sway in your hips as you get on the back.

You two have a spot. It’s a cozy cliff on this mountain. It’s a bit of a drive but y’all don’t mind. The two of you set up blankets and food as you lay back and gaze at the stars…well you were. Vi was too busy staring your face off. Realizing she hasn’t been replying to your rambling you turn to her and stare back going to caress her cheek.

She’s at home with you. You validate her butchness as she to your femmeness. No one has ever been all that interested in her work, especially to the extent of helping her fix her dream car. You’re there for her and she’s here for you.

Vi has always been described as a courageous woman but when it comes to you? She’s a fucking wimp! The two of you have been taking it slow due to the courting process but she knew tonight was the night. The night she’d ask you to be hers…to try not to say that she loves you because she does. She can feel it in her gut.

“You okay Violet?” She melts when you say her name, the only person she wants to hear say it. She rolls on top of you, somewhat putting her weight on you, more her chest.

“Can you feel that? That’s how my heart beats everytime I’m around you. Which is concerning because I’m around you a lot!” She snorts causing you to laugh a little. You nuzzle your face into hers and you let her fingers entangle into yours.

“Be mine. I can’t live another second without you as mine, my counterpart, my femme, just mine.” She breathed as if she was letting a weight off her shoulders she didn’t know she had.

If she’d was quicker to open her eyes she’d see how excited you are. Impatient as you are you kiss her. The kiss starts off slow, just your lips pressed together awkwardly as you try to stop smiling.

Vi grips your hands tighter as she presses closer, biting your lip. She doesn’t want to make the kiss sloppy but she can’t help but explore you.

Her tongue presses and wraps itself around yours. You mumble her name and her breathe hicks. Her bulge presses against your thigh softly rutting as she kisses you.

You wrap a leg around her causing your skirt to fall some and she moves a hand to grip your thigh. Even though this kiss is moving fast there’s restraint from both end.

You break away to breathe a string of saliva following. “Should we go?” You whisper as she nuzzles into your neck groaning a yes.

The two of you are new to peace, especially a peace you two could provide each other. However you’re willing to get tangled into each other.

───────┈ · ·

A/N: i got nervous writing it teehee!! I hope you enjoyed @milanyas <3 I’m definitely going to expand on this idea because I lowkey feel like it could’ve been longer but I didn’t know how and I didn’t really want smut? I’ll probably make an imagine for you dolls!

Taglist- @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven @femme-historian @furrytaesss

Dividers- @8bbitbunni

[vandme12]

I barely see Ronin as a mechanic! Headcanons/Oneshots!

This was in my drafts for days..

You're not exactly sure how it happened. One minute, you’re flopped on Ronin's couch, droning on about how bored you are—how you could die of it, actually, right here, right now. The next, he's dragging you out to the garage like a wolf with a chew toy, all sharp teeth and brighter eyes, muttering something about “if you’re gonna whine, might as well make yourself useful.”

Useful, apparently, means learning how to fix cars. Because that’s what he does when he’s not busy tearing people apart. A little hands-on therapy. Take something broken, make it purr again. You guess it fits—devils need hobbies, too.

“I still think you should just let me die of boredom,” you grumble, arms folded as you watch him prop the hood open. It groans like a corpse stretching in its grave, metal rasping against metal.

Ronin snorts. "Dramatic much? C'mon, darlin', ain't gonna kill ya to learn how an engine works. Might even save your pretty ass one day."

You give him a look that could peel paint. "Or you could just fix it for me. That's what boyfriends are for."

That earns you a low, wicked laugh. The kind that slides under your skin and stays there. "Oh, sweet thing, you're in for it now. Open up those pretty hands—time to get 'em dirty."

He hands you a wrench, and you hold it like it's a foreign object. Ronin leans over the engine block, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, revealing forearms streaked in grease and little healing scrapes. He’s beautiful in the most ridiculous way: all messy burgundy hair, shark-teeth grin, and a nicotine burn low on his wrist. A devil working the bones of a machine.

And, lucky you—you get to be his little apprentice.

“So, what are we doing?” you ask, mostly to fill the silence. Ronin's in his element, already half-lost to the work. Fingers curling around bolts like he could coax the car to life with touch alone.

“Changing the spark plugs,” he says. Then, when you give him your best bewildered expression, he chuckles. “They help make the magic happen, baby. No spark, no fire, no joyride. Same as people, really.”

“Poetic,” you deadpan. “So, where do I start?”

Ronin tilts his head toward the engine. "Get in here, darlin. I ain't gonna hold your hand the whole way."

That is a lie, by the way. He absolutely will.

You squeeze next to him, shoulder brushing his. The garage smells like old oil, sweat, and something sweetly metallic underneath—not quite blood, but close enough that your stomach flips. His heat soaks into your skin when he leans in, hands guiding yours over the metal innards.

He explains things in that lazy drawl of his, a little smug every time you mess up. And you mess up a lot. Your fingers slip, your grip's too weak, you curse when you almost drop a spark plug into the engine. Ronin just watches, like he's enjoying the spectacle of you struggling.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, breath warm against your neck, “you’re real cute when you’re useless.”

“Fuck you,” you snap back, except it comes out a little too breathy. Which, of course, he catches. His smile goes sharp enough to cut.

"Careful, darlin'. Keep talkin' like that, I might start thinkin' you like it when I'm mean."

Your hands falter, and you feel his gaze crawl over you. Heavy, hot. You don't answer, because what would you even say? He's not wrong.

“Alright,” he says, voice softer but no less dangerous. “Tighten that one, yeah? Let’s see if you can follow basic fuckin' instructions.”

You try. You really do. But the angle's weird, and your fingers keep slipping, and why the hell is everything in a car so awkward? Your knee bumps against the wheel well when you lean in deeper, and suddenly you're halfway sprawled over the engine like a sacrificial offering.

Perfect. Exactly what Ronin wanted.

He catches you before you can slide further, one grease-slick hand curling around your waist. His other hand plucks the wrench from your grip with infuriating ease.

“Clumsy thing,” he drawls. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“You could start by letting me go,” you say, but you don’t mean it. Not even a little. And Ronin’s the last person alive to fall for your lies.

His fingers press harder against your waist. "Nah," he says, low and rough, “I like you right where you are.”

He kisses you before you can fire back. Messy, claiming, dragging the breath from your lungs. His teeth catch your lower lip and tug, pulling a noise from your throat you weren’t planning to make. The taste of him is familiar—smoke and something darker beneath it, something that’s always felt a little like danger. Like sin in the shape of a man.

When he pulls back, you’re half-dizzy. Your hands are still braced against the edge of the car, and you can feel how tightly he’s holding you, like you might slip away if he isn’t careful.

“See?” he purrs. “Told ya fixin' cars could be fun.”

“I hate you,” you mutter, but you press closer anyway.

He grins, blood-red and wicked. "Nah. You love me. Now, quit slacking and hand me that wrench, sweetheart. We got work to do."

Head canons!

"Bored, darling?" If you so much as hint that you’ve got nothing to do, Ronin’s dragging you to the garage. He’s already got his coveralls half-unzipped, grease smeared across his jaw like a smudged halo—saint of the scrapyard, king of the underworld. He’ll plop you in front of some busted hunk of metal and call it a “bonding experience.” (Translation: watching you struggle is his favorite form of entertainment.)

Zero discounts, actually. If anything, Ronin charges you extra. Call it the “boyfriend tax.” He’ll fix your ride, sure—but only after making you bribe him with a kiss (or several). You’re not getting off easy. If you try to sweet-talk your way to a lower price? He just leans in, smirks against your ear, and murmurs, “Ya know, darling, I could break it worse if you wanted somethin’ new. Keep me busy.”

His garage is your second home. He doesn’t just let anyone hang around while he works—this is sacred ground, baby. But you? You get to sit on the workbench, legs swinging while he’s half-buried under an engine. He’ll toss you snacks from his stash (suspiciously all junk food) and occasionally drag you over just to “hold something.” (Spoiler: he just wants you close.)

Oh, sweetheart, you thought you were getting a discount? Cute. Ronin charges extra for you—calls it the “Tax.” Every time you ask, he tuts like you're breaking his poor, mechanical heart. But let your car actually break down? Suddenly, it’s "Nah, baby, I got this." He’ll fix it before you even notice, no charge—he just likes making you owe him. (And oh, you owe him plenty.) "Ain’t about the money, darlin’. It’s about makin’ sure you need me. And you do, don’tcha?"

Every. Single. Time. You visit the garage, he’s sweaty, just to make sure you suffer. Bonus points if you’re there in the summer—he’ll stretch, flex, and wink while holding a wrench like he’s posing for a calendar shoot. Loves to call you his “little assistant”—but gives you the most pointless tasks. "Hold this bolt. No, not like that. With love, babe. Jeez, where’s your passion?" If you complain? You’re getting pinned against the nearest surface with grease-smudged fingers trailing down your jaw. "Maybe if you were good, I’d give ya the easy jobs. But nah, you like it rough, don’tcha?"

He makes you “help” with repairs. Even though you suck. But he’s patient—weirdly patient for someone with blood on his hands. He’ll guide your fingers over the engine, teach you the difference between spark plugs and fuel injectors like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. And if you mess up? He just laughs, leans over you, and drawls, “Cute try, baby. Maybe leave the hard stuff to me.”

Car rides are a whole other game. After fixing your vehicle, he insists on a “test drive” with you in the passenger seat. He drives one-handed, the other resting heavy on your thigh—like he’s claiming both the road and you. “Gotta make sure it’s runnin’ smooth,” he says, voice thick with innuendo.

Grease-streaked kisses. You always leave his garage marked—fingers on your waist, motor oil smudged along your neck from when he drags you close. And if you complain? He just grins. “Looks better on ya than it does on me, darling.”

Your vehicle has an unofficial VIP pass. No matter how busy he is, if it’s your car in trouble, everything else can wait. Doesn’t matter if it’s a busted tire or the whole engine blowing out—he’ll fix it, grinning like he lives for the chaos you bring. Just don’t expect him to let you off easy: “You keep breakin’ shit, sweetheart, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you just wanna see me sweaty.”

His garage playlist is insane. Half industrial metal, half bluesy rock—loud enough to shake the walls. You pretend to hate it, but there’s something weirdly attractive about watching Ronin, sleeves rolled up, half-cursing along to the music while elbow-deep in some Frankenstein engine. (And if you’re lucky? He’ll pull you into a grease-streaked dance right there on the oil-stained floor.)

[renaultmechanic]

Top maintenance tips for your Renault Trafic

Keeping your Renault Trafic in top condition ensures its longevity and optimal performance. Regular maintenance helps avoid costly repairs and assures your vehicle runs smoothly and efficiently. At Renault Mechanics in Melbourne, we specialise in providing expert Renault Trafic service and repair and service for Renault Master and other Renault cars. Here are our top maintenance tips to keep your…

[lipglossanon]

What If We Could

Best friend!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

A little more savory tier commission from @porcelainseashore and dedicated to AliBelleRosetta ✨

Word Count: 2404 (I’m not surprised at this point lmao)

Warnings: MDNI, neighbor Leon, crushes, jealous reader, light flirting, smoking, light voyeurism, teasing, half naked reader

proofread ✍️

↺ ◁◁͏͏ ll ▷▷ ⋮≡

Stepping out the back door, your breath mists in front of your face. The warmth of late summer has segued easily into the coolness of fall. You tug the sleeves of your overly big sweatshirt—one you stole from Leon although you can’t recall when—to make sure they don’t fall too low past your wrists. Thinking of your best friend brings a warmth—a tiny ember burning in your chest—and a soft smile to your face.

Looking over at his house, you're thankful for the millionth time that you guys ended up being neighbors. Stepping out into your backyard, you pick your way through the leaf-strewn path that runs between your yard and Leon’s. Glancing over, you take in the old oak tree with its tired rope swing that sits in the middle of both properties. 

It’s been years since it’s been used; musing to yourself, you think you must’ve been about eight years old when you quit playing on it. And the last time the swing was even used had to have been when you and Leon dared each other to swing as high as possible, then jump off. Wood smoke pervades your senses, and you breathe deep. It drags you from your reminiscing, focus shifting back to Leon’s house and, more importantly, to the open garage. 

Your fingers nervously rub across the mixtape in the front pocket of your hooded sweatshirt. Leon’s never had a bad word to say about your mixes, even letting you demo a few live in front of your home setup, but it always sends a frisson of nerves through you when giving him one—especially one you’ve made specifically for him.

Poking your head around the corner, you take in your best friend while he doesn’t realize you’re there. He’s frowning down at the engine, a smear of grease already staining the apple of one cheek. His fringe hangs low over his face, head tilted forward as he works on his Jeep. That low burning ember in your chest sparks to life. 

His blue eyes dart from part to part, mentally assessing his next move. His toolbox lies at his feet, lid flipped open and tools organized. Pushing off the side of the garage makes enough noise to draw his attention. A smile lights up his face when he realizes it’s you. 

“Hey! Didn’t think you were gonna come over today,” he steps away from the hood, grabbing up an old oil rag to start cleaning his hands. 

You shrug, “Didn’t feel like beatmatching today.”

You fiddle with the mixtape in your sweater before pulling it out. “Made you a new one.”

His eyes are soft when he walks over to pluck it from your hands. “Thanks. I think my last one is about worn out.”

He chuckles, and you grin a little bashfully. Throwing his arm over your shoulders, he guides you into the garage and over onto the ratty couch that’s been here forever. While you flop down onto the faded green cushions, springs groaning at the motion, Leon slips the new mixtape into his stereo. A heavy beat fills the speakers as he walks back over to join you on the couch.

“This one's yours?”

You nod, “I’ve got a few new tracks I’ve been messing around with.”

“Cool,” he relaxes into the cushions, head resting on the back. “Man, I’m tired.”

“Long night?”

“Kinda. Had to finish that paper for biology.”

Humming, you slip your shoes off and kick your feet up onto the couch. “I hate that class.”

He snorts, “Tell me about it.”

“Hey, Leon, I hate that class.”

He shakes his head at your sly smile, “Smartass.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“What’re you? Five?” 

You laugh, and he huffs a breath that you know is covering his own amusement. He pulls out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes from his pocket, smacking the bottom with his palm before working the last one out and slipping it into his mouth.

“Hey,” you perk up, stretching your legs out to prod a sock-covered foot at Leon’s leg. “I thought you quit.”

“I did,” he mumbles, lips pinched around the cigarette filter, hands patting at his jean pockets as he feels for his lighter.

Making a little hum at the discovery, he tugs it out of his left pocket, flipping the hinge of the zippo to spark the flint until a little gold flame appears. Cupping his hand, he takes a pull off the butt, snapping the Zippo shut with a flick of his wrist before blowing smoke from his nose. 

“C’mon, share,” you poke him again, and he clamps a hand around your ankle bone. Butterflies take flight in your sternum, insides fizzing like carbonated soda. 

It’s not the first time Leon’s caused this feeling. It’s something you’ve been avoiding by looking at too closely. 

“Say please,” he smirks at you, cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth.

You pout, and he runs his fingers underneath the hem of the leg of your jeans, calloused fingers brushing the skin. The fizzy excitement is back, bubbling in your sternum. 

“Please, Leon,” you murmur.

His eyes shift, the blue now a shade darker, while he plucks the cigarette from his lips. “See? How hard was that?”

Leaning forward, you take the filtered end and pull a drag off the lit cig. You both fall into a charged silence—not only sharing smoke, but a secondhand kiss with each pass of the filter between you two. Every now and again, Leon ashes the cigarette onto an old glass tray sitting on the floor. 

He keeps his hand loosely wrapped around your ankle the entire time, fingers mindlessly tracing across your skin. Feeling a little bold, you slip your other foot into his lap, and he hums. Giddiness at the action makes you a little lightheaded. 

He offers the butt to you. “Last one?”

You shake your head, “All yours.”

He takes one last drag of what’s left of the cigarette, then stubs it out in the ashtray. He lounges back on the couch, running his free hand through his hair.

“Actually.. what time is it?” He rolls his head to look over at you.

Squinting up at the silly cat clock on the wall, you read out the time. “You got a plane to catch?”

He rolls his eyes with a smile and gently pushes your feet off his lap. “No, I got a date with Heidi, said I’d pick her up at about six or so.”

Jealousy rears its green-eyed gaze and lasers you in its sights. The bubbly feeling from earlier sours, leaving confusion in its wake. 

“Oh.” The word slips from your lips quietly, softly. You thought they had broken up? Squishing down that nagging voice in your head, you clear your throat. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair then.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He stands up and holds his hand out to help you off the couch. 

“Of course, we’ve got history together.” You clasp his hand and let him pull you alongside him. “Don’t stay out too late.”

He chuckles and nudges you with his elbow, “No promises.”

Pretending that doesn't slice into your heart as well as buoys the jealousy sitting like a stone in your chest, you nod and step around him. As you head for the opening of the garage, his fingers tangle with yours and tug you to a stop. 

“Hey,” his voice is low and honeywarm when you turn to look at him. “Thanks for the music.”

He squeezes your hand gently, blue eyes searching your face. You can’t help but smile at him, squeezing his hand back. 

“You’re welcome, Leon.”

He grins, boyish and happy, then drops your hand to grab up his lighter and empty pack of cigarettes to stash them back in his pocket.

“Later!” He calls out, and you watch him head into his house through the kitchen door.

Cradling your hand to your chest, you walk back to your house, deep in thought with your tangled feelings. 

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Leon pulls into his driveway before the clock even strikes ten. He sits behind the steering wheel, eyes unseeing as he looks out the windshield. The date went off without a hitch; Heidi and he got along perfectly. But he couldn’t stop thinking back to you this afternoon. How you looked with a haze of smoke in the air, eyes glittering at him from across the couch.

You brought him another of your mixtapes, so shy and sweet—it’s cute, but he’s too chicken to ever tell you that. His heart lurched in his chest at seeing your face fall when he admitted why he had to leave early; it was telling in that you didn’t even realize you had done it. 

Climbing out of his Jeep, he digs out his new pack of cigarettes and decides to light one up before going inside. With his thoughts still on you, his feet take him around the side of the garage to the oak tree straddling the invisible line between your yards. He leans against the trunk, eyes flicking up to your bedroom window and almost choking on the smoke he blows out from his mouth on a sudden exhalation. 

The soft glow of the lamp on your nightstand bathes your room in a golden hue, fitting for the warmth mounting in Leon’s body. His eyes can’t stop taking you in, clad only in a loose shirt and sweats. He steps closer out from under the shadow of the tree to take a better look. You’re moving around your room, headphones over your ears, lost in your own little world.

Coming to a stop, Leon takes a long drag from his cigarette, slowly blowing out the smoke while he watches you dance around your room. You slip your sweats down and off, now only in your shirt and plain cotton panties. His heart pumps harder, pulse jumping in his neck. Leon knows he shouldn’t be peeping on you like this—knows he should turn around and go back home so you won’t think he’s some kinda pervert, but the temptation of you is too tantalizing. 

You bend forward to drop something onto your nightstand and glance up, locking eyes with him. Leon doesn’t move except to pull the filter away from his mouth to breathe out a smoke ring. You slowly stand tall, body language cautious. He’s close enough he can see you bite your lip, seeming to make up your mind as you tug on the bottom of your shirt.

He can’t stop the low groan from slipping from his lips; thankfully no one is around, when you slowly bring your shirt over your head and drop it into the floor. You stand there, like a vision, in just panties and a bra. He brings the cigarette back up to his lips to take a long drag. You tease your fingers underneath your bra straps, slipping them down one at a time. Leon’s heart is in his throat, eyes never leaving yours as you reach behind your back and undo the clasps. 

Once you bring your arms forward to let your bra fall away from your body, his eyes drop to greedily take in your bare breasts. Arousal pools in his gut while he stares at your soft peaks, your nipples hardening under his gaze. Cupping your breasts in your hands, you rub your thumbs over the tight buds, making him groan and run a shaky hand through his hair.

He drops the cig and stubs it out under his boot. Running his other hand down his thigh, he cups himself through his jeans, groaning at the pressure on his chubbed cock. He watches you bite your lip again, eyes fluttering when you lightly run your fingers around your areola before grazing your nipples. His palm presses harder onto his bulge, hips jumping at the dull pleasure. 

You smile at him, secretive and coquettish, bending forward again to pick up the shirt you dropped earlier. Leon bites back the disappointed groan when you pull your shirt back on, blowing him a saucy kiss before closing the curtains on your window. 

Leon shakes his head, arousal making his thoughts feel thick and slow. In a daze, he makes his way back over to his house and up to his own room. Deciding to take a cold shower before falling into bed, Leon knows that a line may have been crossed, and he’s not sure that he really cares.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Apparently it’s something neither of you are going to bring up. You were already seated in your usual spot when Leon came rushing in, minutes from the lecture starting. He shoots you his usual smile and a quick hello before pulling out his laptop and textbook. You frown at him, a quizzical pull of your brows, and he just winks. 

Shrugging a little, you turn back to the front of the class just as the teacher walks in, closing the door behind them. It’s silent between you two while the history lecture takes place. Once the lesson drags to a close, you wait for Leon to finish packing away his things. 

“You wanna grab an early lunch? I slept through my alarm and missed breakfast,” he grouses, rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand.

“Sure. Anywhere specific?” You fall into step with him as you leave the classroom, skin feeling warm when your arms brush. 

“Where’s that place that you found last week?” He pushes the door open, letting you exit the building first. 

“Oh, it’s just around the corner. They’ve got a decent selection, sandwiches, wraps, and the like,” you purse your lips in thought, and Leon slips his arm over your shoulders. 

Butterflies swarm your stomach, and you give him a side eye. It’s not unusual for Leon to do it, but after last night, you’re unsure of where you stand with him. 

“Sounds good to me,” he yawns. “Damn, I gotta start heading to bed earlier.”

Neither of you say anything about why he was up late, and by the end of the day, it’s like some weird shared dream that you may have had—distant, yet the feeling remains. 

And except for the times when you catch him staring, it’s business as usual, so everything’s fine between you two… right?

[fawnistry]

ᥫ᭡ dead dove: do not eat.

content warnings: dubcon, rough unprotected sex, semi-public sex, choking, hair-pulling, size kink.

▷ preview: your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, and the only person who stops is toji—a burly, smirking trucker with a very open attitude about "payment" for the ride. the cab of his rig isn't the only thing that gets oiled up on the way to your destination.

the engine sputters, dies, and suddenly you’re alone on a stretch of highway so empty it feels like the world forgot it existed. no signal, no gas station, just the hum of cicadas and the sinking dread in your gut.

that’s when his rig rumbles up behind you, air brakes hissing like a predator catching your scent. the door swings open, and there he is—all broad shoulders and a smirk that doesn’t promise safety. "need a ride, sweetheart?" his voice is rough, like gravel under tires.

you know better. but the sun’s dipping low, and the shadows between the trees are getting longer. so you climb in.

the cab smells like leather and cheap coffee, but underneath it—something darker. musk, sweat, the sharp tang of oil. he doesn’t ask where you’re going. just kicks the rig into gear and says, "hope you don’t mind rough rides."

you swallow hard.

his hand finds your thigh before you’ve even hit the highway’s rhythm, fingers digging in like he’s testing your give. "you ever done it in a semi before?" he asks, casual, like he’s asking about the weather.

you shake your head, pulse hammering.

"figured." his grin is all teeth. "gonna make it memorable."

then his hand’s sliding higher, pushing your legs apart like he owns the space between them. you gasp, but the sound gets swallowed by the engine’s growl. "c’mon," he murmurs, thumb circling over your jeans, already damp. "pay your fare."

you should push him away. but the way he’s looking at you—dark eyes locked on yours like he’s daring you to flinch—it makes your stomach twist hot and tight. so you unbuckle his belt instead.

he laughs, low and mean, when you take him in your hand. "that’s it," he growls, one hand fisted in your hair, the other guiding the wheel like this is nothing. "show me how bad you wanna get where you’re goin’."

you sink down, taking him into your mouth, and the groan he lets out vibrates through you. the rig swerves slightly, tires skimming the shoulder, but he doesn’t slow down. just tightens his grip in your hair and fucks up into your throat. "look at me," he orders.

you do.

his eyes are black with want, lips curled in a smirk as he watches you choke on him. "good girl," he rasps, thumb brushing your cheek where tears streak. "knew you’d take it rough."

you whimper around him, and he pulling over on the shoulder and flipping you around like you weigh nothing. your jeans shoved down your thighs. the seat’s cold against your skin, but his hands are hotter than hell as he spreads you open. "gonna feel this all the way to your stop," he promises.

then he’s pushing in, no patience, no mercy. the cab fills with the sound of skin slapping, your moans drowned out by the engine’s roar. he fucks you like he’s punishing the road beneath you, hips slamming hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

"fuck," he snarls, fingers bruising your hips. "knew you’d be tight."

you’re so full it hurts, but the pain just twists into pleasure, sharp and bright. his hand snakes around your throat, pulling you back against him as he murmurs in your ear, "next time your car breaks down, hope it’s me who finds you."

you come with a sob, clenching around him, and he follows with a groan, filling you up like he’s marking his claim.

when he finally pulls out, he wipes his fingers on your shirt, grinning like the devil. "still got a few hours till your exit," he says, buckling back up like nothing happened. "plenty of time for round two."

you shiver.

the road stretches ahead, endless and dark. and you realize—you’re not sure you wanna reach your destination after all.

[whimsicalwritersstuff]

Texas sun 🌻 chapter 1

Pairing: rancher!joel x fem!Reader

Summary: Under the scorching Texas sun, Joel Miller maintains his ranch with the same gruff expression he applies to keeping his loneliness at bay. But when his daughter's best friend arrives, armed with a smile that could melt ice and curves that make his blood run hot, his carefully constructed walls begin to crumble.

Note: hello! Welcome to my first fanfic series, I hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as I did and i humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy. <3 💞💞

word count: 1.599

Sarah had been looking forward to her summer break all semester, especially since it would be her first holiday since starting college. She had missed the small ranch she grew up in and was eager to return home. Her best friend, who was a few years older than her, was also coming back for the holidays, adding to her excitement.

The girls were driving through endless stretches of country roads, the GPS guiding their way through miles and miles of open countryside. The sun was beginning to set, the sky turning a beautiful shade of orange and gold.

They sat in comfortable silence, the hum of the engine and the radio playing softly in the background. The scenery outside was like something out of a painting, the rolling hills and fields stretching on forever. It was a peaceful and calming sight, and the girls were content to just drive and enjoy the journey.

As they continued driving, you turned to Sarah and asked, "So, how's the ranch doing? I bet your dad's been busy with the horses."

Sarah smiled, reminiscing about her childhood growing up on the ranch. "Yeah, Dad's always got his hands full with those horses. Never a dull moment out there, that's for sure."

You nodded in agreement and glanced down at the GPS, observing their progress. "Looks like we're getting close," you remarked, noting the decreasing distance to the ranch.

Sarah nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Yeah, we should be there in no time now."

The girls continued their journey, the landscape passing by in a blur of colors as the sun set behind them. Finally, they turned onto a long, dirt driveway, the ranch house coming into view in the distance.

The girls arrived at the ranch, parking the car near the house. They both got out, stretching their legs as they breathed in the fresh country air. The ranch house stood in front of them, a beautiful old structure with a wide porch and a large barn nearby.

As Sarah and you exited the car, they heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Joel Miller emerged from the barn, wiping his hands with a rag, obviously having been working on something mechanical. He gave the girls a nod of acknowledgement as he walked over.

As Joel approached, his expression softened upon seeing Sarah. "Hey there, kiddo," he said, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Good to have you back home."

Sarah grinned widely and ran up to her dad, embracing him in a tight hug. "It's great to be back," she said, burying her face in his chest.

"I missed you, kiddo," Joel replied, returning the hug and ruffling her hair affectionately.

Joel held onto Sarah for a few moments, relishing the feeling of having her back home. He pulled back slightly, taking a good look at her. "You've grown up."

Sarah smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. "I'm not a kid anymore, Dad."

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, you'll always be my little girl."

Joel was dressed in a green flannel shirt, the fabric worn and comfortable from years of wear and tear.

Joel had rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, revealing muscular forearms covered in scars and grease. The sleeves were stained with oil and dirt, evidence of his recent work in the barn. His black jeans were faded and covered in dirt and oil, He wore sturdy boots that had clearly seen better days, yet they suited him well nonetheless.

His eyes flicked from his daughter to the girl with her. "Who's your friend?" He asked gruffly, taking in your frame, you were older than Sarah, probably early twenties.

Sarah beamed up at her father, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "This is (your name), Dad. I told you about her - she's my roommate and best friend from college. I invited her to spend the holidays with us out here on the ranch."

You stepped forward, extending a hand with a knowing smile that seemed to acknowledge how protective Joel appeared. "Mr. Miller," you said warmly, "Sarah's told me so much about you and this beautiful ranch. Thank you for having me."

Joel's gaze softened slightly as he shook your hand, his large palm engulfing yours. "Call me Joel," he said gruffly. "You girls hungry? Just made dinner, your favorite Sarah." Sarah grinned widely as she followed Joel inside the house and you followed along.

As Joel moved around the kitchen, the scent of roasted chicken and creamy macaroni began to fill the air, It was clear that this was his specialty, and Sarah's stomach rumbled softly in anticipation.

Sarah nudged you gently, "Go on, sit down at the table," she urged. "Dad's gonna bring out the food any minute now. I'll be right there with the drinks."

She said before disappearing into the kitchen to help her father.

You sighed softly, setting your bag down near the hallway before wandering into the living room.

The house was cozy and warm, with a mix of rustic and modern decor. A large stone fireplace dominated one wall, surrounded by built-in bookshelves filled with worn leather-bound books and family photos.

The furniture was comfortable and well-worn, with a large sectional sofa in a rich, earthy brown that invited you to sink in. The walls were adorned with various ranch memorabilia—old saddle photos, antique tools, and even a few mounted deer heads that gave the room a distinctly masculine touch.

You approached the fireplace, your eyes scanning the photos. One frame caught your attention, and you giggled softly. Baby Sarah looked hilariously goofy, her cheeks puffed out, tongue sticking out slightly, giving an unladylike face.

You quickly pulled out your phone, snapping a picture of the adorable baby Sarah photo. You couldn't resist sending it to her with a caption that read: 'Found this gem!' Before tucking your phone away and walking into the dining room where the smell of food was even stronger.

You settled into a comfortable chair at the large wooden dining table, the scent of roasted chicken and macaroni making your mouth water.

Sarah appeared with a tray of drinks—iced tea for herself and Joel's special homemade lemonade for you—while Joel followed behind carrying a large platter of steaming chicken and macaroni.

Sarah placed the drinks on the table before grabbing a seat next to Joel. Joel placed the platter in the center of the table, taking his seat at the head of the table. Sarah reached out to grab a piece of chicken before Joel could even start serving.

"Dad makes the best macaroni," she mumbled around a mouthful. "Well now, y'all better eat up before this here chicken gets cold," he said with a warm smile, passing you a generous portion of macaroni first before serving Sarah and himself.

You thanked Joel softly, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you smiled. "This is really good," you murmured, taking a large forkful of the creamy macaroni. You realized you were hungrier than you thought, shoveling another forkful in quickly.

As you ate, Joel and Sarah chatted easily between bites. Sarah regaled you with stories about her high school drama club.

Joel's fork hovered mid-air as he turned his gaze towards you, his brown eyes curious beneath the dim lighting. "Hold up now," he drawled slowly, "'Scuse my manners but what year ya in college?"

You swallowed your bite quickly, wiping your mouth with a napkin "Oh, I'm actually in my last year," you replied, smiling slightly.

As the meal wrapped up, Sarah began gathering plates, but Joel's voice interrupted her. "Hold up now, Sarah," he said, his southern drawl warm and gentle. "No need for ya to clear the table tonight. Why don'tcha go on and show your friend here her room?"

Sarah smiled at Joel and turned to you. "Come on then," she said, leading the way upstairs. As they climbed the creaky wooden steps.

The guest bedroom was cozy and inviting, with a comfortable-looking bed pushed against one wall and a small window overlooking the ranch's expansive grounds.

Sarah flipped on the lamp beside the bed, casting a warm glow over the room. "Here we are," she said brightly. "Make yourself at home!"

You smiled as you took in the charming details of the room – the faded quilt on the bed, the antique dresser along one wall, and the colorful patchwork curtains framing the window.

You placed your bag on the floor near the bed, grateful for the warm and welcoming atmosphere. "Thanks, Sarah,"

"Get some rest. I'll come back later to check up on ya." She gave you a reassuring smile before heading towards the door.

Sarah quietly closed the door behind her, leaving you alone in the guest room. You could hear her footsteps descending the stairs and then the soft murmur of voices from downstairs - likely Joel and Sarah cleaning up dinner together. You began to unpack more of your things,

After hanging up your clothes and putting away your belongings in the closet and dresser drawers, exhaustion finally caught up with you. You flopped down onto the bed face-first with a soft sigh of relief, stretching out like a starfish across the mattress. The hours of driving had taken their toll,

The soft, comfortable bed welcomed you with open arms, and it wasn't long before your eyelids grew heavy.

You pulled a pillow under your head and snuggled into the blankets, letting out a soft yawn. Slowly, your breathing evened out, and you drifted off into a peaceful sleep,

To be continued

[bleach-your-panties]

ᰔℊℯ𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓉 𝓅ℴ𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃' with GIYUU TOMIOKA @ the mechanic shop.

for my 1500+ ᰔ𝒻ℴ𝓁𝓁ℴ𝓌ℯ𝓇 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃𝓉. requested by @rheawolf.

ᰔfem reader. giyuu and reader are married. modern au.

ᰔcw: pwp, public sex, against the wall, exhibitionism?

ᰔdividers by lovely rhy @/hitobaby.

ᰔwc: 1.3k

#💗💗🍡°taglist: @enchantedforest-network @kakushino @punkgibsons @darkstarlight82 @bakugosbratx @chifuyuskoneko @honeybleed

Once again, you let a loud sigh escape between your lips, prompting Giyuu to look over at you.

"What is it?"

His sapphire blue eyes were like the ocean on a calm day as he gazed down at you.

The two of you were currently seated in some creaky, aluminum folding chairs while the mechanic tinkered underneath your family SUV.

"Giyuu, honey, we've been here for a while now. Are you sure that this guy knows what he's doing?"

At the mention, said man slid out from under your vehicle and swiped his forearm across his forehead, effectively smearing it with oil.

"So I think I've found the problem. You said you've had trouble with idling?"

The mechanic, whose nametag read "Hotaru" regarded both you and Giyuu with his eyebrows drawn together while crossing his veiny forearms across his chest.

You nodded,

"I was getting ready to go drop the kids off at school when I noticed that the engine would cut on, idle for a few moments, then shut off. I tried cleaning the valve, but the issue persisted."

Hotaru nodded, "I see. Well if that's the case, it could be a number of problems, then. I'm going to have to take another look."

Your eyes bulged,

"Huh?! Another look, but we've already been here for three hours?!"

Giyuu's eyes moved from you to the long-haired mechanic.

"Maybe we could come back tomorrow? It is getting a bit late." He reasoned, in a much calmer tone than yours.

"If you come back tomorrow, that'll put you at the end of the queue. I'm quite a busy man, you know."

"What!!? Why you-"

Before you could start going off on the man, Giyuu took hold of your hand into his and rubbed your knuckles gently to calm you down.

"It's fine, sweetheart. I texted Tsutako earlier to pick up the kids from school if we ended up running over time. It will be alright."

He moved his hand to your lower back and gently guided you back to the row of uncomfortable chairs.

----

"They could at least put a couch in here." You grouched. Giyuu chuckled softly.

"Needy thing, aren't you? We should be home soon; I doubt it'll take another three hours."

You whirled in your chair to face him, propping one leg up over the other.

"What if it does, though? I just might die."

He leaned forehead and brushed away a lock of your hair.

"Behave, yeah? We'll have the whole evening to ourselves since Tsutako has the kids."

The thought of a free night with your husband made something primal stir within your core. It also didn't help that he had on one of your favorite outfits right now.

Dark-washed jeans, simple black sneakers, a black t-shirt, and a blue and black plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows revealing his tattooed forearms.

You wet your bottom lip with your tongue and settled your left hand onto his thigh. Your silver wedding band caught the pale-yellow overhead light, making it gleam.

"Something wrong, lily?" Giyuu asked, shifting his eyes to where your hand rested on his pants.

Your eyes moved from him to the mechanic, who was tinkering with something under the car and mumbling to himself.

"I don't know if I can wait until we get home..."

Seductively, you lowered your eyes before blinking at him long and slow. Your fingers began to rub circles into his thigh, making a soft sigh escape from his slightly parted lips.

"Right here? Right now?"

Giyuu questioned, immediately picking up your implication.

You nodded. "Please, Gi? I promise I'll be good."

He froze for a moment, his own eyes trailing over to the mechanic now.

The man was completely occupied by his task, him making little comments to himself about what he should try next; plus, his entire upper body was underneath the car.

Giyuu then looked past the waiting area and into a small hallway where he assumed there might be an office and a bathroom.

"Come on."

He grabbed your hand and you started cheering inside your head.

Just behind the wall leading into the hallway there was a little corner with a vending machine and water fountain.

Giyuu pushed you up against the wall next to the vending machine and started kissing your neck. You wrapped your arms around his upper back and tangled your fingers in the ends of his dark ponytail.

His own hands rested on your shoulders before moving down over your breasts, stomach, and into your pants.

Skillful, calculated fingers jerked them down your hips along with your panties. The knuckle of his left index finger slid up between your folds and collected a trail of your slick.

"Damn, you're this wet already? You really wanted this, huh..."

He pulled back to look at your widened, lust-blown eyes and pouty lips.

"Want you, Gi..."

Who was he to make you wait any longer?

He tugged your pants and panties the rest of the way off your legs and circled his arms around your lower back.

"Jump."

You did as he commanded and he held you against the wall with one arm circled around your back, his body pressing you into the cold, painted-bricks.

He used his other hand to pull his own pants and boxers down to rest underneath his balls, freeing his cock.

Lifting you higher up the wall, Giyuu angled his cock up so you could sink down on it. Immediately, a loud whine left your throat.

"Shh, you want him to hear you? Hmm, maybe you do..."

He then hooked his arms underneath your thighs, holding you with the crease of your knees in the crease of his elbows and spreading you open before beginning to bounce you along his thick, hard cock..

"Ahh, Gi!"

"Crying already? We just started, baby."

Your back pressed further against the bricks, running from his dick and nails digging into his shoulders.

Giyuu's thrusts had you sliding up and down the wall with nowhere to run.

He pressed his entire body weight on you and started fucking at a quicker pace, one knee slightly bent forward and almost touching the wall as he gave you swift, deep strokes.

At this point, you'd nearly forgotten that you were in a public place where anyone could walk in and see you, but you couldn't be arsed to really care with Giyuu filling you up so well.

You tried to hold onto him as best you could, hands moving from his shoulders and grabbing hold of his messy black hair in an attempt to ground yourself.

"Are you close? Talk." He stared at you with those deep blue eyes and hit you with another hard, deep thrust before pushing his face into your neck to lick and kiss it.

"Yes, Gi, I'm-!"

He felt your body shudder and decided to finish you off by pushing you up even higher against the wall and dropping you down on his cock, making you cum and squirt your release all over him.

----

Giyuu and you exited the bathroom and met the mechanic, Hotaru, in the hallway as you were heading back to the waiting area.

"I managed to fix the problem, so you should be all set to go."

He handed the bill to Giyuu, who took out his wallet to pay.

"Wait -wait a minute, let me see that?"

You gently took the piece of paper from your husband's fingers and scanned your e/c eyes over it.

"What is this: $300, for an inconvenience fee?!"

You crumpled the bill up in your hand and shook it at the mechanic's face.

"Yes, an inconvenience fee. For making me listen to the two of you fuck while I fixed your shitty car."

----

a/n:*I apologize if giyuu's ooc, haven't seen him in a while :< but i ended up posting this on his birthday!:D

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