#turbo jet engine

[seumyo]

the price to pay when you’re a passenger princess.

You knew that there had to be a catch when Bakugou said he’d pick you up after your 12-hour shift at the hospital. But the thing was, you were too exhausted to dwell on the thought.

Or so you thought.

“You look dead on your feet,” he commented as he opened the door for you.

“Thanks for the compliment,” you replied dryly, tossing your bag into the backseat. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

The sleek, jet-black Porsche 911 Turbo S roared through the empty streets like a predator on the hunt, the low rumble of the engine vibrating through your very soul. Bakugou, of course, looked completely at ease, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift, a calm expression seen on his face.

You’ve come to understand that your husband was relatively calm when not provoked.

“Katsuki,” you started as the car picked up speed, “you do realize this is still a hospital zone, right? Maybe don’t speed like you’re in a Fast and Furious movie.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You literally just did.”

“Relax,” he drawled, shifting gears with precision. “You know I’ve got this.”

You, on the other hand, were internally reciting every safety procedure you could think of in case of an unfortunate circumstance to come.

“Should I call my assistant to make an appointment in advance?”

Bakugou snorts. “What? Don’t trust me?”

“Oh, I trust you. It’s the laws of physics I don’t trust,” you muttered under your breath, earning a low chuckle from him.

The worst part? There was barely any traffic this late at night, which only encouraged Bakugou to push the limits of what his new Porsche could do. You glanced at the speedometer and instantly regretted it.

“Katsuki, I swear to God—”

“What? It’s not like I’m breaking the speed limit,” he said with mock innocence, though the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

The Prefectural Government’s Public Safety Commissions should really revoke his license one of these days. Or you might not live to see the next one.

“By less than two!”

You leaned your head back against the seat, staring at the darkened city skyline as it blurred past you. You were exhausted from your shift, your feet aching, bone tired, but all of that was being drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of your life flashing before your very eyes.

You double-checked your seatbelt again. It’s never too late to actually be safe.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said without taking his eyes off the road.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to yell at me for being too hot and good at everything.”

“Wow? The audacity of my husband making such a bold claim,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. “Have I fed your ego too much that you’re about to float away like a hot-air balloon?”

“Didn’t deny my claim.” He got you there.

You couldn’t argue with that.

“Just so you know,” you muttered, clutching the grab handle even tighter as he effortlessly weaved between two cars, “if I die tonight, I’m haunting you. And I’ll make sure to mess with you when you’re trying to sleep.”

“Good,” he said with a grin, finally glancing your way. “At least then you’d be with me all the time, huh?”

You stared at him, momentarily speechless. “Are you seriously flirting with me right now? While you’re driving like a maniac?”

“Who says I can’t multitask?”

Before you could fire back with another retort, the car slowed as you neared your apartment complex. Your death grip on the handle loosened ever so slightly, though your heart was still racing.

When Bakugou finally parked, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You unbuckled your seatbelt, your hands still trembling a little.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too or whatever.”

“I—wait, you actually said it.”

“What? Can’t a man just say he loves his wife?”

“Good point, but you rarely say it!”

“I pick you up after your every shift and make sure you don’t die of starvation or poor health. That’s enough than saying it, no?”

“But you said it! So it’s different.”

“Not.”

“It is!”

“Not.”

“Is!”

Terrifying car rides aside, there was no one else you’d rather be stuck with. Even if your husband drove you absolutely crazy—both on and off the road. This must be the price of being Bakugou Katsuki’s passenger princess.

SEUMYO © 2025, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[usafphantom2]

Aircraft engine types ✈️

✈️Turbo-Shaft: Used in helicopters and some fixed-wing aircraft, it features a compressor, combustion chamber, and turbine. The turbine drives a power shaft via a free (power) turbine, which powers the rotor or propeller through a gearbox, rather than producing direct thrust. Exhaust gases are expelled separately.

✈️Turbo-Prop: Similar to a turbo-shaft, it powers a propeller via a gearbox. Air is compressed, mixed with fuel, and burned in the combustion chamber. The turbine extracts energy to drive the propeller, with some exhaust thrust. It’s efficient for low-speed, short-range flights.

✈️Turbo-Fan: Common in commercial jets, it has a large fan at the front, high- and low-pressure compressors, a combustion chamber, and turbines. The fan accelerates air around the core (bypass air) for thrust, while the core produces additional thrust via exhaust. It’s efficient for high-speed, long-range flights.

✈️Turbo-Jet: An older design, it compresses air, burns fuel in the combustion chamber, and expels exhaust through a nozzle for thrust. It lacks a bypass fan, making it less efficient but capable of high speeds. Used in early jet fighters and some supersonic aircraft.

✈️Ram-Jet: Operates at high speeds (Mach > 1), using forward motion to compress air in the inlet. Fuel is injected and burned in the combustion chamber, and the exhaust is expelled through a nozzle for thrust. It has no moving parts but only works at high speeds.

✈️Scramjet: A supersonic combustion ramjet, designed for hypersonic speeds (Mach > 5). Air enters at supersonic speeds, is compressed, mixed with fuel, and burned in a combustion chamber, with exhaust expelled for thrust. It’s used in experimental hypersonic vehicles.

✈️Rocket: Uses stored propellants (fuel and oxidizer) in a pressure vessel. Propellants are burned in a combustion chamber, and the high-pressure exhaust is expelled through a nozzle for thrust. It operates in space since it doesn’t rely on atmospheric oxygen.

✈️Gas Turbine: Similar to a turbo-shaft, it’s used for power generation or auxiliary power units. Air is compressed, burned with fuel, and the exhaust drives a power turbine, which can power generators or other systems. Bleed valves and discharge ports manage airflow and pressure.

Each engine type is optimized for specific applications, balancing efficiency, speed, and operational environment.

@Airmainengineer via X

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Chevrolet Astrovettes, 1969. The crew of Apollo 12 - astronauts Pete Conrad, Richard Gordon, and Alan Bean - ordered custom-painted Corvette C3s. Each astronaut ordered a matching Corvette Stingray coupe, powered by 390hp, 427ci Turbo-Jet V8 engines with 4-speed wide-range transmission and PosiTraction 3.08 rear axles. Bean (the fourth person to walk on the moon who passed away in 2018) played a key role in the design of the Corvettes, choosing the black on gold color scheme. The design included distinctive black “wings” styled by Alex Tremulis, the industrial and automotive designer. The C3 Corvettes became known as the Astrovettes with the only difference between the cars being the red, white, and blue badges on each fender used to identify which car belonged to which astronaut

[transport-methodology-101]

From top:

1970 Oldsmobile 442 W30. The "455 W30" refers to engine & performance package available for 1970 Oldsmobile 442. W30 package included a 455 cubic inch V8 engine producing 370 horsepower, forced-air induction, a special air cleaner, an aluminum intake manifold, and other performance enhancements. It was the ultimate high-performance Oldsmobile of its time, and the 1970 model was even selected to pace the Indianapolis 500. Only 3,100 Oldsmobile 442s were assembled with the W30 option in 1970.

1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 454 LS6. Powered by LS6 version of 454 Turbo-Jet engine, producing 450 horsepower & 500 lb-ft of torque. Acceleration from 0 to 60 mph in around 5.5 seconds and complete a quarter-mile in the low 13-second range. The 1970 Chevelle SS 454 LS6 is often referred to as the "King of the Muscle Cars" due to its powerful engine and limited production numbers. Only 4,475 Chevelles produced with the L56 engine option making it a highly sought after. The 1970 Chevelle SS 454 LS6 Convertible is especially rare, with estimates suggesting only 20 to 25 still exist.

1970 Buick GS 455 Stage 1. "Stage 1" denotes a performance upgrade package & this version produced 360 horsepower & 510 lb-ft of torque. Motor Trend recorded 13.38-second quarter-mile time at 105.5 mph, making it the quickest car they tested in 1970. In 1970, Buick produced 10,148 GS 455s (including GSXs), with only 2,697 equipped with Stage 1 package. rare and valuable muscle car. Some sources suggest the horsepower was underrated to manage insurance cost ( but you didn’t hear this from us ; )

1970 Pontiac 400 GTO Ram Air IV. Most powerful engine available for the GTO. 400 cubic inch displacement of engine & Ram Air IV high-performance induction system, rated at 370 horsepower. A 1970 GTO Judge Ram Air IV sold for over $1.1 million, highlighting the model's rarity & desirability making this Ram Air IV, world’s most expensive GTO. Stricter emissions regulations began to impact engine performance in the following years & its performance charisma dwindled.

[angrycheesegirl]

Fallout 3 is so funny to me because every person in the Capital Wasteland is by far too stupid to have actually lived this long.

The largest city in the area is built in a decrepit Aircraft Carrier. A cramped steel cage with no insulation and no ventilation. No access to fresh water, no place to sustainably grow food. These people would die of thirst if they somehow didn't bake or freeze first. The bow has literally fallen into the Potomac and somehow people still live here.

Megaton is a town entirely made of scrap metal and wrecked airplane parts. The main gate is powered by a jet engine within spitting distance of the pub. The entire town is built over a pit, and the only way to get around is climbing a steep slope or walking over catwalks that should've rusted away a hundred years ago. Do I need to mention the nuke?

The entire D.C. area is completely overrun with Super Mutants and Raiders. Where are these people getting their food from. What kind of farming infrastructure is there in the radiation swamps of coastal Maryland. How have there been 200 years of cannibals. How have they not all gotten Turbo-Kuru and turned into ghouls or something.

This entire city is unfit for human habitation, why is everyone here?

[jikookncity]

StreetRacer!Yuta x Reader

Yuta is king of the underground street racers in Tokyo, but no one has ever challenged his throne until her.

WC: 4.8k, rough sex, dirty talk, oral sex, unprotected sex, spanking, car sex, I think thats it (":

Before Her

The night air in Tokyo buzzed like an overcharged circuit—loud music thumping from souped-up speakers, neon signs flickering above ramen stalls, and the screech of tires painting the streets in smoke and adrenaline.

It was race night. Again.

And Yuta Nakamoto stood at the center of it all, already bored out of his mind.

He leaned against his black GT-R, gloved fingers tapping his phone, only half-listening to the guy standing next to him rattle off stats about his latest upgrade.

“Turbo’s clean. Rear diff’s tightened. You’ll smoke his ass in under thirty seconds,” his crew chief said, grinning.

Yuta barely glanced up. “I always do.”

It wasn’t cockiness. It was fact.

He was twenty-seven, rich off side bets and sponsor money funneled through back doors, and untouchable behind the wheel. Tokyo’s street scene practically knelt for him—guys wanted to race like him, girls wanted to fuck him, and cops couldn’t catch him if they tried.

And yet?

It was all so… fucking predictable.

Tonight’s opponent rolled up in a lime green Civic, decals too loud, revving his engine like a try-hard. Yuta didn’t even blink. He took one look at the dude’s stance—shoulders tense, white-knuckled grip on the wheel—and knew it was already over.

The crowd gathered. Bets flew. Cameras pointed.

Yuta slid into his seat, pulled on his harness with one hand, and popped his neck with the other. His custom dash flickered to life in smooth neon blue.

3… 2… 1…

The signal girl dropped the bandana.

They launched.

Yuta barely tried.

A clean drift on the first turn. Early shift into second. The Civic was already choking behind him, pushing too hard, too early. By the halfway mark, he’d gained two car lengths. By the end, it wasn’t even a race—it was an execution.

Cheers erupted.

He rolled to a stop, engine humming like a satisfied predator.

The losing driver stumbled out, red-faced, pissed. Yuta didn’t even get out of the car. Just cracked his window, sunglasses still on.

“Better luck next year.”

His crew swarmed him. Another win. Another wad of cash in his glovebox. Another girl at his window asking if he needed company tonight.

He didn’t even remember her name.

He didn’t say yes.

He just sat there, watching the smoke rise from the street, his jaw clenched.

What’s the point of being king, he thought, if there’s no one worth fighting for the crown?

He didn’t know it yet, but that question would haunt him.

Until she showed up.

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

Engines roared under the midnight sky, headlights slicing through the dark like blades. The city’s underbelly pulsed with life—neon signs flickering, smoke curling from food carts, and crowds crowding the sidelines, hungry for speed and scandal.

This was Yuta Nakamoto’s world.

And tonight, he was pissed.

Not that anyone could tell. He stood beside his jet-black Nissan GT-R, arms folded, expression unreadable, signature silver chain catching the glow of the streetlights. The king of Tokyo’s illegal street racing scene. Cocky, untouchable, and fast as hell. He didn’t lose.

Ever.

But now, all anyone could talk about was her.

Y/N.

New girl. Pretty face. Big mouth. No one knew where she came from, just that she showed up three weeks ago and had already clocked wins that made veterans sweat. But to the boys in this scene, she was still just a gimmick. Eye candy with a nice ride.

Yuta had watched her from the second she pulled up.

Cherry-red Supra. Engine tuned to perfection. Confidence dripping from her smirk as she climbed out, leather gloves on, hair tied back, helmet under her arm. She hadn’t looked at anyone.

Except him.

And she winked.

The crowd didn’t take her seriously. But Yuta? He wasn’t stupid. He never underestimated anyone who walked like they had nothing to prove.

So when she was placed on the bracket to race him that night, everyone laughed.

Yuta didn’t.

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

The engines idled, low and dangerous.

Y/N pulled up beside him, her car humming like a beast waiting to be unleashed. She turned and gave him a slow, infuriating smile through her half-lowered window.

“Try to keep up, sweetheart.”

Yuta grinned, sharp and amused. “Don’t get cocky before I’ve even made you beg.”

The flag girl stood between them, heels clicking, arms up.

Three…

Two…

One—

Lights flashed.

Rubber screamed against concrete. They launched.

The streets were a blur of color and smoke, each turn sharper than the last. They tore through tunnels, bridges, and abandoned industrial zones, chasing the horizon like predators. Every drift, every inch of acceleration, was perfect—until she started toying with him.

First, she edged just slightly ahead, enough to block his lane. Then she tapped her brakes—just to throw him off. He gritted his teeth. Not because he couldn’t keep up.

Because she was flirting.

With him. During the race.

She drifted around the final curve, back bumper nearly kissing his front, and for a second he thought she was going to take it.

But at the last second… she let him pass.

He crossed the finish line barely ahead, heart pounding, fury and adrenaline crashing through him like a storm.

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

Crowds swarmed.

Yuta didn’t stay for the cheers. He didn’t let anyone slap his back or offer drinks. He pulled off his gloves, jaw tight, eyes scanning the crowd until he found her.

Y/N leaned against her car like it was a throne. Suit unzipped just enough to tease, chin tilted, looking like she didn’t have a care in the world.

He jerked his head once.

Follow me.

To everyone else, it looked like nothing. But she saw it.

And she went.

He led her past the crowd, down the alley behind the warehouse—quiet, dark, save for the hum of cooling engines and the buzz of tension.

When she stopped, he turned slowly.

“You let me win.”

Her smile was infuriatingly innocent. “Did I?”

Yuta stepped closer, until the air between them felt like it might combust.

“You had me on that last corner. You let off.”

She shrugged, voice soft and unbothered. “Guess we’ll have to find out next time.”

That fucking smile. Sweet. Coy. Like she hadn’t just pushed him to his limits and pulled back at the finish line just to mess with his head.

“You think this is a game?” he asked, stepping even closer, his chest brushing hers. “You think you can get in my head, baby?”

Y/N raised a brow. “Looks like I already did.”

His eyes dropped to her lips, then her smirk, then her mouth again.

“You don’t want to start something you can’t finish.”

“Oh, I always finish,” she said, low, leaning in like she might kiss him.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she stepped back. Slow. Purposeful. And just when he thought she was done, she glanced over her shoulder.

“Night, Yuta.”

And disappeared around the corner.

He stood there, fists clenched, chest heaving, half-hard and half-furious.

Next time? He wasn’t letting her walk away.

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

The lot was empty. No crowd. No bets. No distractions.

Just two cars.

Two drivers.

And something thick and electric hanging between them like smoke from burnt rubber.

Yuta leaned against his GT-R, arms crossed, jaw tight. His leather jacket hung open, black tee clinging to the lines of his body, and his eyes were locked on the red Supra parked twenty feet across from him.

She was late. On purpose, he was sure. Just to piss him off.

Y/N finally pulled in, tires crunching gravel. She stepped out slow, deliberate, peeling off her helmet and shaking out her hair like this was a fashion shoot, not a race. Her eyes met his with that same smug, maddening sparkle.

Yuta didn’t move. Just watched.

“Cute of you to call for a rematch,” she said, walking toward him.

He pushed off the car, steps calm, but gaze burning. “That wasn’t a race. That was a performance.”

Her lips curved. “Was I good?”

Yuta stepped into her space. Close. Close enough to feel the heat off her body, close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to hold his gaze.

“This time, you better give me everything,” he said, voice low and sharp. “I don’t want your tease. I want your best.”

Y/N’s eyes dropped to his mouth, slow and deliberate. Then lower. Her lashes fluttered.

“I’ll think about it.”

Yuta groaned—actually groaned—and dragged a hand down his face, turning away like it was the only way to stop himself from grabbing her right then and there.

“You’re fucking unbearable,” he muttered.

“You love it.”

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

They lined up.

Two monsters idling beneath them. The street was empty. The only light came from the glow of nearby signs and the hazy orange of an overhead lamp.

Engines roared.

Yuta’s hands tightened on the wheel. He glanced over. She winked. Again.

Fuck.

The flag dropped.

They took off.

Smoke, speed, heat—the world blurred into motion. No traffic. No obstacles. Just an open stretch of concrete and two hungry engines chasing domination.

Yuta pushed harder than he ever had. Every drift, every calculated burst of nitro, perfectly timed. And still—still—she stayed with him. Neck and neck, corner after corner, brake lights flickering like Morse code between them.

He thought he had her on the final straight. Thought he saw her drop just a fraction of a second.

But she surged forward.

So did he.

The finish line blurred past—and when they stopped at the end of the strip, both dashboards read the same time.

Dead. Even.

Yuta slammed his fists against the wheel.

“FUCK—”

Her laugh cut through the night.

He turned his head slowly, furious and breathless, just in time to see her blowing him a kiss through the window.

Then she sped off.

Gone again. No win. No loss. No answers. Just that fucking laugh echoing in his head, making his blood boil and his heart race.

Yuta leaned back in his seat, chest heaving.

He wasn’t just obsessed anymore.

He was losing it.

And the worst part?

She knew.

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

It started like any other race night.

Same lot. Same haze of exhaust and cheap smoke. Same faces shouting over dubstep bass and engine revs. Yuta had just dusted another challenger—this one in a souped-up BMW who swore he’d figured out “the secret to beating Nakamoto.”

Spoiler: he hadn’t.

Yuta didn’t even break a sweat. The cash was in his back pocket, the praise rolling in, and a girl he vaguely recognized was trying to get his attention with too much perfume and too little subtlety.

He didn’t look. Didn’t care.

He was already turning to leave when he heard it—a low, aggressive rumble slicing through the chaos like a blade.

It wasn’t just a car.

It was an arrival.

Heads turned. Conversations stopped. The crowd parted like instinct knew to move out of the way.

And then he saw it.

Cherry-red Supra.

Clean. Polished to hell. Not a scratch on the body, but the exhaust sounded mean. Whoever tuned it knew exactly what the fuck they were doing. Yuta’s brows rose, curiosity flickering somewhere under his usual deadpan expression.

The door opened.

Boots hit the asphalt first.

Then legs. Hips. Black racing suit unzipped just enough to reveal the curve of her collarbone. Fingerless gloves. Helmet tucked under one arm, hair pulled back like she didn’t have time for drama.

And then she looked up.

Right at him.

Not the crowd. Not the cars. Not the so-called competition standing around like dogs sniffing for scraps.

Straight at Yuta.

Like she already knew who he was.

And worse—like she wasn’t impressed.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t pause.

She just walked past everyone, slow and confident, and came to a stop directly in front of him.

“You’re the king, huh?” she said, voice calm, almost lazy, like this was a casual conversation at a bar—not a challenge on sacred blacktop.

Yuta tilted his head, eyes dragging over her frame, the car behind her, and finally her mouth.

“Depends who’s asking.”

That got her to smile. A little.

“The girl who’s about to smoke you.”

She didn’t give him a chance to answer. Just turned and walked back to her car, hips swaying like the whole thing bored her. Like she wasn’t surrounded by men who’d eat glass for half her confidence.

Yuta stood frozen for a second.

What the fuck just happened?

His crew was whispering behind him.

“Who is she?”

“Is she serious?”

“She won’t last a second.”

But he knew.

She’s not bluffing.

Yuta didn’t get excited anymore. Not by money. Not by sleeping around. Not by victory. Not by the roar of engines or the flash of lights.

But his heart was racing.

Finally.

Someone worth chasing.

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

It was just another underground meet—oil-stained concrete, revving engines, neon lights flickering in the humid night air. Yuta had just pulled in, freshly detailed GT-R humming, when he heard it.

Voices. Laughter. Stupid.

“She’s hot, sure, but that’s all she is. No way she beats Yuta clean. He probably let her win just to get in her pants.”

“She’s not even that good. Just a tease in tight suits. I’d wreck her on a straight.”

Yuta stopped.

Turned.

And cracked his neck like he was warming up.

The first guy didn’t even see it coming.

Yuta’s fist slammed into his jaw, clean and fast, sending him sprawling back into a stack of tires. The second tried to step in—Yuta elbowed him square in the gut, then grabbed his collar and shoved him hard into the hood of a car.

“She’s better than you’ll ever be,” he snarled, jaw clenched, fire in his eyes. “You talk about her again, I’ll make sure you never race in this city again.”

He let the guy drop, chest heaving, blood buzzing with something he hadn’t felt in years.

Not just anger.

Possession.

Respect.

Obsession.

She saw it all.

Y/N stood across the lot, leaning against her Supra, one brow raised, chewing on a piece of gum like it was the most interesting thing she’d seen all night.

He stalked toward her, wiping his knuckles with a rag, adrenaline still thick in his veins.

“You ready?” she asked sweetly.

Yuta didn’t smile. “Born ready.”

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

Just the two of them.

Again.

Same stretch of closed-off city. No crowd this time—word had spread that this wasn’t a public thing anymore.

This was personal.

Yuta pulled up beside her, rolled down his window, leaned one elbow out casually.

“You sure you’re ready to lose in style tonight?” he asked, smirk lazy.

Y/N turned to him, head tilting, the neon lights catching the gleam in her eyes. “I thought I already beat you where it counts.”

Yuta licked his teeth. “We’ll see who’s breathless at the finish line.”

They launched.

But this time, Yuta played dirty.

Every drift, every tight turn, he teased her.

Cut in just close enough to rattle her rhythm. Braked slightly to make her overthink. Sped ahead, only to let her catch up just to block her again.

He wasn’t trying to win.

He was trying to get under her skin. The same way she’d gotten under his.

She growled into her mic once when he blocked her third attempt to pass.

“Fuck you, Yuta.”

“You trying,” he replied smoothly, “but I like it desperate.”

They crossed the line.

Dead even. Again.

But this time, she didn’t drive away.

She stuck her arm out the window and curled her finger once.

Follow me.

He did.

No hesitation.

They drove fast, far—past the edge of the city, through a winding forest path, until they pulled up to a secluded clearing just big enough for their cars.

She stepped out first, no helmet, racing suit peeled halfway down to her waist, tank top clinging to her sweat-slicked skin.

Yuta was on her before she could even speak.

He crowded her back against the hood of his car, both hands on either side of her thighs, lips barely inches from hers.

“You like fucking with me, huh?” he murmured, gaze burning. “Racing me, teasing me, driving me insane.”

Y/N smirked, breath shaky. “Is it working?”

He leaned in closer, until his mouth brushed her cheek, then her ear.

“You don’t even know what you’ve started. I’ve been thinking about your mouth every time I shift gears. About the way your thighs squeeze when I cut you off. About bending you over your own fucking hood.”

She gasped.

Yuta smirked. Finally.

“You wanna play games, baby? You just picked the wrong opponent.”

His fingers brushed down her arm, slow, like a threat and a promise. His lips hovered over hers.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, voice like gravel and heat.

But she didn’t.

She tilted her chin up instead, lips parted, eyes glazed over with want.

And Yuta smiled.

The trees rustled in the breeze. Her back was still against the hood of his car, the metal warm under her thighs from the engine. Yuta hadn’t stepped away. He stood between her legs, chest almost brushing hers, hands planted on either side of her like a trap.

The air between them was hot and tight—every breath laced with the things they hadn’t done yet.

And then Yuta leaned in, voice dropping.

“There’s a race this Friday. Public one. Big crowd. Everyone’ll be there.”

Y/N’s lashes flicked up, eyes meeting his with a slow, lazy challenge.

“So?”

He smiled. Sharp. Dangerous.

“We race. Just you and me.”

Her brows raised. “Like we haven’t done that already?”

“No.” His hand came up, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek, fingertips grazing her jaw. “We make it interesting.”

She didn’t move. But her breath hitched.

“No money,” he murmured, thumb now stroking under her ear. “No title slips. Just us.”

Her voice came soft, curious. “Then what’s the bet?”

Yuta’s mouth ghosted over hers.

“If I win,” he said, tone filthy-sweet, “I get you.”

She froze.

“In my car. On my car,” he whispered, lips brushing hers with every syllable. “Where everyone hears how sweet you sound when you come for me. You’ll moan my name louder than my engine.”

Y/N’s lips parted, shaky.

“And if I win?” she asked, but it came out breathless.

Yuta chuckled low, dark. “You take the crown. Queen of the underground. And I’ll do whatever the hell you want.”

He leaned in closer, mouth now dragging over her cheek to her ear, breath hot and steady.

“But baby,” he rasped, “you better start thinking about how you wanna use me. Because when I win—”

His hand slid down, gripping her waist.

“—I’m gonna spread you across this hood, tongue-deep in you while my engine’s still cooling.”

Her thighs shifted, tension coiling so tight she could barely breathe.

“And then,” he growled, “I’ll fuck you in the backseat while the whole city knows who you belong to.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, eyes wide, but her fingers curled into his shirt.

Yuta smiled against her skin.

“Still wanna play?”

She smirked, trying to keep her voice steady—but he could see her pulse jumping.

“I’ll see you Friday, King.”

She slid off the hood, slow and deliberate, her body brushing against his with just enough pressure to make him ache. But before she could step away fully, Yuta grabbed her wrist—gentle, but firm.

She turned, cocking a brow.

“What?”

He didn’t answer.

Just leaned in.

Their mouths crashed together.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was raw, starved, all tongue and teeth and heat. His hand slid to her waist, gripping tight, the other threading into her hair to pull her even closer. Y/N moaned against his mouth before catching his bottom lip between her teeth and tugging—punishment and promise in one breath.

Her fingers curled into his shirt. His hips pressed forward like his body couldn’t help it.

It only lasted a few seconds.

But it felt like fire.

When they finally pulled apart, their lips were red, wet, swollen—destroyed.

A thin string of spit stretched between their mouths, glinting in the moonlight before it snapped.

Both of them stood there.

Breathing hard.

Eyes half-lidded.

Chests rising and falling like they’d just finished something filthy instead of starting it.

Yuta’s voice came low, ruined. “Fuck.”

Y/N chuckled under her breath, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Don’t go soft on me now.”

Then, like she hadn’t just left him with a hard-on and no shame, she turned on her heel and walked back to her car, hips swaying like a death sentence.

Yuta stood there, dazed, chest buzzing.

His lips still tingled.

Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

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

The race was unreal.

Rubber burned into the pavement. Crowds screamed. Their engines howled against each other like animals locked in heat.

Y/N was fast—scary fast—taking every turn like the laws of physics bent for her. Yuta hadn’t had to fight this hard in years. His knuckles were white on the wheel, pulse pounding in his ears as he drifted the final curve.

They crossed the line side-by-side.

Milliseconds.

Just milliseconds gave it to him.

The crowd erupted. Her fists slammed the wheel.

Yuta looked over and saw her face through the window. Set jaw. Gritted teeth. Eyes still burning with speed.

He grinned.

And motioned with two fingers:

Follow me.

Their Secret Spot

The rain had started halfway through the drive—hot and heavy, pounding against the windshield like it had a score to settle.

They pulled up to the same hidden clearing, deep in the trees, engines still steaming.

Yuta stepped out first.

His racing jacket was undone, hanging from his arms like a careless afterthought, the rain soaking into the black fabric. His abs glistened with water and sweat, stomach flexing with every breath. His belly button piercing shimmered. A silver chain rested against his throat, wet and catching the occasional flash of lightning overhead.

He looked like sex and sin and pure, arrogant victory.

Y/N climbed out, slamming her door with just a little too much force.

Her top clung to her body like a second skin, rain making it nearly transparent. Her nipples showed through the fabric, hard and perfect, her chest rising with every angry, aching breath.

The second she faced him, thunder cracked through the sky.

Yuta licked his lips.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her voice came breathless.

“Well?” she bit out. “Are you gonna fulfill your side of the bet or just stand there smirking?”

Yuta’s grin turned feral.

He didn’t answer.

He just stalked toward her, chain glinting, water dripping from his jaw.

His hands grabbed her hips, spun her around, and lifted her onto the hood of his car—her soaked thighs spreading instinctively. The metal was warm beneath her, even in the rain.

His hands pushed up her skirt. No warning.

Y/N gasped.

“Yuta—”

But then his mouth was on her.

Hot. Open. Filthy.

Tongue licking a slow, devastating stripe up her soaked panties before he yanked them aside with a growl.

His mouth landed again, fully now, tongue curling, lips sucking like he’d been starving for her.

And he had.

She bucked, hands flying to grip the edge of the hood.

The rain kept pouring, steam rising from the heat between her thighs and the metal under her, and Yuta didn’t stop. He licked her like she was his reward, moaning low against her cunt, chain swinging as he moved his head, hips grinding into the car because he couldn’t help it.

“Fuck—Yuta—” she gasped, legs trembling, body jerking at every pass of his tongue.

He slid two fingers into her without warning and groaned against her, voice muffled and wrecked.

“You taste like I fucking knew you would.”

She let out a strangled cry, falling back against the windshield, legs spread wider, one heel slipping against the hood.

He pulled back only to spit between her legs, watching it drip down her pussy before licking it all up again like he was possessed.

Y/N was gone.

Cursing. Shaking. Chanting his name in the rain.

She came with a cry that echoed through the trees, thighs squeezing around his head, nails clawing at the slick metal beneath her.

Yuta finally looked up.

Soaked hair. Slick mouth. Chain hanging crooked on his neck.

Smirking.

“Well,” he rasped, voice like gravel, “I am a man of my word.”

Y/N was still panting on the hood, legs twitching from the aftershocks of his mouth, when Yuta stood tall between her knees—his smirk dark, dangerous, fucking triumphant.

He didn’t say a word.

Just yanked his belt open, shoved his pants low enough, and flipped her over in one motion—face-down, ass up against the wet hood.

“Yuta—fuck—” she gasped, cheek pressed to the metal, hands splayed to steady herself.

His chain swung over her back as he grabbed her hips, lining himself up.

“I dreamt of this exact fucking moment,” he growled, dragging the head of his cock between her folds, teasing her. “Every time I get behind this wheel, I picture your ass bent over my car. Just like this.”

She moaned, low and desperate.

“I’ll never drive again without feeling your pussy right here—soaking my hood, dripping down the fender.”

And then he pushed in, slow and thick, and Y/N cried out, back arching.

Her hands clawed at the rain-slick surface, face twisting in pure pleasure as he bottomed out.

Yuta leaned over her back, hips grinding into hers with every roll.

“God, this tight fucking cunt,” he breathed into her ear, “you were made to be taken like this.”

Y/N’s eyes rolled back.

He fucked her deep, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the trees and over the roar of the rain. His grip on her hips tightened, his voice right in her ear, chain brushing her spine.

“I should keep you here,” he growled, slamming into her, “legs spread on my hood like a hood ornament—just for me.”

Her cries got louder, more desperate. She was soaked, both from the rain and from him.

And when he felt her clenching, close again, he pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and slid right back in—facing her this time.

She gasped—his cock hitting deeper in this angle—and then his chain slapped against her chin, slick and cold, just as he thrust hard.

She moaned.

Loud.

“F-fuck—your chain—”

“Oh, you like that?” Yuta panted, breath hot, mouth open as he pounded into her, rain dripping from his hair. “You like getting fucked by your king? Want my chain on your throat while I ruin you?”

She nodded helplessly, eyes fluttering, gripping his arms, nails digging in.

“Say it,” he groaned, fucking her harder, “Say who fucking owns this pussy.”

“You do—fuck—you do, Yuta—”

He kissed her hard, wet and open-mouthed, biting her bottom lip, their tongues tangling and rain running between their skin.

But it wasn’t enough.

He pulled out suddenly, dragging her off the hood, and threw open the driver’s seat door.

He sat down.

Cock out, chain glinting, sweat and water running down his abs.

“Get in.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

She climbed on, straddling him, sinking down onto his cock with a loud moan—still dripping, still twitching from how close she already was.

But Yuta didn’t help her.

His hands held her waist loosely, teasingly, just enough to guide her, not enough to lift.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured, voice velvet filth, “You wanna be queen? Show me.”

She rode him, slow at first, hands on his shoulders, then faster—harder—until their skin slapped and moans echoed off the windows. Rain poured outside, but in the car, it was all heat and sweat and want.

Yuta’s head fell back against the seat, jaw slack.

“God, look at you. Fucking made for me.”

She grabbed his chain, yanking him back into a messy kiss, lips sliding, tongues licking.

“Who's the king?” he panted, eyes wild, hips now bucking up into her just a little.

Y/N bit his lip.

“You are,” she breathed, eyes half-lidded.

He groaned, guttural, slamming up into her, hands finally gripping tight and helping her now—using her, bouncing her harder, faster.

The windows fogged. Her cries grew high-pitched, his name falling over and over again from her soaked lips.

And when she came—shaking, nails clawing his back—Yuta held her there, moaning her name into her mouth as he came too, deep and hard, filling her up in the driver’s seat.

———-

Want a bonus scene (ahem smut)? Subscribe to my patreon here! Or read the full story here.

if you'd like to give a lil tip, do so here!

[luvashli]

CHASE THE HEAT

-> Y/n‘s motorcycle/ Enhypen‘s cars

Synopsis -> Y/N, a daring motorcycle racer, catches the attention of seven competitive car racers called ENHYPEN. Driven by lust and rivalry, the boys chase her both on and off the track, but as the tension builds, their obsession with her grows. Will they see her for more than just a prize, or will their dangerous desires consume them?

Y/N’s Motorcycle

Model: Ducati Panigale V4 S

Why: The Ducati Panigale is sleek, powerful, and undeniably badass. Its aggressive design and impressive speed match Y/N's bold and daring persona.

Features to Highlight:

A jet-black finish with crimson accents. Exceptional speed and handling, allowing Y/N to perform insane stunts and maneuvers during races. A throaty, roaring engine sound that turns heads wherever she goes. Y/N’s bike represents her independence and her ability to stand out in a world dominated by car racers. It’s fast, lethal, and a statement piece, just like her.

ENHYPEN’s Cars

Each car reflects their individual personality and racing style:

Jungwon (Leader)

Car: Nissan GT-R R35

Color: Midnight blue with silver detailing.

Why: The GT-R is a precise, powerful machine, perfect for a strategist like Jungwon. It’s reliable yet intimidating, just like him.

Racing Style: Methodical and calculated, Jungwon rarely makes mistakes.

Heeseung (Veteran)

Car: Porsche 911 Turbo S

Color: Metallic gray with red accents.

Why: A refined, high-performance car that suits Heeseung’s calm and experienced demeanor.

Racing Style: Smooth and consistent, relying on his years of experience to win.

Jay (The Showman)

Car: Chevrolet Corvette C8 Stingray

Color: Bright yellow with black racing stripes.

Why: Flashy, bold, and attention-grabbing—just like Jay. The Corvette’s mix of power and style fits his personality perfectly.

Racing Style: Thrives on risky moves and showing off during races.

Jake (The Heart)

Car: Ford Mustang Shelby GT500

Color: Deep green with white stripes.

Why: A Mustang is a classic, reliable car with a wild streak, mirroring Jake’s charming yet intense nature.

Racing Style: Balanced and adaptive, he races with both heart and skill.

Sunghoon (The Perfectionist)

Car: Audi R8 V10 Plus

Color: Glossy black with subtle chrome accents.

Why: The Audi R8’s sleek design and precision performance are ideal for Sunghoon’s meticulous personality.

Racing Style: Laser-focused on perfection, he rarely takes unnecessary risks.

Sunoo (The Charmer)

Car: Lamborghini Huracán EVO

Color: Pearl white with gold accents.

Why: The Huracán EVO is sleek, stylish, and undeniably powerful—perfect for Sunoo’s sharp and unpredictable nature. It retains an air of charm while exuding luxury and speed.

Racing Style: Agile and precise, he knows how to make bold moves without sacrificing control, keeping everyone guessing.

Ni-ki (The Wildcard)

Car: Dodge Challenger SRT Hellcat

Color: Matte black with glowing orange details.

Why: The Hellcat’s raw power and rebellious vibe perfectly match Ni-ki’s fearless and unpredictable nature.

Racing Style: Aggressive and daring, he pushes limits like no one else.

Note: i tried to find pictures as close as possible… hopefully it helps at least a little bit for imagining the cars while reading. :)

Masterlist chase the heat

Chase the heat Teaser

Masterlist

Open taglist

If you'd like to be tagged in future updates for this story, let me know by:

- Sending me a message or

- Sending your application here

[yz]

1967 Chevy Impala SS with a 396 Turbo-Jet L78 big block engine (probably making 375HP). August 2024.

[tomiswriting]

Do you think you could do Turbo Twin x Reader smut?

{18+}Been awhile...

Being in a secret relationship with Jet isn't easy, especially when you work as one of Turbo's pit crew...

Top!Jet x Bottom!GenderlessReader

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TurboTime was a great game! You couldn't believe that you were able to be a part of it. You were just a mindless background character within the game, seemingly a part of the crowd in the stands. But somehow became different from the rest...

The three racers saw that, especially Jet, who seemed interested in you. Set didn't think much, just thought you're just more energized than the other background characters. Turbo on the other hand, decided to use you for his own personal gain. That being a part of his pit crew...

Turbo seemed to have noticed Jet being interested in you, so he decided to ask if you wanted to be a part of his crew. How could you not say yes, you were a fan of Turbo, but a bigger fan of Jet. But eventually said yes to the offer, unfortunately your life ended up evolving around Turbo. Making sure Turbo had everything he needed to have a good race and all the above.

Turbo made sure of that, messing with Jet's chances of wanting to get closer to you. Turbo wasn't interested in you like that, no way, he just wanted to mess with Jet. But, it didn't stop you two from secretly meeting each other.

Your secret meetings with each others, ended up turning into little dates. Both of you were slowly falling in love with each other, unable to hold your feelings back. Sharing your first kiss with him, your first time, everything was perfect.

.

.

.

But, sometimes things will get in the way, and by things we mean Turbo...

Unfortunately, today was one of those days, where Turbo had to be a pain in the neck. Sitting on the bench near Turbo's garage, reminiscing on your love life with Jet. Unaware of Turbo's upcoming tantrum, until he yelled out your name.

"FOR THE LOVE OF CODE!...Y/N! GET IN HERE!" Turbo yelled angrily, throwing tools around the garage.

Suddenly being thrown out of thoughts, you hear the sound of tools being thrown everywhere. You got up and quickly stretched your back, before heading over to Turbo's garage. Seeing him in the toolbox, his kart's hood up, him working on his engine. You look around the floor, seeing some of the tools he threw on the floor. You decided to try talking to him...

"Hey Turbo!..you..um doing alright?" You asked Turbo, slowly walking inside the garage.

"Alright?...ALRIGHT?! I'M ANYTHING BUT ALRIGHT, I CAN’T FIND WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR!" Turbo yelled at you, still throwing tools around the garage.

Startled at being yelled at, you covered your ears in desperation. Uncovering your ears once he's done yelling, looking at him with a uneasy look.

Turbo threw the last tool somewhere, giving up on looking for the one tool he needed. He groaned out loud in frustration, dragging his hand downward on his face. Fixing his jumpsuit and putting his helmet back on, closing his hood on his kart. As he began walking out of the garage, he looked at you and said...

"Clean this shit up, I'm heading to Tapper’s for a drink." before walking out with a cigarette in hand.

Now being left alone in the garage, you sighed out in despair as you began to clean up the place. Bending down to grab each tool and putting them back into the tool box. Unaware of a certain second place blue racer staring at them from behind. A loud whistle being heard from behind, causing you to look over your shoulder.

A wild Jet had appeared with a smirk on his face, looking at you up and down. Unable to hide your smile, you dropped all the tools you collected. Wrapping your hands around his neck, squeezing him in your hug.

"Jet! What are you doing here?" you asked, giving him some light kisses on his face.

"Well...I was enjoying the little show I was getting from this." Jet said to you, then slapping your rear, indicating that his "show" was your rear.

"Ah~! Hey! N-not here..." you yelped in shock, your face turning pink from your rear getting slapped.

"Relax sweetheart, Turbo's gone to tappers right~?" Jet questioned you, gently pushing you against the garage wall.

"Huh...well..yeah...but-" you tried telling Jet, but before you could finish your sentence, Jet interrupted you.

"There! We'll be fine, plus let's just say...Set is gonna bug Turbo for awhile~" Jet said to you, before smashing his lips against yours.

Shocking you for a moment, before slowly being engrossed with your make out session. Unable to keep your hands to yourself, reaching to take Jet's helmet off his head. Dropping said helmet to the floor, letting your hands get lost in Jet's hair.

Jet had his hands running all over your body, before letting it rest on your rear, giving it a hard squeeze. Small moans leaving your mouth, already overwhelmed with the attention you're getting. But before you got lost in pleasure, it suddenly dawned on you, that you guys were in Turbo's garage.

"W-wait...not here..we're in Turbo's garage. He'll kill us if-hmph~!" you tried warning Jet, instead getting your lip bit softly.

"Everything will be fine~" Jet purred in your mouth, his hand reaching up towards your jumpsuit zipper.

Tugging your zipper downward, revealing your naked body to Jet. His hands roaming your body, soft moans leaving your lips in between kisses. Whilst his hands roam, he slipped his tongue in your mouth. Desperate to claim your mouth all over again, leaving you feeling mushy inside. But, Jet decided he had other plans...

Separating himself from your lips, moving his hands to your rear. Making sure he had a firm grip on you, moving his lips to your ear and said...

"Jump." with a slight whisper, his eyes full of lust as he stares you down.

Suddenly shuddering due to him whispering in your ear, and his lustful intentions. You held onto his shoulders for stability, before jumping on Jet. He quickly held on to you, pressing you further on the wall and closer to his hard member. Letting out a small gasp, feeling his member slightly rub against your sex.

Noticing your reaction, he decided to keep rubbing against you, loving the sound that was coming out of your mouth. Deciding to get back to your jumpsuit, letting it fall off your shoulders, showing the other bite marks he put on you.

He latches on to your neck, wanting to add another bite mark to the collection. A loud moan would ring out in his ear, unaware that you were reaching your climax. Biting your neck, red splotches were littering your neck, letting everyone know that you were his. All of the sudden, Jet felt tugging on his hair. Looking at you in case something was wrong, but it was the complete opposite.

Your face was red, tears were falling down your cheeks, your eyes had a lust full look. Jet couldn't help but let out a chuckle, as he put his hand on your cheek. But before he could get a word out, you spoke...

"P-please...stop teasing me..." you cried out, wanting Jet to move quicker.

Jet cooed at your expression, deciding to give you mercy. Finally sliding his fingers downward, prodding at your entrance. Giving you the relief you needed so desperately, without warning his fingers went inside you.

You moaned out loud, not expecting his fingers. You couldn’t help but sigh in relief, finally at ease about getting pleasured. Bucking your hips anytime he hit your bundle of nerves.

“Ahhh~…Jet, please~…Ah~! I need you~!” You moaned out loud, then all the sudden you see stars.

Legs locking around Jet’s hips, your spent getting all over each other. Heavy panting could be heard coming from you, slightly twitching from your climax.

Jet’s fingers left your insides, covered in your spent. Then taking his spent covered, tasting them with his mouth. Letting himself get lost in your juices that you left on him, before saying…

“Hmm…sweet like always~” before, unzipping his own jumpsuit. Tugging his boxers slightly downward, to make room for his member. Lining it up to your spent covered entrance.

“You ready sweetheart~?” Jet asked, making sure you were alright to continue.

Still calming down from your climax, you mindlessly nod your head in yes. Making sure he holds your rear, then without warning he pushed inside you, bottoming out in one go.

“AHHHH~! JET~!” You moaned out loud, throwing your head back against the wall.

Not expecting him to enter inside you that quickly, your hands gripping on his shoulders. But thankfully, he waited for you to get used to him. Letting you catch your breath, slowly becoming used to him being inside you. It has been awhile after all...

“Y-you can…move..” you said, finally relaxing your body.

Jet slowly pulled out of you, leaving only his head in. Then thrusted back in you, moving at a steady pace. Groaning in your ear, his hands having a deathly grip on your rear.

“Fuck, been too long since I’ve been inside you..” Jet said, now picking up the pace.

Jet's thrusts now have gotten faster, constantly hitting your bundle of nerves inside of you. Your moans being heard from outside the garage, due to the amount of pleasure you were getting. Your arms were holding Jet's head, burying him in your neck.

"AH~! AH~! AH~! PLEASE JET! I NEED TO-" you moaned out loud, desperately wanting to reach your climax. But before you could finish your sentence, Jet interrupted you.

"Not yet sweetheart! just a little longer~!" Jet said to you, still ruthlessly thrusting inside of you. But a certain item caught his eye, an idea struck him, causing him to smirk.

With this idea in mind, he stopped thrusting inside of you for a moment. Causing you to whine, your climax being taken away from you. He pulled out of it, but before you could express your frustration. You felt yourself being moved...

With his idea in mind, he decided to move you...But, Where?...

.

.

.

On Turbo's kart...

Gently put you on the hood of Turbo's kart, making sure you're comfortable. Unaware of sitting on Turbo's kart, you decided to whine for Jet. Desperately bucking your hips against his and said...

"Jet...please...I need you..." with a whine, looking at Jet with your lust filled eyes.

Jet happily caressed your face, trying to calm you down. Slowly kissing your lips, giving you comfort. Lining himself with your entrance once again, before bottoming out in one go for the last time. Resuming his ruthless thrusts from before...

"AHHHH~!!" you moaned out loud, finally reaching your climax. Your spent getting all over each other.

"FUCK SWEETHEART!..I'm not gonna last long!..." Jet said with a groan, feeling you clench on his member.

While Jet was still continuing his thrusts, over and over again. You couldn't help but start to feel overstimulated, Only making coherent mumblings. Unable to fully voice out your moans, your mind in the clouds, unable to think.

Jet's thrust had grown sloppy, his climax growing ever so closely. Quickly grabbing your legs, forcing them to your chest. Before finally hitting home, your bundle of nerves getting even more overstimulated. Eventually nearing another climax...

"Fuck! I'm close sweet..-FUCK!" Jet yelled out loud, before finally reaching his climax.

Feeling his seed fill you up, causing you to reach your own weak climax. Your body now limp, due to being overstimulated. Shakily twitching from everything, slowly catching your breath. Feeling his seed inside you, everything felt so good at the moment. To the point, you ended up passing out.

Jet was about to take care of you, but before he could get a word out...someone had interrupted him.

"Ahem...what's going on here?..." Turbo asked, leaning against the opened garage door. With a dark look on his face, his eyes shining bright yellow in anger.

Jet quickly turned his head, shocked that Turbo of all people were here. Wondering where Set was, but decided not to worry about that for now. He gave Turbo a slight smile and said...

"Turbo, old pal! How was Tappers?" Jet asked, trying to deflect his attention on something else desperately. Unfortunately, it is not working...

"Why are you both on my kart?...naked..." Turbo asked angrily, his eye twitching.

Jet had quietly exited his member out of you, tucking it back in to his boxers. Slowly putting down your legs, so they wouldn't get a cramp. Unfortunately, as soon as he exited out of you, his seed had started to drip out of you. Some of it is getting on Turbo's kart...

Turbo had seen everything, his face red with anger. Before running up and pushing Jet out of the way, looking in pure horror at the scene. Jet's seed was on his kart, oh boy was he livid...

"NOT ON MY KART!"

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Thank you so much for you patience! I've put soo much effort in to this one, I've also tried to make it genderless. If this seems lore plot than smut, I'm sorry ,didn't mean to at all. I was just making sure it sounded right and make sense and might have gotten carried away.

[seat-safety-switch]

Modern engines rev really nicely. Particularly well-balanced ones will spin up to seven thousand rpm, which makes a nice noise and feels like you're really getting somewhere. Back in the 70s, when my Volare was built, people didn't believe in revs. Engines should make all of their power down low and be out of puff at around forty-five hundred.

Thing is, everyone who's ever been in or around a race car or even a low-displacement two-stroke scooter craves those revs. I wasn't getting enough spin in my life, and it made me despondent. There was no diagnosis for it back then. No test. I'd get hits of high RPM wherever I could, sneaking it with a rental car here, a bribed taxi driver there. I only figured out what the problem was when I found myself in a parking lot, zinging the regulator on a forgotten weed-whacker just to hear some precious RPMs.

Is there a cure for this low RPM madness? Yes: turbochargers. Turbochargers are like little jet turbines that spin really fast, like hundreds of thousands of rpm fast. They go vreeeeeeeee and then your engine either gets filled with power-giving air, or you get a new hole in the block and walk home. And the Slant Six in my Volare is so overbuilt that it's practically a crime not to turbocharge it, just like the Olympics admitted they were going to start forcibly entering members of the audience juiced up on amphetamines in order to "make things interesting" for the bettors.

Now, I haven't exactly hooked up the turbo yet. It's sitting in my engine bay, hanging on a bracket that I fabricated myself. Okay, I lied again. It's really a couple of bungee cords holding it into the engine bay. If I really get going down the highway, though, the wind coming in through the hole in the grille will make the impeller spin a little bit. That's still revs. You can't take it from me.

[pikxelbit]

I'm not quite sure what to make of this. Maybe I'll do a slow burn, or not. But I wrote 2 chapters so far...

Still not sure what to title it...

Chapter 1: A Sour Start

Warnings: None, Turbo is Envious lol

Word count: 1,012 words

Chapter Prompt: Filled with jealousy, Turbo did something horrific

Turbo x Reader | Chapter 2

The arcade closes once more. Leaving the games behind with only but a gust of wind as Mr. Litwak locked the door. Characters from various games has already clocked out from their own games. Flocking to the Game Central Station to meet with other various characters alien from their own.

A few would just take a rest in their own game, be it a good nap after a long day, or a good time to do a hobby. Today, like a few others, Turbo chose to stay in his own game.

Leaning on his kart, a sour look could be seen on his face. His colleagues approach him, smiling from ear to ear.

"Hey Turbo! Let's go to tappers yeah?" Set asked.

"No, I'd rather stay and train. Need to keep my skills sharp." Turbo spoke, his mind somewhere else.

"Well if you say so..." Jet replied before the both of them walked out. "What's up with him? He never refuses to go to Tappers..." Turbo heard one of them whisper before they went out of earshot.

Exhaling a sigh, he looked up, seeing 'Road Blasters' placed right in front of his game. Grumbling, he went in his kart, shutting the door roughly once he's inside.

Turbo wasn't this sour before. No, he was arrogant at most. Not exactly the best character you'd meet, but still popular nonetheless. He loved attention, moreso than winning. If he won and didn't get praise, it would have been less appealing to him.

In a way, he tries to compensate his bad looks with skill. Driving as fast as he could to impress anyone watching. Doing everything to get applause. He wasn't exactly the most appealing character. The picture that's supposed to be him could even be said as much more appealing, and he knows this. He's aware on that part, although he exudes absolute confidence, a tint of insecurity could still be traced once you look close enough.

Now that even his skill couldn't win the crowd over. He's starting to feel a bit desperate.

Turbo usually would talk about himself and how he's the best of the best in racing when someone would interact with him. His skill was unmatched and everyone could agree. Knowing this, he was quite the obnoxious character, gloating and showing off. It was annoying, but was considered normal by then. Now though, instead of a smile, he wore a sour look. Furious and envious he would glance at the new game with utter disgust. A lot would only see the surface. Seeing his face redden slightly once someone would mention the new games arrival and how it's already booming in business. He'd try to counter this, by simply saying that his game was the first to even boom this big. Trying his best to keep it clear that he is still important, all the while as his chest would be struck sharply with a deeply rooted pain fully knowing that sooner or later he'd fall behind the leaderboard.

On the occasion though, once he's alone he'd let the painful feeling pass. Not with a smile, nor a sour face, but with a hopeless and sorrowful look when observed from an outside perspective.

"I'm not a sore looser..." He would whisper silently, as he tried to make peace with his emotions, his chest still filled with pain.

Today is one of those days. Envious and at the same time furious, he started to drive his kart. His mind churning fast once the engine started.

The situation was so ridiculous to him, how could someone even fathom to think that they could just replace him like that. He's the greatest racer ever. The best of the best. At least he thought so.

Speeding up, he grinded his teeth, his breath picking up pace as well. Driving as fast as he could just to feel adrenaline rush through his code as he tried to forget everything that's gone bad for the past few weeks. Pushing the engine to go faster, he swiftly turned the wheel making a sharp turn.

"Can Road Blasters do that?" He spoke to himself. He bet they couldn't. This game may be simple and not as shiny as the new ones, but it's an undeniable classic. And who wouldn't want that?

Driving fast, he continued to drive and drive. It was all he could do for now at least. Drinking at Tappers helps sometimes, but this helps him differently.

For the past hour he spent it on driving his kart around, and around the track. It seemed the adrenaline rush couldn't stop his mind from wondering about current events. Thinking about it, his peace of mind gradually diminished as he grew more, and more desperate to find a solution to his problem.

_________________________________________

The very next day, a devious smile could be seen plastered on Turbo's face. When asked, he would simply reply with, "I don't know... Today just feels different."

A strange reply, but somewhat gave the impression that he doesn't seem to care about Road Blasters anymore... But oh, they were wrong, so, so wrong.

Early during the day, two kids approached Turbo Time, both holding a quarter on their hands. But upon seeing Road Blasters, they were quickly enamoured, their minds made up on playing this game instead of Turbo Time.

___

Quickly speeding through, everyone was caught off guard as Turbo drove out of his game. Speeding up, he avoided obstacles here and there before finally proceeding to Road Blasters.

He knew what he was doing, but he didn't expect things to go so wrong. As his arrogant behavior got the best of him, he drove right into the first perspective driver, breaking something in the game to make it glitch.

Stuck in place, he felt his own body retract from existence. As everything on screen started to break apart, the game continues to play a glitchy tune.

"Mr. Litwak!" One of the boys called out.

"Oh Turbo...what have you done..." His co-workers whisper in unison as they both watched through the screen of their own game.

[hirocimacruiser]

Savanna RX-7

The new RX-7 is equipped with a variety of cutting-edge technologies, including a new turbo engine, achieving 205ps/6500rpm. In addition, the weight has been reduced thoroughly by using a lot of lightweight parts such as aluminum. Please pay attention to the "lightness" of the car, with a power-to-weight ratio of 6.09kg/ps (GT-X), which determines the driving performance. In addition, a jet black body color, Perfect Black, has been newly added to the coupe series. All of this is to share the joy of driving with RX-7 pilots.

GT-X (EC-AT/S, 4-speed) ●Vehicle name and model: Mazda E-FC3S ●Engine model: 13B(Intercooler turbo) Rotary/654×2cc Maximum output (net) =205

ps/6500rpm Maximum torque=27.5kg-m/3500rpm Fuel supply system=EGI 10 Mode fuel economy = 7.0km/ℓ (Ministry of Transport approved value) ● Length x width x height = 4335 x 1690 x 1270 (mm)

[GT-X Equipment] ○Independent Twin Scroll Turbo ○∞ Type Single Mode Damper ○Aluminum Bonnet Hood ○Side Air Dam Skirt ○Rear Spoiler ○Viscous LSD

CABRIOLET (EC-AT/S, 4-speed) ●Vehicle name and model: Mazda E-FC3S ●Engine model=13B (Turbo with intercooler) Rotary/654×2cc Maximum output (net)=205ps/6500rpm Max torque 27.5kg-m/3500rpm Fuel supply system=EGI

●10 mode fuel economy = 7.0km/ℓ (Ministry of Transport approved value) ●Length x width x height = 4335 x 1690×1270 (mm)

[Savanna RX-7 Model List

engine

138 type rotary intercooler independent twin scroll turbo

Transmission type, number of gears

MT 5 apeed

EC-AT/S4-speed

Models

GT-R/GT-X/GT-LIMITED/ GT-LIMITED SPECIAL EDITION/CABRIOLET

MT = Manual Transmission EC-AT/S = Electronically Controlled Sports Automatic Transmission with Hold Mode.

[usafphantom2]

In Thrust, We Trust, Always! The SR-71's two Pratt and Whitney J58 axial-flow turbo-jets with afterburners, each producing 32,500 lbs of thrust (wet). It was one of the most advanced engines of its time.

@RealAirpower1 via X

[transport-methodology-101]

1968 Chevrolet Impala :

Impala Sport Coupé: A two-door hardtop featuring a fastback roofline.

Impala SS 427 Convertible: A convertible version of the Super Sport model, equipped with a 427 cubic inch V8 engine. Only 1,778 were made.

Impala 4-door Hardtop Sport Sedan with 325-hp Turbo-Jet, 396 V8 with Turbo Hydra-Matic.

https://www.motortrend.com/features/1904-vintage-road-test-1967-chevrolet-impala-ss-feels-like-sports-car

[lsartcorner]

Double trouble who do you think it is?

Thats right it’s,

Jet & Set! Aka the Turbo Twins!

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Jet -

Age - 26

Height - 6’0

Power up item - Ice Lolly

Brief description -

Typically unserious, outgoing and trickster personality who prefers to be risky and show off tricks than win gold.

However this doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a more serious side, being the most empathetic of them all, always there to have a shoulder to cry on or to talk to whenever needed. He can be silly but is also self aware of when to and not to be. For example seeing Flora upset because of losing many races, he would reassure and comfort her better than Turbo, her teacher ever could, causing them to form a close platonic bond, where they will go to each other if in need. For Flora it be support, and Jet for some tricks and games on others.

Can easily read people and speak for them if need be as he wants to ensure everyone is the most comfortable around him. However sometimes there is the bit so may do something which could be inappropriate for a certain situation, but will apologise later.

For example some of these tricks could include his megaphone, which can be heard what feels like the entire game (and considering his fast running speed, might as well be the entire arcade sometimes)

He is one to frequent the rides on the pier, liking to see the view. Sometimes would bring his binoculars to look at specifics (definitely not to spy on Set).

Fun fact - Is completely resistant to brain freeze even after several ice lollies or slushies, which people are impressed and envious of.

Stats -

- Skills - 8/10

- Speed - 6/10

- Power - 4/10

- Special ability - Super soakers which are able to knock people off their jetskis, once knocked off, they will respawn back on board in 5 seconds

Catchphrase - Engines on!

Set -

Age - 26

Height - 6’0

Power up item - Ice Lolly

Brief description -

Unlike his brother Set is way more calm and collected, preferring to be alone or with one or two people, not being a fan of large groups or social events, opting out if he can.

What makes up for his lack of interest in social situation would be his skill in engineering and working with his hands, being found everyday to be working on his jetski or making objects and structures for others.

Will do stuff for favours, and depending on its size bigger the favour, which when he gets to do quite enjoys the reaction others get when hearing what they’d have to do in return. He is reliable so can be trusted to do said projects.

Despite not showing it really appreciates it when people praise and acknowledge his work/projects whether it be on his jetski or other crafty projects he made such as furniture, equipment, buildings etc. Despite the cold personality he is actually quite sweet with also a knack for sweet things like his brother Jet.

Before a days racing will make himself a game plan which will be followed throughout the day, and without one or if things go off course can be anxious and freeze up not knowing what to do, hindering his performance.

Despite the differences is close to his brother, being able to ask him for honest advice with that lil nack of having a brother bond, makes them quite close, for Set sometimes being the convincing person in making him go to social events or places with many people, knowing he can be relied on to do the talking.

However has recently been going off and talking to Summer about these stuff more often by default, hanging out on the beach after hours, which has been making Jet kind of jealous.

Fun fact -

Using some scraps, he has been able to make himself a guitar which he practices whilst listening to the waves on the shoreline.

Stats -

- Skills - 4/10

- Speed - 6/10

- Power - 8/10

- Special ability - Super soakers which are able to knock people off their jetskis, once knocked off, they will respawn back on board in 5 seconds

Catchphrase - Set into motion!

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4 down 1 to go till some actual content is done with these guys, tomorrow expect Flora!

- LsArtCorner

[aviaposter]

Basler BT-67 Desert Air

Registration: N115U Type: BT-67 Engines: 2 × PW PT6A-67R Serial Number: 33567 First flight: 1945

Desert Air Alaska, a small airline based at Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport, specializes in cargo and charter flights, delivering goods to the most remote northern regions. Their mission is simple: to support life in isolated communities where planes are often the only link to the outside world. They’re one of Alaska’s 135 small cargo airlines.

What makes Desert Air unique is its fleet. No shiny new jets here – just time-tested machines built for the harsh conditions of the “snowy state.” I wrote about this airline a couple of years ago, highlighting their DC-3, a plane over 80 years old that’s still flying commercial routes. Since then, their fleet has grown. True to form, Desert Air’s new additions are almost DC-3s – but not quite.

If the DC-3 is a classic, the Basler BT-67 is its modern remix. Built from the DC-3 airframe, the BT-67 is fully overhauled at Basler Turbo Conversions in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. It’s powered by Pratt & Whitney Canada PT6A-67R turboprop engines, giving it impressive thrust and the ability to fly faster and farther than the original. The fuselage is lengthened, the wingspan extended, the airframe reinforced, and the avionics upgraded to modern standards. It’s still a DC-3 at heart but with a 21st-century edge. Desert Air uses the BT-67 for demanding tasks – hauling heavy cargo, operating in extreme weather, and even special missions like scientific research or polar deliveries.

Our poster features a true sky veteran. Its story began in June 1945, when it first took flight as a Douglas DC-3. Nearly half a century later, in 1991, it was reborn as a Basler BT-67 after a major overhaul, with a second “debut” flight in July that year. During its “second youth,” it served with the U.S. Forest Service. Last year, despite its advanced age, it proved its worth flying in Alaska’s challenging climate.

Poster for Aviators aviaposter.com