#I wonder how much horsepower this thing gets | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

allsouls-emma · 1 month

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heyy bestie!! i noticed you’re also an f1 fan (as am i) i was wondering if you could write an f1 driver reader! x leon marchand! preferably a ferrari driver (forza ferrari always)🤞

✧Scarlett Red in a Ferrari ✧

─ Léon Marchand x OC, Léon Marchand x Reader, f1 driver reader! x leon marchand!

OMG OMG @scottstr3et, I AM SO EXCITED. I adore F1 (Mclaren Girlie at heart) this was so much fun!! i really hope you love this as much as i did!.

Warnings: f1 driver reader! x leon marchand!, Strangers to lovers, silverstone, F1 and swimming crossover, Fluff!

The roar of the Ferrari engine was a symphony Y/N had dreamt about for years. Every twist and turn of the Maranello track felt surreal, as if they were floating on a cloud made of horsepower and adrenaline. This was their first official day as a Ferrari driver—a dream so vivid it felt almost tangible, like the very wheel they were gripping.

"Y/N, how’s the car feeling?" the engineer's voice crackled through the radio, breaking their reverie.

Y/N's heart pounded in sync with the engine. "It’s responsive, stable... feels perfect. Ready to push it."

"Copy that. Let's get you warmed up with a few laps."

Y/N pressed down on the accelerator, feeling the immense power surge through the car as they exited the pit lane. The sensation was overwhelming—an intoxicating blend of fear, excitement, and sheer determination. The car danced through the corners, gripping the asphalt with ease. Every vibration through the steering wheel communicated the car's every nuance, and Y/N responded instinctively, as if the car was an extension of their body.

But with the thrill came pressure. Driving for Ferrari wasn't just about skill; it was about legacy, and Y/N knew the weight of that responsibility. The team was expecting results. The Tifosi—Ferrari's passionate fanbase—were expecting miracles.

As Y/N completed the first few laps, the rhythm started to set in, nerves slowly morphing into confidence. It was during the cool-down lap that the thought crept in—could they really do this? Compete at the highest level, under the brightest spotlight?

"Good job, Y/N. Bring it back to the pits," the engineer's voice instructed, breaking through their thoughts.

Y/N eased off the throttle, guiding the car back into the pit lane. After parking and stepping out, the intense heat from the car mixed with the cool Maranello air, creating a strange but comforting sensation. The team was gathered around, checking data, and analyzing every second of the run.

Y/N took off their helmet, running a hand through sweat-dampened hair. The sight of the Ferrari crew bustling about with purpose made their heart swell with pride. They were really here.

"Solid run out there," the team principal said, clapping Y/N on the shoulder. "We’ll go over the data, but things are looking promising."

"Thanks," Y/N replied, trying to keep their voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through them.

As they walked away from the car, the reality of their new life started to settle in. This was just the beginning of a grueling season—one that would test them mentally, physically, and emotionally. But Y/N was ready to face it head-on. After all, this was their dream.

The season opener in Bahrain was fast approaching, and Y/N was putting in extra hours at the simulator, fine-tuning their understanding of the car. The Ferrari hospitality suite buzzed with activity as preparations were in full swing, but Y/N's focus was singular.

"You're going to wear yourself out before the race even starts," a familiar voice teased.

Y/N turned around to find Charles Leclerc leaning casually against the doorway, a small smirk playing on his lips. The Monegasque driver had been with Ferrari for a few seasons now, and his presence in the team was both comforting and challenging—a benchmark to measure oneself against.

"Just making sure I’m as prepared as possible," Y/N replied with a smile. "Can’t leave anything to chance."

Charles chuckled. "Smart, but don’t forget to live a little. The season is long, and you need to find balance."

Y/N nodded, appreciating the advice. "What about you? How do you find that balance?"

Charles shrugged. "I go home, spend time with family, or just do something completely unrelated to racing. It helps keep the mind fresh. You should try it."

Y/N knew he was right. The pressure of being a Ferrari driver was immense, and they needed to find a way to manage it without burning out.

"Actually," Charles continued, "there’s a swimming event this weekend in Monaco. I know you're new to the team, but you should come. A lot of the drivers are going, and it could be a good way to unwind before the chaos starts."

Y/N hesitated. Swimming events weren’t really their scene, but the idea of taking a break and bonding with other drivers was appealing. Plus, Charles had a point—getting out of the racing mindset, even briefly, could be beneficial.

"Alright, I’m in," Y/N finally agreed.

"Great. It’ll be fun, I promise," Charles said with a grin. "And who knows, you might meet some interesting people."

---

That weekend, Y/N found themselves in Monaco, surrounded by a different kind of athlete. The energy was more relaxed, yet still competitive. The event was packed, with the audience buzzing as swimmers took to the pool. Y/N was impressed by the sheer physicality of the sport, the way the swimmers cut through the water with such grace and power.

Charles had been right—this was exactly the kind of break they needed.

"Hey, you made it!" Charles said, walking up to Y/N with a drink in hand.

"Yeah, you were right. This is a nice change of pace," Y/N replied, watching as the next race started.

As they were talking, a swimmer emerged from the pool, his dark hair slicked back and water dripping off his muscular frame. He pulled off his cap and goggles, revealing a strikingly handsome face, his intense blue eyes scanning the crowd. There was something magnetic about him, a confidence in the way he carried himself that caught Y/N's attention.

"That’s Leon Marchand," Charles said, noticing Y/N's gaze. "He’s one of the top swimmers in the world right now. Won a bunch of medals already."

Y/N nodded, trying to appear nonchalant. "He looks like he was born for this."

"He probably was," Charles replied with a chuckle. "Come on, I’ll introduce you."

They made their way over to where Leon was toweling off, the crowd around them buzzing with excitement. When Charles approached, Leon looked up, a friendly smile breaking through his focused expression.

"Hey, Charles! Good to see you," Leon said, his voice warm despite the exhaustion of the race.

"Leon, this is Y/N. They’re new to Ferrari this year," Charles introduced them with a casual wave.

Y/N extended a hand, trying to ignore the sudden flutter of nerves. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Leon replied, his handshake firm but not overpowering. His eyes lingered on Y/N's for a moment, and there was a spark of recognition, like he was trying to place them.

"You did great out there," Y/N said, trying to fill the silence.

"Thanks. I’ve been putting in a lot of work lately. You’re with Ferrari, right? That must be intense."

Y/N nodded, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious under Leon's gaze. "Yeah, it’s been a lot, but I’m ready for the challenge."

"I’m sure you are," Leon replied, his smile widening slightly. "It’s not every day you meet someone who drives at 300 kilometers an hour for a living."

"Well, it’s not every day you meet someone who swims like a dolphin," Y/N shot back, surprising themselves with their quick wit.

Leon laughed, a genuine sound that made Y/N's heart skip a beat. "Touché."

As the conversation continued, Y/N found themselves drawn to Leon’s easygoing nature and the way he seemed genuinely interested in their world. They talked about the pressures of their respective sports, the rigorous training schedules, and the sacrifices they had to make to stay on top. There was an understanding between them that transcended words—a shared recognition of what it meant to be the best in your field.

When the evening wound down and the crowd began to disperse, Leon turned to Y/N, his expression softening. "I’m glad we met today. Maybe we could hang out sometime, when we’re not both in the middle of our crazy schedules?"

Y/N felt a warmth spread through them at the invitation. "I’d like that."

As they exchanged numbers and said their goodbyes, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like something significant had just begun. Maybe Charles was right—finding balance didn’t mean stepping away from the competition; it meant finding someone who understood it just as much as you did.

The weeks following their encounter with Leon were a whirlwind. The F1 season kicked off with a bang, and Y/N was thrust into the chaos of race weekends, media commitments, and constant travel. Yet, amidst the frenzy, there was a constant thought that kept them grounded—Leon.

They’d texted sporadically at first, brief conversations about their respective sports and the occasional joke. But as the races piled up and the pressures mounted, those texts became a lifeline for Y/N. Leon had a way of making them laugh, even on the toughest days, and his encouragement was a steady source of support.

It wasn’t long before they found themselves looking forward to hearing from him, their conversations becoming more frequent and personal. They’d talk late into the night, sharing stories about their childhoods, their dreams, and their fears. The connection between them grew stronger with each passing day, even though they hadn’t seen each other in person since that day in Monaco.

One evening, after a particularly grueling race in Spain where Y/N finished just off the podium, they found themselves alone in their hotel room, scrolling through messages when Leon’s name popped up on the screen.

**Leon:** Tough race today. You did well, though. P4 is still a great result. You should be proud.

Y/N smiled at the message, the frustration of missing out on the podium slightly easing as they typed back a reply.

**Y/N:** Thanks, Leon. It’s tough to come so close, but yeah, I��ll take it. How’s training going for you?

**Leon:** Intense as always, but I’m getting there. Actually, I’ve got a bit of a break coming up next weekend. What’s your next race?

**Y/N:** Silverstone. Big one. The British fans are something else.

**Leon:** Sounds amazing. Would you mind some company?

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. The thought of having Leon at Silverstone, cheering them on, filled them with a warmth they hadn’t felt in a long time.

**Y/N:** I’d love that. It’ll be chaotic, but having you there would be awesome.

**Leon:** It’s a date, then. I’ll be your personal cheerleader.

Y/N grinned at the message, their mind already racing ahead to what it would be like to have Leon there. The idea of him being in the crowd, supporting them, made the upcoming race feel even more significant.

---

Silverstone was electric. The air buzzed with excitement as the fans poured into the stands, draped in the Union Jack, chanting for their favorite drivers. For Y/N, this race felt different. The pressure was there, of course, but it was accompanied by a sense of anticipation they hadn’t felt before.

Leon arrived on Saturday, just in time for qualifying. Y/N met him in the Ferrari hospitality suite, and as soon as they saw him, they couldn’t help but smile. He looked relaxed, dressed casually in a polo shirt and jeans, but his presence had an immediate calming effect on Y/N.

"Hey, you made it!" Y/N said, pulling him into a quick, but warm hug.

"Wouldn’t miss it for the world," Leon replied, his smile just as bright as Y/N’s. "This place is insane. I’ve never seen anything like it."

"It’s definitely a different kind of crazy," Y/N laughed. "Come on, let me show you around."

They spent the next hour exploring the paddock, with Y/N introducing Leon to various team members and fellow drivers. Leon was a hit—his easygoing nature and genuine interest in the sport winning everyone over. Y/N could tell he was fascinated by the intricacies of F1, asking questions about the car setups, race strategies, and what it felt like to drive at such high speeds.

When it was time for qualifying, Leon took his seat in the Ferrari suite, watching intently as Y/N climbed into the car. The qualifying session was intense, with Y/N pushing the car to its limits around Silverstone’s fast, flowing corners. The roar of the crowd was deafening as Y/N crossed the line, securing P2 for the race.

Afterward, Y/N found Leon waiting for them, a proud smile on his face. "P2! You were incredible out there!"

"Thanks, but it’s only half the job," Y/N replied, still buzzing from the session. "Tomorrow’s the real test."

"You’ve got this," Leon said, his confidence in Y/N unwavering. "I’ll be cheering you on the whole way."

Y/N felt a surge of emotion at his words. Leon’s belief in them was like a shot of adrenaline, fueling their determination to deliver on race day.

---

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, the perfect day for racing. The atmosphere at Silverstone was electric, with over a hundred thousand fans packed into the grandstands, their cheers echoing around the historic circuit.

Y/N felt a mixture of nerves and excitement as they prepared for the race. They could feel the energy in the air, the sense that something special was about to happen. And knowing Leon was there, watching, only intensified those feelings.

As the race began, Y/N got off to a strong start, maintaining their position in the top three. The battle for the lead was fierce, with every lap pushing the drivers to their limits. The corners flew by in a blur, the roar of the engine drowning out everything else.

Leon watched from the suite, his heart pounding as Y/N fought for every inch on the track. He’d never experienced anything like this before—the sheer speed, the danger, the skill it took to control such a powerful machine. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

As the race entered its final stages, Y/N found themselves in a tight battle for the lead. The car ahead was fast, but Y/N was faster, and with a few laps to go, they made their move, diving down the inside at Stowe corner to take the lead.

The crowd erupted as Y/N crossed the line in first place, the checkered flag waving them home. It was a moment of pure elation, a victory that meant the world to them.

After parking the car and jumping out, Y/N was greeted by their team, hugs and cheers all around. But it was Leon they sought out first, their eyes scanning the crowd until they found him making his way through the throng of people.

As soon as their eyes met, Y/N broke into a run, their heart pounding with joy. Leon caught them as they reached him, pulling them into a tight embrace. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in that moment of pure happiness.

"You did it!" Leon exclaimed, his voice full of pride and emotion.

"I couldn’t have done it without you," Y/N replied, their voice thick with emotion. The adrenaline of the race was still coursing through them, but it was mixed with something else—a deep, overwhelming feeling for the man standing in front of them.

Without thinking, Y/N leaned in, capturing Leon’s lips in a kiss. It was spontaneous, driven by the rush of victory and the connection they’d been building over the past few weeks. The kiss was brief but intense, a moment of pure passion that took them both by surprise.

When they pulled back, Y/N saw the surprise in Leon’s eyes, but also something else—something that mirrored the emotions they were feeling.

"Wow," Leon whispered, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "That was... unexpected."

Y/N laughed, their heart swelling with affection. "Sorry, I just... I couldn’t help it."

"Don’t apologize," Leon said, his hand cupping Y/N’s cheek. "I’m glad you did."

Before they could say anything more, the team was calling for Y/N to head to the podium. Y/N looked back at Leon, their eyes locking once more.

"Stay close, okay? I want you to be there when I get off the podium."

"I’ll be right here," Leon promised, his smile warm and reassuring.

With one last squeeze of Leon’s hand, Y/N turned and headed toward the podium, the cheers of the crowd ringing in their ears. As they stepped onto the top step, the weight of the moment hit them—the culmination of all their hard work, their dreams, and the support of the people who believed in them.

And as the national anthem played and the champagne flowed, Y/N’s thoughts were with Leon. They knew this was just the beginning of something incredible, both on and off the track.

When the podium celebrations were over, Y/N quickly made their way back to Leon, who was waiting just where he’d promised. Without a word, Y/N pulled him into another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate, a promise of what was to come.

As they finally pulled away, Y/N rested their forehead against Leon’s, their smiles mirroring each other.

"Looks like I’ve got another reason to love racing," Y/N said softly.

Leon chuckled, his eyes shining with happiness. "And I’ve got a new favorite driver."

Together, they walked away from the podium, hand in hand, ready to face whatever the future held.

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yandere-writer-momo · 1 year

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Katou would proudly show reader his bike (because of course he is), reader praises him for the work he's done on it and I just KNOW he'd immediately picture reader and him doing it left, right and center on his bike because my mans couldn't handle the praise and takes it as an invitation.

Going absolutely feral over the attention our Sewer King is getting lately. My mans finally getting the attention he deserves and needs !!

I could definitely make a little short story about him and his fantasies. I also have a shower sexy time draft in my inbox (as per request). He has people in a chokehold right now…

And I love how he was in a sewer once and everyone calls him the sewer king 😭😭 ONCE.

I also love the idea of him having a big fat crush on the receptionist at the Shinshinkai dojo. He hates being a ‘simp’ but he’s so easy to tease, it’s not even funny. Kaoru probably isn’t used to getting hit on/ teased in a flirtatious manner.

Minors DNI.

TW: Yandere behavior, sexual fantasies, and adult content

🌶️ Yandere Baki Short Stories: Fantasies 🌶️

Kiyosumi Katou x Gender Neutral Reader

“I love the new additions!” You walked around Katou’s bike to openly admire the modifications he’s done to it. “Did you add some rear shocks?”

“I did… I also added quilted leather seats and new mufflers.”” Katou blushed a bit, his chest swelled up with pride. He was so happy that someone finally noticed the efforts he put into his bike. No one really gave him much attention other than Suedou…

You bent down to check out his mufflers, Katou’s whole face blushing a bright red when he noticed your pants hiked up a bit from the movement. The curve of your bottom was now more visible to his starving eyes. Katou had to look away before he became too visibly aroused. It was wrong to stare at the dojo’s receptionist like this…

Your eyes sparkle as you admire the chrome mufflers. Katou must’ve put a lot of money into this bike, it had a lot more modifications than you originally thought. “Wow… your bike is kind of sexy isn’t it?”

You laugh at Katou’s cherry red face. What was he so worked up about? You were just complimenting the bike…

Now Katou has never heard someone call his bike sexy before… or did you think he was sexy? Katou was a bit of a looker, wasn’t he? He might be a bit of a greaser, but he certainly didn’t think he’d be your type… you were such a goody two shoes.

Maybe you had a thing for bad boys? If you asked nicely, he’d bend you over his bike and have his way with you. He wondered how tight you were… how your skin would feel against his. How pretty your moans would be. If you’d be willing to get on top of him and ride him instead-

“How many horse power?” Your soft voice broke him out of his salacious thoughts. Katou nervously rubbed the back of his neck. Stupid. It was stupid of him to think of you like that. You were just being friendly…

“It’s 115 horsepower.” A brilliant idea went through his head and he blurted it out, “Do you… want to go for a ride?”

You smiled at him. He would take you on his bike? How sweet of him…

“I’d love to.” You go over to climb on the back of the bike,but Katou shook his head.

“H-here. Take my jacket.” Katou took off his leather jacket and offered it to you. Damn this stupid crush of his, he was acting like a simp.

You accept the leather jacket with a smile. Katou’s strong scent of leather, musk, and cigarette smoke overwhelmed you a bit but it was better to be safe than sorry. The jacket gun on your frame a bit due to his muscular build.

“Thank you, Katou.” You do a little twirl for him, your hands grabbing the front of the jacket. “How do I look?”

Katou bit his lip and shifted his legs to try to soothe the discomfort in his pants. He loved the way you looked in his jacket. Now he wanted to know what you’d look like in one of his shirts after the two of you spent the night together. Would you have a bit of bed head and tear stains down your cheeks? Would you make him breakfast in bed and sleep in with him until noon? Would you leave marks all down his back or would he leave them down yours-

Katou froze when your hands suddenly grabbed his. A blush on his cheeks when he realized you had just touched him.

“Earth to Kiyosumi Katou.” You joked with a grin. “Do I leave you speechless?”

“You look okay…” Katou turns his head the other way to try to hide his blush. He tried to lessen the damage to his reputation of not being a simp (he totally is).

You snicker at his attempt to play off his obvious ogling. Katou was your favorite to tease at the dojo because he was so easy to rile up. It was funny.

Katou got onto his bike and patted the small space behind him. His palms began to sweat once he felt you shift beside him. You climbed onto his bike with little difficulty.

He almost creamed his pants when you pressed your body against his, your arms securely wrapped around his waist.

“Wow. I didn’t think you’d be so built Katou. Crazy what that karate uniform hides.” Your jokes only rile him up even more. Thank goodness you can’t see his reactions from the back of the bike. He could easily pass for a tomato.

He wondered if you’d be willing to reach your hands into his waist band and touch him as he drove- why was he like this? Katou was hopeless. He was way too horny to be around you right now.

Katou took in a deep breath and started the bike. The motor came to life with a rumble.

“Are you ready? Hold on.” Your chest pressed against his back in such a delicious way, he almost lost himself in his head again.

Katou assured himself that for now, he could settle for this small amount of physical touch with you… this could satiate his fantasies for awhile longer. Your warmth gave him comfort and fueled his longing for you. You were a drug he would never quit.

But Katou knew that it wouldn’t be long before his desires started slipping through the cracks. So until then, he’d let fantasies be fantasies.

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formulatrash · 2 years

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Hi, whats your opinion on Susie Wolffs new position with the F1 Academy? I scrolled too far down the comments on the announcement post and am effing angry now, because i think there could not be a better person for that role, but at he same time i can understand that working on opposite sides in the same organisation as your husband can be perceived wrong. I don't really see the problem though, as a managing director of a different race series she won't have much contact with the official side of f1, won't she?

Sorry if this is unclear, not my first language ✌️

hello - thank you for the question, your english is perfect. (mine probably less so haha)

Susie is 100% the right person to lead F1 Academy; I'm only surprised they managed to convince her to take the role. that says a lot about some credible stuff behind the scenes that I haven't always credited F1 Academy with, so far.

as with Venturi, Susie doesn't do projects if she doesn't think they're right. she doesn't need to, she only puts her name to things where she believes she is the right person to do them and that there is something worth doing.

so to have her coming onboard for F1 Academy is a huge sign for the series. I don't need to tell you Susie is absurdly driven and extremely well connected, she can represent and help the girls - many of whom should be teenagers, it's an F4 series so they only need to be 15 and I don't, unfortunately, need to tell you how much the press will fucking suck about that - navigate a world that's inherently hostile to and doubtful of them.

This is from an interview I did with Susie in 2021, about how to get more women into motorsport (which she did very successfully, with Venturi, by the simple act of hiring them)

"I didn't think at all about the fact that I was a woman doing it until we had our first media call," Wolff said (with a UK newspaper, if you were wondering). "And I remember it so clearly because [when] we had the call, I remember exactly where I sitting. The first question was: 'Did your husband get you the job?' The second question was: 'What qualifies you at all?' And the third question was: 'How do you manage being a mother and a team principal?'"

She flagged a stark comparison to the interviews done with another former driver who stepped up to a team principal role at the same time as she did. "These are the first questions I get, in my first interview as a team principal. And I know they're not saying this to Allan McNish; he's got two kids, he's an ex-racing driver. What gives you the right to think that my husband got me the job?"

It's hard to put into words how important it's gonna be to have someone who gets that putting herself in the line of fire for up-and-coming young women. their records are going to be scrutinised, their lap times will be exaggeratedly plumbed into - christ, look how shit the Formula E Gen3 is with Hankook tyres. it's literally slower than the Gen2 even though it's 100kg lighter and has 100kW more horsepower and you had the brain geniuses of Twitter explaining that actually, W Series setting different times on Hankooks to Formula Regional on Michelins just meant that girls suck.

for the record, I don't think it matters at all that her husband is the head of a team in a different series. F1 Academy is not feeding directly to F1, it's an F4 series and if, say, Merc junior Luna Fluxa wanted to get in then she'd need to find the backing same as the rest of the field. (she's currently too young)

there's only one race where F1 Academy will be on the same circuit as F1 (COTA) and the majority of the championship will be done by then. so they won't even be in the same geographical place - and if Susie pops into the Merc hospitality to use the coffee machine when they are then I don't think even the amateur cops of F1 twitter can manufacture a scandal.

also I think people need to remember Susie came up karting against Lewis and they are friends. different parts of a diversity discussion but ones that come from literally the same karting tracks.

#motorsport asks

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thestalwartheart · 2 years

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Hi! Not sure if you're taking prompts, but I'd love to see a 00Q story that addresses the defibrillator screw-up in Casino Royale. Whenever I watch that scene, I think "That never would have happened with (Wishaw's) Q there."

Hi!

I love, love, love this idea. In fact, I love it so much I want to make a series about it, but for now we'll have to deal with a short.

I was lucky enough to watch Casino Royale in a cinema the other night, and whoa boy did I have feelings about it all. This little scene came straight into my brain. A lot goes unsaid here, and it's pre-relationship, but I hope you like it anyway!

Read it on AO3 or below 😊 Feedback is always dearly appreciated!

competence.

The personalised gun is a stroke of genius, but it’s only one stroke of genius. It’s not until a couple of months later that Bond is assured Q Branch is in good hands.

He’s in the garage, escorted by Tanner, who is immediately distracted by the prospect of inspecting a Triumph motorcycle. Bond wonders vaguely if he’s on the verge of a midlife crisis.

Around the room, mechanics and engineers move about with ant-like industriousness. They scurry under cars, motorcycles, and, most memorably, a jet-black speedboat that looks no less lethal for its compact size. The busyness of it all, however, is highly organised. There’s not a speck of dust in the air or on the floor. There are no superfluous conversations, either. Every word spoken in the room is about horsepower or weaponry or which wires need to be joined or cut. Otherwise, there is only silence — the peaceful kind that exists between people who feel a great sense of camaraderie with each other.

When Q walks in, the room loses a little bit of its air.

Not that Q notices. He smiles benignly, and a little distractedly, at the workers who greet him with a “Sir” and a nod of their heads. Not aware of his own status, then, surmises Bond. And it is his own, not the title’s. Bond’s seen enough people play at Quartermaster to know the difference between genuine respect from the Q Branch staff and a pale imitation of it.

He’s dressed in a navy corduroy suit today, paired with a similarly dark checked shirt and a maroon tie. Bond can tell by his collar that the outfit started out ironed, though it now has the creases of a day at work folded into it. Q would still get away with it if it weren’t for the hair, which looks as if it’s been tugged in a hundred different directions throughout the day. It's likely the result of paperwork or a meeting with accounting. In the few missions Bond's gone on with Q in his ear, he's learned Q never gets this riled by matters within his own department. Nor is he very intimidated by the dangers of the field.

Bond has the mad urge to tuck away one of Q's wayward curls behind his ear.

Q, entirely unaware of those thoughts, saves his most genuine smile for Bond. It’s not wide. It’s a short, sharp little thing, but like the jet-black speedboat, it’s no less impactful for its neatness.

“007. Lovely to see you.”

Q leads him over to a beautiful Aston Martin. It’s the car Bond’s eyes had first been drawn to, though it seemed understated at first glance, placed as it was in a room full of snazzy red coupes and deadly-looking Jeeps. Q’s face assumes a bit of smugness, as if he’d known from before he walked into the room where Bond’s attention would lie.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” remarks Q in that smooth, crisp voice of his. “I don’t just mean the car, though she is extraordinary. No, it never ceases to amaze me how much taxpayer money we pour down the drain for fifteen minutes of technological glory, only for it all to end up at the bottom of a river.”

Q looks over, briefly, at a car’s waterlogged skeleton. Formerly a sleek black Jaguar, and, if Bond remembers correctly — which he does — it was assigned to 009 a week ago.

Bond smiles. “Have some faith. I like to show them an hour, at the very least.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s what you tell all of them.”

Q doesn’t give Bond the pleasure of answering back to that. Immediately, he launches into a monologue about technical specifications. Bond listens with interest — though he doesn’t show it — impressed at the safety improvements and the many tricks up the car’s sleeve, though he’s most impressed by the newness of the miniguns. Custom-ordered, apparently. Before this Q, there hadn’t been custom-built guns in Q Branch for over a decade.

There hadn’t been very much worth noting from Q Branch at all in that time.

It’s only when Q opens the car’s glovebox compartment to display a defibrillator that Bond feels anything other than a benign sort of satisfaction. An old spike of adrenaline moves up through his chest, the residual wisp of memory that has never really left him. Q must catch the look in his eye because he clears his throat and lets out a short, understanding little sigh.

“Ah, yes, we’ve made a few changes to the existing design.”

“I should hope so.”

Bond gets another smile for that, a somewhat regretful one, though Q was likely still in bloody high school during Bond’s last dance with an MI6-made defibrillator. While he’s taking the blasted thing out of its casing, Q explains the design changes.

“Permanently attached leads. See? No pulling them off.” Q tugs at one firmly more than once. It stays firmly in place. “The wires are reinforced to prevent any damage from…well, whatever you agents get up to. And there have been some software changes, too. I can see the charge and override the button from here. No need to press it yourself should you be…incapacitated.”

Bond nods, silent. Q continues.

“Along with the one in your car, there’s a smaller, more discrete model in your briefcase. The same design modifications have been made to it. Both have passed extensive user testing.”

His tone is verging dangerously close to pity, and Bond suddenly yearns for the snappish, arrogant man he’d met at the National Gallery.

“Don’t tell me you went into cardiac arrest just for me, Q.”

“You say that as if you don’t bring us all closer to a heart attack with every moment you’re out in the field.”

Banter aside, he goes on to assure Bond that along with testing in the lab, 003 had made use of the device last week and returned unscathed. With that, Bond thinks he’s clear of any coddling, but he’d forgotten one essential detail from his and Q’s first meeting and all their encounters since: as precocious and cocky as the new Quartermaster is, he’s also exceedingly kind. And rather astute, too, if not with people, then at least with the history of the job and the responsibilities it entails.

Q closes the car door with a snap and straightens up. “My job is to outfit you with the tools you need, Bond. I happen to think we’re rather good at it these days, but if there’s anything we haven’t thought of, any equipment you require—”

“An exploding pen?”

Q’s only response is a distinctly British kind of withering look.

“—that you deem necessary to ensure a safe return,” he pauses, his voice softening and his face twisting a little with the awkwardness of the conversation. “You need only ask.”

“Thank you, Q.”

“Well, good luck in the field. Do try to return the equipment in one piece.”

Bond steps forward, making sure to get just close enough to Q to fluster him. It works for a moment, though the boy recovers quickly. Perhaps he’s been here just long enough to have become immune to an agent’s charm.

“And what about us agents?” murmurs Bond. “Say it’s between me and the gun or the car. Should I not return in one piece?”

Q averts his eyes. He looks around the garage and squints briefly at the ceiling as if he’s looking straight through the concrete to the bureaucratic behemoth above. Then, over the top of his glasses, eyes sparkling with mischief, Q looks back at Bond and quips, “Are you not part of this agency’s equipment? I trust you can make the right call about which...assets…we consider more important.”

A month ago, Bond would have guessed at the gun and the car being more important to Q. Now, he’s not so sure.

“Stay safe, 007. I’ll look forward to seeing you upon your return.”

With that, he slips the car keys into Bond’s hand and walks away. Bond fiddles with them as he takes a second look at the car.

In it, there’s a palm-print encoded gun (version two, apparently), several miniguns, an oil slick, heat-seeking missiles, a poison-detection kit, and a defibrillator meant to properly stand up to the kinds of emergencies agents face in the field. All of that is cased a frame designed to withstand bullets, fire and water. The Noah’s ark of cars. Well, it would be if it weren’t also a harbinger of destruction.

It's fine work, certainly, but it isn't until Bond climbs into the vehicle and opens its accompanying mission envelope that he lets an unguarded smile free. Lying inconspicuously atop the paperwork is an Omega Seamaster with a note wrapped around its band.

For opening doors. If you find yourself really putting your back into it, try the alarm.

Yes, Bond thinks, as he makes use of the car’s small ashtray compartment to burn the note. Staying safe in the field might be a bit easier this time.

#00q #00q fic #my fic

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the-firebird69 · 14 days

Text

This is what I mean the rear glass goes down so much the people in the back get upset and they feel trapped and stuck and it's real small you can't really fit in there there's a small guys were like 4 ft 5 and they have trouble it's meant for kids but you can't really have kids to grow up it's impossible they cram in there the most miserable people on earth and it's for odd reasons now if you get an accident it's going to suck. And really with four people and even a small ones the damn thing hardly moves this would be great for the Bradley GT1 and this is the kind of thing my daughter and son look for and she's giggling at him cuz she said it. The wheelbase is almost the same this is an inch shorter than the GT1 which is the same as a GT2 which is ridiculous you need a different chassis I guess maybe not but we'd like the GT1 this is a lighter design and it can look very cool and it was kind of like the small Ferraris of the of the '80s but it would look brand new now. And was suggesting this some of them are all wheel drive and our son says I'll take that for a dollar they work very well and people would love it about half of them and he says we should grab them now and he says what for because of Bradley GT1 and the storm especially all-wheel drive and he said wow that's an idea and really cool so we got the statistics of this particular car.

Honda subcompact 2-door SUV as you see above and it's a stupid named car

Standard motor is 2 L with 110 horsepower believe it or not

And the Bradley GT1 Honda 2 L performance specs:

-0 to 60 in 3.9 seconds

-quarter mile and 6.7 seconds

-top speed 270 mph

Super cooling would be required you leave the engine in the front wheel drive position or use all wheel drive then that has about 20 more horsepower and the top speed would be 285 mph and the other numbers will go down a bit we suggest all wheel drive and he's trying to do that now and his son has 2 million of them and we're going to try and build those and all the drive is not that hard to make and it's all wheel independent suspension these things are going to kick ass that's a great idea he says we're all working on it and he's out of the mainstream and doesn't know people need all wheel drive and they do pretty badly this car is not good it's not powerful enough and people try and make do and they end up discarding it it can hardly carry two people in groceries and they get in trouble in traffic and they end up in accidents and they still buy them by the bushel this will be the number selling number one selling kit on earth if someone would do it. So going to try and work with a cork and we know who he is and we are going to try and get his modifications and then we'll see about the design and who's going to try it with all-wheel drive and we know where his shops are and we're collecting the vehicle and we might just make by the kit and and make the vehicle for sale as I think it's normal it happens and he likes it we buy a bunch of them and he's going to go and try and do it

Thor Freya

Honda is just one of the american-made have 120 horsepower and the all-wheel drive 135 horsepower it's still not enough for what they want to use it for because the shell weighs too much on the vehicle ours will be light even if it's metal and we would take out the interior leave the firewall it's too much tedium and it takes too many hours can you leave a lot of the wiring in place it's really wonderful you just coil it up and you label it usually is long enough and it is just amazing how fast it goes we're going to do this and I built several on all-wheel drive small compact well really subcompact to door SUV and they go really really nice and fast you agree with not imagine what it's like I have 285 mph it runs pretty smooth and you slow down at about 2:20 it drives so you can't tell how fast you're going and with all-wheel drive I've gone in the snow and it works perfectly and rain and up hills and actually on dirt roads a little and it goes really really well it goes fast on off road and you get a little beefier tire and you can erase them and against other supercars and they do it all the time this car would be a contender and I have done track runs it is fast enough. This is a wonderful vehicle there's no way we're going to get beat no we might be cuz we're not making it but yeah people need to make it and it was something attracted to all of them

Savage opress now I see what you're saying the sedan is nice and stuff but still works it's not as heavy and it's not as cramped and the car is usually have 130 horsepower and usually with two people that's okay but even they SUV is a dog with two people it waste too much it weighs too much but this would be great this is like the Volkswagen this kind of a dog back in the '70s and people said oh we can make something of it so here we go we're going to try it by the way there's trillions of these I picked up probably 500 billion globally and we're going to do it we're going to make it into something if not a small Jeep or international harvester and he says this car would be the best and he needs a car

Savage oppress

I did work in the shop with the cart for George Washington and it was the shop that was owned by Tommy f but he was not around and George came by and he admits it and I'm the one who filled the order and I got him that particular card but I guess Tommy F might end up owning it or something he doesn't have any place out there and this would be a place and they're moving tons of stuff and he can move right in and he would not be too close to us but he can have his own factory and I would have a subsidiary of some kind maybe even assembly because he wants to do it it's a great idea he says and for a small harvester type of deal and he wants to get going on right now he said this trillions of these damn things and you part out a punch and repair the ones that you're using so I'm going to get going on it now

Brad

Olympus

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crushed-ice · 1 year

Text

Building my Grusha a pokemon team based on my favorite ice types + reasonings/relations to their character!

Possible lead #1: Abomasnow

Abomasnow is the perfect pokemon to start with, able to set up snow warning and then start tanking hits from strong starters. With grass knot it can easily take down heavier pokemon, and giving it an icy rock can make that hail last longer to milk the benefits. If bred properly, it can also learn leech seed and deal chip damage to the max, knocking out it's attacker from beyond the grave even if they're a fire type.

On the character end of the spectrum, there's not too much to say. Personality wise Abomasnow can be fairly closed off and not that affectionate, more into battling and competition, but will still protect it's loved ones with everything it's got. Grusha's very competitive and protective of the ones he holds close.

Possible lead #2: Froslass

As a lead, Froslass is great for setting up spikes and stealth rock to deal some hefty damage before the turns even start. It's defense isn't the best, meaning it's only use is likely to set things up, but it's ability snow cloak can do wonders if Abomasnow comes first. It'll be able to set everything up to the fullest most of the time, due to it's high speed and evasion from snow cloak. It has some strong moves, like ice beam or shadow ball, which can be great for knocking down a pokemon or two, and helps against any potential fighting types on the enemy team.

Personality wise, Froslass is more reserved and elegant, avoiding as much contact with others as possible and doing everything in the name of beauty and power. It's a protector, mostly of itself, but also of it's loved ones. I can see Froslass performing at the Paldean Ice Festival with Grusha, in beautifully crafted outfits to match each other. Froslass would be another protectee into protector case, starting out as a lonely snorunt on Grusha's team who's constantly afraid of the other members due to it's late start on Grusha's team, turning into a gorgeous and vengeful pokemon hell bent on keeping the team from harm while preserving it's looks.

Middle pokemon #1: Walrein

One pokemon able to benefit from the snow warning put out by Abomasnow is Walrein, with the ability Ice Body and able to learn aqua ring it can takw hits and then heal them right back up. Give it some leftovers and you've got a hard to kill auto-heal pokemon. With fairly balanced stats it can go either way with physical or special attack, and having the water typing drops it's fire weakness, making it the perfect pokemon to throw out if Abomasnow gets taken out by a fire type.

Walrein is definitely a pokemon Grusha would have had for a while, possibly even his starter Pokemon. As a spheal they would've been best friends, an adorable round pokemon who loves their trainer and an affectionate but shy little kid who spends all his time with his pokemon? A perfect match. Walrein still doesn't realize how big it is after evolution, or if it does it doesn't let on that it does, and still tries to lay on top of Grusha sometimes. They've always slept in the same bed since Grusha was little, the coldness of the Pokemon's skin comforting to Grusha. He's always enjoyed the cold as he drifted off to sleep. Now, the bed has to be way bigger, but they make it work, still as close as can be. Best friends forever :>

Middle pokemon #2: Mamoswine

Offensively, Mamoswine is insane with attack. It is a heavy hitter with some very powerful typing, giving it STAB for ground moves such as Bulldoze and High Horsepower. It also has snow cloak, raising it's evasion, which can cover up it's surprisingly lackluster defense stats, while still having high hp. Another possible ability, thick fat, is incredibly useful, making ice and fire moves deal half of their regular damage. It's a hard-to-hurt heavy hitter, perfect to dish out some damage and kills in the midst of a battle.

Mamoswine is another potential first pokemon for Grusha, a Swinub being affectionate but shy and a bit of a scaredy-cat would be perfect for Grusha. Giving him someone to protect at an early age, which would be wear his naturally protective nature comes from, while also giving him someone to talk to. They wouldn't need anybody else, doing everything together. When evolving, Mamoswine is still just as affectionate, constantly giving Grusha rides everywhere and taking a turn as the protector, making sure Grusha is safe at all costs. They'd be best buddies, and sometimes Grusha would fall asleep on Mamoswine's back. The warm and fluffy fur is so comforting that sometimes it's hard to stay awake...

Middle pokemon #3: Cetitan

Cetitan is a crazy tank with some attack to back it up, it's ability slush rush helping it out immensely in the speed department during hail setups from Abomasnow. It can be a bulky physical sweeper who outspeeds everything during slush rush, ice Spinner able to knock away any possible terrain effects that could interfere while still being a strong move.

In terms of personality, Cetitan is one of Grusha's newer pokemon. It was very friendly and upbeat as a Cetoddle, but upon evolution it grew much more hardened and competitive. It trains constantly, feeding into Grusha's thirst for battle and victory. They bond over training, their synergy is insane for the newest addition to the team.

Middle pokemon #4: Baxcalibur

Getting rid of the fire weakness altogether, Baxcalibur is a strong pokemon all around. It's ability, Thermal Exchange, prevents detrimental burns and increases attack with each fire type attack it tanks, it's hp helping it withstand more. It's already incredibly high attack, adding on Thermal Exchange, can plow through teams in an instant, and having Dragon type STAB moves helps with popular pokemon such as Dragapult.

Personality wise I can't actually think of anything, Baxcalibur just seems more like a soulless killer to me for some reason. It's the transfer hire, only there to work and then go home. It doesn't make friends with the rest of the team, or Grusha, obeying in battle and then returning to it's PokeBall. No matter how much Grusha tries to bond, it simply prefers to completely separate it's work and life.

Ace: Weavile

At first glance it doesn't seem like the best option for an ace, but Grusha knows what he's doing. It's great speed and attack stats keep it ahead of the game, aiming for a finishing move is no issue with this pokemon. With pressure, it can take down slower or less offensive pokemon, and it's dark typing helps out immensely against the many different powerful psychic types in the competitive scene.

When we get down to how it interacts with the rest of the team, Weavile is a prankster by nature. While competitive, Grusha also has a fairly humourous side, loving a practical joke or two every chance he can get. The two of them get into all sorts of shenanigans in Glaseado, then disappear into the night and act like they never heard a thing about anything. What? Food dye in the spa? Who could've done that? Aside from pranks, the two of them would get along wonderfully, both of them very talkative. Start up a conversation with the two and leave for a few hours, come back and chances are they're still discussing. They have moved on to a completely unrelated topic somehow, but are still talking with the same excited energy nonetheless. Weavile's tried to wingman for Grusha, but all of it's attempts have gone rather poorly, mostly pranking Grusha's love interests until they leave and then getting upset when they don't take it as a sign of affection. Weavile's stopped trying to wingman at this point, but their battle synergy is still incredibly obvious. He's closer to Weavile than any other pokemon on his team, even his starter.

#long post #ooc #Grusha info #explained #pokemon team #Love these ideas so much ❤️#Swinub cuddling up to kid Grusha?#a spheal showing off new tricks to kid Grusha?#Weavile dumping ice water on the guy Grusha likes and apologizing to Grusha with a stolen necklace? (which Grusha obviously returns)#It's all so perfect. love cowardly baby pokemon that evolve and protect the one that helped them #also competitively Abomasnow and Froslass starting together in a double battle would be crazy

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4

Previous chapters & additional tags can be found in my masterlist.

WC: 1457

Rated: E for eventual smut

Chapter tags: flirting, checking a person out/body parts, Ich bin speed

Your boss didn’t question you when you asked for the day off. “Take Friday too, si? You work too much!” he’d scold. That being said, the week dragged on. It had been slow to begin with, as your little team was waiting on a shipment of new pieces that got delayed.

Thursday finally arrived. You chugged down a cup of tea before hightailing it out the door. Your 1974 Alfa Romeo Spider purred to life; a gift from your parents when you finished college. Cranking the radio as high as you dared, you began the drive to the Ferrari garage.

Half an hour later you were pulling into the main lot. The blast of your radio announced your arrival. Finding a parking spot, you sang along “and she walked in looking like dyna-mite, she said ‘now come along boogaloo through the night!’” loudly.

The garage housing Niki’s F1 car was situated next to the lot on the other side of a fence. “Who the hell is playing that music?” he whipped his head up at the obnoxiously loud sound. The crew just shrugged. Looking up at the wall clock, he saw it was almost 10. Oh.

You had just parked the car and got ready to cut the engine when you noticed a figure approaching the fence. Seeing the mop of brown curls, you waved. Getting out of the car you took a breath. He just wants to talk shop, that’s all, you remind yourself.

“You’re very loud,” Niki stated as you reached the opposite side of the fencing.

“Says the man that has to wear earplugs to drive his car,” you snark.

“Fair. Come around, I’ll give you the tour.”

The facility was bigger than you anticipated. It housed a large office building in the front, with several garages and an entire test track off to the side. Niki led you into the garage he had come out of earlier.

“This is Andre, Luca, and Arturo. They are the chief mechanic crew for my car. You may have seen them in the pit.”

“How do you do?” you offered politely. They nodded their heads in your direction before leaving the two of you with the car. You walked around the vehicle, admiring the curved letters spelling Niki Lauda printed on the side. “What are the specs?” you ask Niki.

“Twelve cylinders, 500 horsepower, 12,500 RPM, 575kg.”

“Chassis frame?”

“Steel tubing with aluminium panels.”

“Sounds heavy...are you using magnesium parts?” you questioned.

Niki’s lips twitched into a barely-there smile as he watched you examine the car. “Yes.”

You nod, hands on your hips. “Well.” Shrugging, you admit “that’s about the extent of my knowledge, sorry to disappoint.” He let out a short chuckle.

“You know more than most. I’ve met mechanics that never even think to use magnesium parts.”

“Well I’m glad that I’ve impressed you, I suppose.” You continue to examine the car, leaning forward into the cockpit to check out the panel and gauges. Your shirt gapes down, exposing the top of your breasts.

Niki catches his breath at the sight before averting his eyes, not wanting to be rude. A first for him, to be considering the feelings of others. Thankfully you did not notice his gaze, nor the way his face reddened. He gave you another minute to inspect the car.

“Get in.”

You whipped up to face him in question. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he looked at you expectantly.

Carefully you step into the cockpit, lowering your body into the seat. You didn’t think you were allowed to be doing this, but if Niki says it’s okay… Legs stretched to the pedals, you settled in. “I didn’t realize you sat so laid back” you adjusted your bum in the seat, feet flat on the pedals and eyes just able to see above the dash.

Niki came up to the side of the car and leaned forward, his arms caged you, hands braced against the metal headrest and side panel. He pointed to the various gauges and explained their purposes. You felt his warm breath against your ear as his gruff voice spoke low. The smell of motor oil and something woodsy overwhelmed your senses.

He wouldn’t pretend that his actions were totally innocent. He was not big on public displays of affection, the handful of women he had dated over the years complained as much. But he could not deny the pull he felt towards you. Even in the short amount of time that he knew you he had already decided that he wanted to get to know you better. Besides, it’s not everyday that you meet a woman who was not only pretty, but knew about cars and took no shit from Hunt. Niki revelled in the soft floral scent of your hair - so different than the smell of burnt rubber he was accustomed to.

Swallowing, you tilted your head in the direction of his voice. You caught his brown eyes with your own. You didn’t think you would ever get used to the intensity of his stare. Breaking away you fidgeted with your hands before placing one on the gearshift, thumb caressing the knob.

“Have you taken it out yet? To test the adjustments?”

“Not yet. You may stay to watch if you would like,” he offered.

“Right on, yeah, let me just…” you pulled yourself out of the vehicle. Niki placed his fingers on your elbow as you stepped out to ensure you didn’t fall. His fingers were softer than you would have guessed for a driver.

Niki hopped in the car gracefully, as though he was made to sit there. “Do you mind?” he pointed to the desk along the wall. You retrieved the white protective mask and helmet and brought it to him. Holding the helmet as he pulled the covering over his face, your fingers traced along the edge of the Niki Lauda sticker. He reached to take it from you. After securing the helmet he warned you to cover your ears before starting the car. You were glad for his warning.

Switching into first gear, he released the clutch and let the car roll out of the garage and onto the track. He drove slow enough that you were able to keep up with him for the most part. Stopping at the edge of the track to watch, Niki got into position and called for one of the technicians to ready the stopwatch.

With a blast he shot off. He continued around the track for several laps testing the feel of the car. The rush of wind hit you each time he passed only meters from where you stood.. Finally coming to a stop he removed his headgear and nodded at you. “So?” you asked. “How does it feel?”

“Good. Arturo - I was correct, it was the rear springs that needed replacing.” Arturo wrote something in his notebook.

“How can you tell it was that? Something so small?” you wondered.

“My ass.”

“I’m sorry?” you blinked, not sure you heard him correctly.

“God gave me an okay mind, but a really good ass which can feel things in a car.”

Laughing, you weren’t sure what to make of his explanation. Perhaps I’ll just have to check it out myself, shocking yourself as your thoughts drift to his backside. You didn’t have to dwell on it too much because Niki got out of the car and bent over the cockpit to place his headgear inside. The loose material of his red coveralls tightened as he bent, giving you a taste of what he was working with. The uniform doesn't do him justice.

“What’s next on the list?” The two of you walked back to the garage.

“I have meetings with Enzo and some of the sponsor representatives at 12. Administrative dealings, really.” Sensing this was his way of telling you that your date was coming to an end - no, not a date - you gathered your bag on your shoulder.

“I’ll leave you to it then. Thank you for letting me come by, this was cool.”

“Of course.”

Turning to leave, Niki called out to you. “Will you come to the next race?”

“I’m not sure, really.”

“You should.”

“I’ll think about it,” you replied. You continued to stand there looking at him, and he you. Suddenly you decide to bite the proverbial bullet. Fetching a napkin from your bag and a pen - you always had a pen - you wrote down a set of digits. Thrusting it to Niki you say “maybe let me know when the next race is and I just might come.”

Niki took the slip from you, glancing at the numbers on it. You both knew that he could just tell you when and where the next race was now. But where was the fun in that?

Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander

#sleeping with the enemy #swte scuttle-buttle #niki lauda rush 2013 #niki lauda fanfiction #niki lauda x reader #daniel bruhl niki lauda #niki x reader #niki lauda daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl #rush 2013 #scuttle-buttle

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riseofthecommonwoodpile · 3 years

Text

This round had the most albums ever for one of these, and it had some wild highs and lows. I think a higher average score than usual since half of these were re-listens i already knew i liked, was just re-evaluating how much i liked them (turns out for the most part, i liked them quite a bit!)

Ambrose Akinmusire- On The Tender Spot Of Every Calloused Moment (9.0/10)

Annie Gosfield- Burnt Ivory and Loose Wires (6.5/10)

Arizmenda- Without Circumference Nor Center (8.5/10)

Bastro- Sing the Troubled Beast (6.5/10)

The Body- I Shall Die Here (9.0/10)

BT- Movement in Still Life (8.0/10)

Busdriver- Fear of a Black Tangent (7.5/10)

Califone- Sometimes Good Weather Follows Bad People (7.5/10)

Caroliner Rainbow Fingers of the Underworld and Their Unbreakable Bones- The Sabre Waving Saracen Wall (8.5/10)

Caroliner Rainbow Wire Thin Sheep Legs Baking Exhibit- Strike Them Hard, Drag Them To Church (8.0/10)

Charles Mingus- The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady (9.5/10)

Chuck Person- Chuck Person's Eccojams Vol.1 (9.0/10)

Courtney Marie Andrews- May Your Kindness Remain (6.0/10, deleted from library)

Crass- The Feeding Of The 5000 (7.5/10)

Darkthrone- A Blaze in the Northern Sky (8.5/10)

Dean Blunt- The Redeemer (9.0/10)

death's dynamic shroud.wmv- I'll Try Living Like This (8.5/10)

DJ Quik & Kurupt- BlaQKout (9.0/10)

Emancipator- Soon it Will be Cold Enough (7.0/10)

Enya- Enya (aka The Celts) (7.5/10)

Gnaw Their Tongues- An Epiphanic Vomiting of Blood (8.5/10)

Henry Rollins- Hot Animal Machine (1.5/10, deleted from library and threw my laptop in a river to make sure it was gone)

Horsepower Productions- In Fine Style (9.0/10)

Hum- Downward is Heavenward (10/10)

Hype Williams- Find Out What Happens When People Stop Being Polite, And Start Gettin' Reel (6.5/10)

James Ferraro- Requiem for Recycled Earth (7.5/10)

Jandek- Living In A Moon So Blue (7.0/10)

Justice- † (8.0/10)

Keiji Haino- A Challenge to Fate (8.5/10)

Kid606- Kill Sound Before Sound Kills You (7.5/10)

Kraftwerk- Trans-Europe Express (8.0/10)

Leyland Kirby- Eager To Tear Apart The Stars (8.5/10)

Liars- They Were Wrong, So We Drowned (9.5/10)

Lightning Bolt- Wonderful Rainbow (8.5/10)

Masonna- Ejaculation Generator (6.5/10)

Mathieu Ruhlmann- This Star Teaches Bending (8.0/10)

Michael Jackson- Bad (7.0/10)

My Bloody Valentine- Loveless (7.5/10)

Naked City- Naked City (8.0/10)

Neil Young- After the Gold Rush (9.0/10)

Neko Case- The Worse Things Get, the Harder I Fight, the Harder I Fight, the More I Love You (8.5/10)

Nine Inch Nails- Pretty Hate Machine (8.0/10)

Nirvana- Bleach (8.5/10)

Ólafur Arnalds- ...And They Have Escaped The Weight Of Darkness (7.5/10)

Oneohtrix Point Never- Replica (9.0/10)

Phosphorescent- Pride (8.0/10)

Prurient- Dracula Syndrome (7.0/10)

Radiohead- The King of Limbs (9.0/10)

The Replacements- Pleased to Meet Me (8.5/10)

S- I'm Not As Good At It As You (7.5/10)

Sebadoh- Bubble & Scrape (8.5/10)

Sleep- Sleep's Holy Mountain (8.0/10)

Sonic Youth- Bad Moon Rising (9.0/10)

Vatican Shadow- Remember Your Black Day (4.5/10, deleted from library)

Ween- The Pod (8.5/10)

Zs- New Slaves (10/10)

#Music Project

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sammoores · 3 years

Photo

I got the chance to drive the RS4 and RS6 recently, lovely things but I’m kind of wondering how much fun can actually be derived from these cars now. You get crazy performance but all delivered in a particularly numb fashion. I suspect an exhaust would go a looong way to adding to the experience. I’m currently looking for a family wagon and ideally it would be fun but I slightly suspect the larger horsepower cars won’t necessarily add more than you lose in terms of fuel consumption/comfort etc. My previous s4 was quite the sweet spot but as you know that is now a diesel. Maybe a 540i or Alpina b3? More research and driving needed! What do you guys think of the high performance models these days? Ps. The Lusso is awesome but I feel the performance and engine are worth the rubbish fuel economy. #audirs6 #audirs4 #fastwagon #decisiontime https://instagr.am/p/CSH72vOr1JG/

#IFTTT #Instagram

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jj-ktae · 4 years

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(M) Squirt Pro Quo

Banner : courtesy of @jaebeomsmullet

Pairing : Bambam x Fem!Reader Genre : Smut (Oral, body fluids, penetration, raw language) Words : 2669 Saturday nights are the busiest ones and starting midnight, most party-goers are either drunk or comatose, if not both. Tonight though, as you are taking your last fare, one regular customer enters your taxi with a whole new destination he wishes to penetrate into.

This scenario is part of The Pleasure Chest ~ A Cringe Fest Collaboration

Squirt Pro Quo

You will never understand people who drink until they collapse.

Alcohol is a good way to make a party wilder but what is the point of wasting all this money if you’re going to forget about what actually happened? It’s part of your job, taking care of drunk customers who get left under your care like it’s your duty to make sure they make it home safely.

You have no other choice though. It is part of the job; no driver can drop a dead weight on the street and leave.

But how many times do you have to do this every weekend? It’s tiring and it fills your car with disgusting odours of liquor you wouldn’t even pay to drink. The application is beeping every five minutes with new requests. It’s the end of the night and people are more and more wasted, turning fares into a chore you wish you could live without.

It’s good money though. Weekends are good money.

This is what you tell yourself when you take the last fare. Money is needed. You might even get tipped. You usually check who you’re taking; you never know what type of person could enter your car. Some are regular users, others are new. You often pick the ones you at least took one time, just to make sure.

Drunk people aren’t only hard to deal with, they apparently gauge their level of attractiveness accordingly to the number of shot they drank.

You stop by one of the familiar nightclub, phone laying on the passenger seat and already signalling your customer that you are waiting. You turn the music off, just in case you end up with someone who thinks you’re holding an after party in your car.

You see a few people stumble and laugh at their clumsiness, others are dancing to no music at all and oh is that a man peeing against that tree?

“I’m late I’m late-, oh it’s you!” The voice makes you stop judging the bystanders to look at your rear-view, where one of your regular customers is looking for the seatbelt.

Bambam.

You should have seen it coming; there was not a week when you didn’t take him back home. He always goes out of the same club, looking like a hot mess and being overly flirty.

He also gives huge tips.

“Am I the last customer?” said boy asks, finger pressing the button to lower the back window. He takes a deep breath and you suspect he is feeling nauseous.

You start the engine, nodding and sighing heavily when a guy almost falls right in front of your car, in the middle of the road. “Tough night?” You try.

Bambam shrugs. “The usual routine night, alcohol, dancing, doing weird things.” his comeback is only funny to him and he notices it, because you see him nod toward the back of your head. “How about you?”

“The usual routine night, alcohol, puking, doing weird things.” You joke back, stopping at a red stop and looking at the rear view again. “I can’t wait to go to sleep.”

“Do you ever party?”

You shrug, barely turning around to look at him. “When I see how you people end up puking and having no dignity, I wonder if I ever will.”

Bambam laughs, dodging your remark with ease. “You’re too pretty to collapse on the streets anyways.”

“Always the smooth talker.”

“Yet you refuse to give me your phone number.”

You pull up at another red stop, feet pressing the brake hard just to shake him a little bit.

Bambam jumps, his pitiful whine quickly replaced by another pick-up line. “I love girls who know how to handle big engines.” he smirks afterward, a brow wiggling up in an obvious attempt to be lascivious.

“You whistle, amused.” This is what you say to the girls in that nightclub, right?”

“None of them hold the gear level the way you do.”

To this you laugh. Bambam always does the same thing; he flirts and flirts until you almost give in before leaving a big tip on the backseat and offering numerous winks.

Tonight, he seems different, though. Almost serious.

“How many car metaphors do you have?”

“Probably less than your horsepower.” He says, taking the seat belt off to lean toward the driver’s seat. “You obviously have a lot going on under that hood.”

You chuckle, taking a turn before stopping again. How many more red lights will you have to deal with?

Bambam feels your irritation, for his hands reach your shoulders to massage your tense muscles. “You’ve never been this cranky, what happened?”

“Nothing, I’m just tired.”

He presses harder, his lean finger feeling like heaven. He does have some skills. “So it is probably a bad time to tell you that I forgot my wallet at the nightclub?”

You turn around abruptly, forcing him to stop massaging you and looking bewildered. “You what?”

“I just noticed, it’s not in my pocket anymore.” He doesn’t even look panicked and merely makes an apologetic face.

“How are you going to pay- great, I will never have that money, right?” You should have known. Turning on the feature I take cash on the application was a very stupid move.

“Well…” Bambam starts, not really getting the part where you would need so little money when you can have him in your car. “I could give you the money next time or…”

You stop, nodding toward him to make him continue.

“Or I could make you relax.”

The light turns green and thankfully there’s no one behind you because you’ve been proposed...sex in exchange of a free ride?

Bambam’s hand finds your shoulder again. “Look at that awful pout. Such a beautiful car body yet such a bad temper…”

You see the way he enjoys the teasing and the way his eyes lit up when you frown at him. He likes it when it’s a losing battle, it seems.

But it might not be that much of a losing battle when the probability of hot sex in your own car crosses your mind.

You lack too much sleep. It has to be the reason why your pussy is clenching.

“Love, the light is green, or you probably would like me to-”

You turn around before he can finish, pressing the accelerator so hard it plasters him again your leather seat.

Bambam laughs, your uneasiness more amusing than disturbing.

He finally looks confused when you don’t turn left like you should be doing. You see him cross his legs, eyes boring into you through the rear view.

“I live the other way” he tries, amused.

“Did you think I would go all the trouble of accepting that fare and leave without getting anything in return?” You answer, irritation mixed with a sudden urge to destroy Bambam’s smug face.

And smug he is, with his lip-smacking and quiet nodding. He lets you take him where you want, still slightly surprised that you finally accepted his overtures.

You stop near a tiny park. The road is empty if not for a couple of taxi, already going around town to pick the last partygoers.

No one is walking by this side of the park so early, either.

You turn around when the engine stops, observing a curious Bambam who is checking outside to test the waters.

“Now how about I lubricate the camshaft?” You lift a brow and earn an impressed look from Bambam, who wastes no time reaching for your seat bell to free your body. His clothes create funny sounds against the leather but he is already too caught-up in the act.

Instead he pulls you at the back of the car with much difficulty.

“Babe, I don’t need no GPS do get into your pants.”

And it is true. Bambam pops your jacket’s buttons with one snap of his fingers and pulls on your sleeves to let it fall. His long coat is easily forgotten when you straddle him and sneak your hands under the thick fabric to let it slide off his shoulders.

He grabs your hips, leaning properly against the leather seat and creating more questionable sounds. They all fall to deaf ears though, especially when he raises his pelvis to make you feel how aroused he is.

“Which gear do you think I’m at?” He teases, head dipping to lick the curve of your neck. His thick lips feel like fire and even cause tiny desperate thrusts against his now hard dick.

“I’m not sure...but you might need to slow down before your engine goes overheating.”

He laughs, warm breath tickling your moist and sensitive skin.

Your clothes fall rapidly, piling on the carpeting and each layer reveals an even better view, Bambam thinks. He lets you return the favour, manoeuvring his hips when you start pulling on his expensive Gucci belt to reach for his ripped jeans’ zipper.

Fog paints the back windows –and you wonder when did he even pull if back up- , hiding your shadows and allowing Bambam to open your bra without you being too conscious about anyone seeing you.

You lean back when your breasts meet the chill air, your hands leaving the bulge in his boxers. Bambam stares for the longest time, his eyes obviously drawn to your nipples, now perky and oh-so-inviting.

You roll your hips against him when he grabs one of your breast and wraps his mouth around a nipple. A satisfied sigh leaves your parted lips and your back arches, automatically sticking more of you against him. The boy welcomes you gladly, bringing you even closer while subtly grazing his lips over your skin.

You jump, giving him a particularly hard thrust in the process and he can only groan, before sucking hard in retaliation.

He is not going to get a free fare and tease you.

Bambam releases your nipple with a popping sound when you part from him. He stays seated, looking at you questioningly as you get up from his lap.

“Let’s check that dipstick before it goes into the oil hole.” You wink seductively, your inhibition out the window as you pull on his boxer’s elastic to free his painful hard-on.

Bambam hisses, your cool fingers short-circuiting his already poorly functioning brain. Two pumps are enough to turn him into a mess of thrusts and grunts, your grip a little bit too tight if he wants to last long enough to keep his promise.

But you don’t seem to care for you lean - and hit your knee against the seat - to gobble his dick in one go.

Bambam jerks away, head shaking violently. “Easy,” he breathes, eyes glued to your parted lips, now against that one very swollen vein.

The feeling is too exciting. The situation is nothing but thrilling; anyone could walk by and see you, kneeling in the back of your car and feasting on a man’s cock. It feels wrong, like you shouldn’t mix work and pleasure but at the same time, you’re merely paying yourself for that free ride.

Bambam is breathing heavily, the tip of his cock turning redder with each stroke of your tongue, now flat against him. He lets you have your fun, satisfied with his self-control. He would love to fill your mouth right there and then. You’d look so beautiful, with a string of semen dripping from your chin.

You look up when you feel his finger threading into your hair. It’s too delicate to be one of a horny man but it isn’t unpleasant; you definitely don’t know him enough to allow any sort of choking with his thick dick.

Surprisingly, the thought doesn’t bother you.

“Touch me,” he adds, “pull on me like you pull on that handbrake.” he demands, now at your mercy. Your hand automatically goes to his navel and travels down until it reaches the base of his cock.

“Like this?” You ask candidly, hand devastating as you pull on his dick way too hard.

It almost hurts, but Bambam enjoys every second of it. “Just like this…”

You keep going, alternating between hard sucking and dick pulling and Bambam grabs your chin when he finds himself reaching his peak

“Turn around.” He adjusts himself on the seat and grabs your hips. Your head hits the ceiling in the process and Bambam has to spread his legs even wider if he wants you to keep a good position.

You end up looking ahead, eyes going wide when you notice how clean the windshield is; anyone could see you, bent into your car and ready to impale yourself on a guy.

“Come on, sit on me babe…” You hear Bambam’s needy whispers and you comply, aligning yourself perfectly and feeling him enter you with a switch motion. “...ride me.”

You moan, the position tiring but also offering one of the best angle you’ve ever experienced. You do exactly as he says, your butt bouncing rapidly on his lap and allowing him to nestle his dick into you to the hilt.

And nothing more happens, nothing more but the sound of wet skin and pleasured moans. You end up grabbing the head-rests for balance when your legs start to quiver and Bambam decides to end your misery.

He feels the signs of release, so powerful they are tickling his legs and hips. Everything gets too hot, too satisfying to resist the urge to fill you up.

And that’s what he does, when he can’t take it no more.

You feel it, the warm semen and the jolting legs informing you of what is happening.

Bambam gives one final thrust, his head falling back and body sweating.

It was mind-blowing.

You’re about to protest. How dare he finish before he even-

“We’re not done.”

You find yourself being pulled back on the seat, his cum dripping on your thighs and you’re sure the leather is going to be ruined but you’re also curious.

“Let me take you somewhere nice.”

He has difficulties moving and you totally blame it on how long his legs are but he doesn’t complain, even if he looks ridiculous with his pants down and shiny dick.

He spreads your legs and somehow finds himself between them. His finger graze the wet skin and you cannot help but blush at how satisfied he seems to be when he looks at his own cum staining your beautiful skin.

“So fucking pretty…” he muses, fingers reaching for your engorged pussy to thrust two fingers into you.

You close your eyes, legs shivering when he picks up the pace and starts ramming into you. You hear him grunt, like he is enjoying this as much as you.

And he is. “You know what works best with overheating engines?” He looks up at you and tries to get up. His voice is a tad deeper and sensual, like he is going to completely end you. He grips the seat and ends up towering you, his hand now allowing him to press his thumb against your clit while finger-fucking you.

You shake your head, eyes glued to his predatory smile and shiny eyes.

He accelerates his hand, stimulating you more and more with his stroke. “Coolant.” His hand goes crazy, so fast it’s almost unbearable.

You scream, hips shaking from the hectic thrusts and you don’t expect to cum this hard.

So hard you are now squirting all over Bambam.

He looks down, admiring his masterpiece and stimulates you even more to keep you going until there’s nothing but a trickle of cum, ridiculous and dripping down the seat.

You keep your eyes closed, the realisation of what happened hitting you like a truck - or so to speak.

Bambam sits back, his hands grabbing your exhausted legs to let them rest on his half-clothed lap. “How about I never get my wallet back?” he tries, his cheeky smile tearing a tired snort out of you.

“You’ll have to because my car is a mess now.”

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

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PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 13

first time readers click here 💖

TWs/Summary: In this house, we ship Reader/Tony's Rolls-Royce. Reader and Tony being dorks on a date. That's it that's the chapter. Lots of sass and Tony being Tony.

A question for my readers: Are you still invested? How's the slow burn? Is everything realistic? 👉🏻👈🏻🥺

As usual, my beta is @miscmarvelwritings . I love her.

"Nice digs, Cupcake."

"Nice ride, Tin Man."

The sass fell from my lips, warm and familiar, paving the way for our upcoming debut like the old, soft living room rug. Any awkwardness I had expected there to be left the moment I saw Tony pull up to my front gate in his Royce: the man was just that extra. The size of my estate, the five-figure outfit of mine - it paled in comparison to his own clout.

In a world where my choices were usually distributed between stuck-up rich boys or insecure middle-class men, Tony was a fresh drink of water with his absolute indifference towards my and his own net worth.

I wasn't afraid to admire said ride, either. Being a huge petrolhead was what got me interested in engineering, physics and computer sciences in the first place. The desire for speed grew into thirst for knowledge: how to get more horsepower, how to tune, how to mod. No mechanic took an eighteen year old rich-girl seriously even when I had all the lingo right, I had to be a step ahead, at all times, if I wanted my ride to be the best. And I never settled for less than that.

"No driver?" I inquired for the reason behind the unusual behaviour. After all, a Rolls' wasn't the kind of car you drive personally. All the amenities it had, it had in the back.

"Gave Happy a day off," Tony remarked absently. I noticed the small quirk of his eyebrow, however. He was intrigued.

I decided to give it a shot. "So what, this thing packs, what, about five-fifty horses?" I mused, watching Tony nearly swerve into the opposite lane. "At two and a half tons, it's still gotta be pretty quick with that V12-turbo. How fast it go?" The satisfaction was immeasurable, as pleasant to my soul as sitting in a heated leather chair with the smell of a new car, engine quietly rumbling in front of me. And by quietly I mean, it was focus-or-you'll-miss-it kind of quiet.

"Well aren't you full of surprises, baby girl," Tony grinned; a happy, excited grin even. It made his face lose ten years of age just like that. "Zero to sixty in five and a half seconds," He said after a moment.

"Not bad," I said, sounding impressed. I already knew that but I wasn't planning on robbing Tony out of well deserved praise for his choice in vehicles.

"Got a ride of your own?" He asked with a smile, like he didn't know it already. No background check would have skipped my three speeding tickets, but I concur. This game was fun.

"I do, actually. It's a 2008 Range Rover. Supercharged," I added in the end, just to emphasise.

"A big car for such a little girl," Tony whistled playfully.

"I'm compensating," I deadpanned. "I'm a little slow on the uptake, y'know, so my Rangie with five hundred horses makes up for it. Gotta keep it balanced."

Tony chewed on his lip. "Five hundred? Haven't heard about that, it comes with three-ninety-five in stock," His eyebrow wiggled. "Tuned it?" He cast me a contemplative glance.

"Yup," I exclaimed happily. As far as the date, I would have been utterly ecstatic to talk about cars all evening. Screw the boring "where do you see yourself in five years" questions, talk to me about your favourite engine swaps. Concept cars, give me those. Monster trucks? Yes, please. Vintage low-riders? Couldn't wait to get my grubby little hands on one. Gimmee!

Tony kept his silence and kept his press smile starting the moment we set foot on getting out of the car. The place he'd taken me to was ridiculously upscale and fancy; the valet hesitated only for a second before catching the keys Tony so carelessly tossed in his direction. There was almost no fear in his body language when the boy approached the massive, expensive vehicle.

The hostess smiled big at Tony and gave me the world's biggest stink-eye when he looked the other way but what else is new? As soon as she left us in the privacy of our booth, I didn't hesitate to stick my tongue at her retreating back. A brief lapse in maturity, if you will.

Tony cackled, growing suddenly serious. "Did she bother you? I can get her fired. I should get her fired."

"Nah," I shrugged. "Don't really care, just wanted to showcase my amazing sense of humour." Snorting, I gave Tony a wink and a secretive grin.

"You really don't give a fuck, do you," His eyebrows twitched again, a sign of mild interest that I noted during our routine sciencing time together. Tony was incredibly expressive if one took the time to observe.

"I could suck your dick under the table right now," I answered honestly. "It's just that when God gave out things like dignity and shame, I wasn't home. Too many fun things to do, y'know," I spoke as casually as I could even though I was dying of laughter inside.

Eyes bulging, jaw hanging mid-way to the floor. Tony was serving Looks™ and I didn't mean just the white tee and purple blazer combo. "Princess, you're going to be the fucking death of me!" He took a sip from his water glass, smirking.

Finally releasing my mirth, I gathered my hands in a lock in front of me. His own, warm and calloused, reached over - I allowed the brief intimacy, clasping them, fiddling with the leather band of his watch. For a moment, it was just us, sitting in the dim light, discovering each other anew to Robert Johnson singing the blues and NYC bustling with life just behind the wall.

The waiter took our orders - and if I totally butchered the Italian, Tony was gentleman enough not to make any remarks.

"Somehow, every time I am with you, you both manage to meet my expectations to a T and surprise me at the same time," I wasn't able to completely ignore my nerves. My hand was still loosely in his and he didn't mind at all, me messing with his watch.

"How so?"

"I'm going to loosely quote someone, bear with me." Mr Davies's words popped into my mind just as I was wondering how to best articulate my feelings. "You're eccentric and interesting because it's, well, it's you, because it would be much weirder if we'd be sitting here and making boring small-talk and asking each other the genetic get-to-know-you questions," I briefly paused to sip my Dom Peringon and stare at our hands. Gathering my wits. "That would be why I don't do dates. It sounds so tedious on paper, just sorting through people until a person that's not absolutely mind-numbing comes around."

Tony was silent for a moment, the sheen of his eyes, the faraway look; he was lost in memories. Probably remembering all the girls he had charmed before. I didn't doubt it was easy for him: his smile was distracting and people usually were attracted to shiny things. He shone plenty. Also, most people were stupid, they never cared to look past the golden wrapper. I was convinced there was a diamond under it. But then again, I was biased.

"I've never thought about it that way, but I guess you're right," He finally said, serious. "With Pepper, at least, it was. Come to think of it, we never had that much in common, besides Stark Industries and her willingness to put up with my shit." It was painful for him to talk about her, that much was obvious. His laugh was forced and sardonic.

I, on the other hand, never understood why they got together in the first place. Or maybe I did - but the cold, composed Pepper and the chaotic, energetic Tony reminded me too much of my own parents. All four people in this fucked up equation could have been much happier if they choose... What? Being alone? That was terrifying, too.

I kept quiet, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

"You know, this is so bizarre. Even an eighteen year old kid has got it figured out," He suddenly said, his tone bitter like the coffee that he loved.

"Woah, slow down," I put up a hand. "I never said I know what to do. I just said I know what NOT to do." The 'kid' remark would have made me eye-roll so hard my skull would crack any day. In this context, however, it was pretty spot on.

Tony snorted. "And how did you come by that information, pray tell, Baby?"

I huffed. "Have you met my parents?" We simultaneously cringed and I hurried to erase that mental image. "I make fun of myself for being into old dudes all the time," I made air quotes around the phrase that made Tony scoff, "But, honestly speaking, I've never even been on a date. Like a real one. Usually it's twenty minutes and I'm falling asleep mid-conversation. People can't seem to keep up with me or something," I felt genuinely dejected. "So many meaningless questions, so many downright idiotic comments. From men," I pointed out the obvious. "My mother used to tell me she thought I was gay because I didn't act like a girl... Whatever that means."

"That sounds pretty shitty," Tony was studying me like one would have been looking at an exotic animal in a zoo. "That said, I agree."

"That I don't act like a girl?" I teased him, the left corner of my mouth tilting upward. "Fuck that noise. I want to drive fast cars, drink straight liquor and have orgasms. If that makes me a dude... I look pretty good for a dude in a dress."

We laughed in unison, tension evaporating under the shared, mutual understanding. With Tony, it was easy. The waiter brought our selected dishes. Blink-and-he's-gone. Top notch service.

"A dude in a dress, can't say I'm surprised 'bout your lack of dates," He remarked conversationally, happily digging into his food. The noises he made were intriguing, to say the least, and I followed suit on my own food, finding it absolutely delicious. A delicious meal with a delicious man at my side. I refused to feel guilty about my thoughts.

"I guess I have exactly one (1) date on my ledger now," I raised my argument.

The fork clattered as Tony once again, came to a sudden realization. "Holy shit, you weren't kidding."

"No shit," I gave into the urge to roll my eyes. "But on the upside, my first date was with the most gorgeous, intelligent and witty bachelor of the city. I'd say I don't have it all that bad," I quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Aw, you're making me blush," Tony recovered quickly, grinning. "And don't be shy. The most desired bachelor of the country, if not the world."

I shook my head. "No, the world's most delectable bachelor is one of the Saudi princes. What's-his-name, the one who posts goat and horse pics on Insta," I snapped my fingers a couple of times, trying to remember the name as Tony looked at me all offended. "Anyways, you get my point. I could have a go at him, don't you think?" Cocking my shoulder, coyly twirling the strap of my dress, I gave Tony my best come-hither look and was rewarded with an appreciative once-over. His eyes were growing hungry again.

"You're a million dollar baby," He finally said, voice low. "And the extent of people I would be willing to share you with is very small."

That got me interested, sudden heat prickling underneath my skin. The conversation took a turn I didn't expect it to; and there lied the delight of being around Tony. He was always ready to surprise, in the best way. "Tell me," I requested politely.

"That's a conversation for another time," He was enjoying the chit-chat, desire beginning to creep into his features.

"Mmm, you think?" I allowed the strap of my dress to slip down my shoulder, exposing a collarbone, showing him just how far I was willing to go to satisfy my curiosity.

He swallowed audibly. "I think... You're smart enough to figure it out," He finally gritted his teeth, finishing off his dinner and immediately calling for the check.

I wasn't done yet, however. The possibility of riling him up, taunting him into a lustful frenzy - I was in heaven. Karma had favoured me that evening, it had given me a chance to get Tony back for all the times he unknowingly made my mouth water and my brain go blip. "Must be Steve then," I bit my lip in thought.

Honestly? I was as clueless as the couple next table over. Steve it wasn't, that much I knew for sure, he and Tony had their little love/hate dramatic connection that always ended in a massive ego standoff. Tony would be on the frontline fighting against Steve if the blonde dared to show anything even remotely resembling romantic interest towards someone Tony himself had his eyes on.

"Princess," Tony growled, sarcastically raising an eyebrow.

"Not Steve," I replied, cracking a smile. Success! "You know, I'm really bad at guessing who's into me. Unless someone is balls deep in me," My face was mere inches away as we quickly shrugged on our coats. "And even then, I can't be sure."

My giggling was accompanied by Tony shaking his head in exasperated fashion; he took my hand nonetheless and I happily swayed it between us, poster child for "not a care in the world". He allowed it, maintaining the same exasperated air about him, and I let him. Fondness and happiness seeped through that anyways.

"Brat," His voice was kind. And his kiss tingled where he left it on the corner of my mouth, sweet and short. "Here, have a go," Before I could react, the keys to his Rolls Royce were placed in my palm and he was making his way around the car to the passenger's side.

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pretty-face-breaker · 4 years

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“You can. I can’t.”

The time has come that I add some chronology to this story. Santiago is planning escape. References this drabble.

c.w. referenced beating, whumpees planning to escape, possessive whumper, ‘belonging’ to whumper

His job today was to be still and discreet.

Each box that was loaded onto the trucks, he noted down with a quick but legible scribble. They all looked the same so he couldn’t tell which had what; although, it wasn’t that much of a mystery. It was always one of two things. Still, he didn’t ask—didn’t need to.

The sun had stopped beating down on the workers who were bustling efficiently from truck to truck, each man pulling his share. With enough horsepower, the backs had gone from empty to neatly compact with various shapes of cardboard boxes and some steel ones.

Hayko didn’t notice much but resolve in the tan faces, felt nothing but resolve in the way they pulled up boxes with heavily muscled shoulders. Every pen stroke of his tried to imitate that. Well, it was nearly everybody besides Don Eladio and Nick, who were more so supervising than working.

Nick stood far enough away that he wouldn’t be breathing down his neck, but he noticed it was close enough to watch him. Hayko doubted yesterday’s scene had been forgiven so easily and although Nick was now aware of the mens’ plot, that didn’t mean he’d forgiven him for sending his worker to prison.

No, it was more likely that he was angry. Angry he hadn’t let him deal with the issue himself.

He felt around his mouth with his tongue, prodding the sore cheek.

Under the weight of his silence, he wondered if he had made the right—no, intelligent choice of letting him know. Saving his skin, for once. But with further contemplation, Hayko reassured himself that if he had let the man die, he would very quickly follow him.

Their relationship was no secret and neither was the fact that his life was still owed to Nick’s decision, however painful that might have been for the first few months. Come to think of it, how had Nick managed to get away with keeping him alive as a personal pet to begin with?

The word made him uneasy.

Hayko shook his head, clearing the tension and silently went back to scribbling down package numbers. Although, he could feel the green eyes undoing him from behind. In turn, he kept his own glued to the clipboard and tried to take up as little space as possible. Nearly two years, and he still wasn’t used to the man’s freakish possessiveness.

“Take ten,” Eladio called out gruffly, pushing off the truck he was leaning against. “I don’t wanna see any of your asses on the ground after that.”

He let the sigh that he had been penning up in his lungs whistle out as the bustling noise stopped. As the workers cleared out for water and rest, he noticed one pair of feet that had yet to leave. Santiago.

The man was pacing slowly with his thumbs hooked in his belt and seemed aware that Hayko was watching him. Finally, he turned to meet the look. His brows were creased in frustration.

Hayko glanced back first, checking to see if the men overlooking the operation were still there and miraculously, they weren’t. Had likely gone for a drink themselves. He inched up to the man, taking slow steps as he let the clipboard swing next to him.

His eyes searched Santiago’s cadence. “You alright?” The question came low and for a moment, the man looked panicked as his eyes swept the area for people. He took a breath that was shakier than usual, closer to the way Hayko breathed before answering any baiting question asked by Nick.

“Yeah, fine.”

“I just noticed you were—... looking at me for a while as you were loading.”

Santiago pursed his lips and admitted another “Yeah” that went high in his throat at the end. He seemed reluctant to get it out. “... Listen, you, uh, busy after this thing?” He seemed to be choosing his words carefully with the threat of spare ears. “I want to talk to you.”

His voice was hushed and Hayko had a sense that he knew why. Whatever it was, from his shuffling, it couldn’t be said here. He went for a nod until he stopped himself and quietly returned “Sure.”

Even if he couldn’t tell, it felt like they had come back.

“Break’s over. Get moving,” Nick called now as if on cue, and his eyes narrowed catching sight of the two. “Love, Santiago, don’t get cute with each other when you’re working.” He scoffed at Eladio’s sharp laugh, shaking his head as they took back their place against a truck and the two culprits split immediately on the order.

While he relaxed at the diligent obedience, he was nagged at by a suspicion that wouldn’t subside. He figured it was paranoia, if anything. Yesterday had made him paranoid.

…

Santiago was leaning against the fence when Hayko crept up to him, letting his hair down and around his shoulders. He combed a few strands loosely, as if intending for them to obscure his face a bit more. Santiago pushed off, burying his hands in his pockets.

“I’ll get to the point.” Still hushed.

Hayko shuffled nervously but waited with intent and focus.

“My s—... I have a relative. They’re in Mexico. I’m not asking you to come with me all the way there but I need someone to drive me at least out of the state so I can hitch a ride.”

“You can get out?” he breathed.

“Yes. It took some time but-”

“They’ll kill you if they find out… if they know.”

Santiago’s face hardened. “Is this any way to live?” he hissed.

Hayko was silent, speechless. Recognized that he was afraid this would be the talk. Recognized that he was afraid and that the man wasn’t.

“Hayko, I need you to help me. I’m asking as a friend.” Santiago wet his lips, desperate to find the words he needed. “I need your help.”

He knew what his answer would have been weeks before he gave it. “Okay.”

“You can come with me-”

“No,” he snapped as soon as he suggested it. “I can’t. You can. I can’t.” That put an end to it for now but Hayko anticipated an argument later on. Santiago exhaled in relief and nodded, eyes dropping to the ground as he mumbled a breathless “Thank you.”

Hayko didn’t sleep that night, thinking.

Tagging: @doveotions @thewhumpstuff @thatsthewhump @adamantem-rose @lonesome--hunter @heathenville

#whump #whump writing #Co-Whumpees #possessive whumper #referenced beating #whump drabble #los santos cartel

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atinybitofau · 4 years

Text

[ateez] W O O Y O U N G ➳ aesthetic love

“starry night and a midnight drive”

• it’s not everyday a woman runs from her fiancé.

• it’s definitely not everyday you want to run from the man you love.

• yet here you are.

• running on bare feet, white pearl heels hanging loose from your fingertips through a house he promised was gonna be yours.

• you knew it well enough for someone who hated it.

• hated the smell.

• hated the look.

• hated what was in it.

• the man who owned it by far the only good thing about it.

• you sprint like that was the only thing you knew how to do,

• until you’re stopped in the middle of a poorly lit garage, two cars and a dark suited man waiting for you at its passenger doors.

• “Hey gorgeous, I think you took a wrong turn on your way to the venue.”

• you feel your heart strings being pulled tens of different directions,

• biting down at your trembling lip, veil sardonically dangling over your stained leaking eyes.

• “Wooyoung, I—“

• “Let’s take a drive shall we?”

• he gets in first, engine roaring when the key kisses the ignition,

• being the second thing he loved after you.

• and you’re not supposed share him.

• you sure as hell don’t want to and that’s the reason you were going to leave in the first place.

• but the thought of spending time with the man you love was the only thing keeping you from leaving.

• and it seems that no matter what you do, you’ll always be right there in his passenger seat.

• counting the stars in the sky and having him drive you to a place where no one but you two can go.

• “I love you.”

• he says the words for you like it hurts.

• “And if you want to leave me, I’ll let you.” his voice breaks and you can feel the curdling pressure of his hands on the steering wheel as if it were you. “Sweetheart, I never intended for you to feel obliged to love me, yeah? And I know sometimes you don’t but—“

• you turn your face underneath the white veil over your head and place a hand over his,

• the rumble of the stick that controlled the car and controlled him relaxed underneath your touch.

• his fingers grips get lost between fighting to hold yours and keeping the stick in it’s right place.

• you don’t flinch even when he moves it back to first gear, eyes stuck on him.

• “Let’s just drive okay?”

• the car gets quiet while you hold him steady.

• and when you reach the destination, he seems afraid to let the car go.

• “Come with me.” you move yourself out of his vehicle and out into what feels like freedom,

• looking down at the city you found him in, wondering how you could’ve been so lucky.

• yet why you can’t decide over where you want to be and who you want to love.

• “Maybe I’m selfish.” you whisper, white lace touching the swollen parts of your moving lips. “Maybe I don’t want to spend my entire life in the confinement of your damned car and your damned house.”

• Wooyoung stands behind you, hands buried in his pockets wondering,

• — seeing the gorgeous night beyond your beautiful figure,

• why his eyes solely bound to you.

• “Maybe I can’t stand who you are and what you do.” you fight back the remaining tears you had to appreciate the view right in front of you. “I don’t know how you do it, Woo. How you could love two things at once.”

• he wants to say it’s not his choice.

• that it’s not in his control when actually that was exactly what was happening.

• he could make sacrifices for you but their too little for comfort.

• to put it frankly, it’s not enough.

• “I fell in love with the city before you.” your eyes close softly when the autumn night breeze hits your bare skin. “I fell in love with the stars. And then god forbid I ever choose a man in place of those— no, I fell in love with you.”

• Wooyoung’s tongue runs across the surface of his teeth wondering when he should stop leaning against his car and start leaning over you.

• “The moment I got in your car that day, I was thinking how ugly of a thing it was. The sound it made and how it ruined my night.” your lips curl in devious remark. “I can’t stand your car, babe. It’s just not for me.”

• he feels the heat of the hood start to burn his fingertips,

• suddenly realizing that sometimes he’s got to sacrifice the other things he loved in order to have you.

• “I love the stars. I love the sky, the sound of the city, the freedom I get.” your own fingertips feel cold, bare in the the evening breeze, looking for some kind of warmth out of nothing at all. “If I had to choose.. between loving you and getting the rest, baby, I don’t what to do.”

• Wooyoung finally lets go.

• rushing to hold you when you look like you’re about to fall.

• never trusted the rusted rails you leant on as much as he did himself.

• but he reached for you and whips you around to look at him the way you look up at the night sky.

• the only way he’d be able to appreciate the beauty of the stars is if it was right there—

• reflecting off the eyes of the woman he loves.

• “I know– Fuck.” Wooyoung’s rasp gets thicker when he speaks. “I know this isn’t easy. I know loving me is hard for you, sweetheart. Driving my car means more to me than anything. You know that.”

• your breath hitches at the back of your throat wanting to say, choose me or you’ll never get to have me.

• an ultimatum based solely on retaliation.

• pain.

• but you’re lost in his eyes the way the stars lose you.

• the moon the only thing ironically keeping you sane right now.

• “I’m gonna fucking break that thing apart one day, Woo.” your voice cracks in place of comforting words. “I don’t trust myself to be living with that stupid thing for my entire life and having to share it with you. Believe me, I’m gonna smash that thing to bits.”

• Wooyoung’s lips curl, hands crawling over your cold skin. “Then break it. How many times you want, I’ll give that to you.”

• “Why?” a silent sob escapes your lips while he fights to keep your eyes. “Why would you let me do that? Why would you let me hurt something you love so much?”

• you want him to tell you he’s gonna choose that thing—

• his cars.

• his life.

• but Wooyoung never makes it easy for you.

• being able to drive his car x mph.

• driving your heart ten times faster than horsepower at this point.

• “That thing I love, my cars. Y/n, I can fix those things. I can pick up the pieces if not buy a new one.”

• he brings the veil from over your eyes, over so he get a good look at you.

• and it may not be at the alter where he wanted you but if it has to be here,

• if he has to promise to have and hold you till death do you both part right here then so be it.

• “I can’t fix you.” the black haired vixen leans his forehead against yours as you finally warm under the cold breeze of the night. “I can’t buy a new you— something my power, my money can never buy. If I had to choose right now what I love more, y/n, believe me you’re first in line.”

• you cry when his lips brush against yours.

• feeling your heart suddenly tugged in a single direction.

• that direction being towards his.

• “I love you so much.” Wooyoung’s about to break right in front of you afraid to lose you to the night. “My car gets me to point a and point b.”

• “Then why do you need me?”

• “You take me beyond my dreams, sweetheart. And you still want to ask me why I need you?”

• he kisses you and maybe you were wrong.

• maybe you shouldn’t hate his car that much.

• in fact, that stupid retched thing was the reason you managed to find him in the first place,

• without it, never being able to meet the man you love.

• and maybe you did love the city and the freedom you get in it.

• but maybe you’re okay with settling in his arms instead.

• “I want to kiss you until my lips bleed.” you pout bending into his height like that’s where you were meant to be. “I want you to hold me until you don’t want to do anything but hold me forever.”

• Wooyoung chuckles over your breath before spinning you around in his arms, chin laying against the crook of your neck.

• “We were supposed to get married tonight.” he mumbles against your skin. “I don’t know about you but I’m suddenly not in the mood to go back just yet.”

• you lean your head back against the rising and falling chest of your fiancé,

• his heart feeling like a steady metronome.

• “I kind of want get out of this dress for a little bit.” your chin tilts up to look at him. “I don’t know about you but I was thinking your car serves more purpose than just driving it.”

• Wooyoung’s eyes darken but his lips move a different way.

• “The moon takes a toll on you, sweetheart.”

• “Take me while you sit in the drivers seat.” your fingers slowly move to pull the suit jacket right off his shoulder blades. “Show me those hands can do more than just shift gears, baby.”

• “As long as I get to marry you tomorrow, by all means, I’ll show you what these hands can do.”

• not like he’s never shown you before but hey,

• nothing’s ever wrong with a free ride.

@atinybitofau

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cherry3point14 · 4 years

Text

One Helluva Car

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Minor car fetish, one paragraph of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smut, a little jealous!Dean, this is crack babes’, I can’t stress this enough: car fetish Word Count: 3,500. Summary: Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world and then one day she sees Baby... A/N: @alexwinchester23 hit me up a THOUSAND years ago with the prompt: dean x reader where she is more “in love” with deans car and it makes him a little jelly lol. And I was like, ha ha ha sure I’ll write it. It’s been half written ever since. So, I finished it. Someone please be proud of me for finishing. (Not like that you animals.) This also fills Driving In The Impala for @spndeanbingo

It’s Monday lunchtime when you see it. Her? It looks like a her. The best cars are ‘hers’ and even from a distance, she has curves that only a good woman could possess.

You’ve had a morning of shitty, old trucks that have been run hard for too long, and new cars that you plug into the computer to diagnose, which takes all the fun out of life. It’s easy to see a mile off that she isn’t shitty or bogged down with modern tech. She’s a well looked after classic. A thing of beauty. A freaking masterpiece. She’s polished enough that the sun bounces off of her black surface like she’s made of glass.

If only your arms weren’t laden with brown paper bags of food you’d take a detour to get a closer look. You could ghost your hand over her hood and take a look at the interior. You bet it’s the softest fucking leather your ass would ever hope to feel.

You’d generally drool over her without actually drooling because God knows spit is not good for the paintwork. Unfortunately, you do have bags filled with hot, meaty subs intended to feed your workforce. And you’re wise enough to know that making a garage of hungry mechanics wait for their lunch is not a good move. It’ll only result in some sort of unnecessary disaster this afternoon that you, their boss, will have to fix or pay for. Or both.

The only thing you can do is take one last look at her, memorize that beautiful shape while you heft the bags closer to your chest and carry on walking. It’s not like you’ve never seen a good old fashion American muscle car before, you have your own ‘70 Mustang at home.

It’s just… this is a Chevvy Impala, arguably the first car to flex its muscles. You don’t see one of those every day.

Your hobby is like a much cooler version of birdwatching. You have an appreciation for cars, classics in particular. The craftsmanship, the design, and the sounds they make as they tear through the world like moving time capsules. Nothing generated by a low emission engine compares.

That’s how you spot her for the second time, on Wednesday.

Well, you hear her first.

You’re closing up for the night. Everyone goes home early on Wednesdays, the shop closes at three, except for you. There’s always paperwork that needs to be done and you hate the idea of taking it home if you can help it. Taking a car home you’re always happy to do, but paperwork? You refuse to dirty your private space like that.

It’s just before six when you’re locking the doors and thunder screams in the distance. At least you think it’s thunder, you wonder where the clouds are until it moves too fast to be a weather condition.

The closer it gets the more the sound transforms into pure, uncut horsepower. It’s the deep rumble of an engine that demands to be heard. It tears your attention to it whether you like it or not. An announcement of the coming vehicle before it arrives.

Then she glides around the corner of Maple and Third before peeling down the street past you. It’s her again, she’s still in town. You know it’s the same car, she isn’t a vehicle made for stealth and your little ol’ town isn’t exactly heaving with beauties like her.

You know she’s not a local, it must be a flying visit, you’re lucky enough to have seen her again before she left. Not just seen her though, heard her. Heard her engine and the screech of her tires on the tarmac. Experiencing her in action is breathtaking enough that you gawp at her like an idiot as she zooms away.

It’s not a fetish or anything. You don’t exactly cuddle an exhaust pipe in bed. You appreciate cars more than your job requires you to, simple. It’s a respect that was drilled into you from a young age. Your dad owns a franchise of shops across the state and never had the boy he always wanted. He didn’t mope about it, he taught you to fix an engine instead. To appreciate every individual piece like an unsolved puzzle. And because your dad is a big ol’ softie he taught you that classic cars can’t be beaten, he favors Camaros in particular. He gave you a garage to work in until you’d labored enough to earn it for keeps and manage it as your own. Your dad raised you to bleed motor oil and sweat gasoline.

Cars are your life. Ok, maybe you’re a bit of a gearhead is all. You can’t help it if that Impala is a fine wine you want to uncork.

You watch the street lights make a hazy path for her to follow, another corner and she’s gone.

At home, you curl up on your sofa and scroll through your usual sites to see how much your own Impala would cost. In good condition, you’d have to sell one of the two cars you already have but there’s this smashed up ‘68 in New Jersey that might be worth the drive for the price. It would basically be a new car by the time you rebuild it but that doesn’t matter. All you needed were the bones of the thing and you never shy away from a project that involves weeks of hunting down original parts, that’s half the fun. For tonight at least it gets bookmarked. The decision left for another day, if it still seems like a good idea in the morning then you’ll make the call.

Hell, maybe tomorrow you’ll see something else and forget all about her. Maybe.

Good looking guys come through town from time to time but Dean is a rare treat. He’s the picture next to ‘handsome’ in the dictionary. He’s got these full lips that you’ve stared at, without an ounce of shame, while he sucks on a beer bottle. A jawline covered in scruff that you’ve already imagined between your thighs. And then there are those hands of his. It could be your line of work but you always loved a man with hands like his. Broad hands and thick fingers. Mechanic hands you’d call them, you half wish they were covered in oil and grease.

He was tapping away on the bar for a while, drumming aimlessly while you drank, but now he’s toppled in your direction. He’s standing between his barstool and yours, while you're still seated, which makes you the perfect height for him to slip an arm around you. His thumb has settled in on tracing the edge of your jeans while he talks to you, tickling your back where your tank had ridden up.

Honestly? He doesn’t even need to be a good lay to be worth the trip to bed.

“I know you said you’re in town with your brother…”

He winces at the start of your sentence, “with the things I’m thinking about doing to you honey, you can’t go mentioning Sammy at the same time.”

Underneath the stained overalls, you’re still a woman and you’re not sure if there’s anyone alive who could resist Dean’s charms. When you laugh at his ridiculous propositioning, you don’t even try to fight when it tails off into a giggle.

“I was going to ask if you had your own room? Or are we going back to my place?”

You’d almost think he’d been playing it cool up until this point. Everything had been measured and smooth. But you ask him that and he finally cracks, urgency slips through that charm offensive. He tilts his head forward as his face hardens into something intense, eyes hooded under the light of the bar. His hand slides up underneath your top enough that his whole palm skates against your skin. “How about a compromise? My car, your place?”

You lean in until you’re almost touching his lips, your tongue peeks out to wet them and flicks against his, taunting. “Deal."

He doesn’t need to know that you walked here and needed a ride home anyway. That's irrelevant.

Stumbling out of the bar is messy. Not because of the alcohol, neither of you have drunk that much, it’s his hands on your waist. They’re possessive and so there.

Maybe he’s not so bad in bed. Maybe he’s actually, pretty good in…

Oh fuck. It’s her.

You’re stopped in your tracks by the sight of your very own white whale. Well, black and shiny Impala but the metaphor stands.

You stop and Dean bumps into you, not expecting it so soon. For a brief moment, you’re frozen in awe, reverence. Even in the dark, she’s perfect. Street lights bouncing off of her smooth exterior. The night is chilly and there’s a hint of condensation creeping around the edges of the windshield which only serves to make her sparkle.

“Wow, she’s-”

“Mine?” Dean finishes, a wry grin on his face and keys dangling from those fingers you’d been drooling over moments ago. Fuck him and his fingers now.

“Shit, Dean. I’ve been seeing this car all week. She’s beautiful.” You walk towards her, carefully, in case you spook her. She’s an old soul, probably jumpy. Your hand reaches out but doesn’t touch her yet because you’re being respectful.

You’d have thought Dean might have appreciated your care. Instead, he laughs and it catches you off guard. You whip your head back around to glare at him and he encourages you, “she won't bite.”

When you finally make contact she’s cool and glossy under your touch, but even so, you don’t run your hand over her like you want to. You can feel the waxed surface that you don’t want to ruin. You know how much effort goes into a good wax job like this. Instead, you trade your whole hand for your fingertips and trace her edges as if trying to remember her shape for when you rebuild your own.

“Ahem.” In the distance, Dean clears his throat. Sucks for him. You’ve got a new love interest.

“Sweetheart?” He asks again, stepping up closer to you as if you didn’t hear him. He sounds needy like he wants you, but it’s edged with this vulnerable envy. You already noticed his bright green eyes in the bar, now you're wondering if there’s a different green-eyed monster at play.

He needs to understand, you saw the car first. She’s held your heart all week, Dean piqued the interest of your lady parts about half an hour ago. You might say age before beauty but this Impala has Dean beat on both fronts, older and more beautiful.

“Where’d you get these rims, if I didn’t know better I’d almost say they’re original,” you spare him a glance over your shoulder. “But I do know better.”

He looks like he’s struggling with not having your full attention, you’d almost say he’s pouting. Then he sticks out his bottom lip and he's definitely pouting. He shuffles from foot to foot and steels his jaw. It makes it even more difficult for him then when you ask questions that he wants to answer. You can see the cogs turning where he’s trying to work out if he should encourage your interest or not. As much as he wants sex, in the end, the gearhead wins out.

“Fixed her up a lot over the years, found those in a junkyard if you believe it.” He steps up next to you now with a proud smile.

“I can believe it. I’ve seen the stuff people throw away. They’re perfect. Can I?” You slide out your phone and wave it at him.

He nods, although a little dumbstruck.

You bend down and snap a picture, explaining. “I was looking at a sixty-eight to rebuild, maybe. Actually, yours gave me the idea, saw her and couldn’t get her out of my head. I have a friend who might be able to help me out with these.”

“You wanna build one?” He sounds interested but not enough to get him off track. The track being you.

“Yeah. I told you I’m a mechanic. Building these things is in my blood.”

The air is cool and you start to feel it, not having intended being outside this long. He sees you shiver and steps behind you running his hands up and down your arms. “Sixty-eight ain’t a sixty-seven though, is it?” He asks, voice dripping with cocky arrogance about his car.

Oh, fuck. He’s figured out the way to your heart. He’s got you all turned around and leaning against her. Back pressed against her metal and glass enough that you’ll be feeling her for weeks.

“No, it’s not…”

“Wanna ride my Baby?” Dean presses his lips to the corner of your mouth with the question, leaving enough space for you to let out an almost inaudible gasp.

You’d be inclined to say men name their cars the dumbest shit sometimes but ‘Baby’ fits somehow. It’s perfect. She’s Baby.

“Yeah,” you nod. Right now, it's all you’ve ever wanted.

He walks you to the passenger’s side door and opens it’s for you. It’s not even romantic, it’s a fucking turn on.

Maybe you do have a car fetish. You should probably figure that out, like, another day.

In the time it takes Dean to strut to the other side you have sunk into the leather and just as you imagined, it’s soft. Worn and loved, like everything else about this beauty. This is what’s makes her special and that’s why you would have to love your own extra hard. To make up the years of neglect.

“Ready to go?”

He’s looking at you, smirking in your peripheral, and you’re looking at his fingers on the keys. You know what’s going to happen when he turns them. You’re still not prepared.

“Let’s do it.” A grin slides onto your face.

She rumbles to life beneath you. The vibrations from her engine shudder through the seat straight to your core. From there you swear the horsepower zips to every nerve ending in your body like electricity powering a city. And the sound could strike you down. She somehow purrs and roars at the same time. Each rev is a scream but her engine sings between each turn.

“Two eighty-three?” You ask, bottom lip caught behind your teeth.

“Get out of here with that two eighty-three crap. She’s a three twenty-seven.” He snaps, but not really, pressing his foot on the gas again just to see you quiver. Another rotation of the engine, her power, rolls through you.

He pulls out onto the road, leaving the dive behind, and drifts a little as he does, the back of her floating into the road. You slide over the seat an inch and he’s half focused on you, half focused on driving, so you're not even sure if he planned it. You scoot closer to him and he weighs his arm, the one not currently steering, around your shoulders. You’re becoming increasingly aware that the car smells like him, or he smells like her. Leather, sweet and spicy, musky. It’s a complicated mix where you’re not sure whether it's more her or him. You want to wrap yourself up in it all the same but Baby can’t wrap you up, Dean can.

“Dean I… Next left… I really, really love this car.”

He licks his lips as he looks down at you, his pupils wide, probably has a clear view of your chest, “yeah? How much, sweetheart?”

“A lot.” You pant in his ear, teeth grazing his lobe. “Second right, then it’s the third house on the left.”

A growl comes out of him. Determined. And you’re not so sure you care about fucking Dean anymore but each time you work him up a little higher, he revs that gorgeous engine and you get to feel that thunder. It’s the best circle jerk you could imagine, everyone is truly happy.

He pulls up in front of your house in record time because Baby is gunning 285 horsepower, so she’s not exactly going to be beat.

The problem, that you hadn’t really planned on, is arriving at your destination. As soon as he cuts the engine you puncture. Missing the everything about her straight away and wishing you’d kept driving for hours. Still, you have the scent of leather everywhere, burdening your senses with the smell of a bygone era. You hike a leg over Dean and sit in his lap. A knee either side of his thighs, denting her seats and Baby’s steering wheel holding the curve of your ass. Your hands skip Deans’ shoulders in favor of the seat behind him, the cushioned bench under the pads of your fingers, as you attach your mouth to his. Sandwiched between Baby and Dean, and you never want to leave the spot.

Your tongue curls into his mouth at the same time that he presses his fingers into your hips so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises. You’ve never worried about a tight grip on you before but he starts pulling you towards him and away from where you’re wedged on Baby. The more you lean your body into Dean, the less you feel his car.

“Baby.” You murmur into him. Dean must mistake it to be a pet name you’re borrowing, calling him, because he pulls you again. Actually you’re telling him where you want to be, to stay.

Here. With Baby.

“This is a nice neighborhood.” He hums in this tone that’s deep but it doesn’t go through you like the sound of a turbo V-8. “We should take this inside.”

He’s right. Carl from the damn neighborhood watch is probably already doing just that, watching. The pervert.

“Right, sure.” You agree despite the way your stomach drops at the thought of leaving her.

You’re all untangling limbs getting out and he kisses you once more against Baby before you allow him to drag you away. It already feels different, normal, boring.

Dean’s fine, he’s good, he’s handy. Like you’d thought he would be.

You wrap your mouth around his dick because you’ve always liked looking up through your lashes and seeing the way a guy goes breathless on your tongue. He works you open on his thick fucking fingers until the pressure in your stomach snaps with his thumb circling your clit. He pushes into you and the stretch, the burn, is perfect. Dean is better in bed than you’d expected him to be.

And yet, it’s empty. Dulled. It doesn’t scratch the itch like good sex used to. The whole experience dampened compared to what you’d felt sitting in the front seat of his 1967 Chevy Impala.

You slip on some oversized shirt from your floordrobe to walk him out when he leaves. Neither of you under any impression that he’s staying the night. He’s got this satisfied grin on his face that he hasn’t been able to wipe off since the first time he came. He stops at your doorstep, “thanks, sweetheart. This was fun.”

“Sure was,” you agree, not giving him the full story. Standing at your doorway you’re looking at Baby instead of Dean, again. “Let me know if you’re still in town tomorrow, I’d love to go for another ride.”

He nods and backs away a few steps until he’s in your line of sight along with his car, “will do, baby.”

He must think you mean sex. You wouldn't be opposed to it but you mean a drive. A real drive with wide roads, and opening the taps. You can break that to him tomorrow if he does give you that call. If he doesn't then there's only one thing you need to say before he leaves. One thing you can't let her leave without saying.

“One helluva car you got there, Dean.”

Second A/N: Look, this didn’t start out as a full on car fetish but I was writing it and SOMETIMES I HAVE NO CONTROL. Sometimes these characters they say, “fuck you!” and do what they want. I was going to write a nice little jealousy thing. Dean wants some attention. That’s all. You only have yourselves to blame readers!

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer @iamabeautifulperson18 @erins-culinary-service

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the-firebird69 · 1 month

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And we can use this it's a basic shape and he says you need a wide body in the rear and the front is already flared for some reason. And it is kind of fun he says the back looks cool but it's just a window and you'd rather have it with annual bloomer angled louver. There is a mid drive car and it is older and smaller and it would work. This needs some work and we do say it does. Does. The front end is pretty low but it's not low enough and he says the magic words and we'd like to try it there's a way to retrofit but that's a lot of work so we're looking at this as a kick car to revive and he wants to do it and he wants to do it in our shop with their people in a combined effort the same name and everything. The rear would be different I'm just like a cow that goes on the back it doesn't go much lower you keep the tail lights the same but they are positioned differently and flush of course in the middle looks a lot cooler the back has the look but it's indented and it's the louver look of the Ferrari you still have the sides similar That's the size of the louver the whole panel would be indented and it's going to be where the engine goes shortly

- We're going to include features from the John Cena car that are ours and we reserve the right to and we need information. The induction system for the mid engine but they're all gonna have it some of it will be a blank panel we also will include the fairing system for the side you'll see it on the Cena it's not really going to be a slow on the front end as well. It will look like a regular sports car or a super car it won't have the mega car look but we will redesign and modernize and yeah the rear end needs to be kicked out quite a bit in the front a little more and it's gonna be awesome and it will look every bit as awesome as top line Ferrari or Lamborghini and better it'll be part muscle car.

We need to clarify that this will be on the VW and he spoke with his son and daughter in law he thinks he got it from before he says he does have it and knows what the math is he tested it so we're talking about something else but it's a great day.

he did say it is a learnign experience nad that he is better at it and each day and his father says we learn that way his wife too had the same experience learne and tested loved it now are into it a lot.

he stated "this may be how i get the vw gulf car" and it is true we do see it and tons say it this might. and we see why yes. to make it grow. and a few do that this way. for money. power and wealth and to take ships. bja is one and not too aggressive. john r is. and says it he is driving my car took it. and we say it. and macs o too. ok and mac daddy. too.

we use this chassis below

This is the Pontiac GTO. 350 horsepower. they made it for about 10 years And it is a wonderful vehicle no it sucks it's very slow for for that amount of horsepower it doesn't even feel fast it clogs up real quick and our car would come with exhaust it is a perfect wheelbase and with and they make a whole bunch of other ones grand am that they're practically the same chassis we can probably use the same mold but really could change it a little and use all the same parts the idea on the Volkswagen is different you're not touching the interior. The idea here would be the same not even the seats only emblems and things like that and accessories will come with a basic package. But you see that it's not really that complicated but on this car you would have to remove the panels and the roof and we'd probably start with a one piece which would look a little bit like the Cena car without the glass and such would be a standard super car look on the front but yeah it would look very very very incredible. We're thinking of doing it we're going to try and get it going and we are looking for people to sponsor. There are so many There are so many of these cars and they were fast but not fast enough on the front end is low enough they don't disturb it and after time we will use the cradle idea and we'll probably make a bunch with the cradle for ourselves and offer it probably make most of us with the cradle say 50 miles an hour faster and handles twice as good but this vehicle will handle it it would there's no comparison between this car and what the Bradley GT two will be there's none there's also not a smaller version this is the size of Bradley GT2 which is AC2 we're gonna go ahead and start this is a great idea and he did it by working with us in brainstorming with all of us as a team his son and daughter in law and some others even Alicia is in there somewhere so we're gonna get going on this

the below will be the new planton panels to be the new porche you see

this is the look slightly different but close. and it is a 1991 911 porche. and tons love it we love it. and a 130hp vw bug 97-2007 wiht our plant on panels will go from 160 and after to 225mph tons want it we hear good.

Thor Freya

Olympus

we helped a lot Hera Zues all of us did Savage Oppress us too Nuada Arrianna and me Alicia and no dave did not well mb a bit likes it.

me too heped have the car ready no

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