#custom wheel painting near me

[screampied]

#TRYNA FUCK ME I'M LIKE OKAY! g. suguru

☆ sum. suguru geto wasn’t used to losing a race, especially to a fucking rookie—but you’ve got him confused, intrigued, and… hard? long story short, ever since he hit it he’s never been the same.

wc. 6.8k

warnings. fem! reader, street racer! geto, pwp, unprotected, 2 fast 2 furious references, bratty reader, rivals to lovers ( ? ), geto has a dīck piercing, big size kink, riding, he fucks you on the hood of your car, cunnīlingus, sore loser geto gets humbled lel, overstim, squīrting, dirty talk, praise, petnames.

an. chase atlantic inspired me again </3 same au as this one.

second fucking place. he got second place and he lost to you, a newbie—the newest racer with the prettiest trendy wheels, flashy rims, and a hot pink 2001 honda s2000. stupid, stupid, the reality of losing left a sour taste in geto’s mouth. he can’t remember the last time he’s lost, ever. .

the moment he saw your car bolt in front of him at those last few milliseconds of the race with fiery pink smoke coughing from your steel pipes dusting near his front window, he just knew he lost to you. geto scoffs. “tch,” he’d mumble, slamming his car door shut, and releasing the straps of his custom-made helmet. you leaned against your slick hood, innocently fanning yourself with a pamphlet of the track’s course layout that was given to every racer before glancing at geto. he was quite tall and he looked down at you with a look of intrigue and bitter annoyance. “cheater.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow. you knew damn well who he was, suguru geto—one of the if not the best street racer in tokyo. notorious for his wins and extremly cocky ego - except this time, your win against him bruised that little detail a bit. a small grin spreads across your glossed lips before your eyes rove up and down his dark leather ripped clothes. “you said somethin’?”

“you heard me, sweetheart,” he utters, bringing a gloved hand up to his face. doing so, geto tucks his sticky black tresses back inside his helmet. he’s so close, that he practically has you cornered against the hot hood of your car and his eyes stare at the medal that’s pinned near the left side of your chest. that gold medal that was supposed to be his. “besides,” and you nearly gasped once you felt your rear tap against the front of your vehicle. “your ‘riding’ could use a ‘lil work, rookie.”

you saw the look in his eyes. he’s challenging you, geto sees you as a potential threat and he wasn’t fond of losing.. ever.

it just wasn’t in his vocabulary.

you don’t know why but beating one of tokyo’s top street racers made cocky pride swell right up in your chest. the same kind of cocky pride that he was used to, and damn were you a force to be reckoned with. he just had to learn that the hard way.

“do i?” you reply, reaching an arm inside of your car to twist the keys out of the ignition. with a roaring sputtering growl, your engine gradually turns off and the sounds of whirring wind fill the air.

geto’s got his hands buried in his pockets as his tall lean body stands still. he’s checking you out.

his head slightly tilts to the side with his helmet cracked open and you can feel his eyes trailing up your entire physique.

he’s studying you - trying to figure out just who this pretty girl that just dusted him in a race.

you’d be lying through your teeth if you didn’t idolize him just a little bit. he was well known not just in tokyo but worldwide. the fangirls loved him, and the racers despised him with envy.

beating the suguru geto was a rare fever dream of itself.

“or are you just upset you’re not in the spotlight for once?” brat.. though your comment made him scoff with a sly smile curling against his thin lips.

“mm. for a new racer you sure have a smart mouth,” and his eyes quickly dash toward your car.

hot pink, it even looked freshly new and painted. and just to put the icing on the cake, it also has a pretty character design painted near the sides with the addition of a cheetah print wheel.

he lost to . . that?

geto’s quietly admiring your ride though—it looked like it was straight out of a movie. once he looks down at you again, he speaks in a gruff intimidated tone, finishing his sentence. “it’s only your first win, don’t be cocky.”

“i’ll be cocky if i want,” you murmur, and there’s a loud competitive tension between you both.

people started to leave the car meeting spot until it was just the two of you. your car’s parked near one of the garages where geto’s car was coincidentally parked also. you’re still leaning against the pink hood of your car before walking up to him. you close the awkward distance between you both, being just a few inches apart.

you’re bold, and he liked your spunk although he’d never flat-out admit it.

just . . . who were you?

geto didn’t like losing—that’s already been established. but now, he’s starting to realize he probably has to deal with you in future races, and oh- he knew you were gonna be a problem.

and he was right, because perhaps he’d finally met his match.

“besides, even if i did cheat,” you retaliate, your tone sounding more and more coy and foxy. playfully, your arms wrap around his shoulders and you tap against his sheer black helmet that had ‘s. geto’ autographed in bold purple near the other shell. vexed, mousy eyes glare at you through the protective gear and you lean up all the way close. “what are you gonna do about it, suguru?”

famous last words,

because one moment you’re being nothing but a mere brat and the next, you found yourself bent over the hood of your pretty blush-colored honda.

well, fuck.

suguru geto didn’t take disrespect lightly . . although, he liked the brat in you. a nice change of pace, even though it pissed him off a bit - a lot.

“s- shit,” you gasp, feeling your thighs squeeze together. geto’s domineering aura sends you chills, the kind of chills where it runs through your entire soul.

he’s so close that you could almost taste his loud cologne on your tongue. it’s a manly scent, you’d probably guess one of the main ingredients was oak moss. as you’re pondering deep in thought, still trying to get over his loud smell—a hand gingerly starts to brush down your skimpy lace-up chaps.

his touch felt good. . and sure, maybe you’ve fantasized about this exact moment once or twice while watching his races broadcasted on live television. geto’s pressed up against you as you’re idly hunched over, biting your lip. with a huff, you’re so close to your tinted window that you were practically having a staring contest with your rosy windshield wipers. “aw. you planned to spank me over my car?”

“not exactly, pretty girl,” he tsks with a clicked tongue, and that’s when you feel it. something poking against your rear — oh, he was hard.

it was something hard and you don’t quite think it was his helmet..

that couldn’t have been anything else other than a raging boner, and it makes you smugly hum. geto groans once he feels your ass wriggling against his skin-tight leather jeans. “think you’re funny, yeah girl?”

“a bit,” you utter in a breathy tone, feeling his fingers zig-zag down the exposed straps of clothing that reveal a bit of skin. you didn’t mind his touch - in fact, you only wanted more.

the inside of the garage was widely spacious—big enough to fit your car and geto’s iconic skyline gtr. it’s a gorgeous midnight dark purple that glimmers in the dead of night, akin to a raven’s wings.

with the garage lot being empty, it was just the two of you, the witching hour steadily approaching. all that could be heard was the occasional squawks and chirps of squaking birds and loud cars honking near the far distance by the freeway. as he’s still got you pinned over, you bite your pointer finger with a cheeky hum. “hilarious even.”

but, you don’t find anything funny moments later when the street racer’s tongue is shoved right between your splayed, plush thighs.

not at all, in fact- the only ‘words’ that came from your mouth were babbling inaudible whimpers, and he made sure you’d eat your sentences… just like he’s eating out your first place cunt like the starved man he was.

with widened eyes and a stretched jaw hanging open, you stare back with a hand on your ass, giving your skin a soft squeeze. geto grunts, on his knees as you’re hauled right over your pretty decorated hood.

hell! you figured he’d ask to rematch but this..

it seemed like all he wanted to do was take out his loss on your pussy… with his second-place tongue.

and that’s just what he does too.

not that you were even complaining—suguru geto was a nasty man to no one’s surprise. he’s nasty on the road and he’s even nastier with his tongue recklessly driving up and down your slobbering twitching cunt.

you feel a crooked nose sloooowly drag its way like a trail against your entrance. geto starts near the bottom and then makes his way up, making sure to have his button nose dripping with your mess. letting off a sweet whimper, it doesn’t take long before he’s starting sucking against your swollen clit.

“hng,” a needy whine dashes from your throat, and you can already feel a shaking judder spasm between your legs. geto’s unapologetically sloppy with his mouth too. as he’s repeatedly flicking the pointed pink tip of his tongue in crazed different directions, a throaty hiccup leaves from your glued lips. “fuuck, do you usually mhm--do this to your opponents who hah, beat you?”

“only the ones with the smart fuckin’ mouths,” he replies with a quickness, taking a moment to spit right on your sticky cunt. it’s a loud ‘ptui’ and it’s a filthy slimy trail that dribbles past his lips, polishing near the creasing crevices of his mouth.

a rubber-gloved hand snakes toward the crack of your pried open thighs and he spanks your pussy, causing a cute shrieking squeal to leave out your strained cords. “also, a reminder again. you didn’t beat me. i let you win. big difference.”

“s- sure,” you sheepishly moan, feeling vapid air circle around you both.

the night was eerily and silently dead—you swallowed thickly, praying no one would see you bent over your flashy pink hood getting eaten out by one of the most famous street racers in the world. although, the thought of getting caught made you throb in a way you didn’t think it would.

he’s mean with his tongue.

geto was competitive in everything he did, including with how he ate it.

your strapped pants were pulled down along with your panties lazily sticking toward the side of your feeble quaking thighs.

within minutes his jaw would angrily ache, growing slack and locking from how it was reaching soreness - but he didn’t care.

if he didn’t win his race, the least he could do was win by eating you out…right?

geto’s designer mauve-colored helmet probably costed thousands and rests near the side of him. he took it off before he started to feast himself between your sprawled legs.

through hazed doe-like peripherals, you stare at it and admire the designs that paint across his visor.

everywhere, there’s writing and designs—and again, you spot his famous autograph that’s nearly written near the side. typical, of course, he’d autograph his helmet.

he’s suguru fuckin’ geto.

regardless though, you’re still nothin’ but a whining mess though, and as he continues to eat you out, you let off a sweet ‘ooh!’ as soon as he bites near your pearly clit.

it’s soft and tender, but it still makes you babble out a sobbing moan. his teeth gently nibbled against your pussy . . . leisurely slithering his tongue between your flooding flaps.

so good, each time you hear the wet smacks from his lips, you can hear geto huskily groaning out satisfying ‘mmmh’ ‘s.

it’s a feeling that makes your legs stagger within the firm hold of his hands. geto’s still wearing his gloves and each time the stretchy rubber rubs onto your skin, you moan. “fuck, fuckk,” you whine, and he’s groaning right against your sobbing cunt. his hair’s pinned back into a high messy ponytail - a few ravened strands running down the sides of his face. pretty long lashes of his were closed as he was slurping you clean.

so damn sweet . . . he wonders why he’s never seen you on the track until now. well- you were new. maybe he has seen you, but geto’s never been one to pay attention.

either way, you were a meal he didn’t wanna stop tasting, ever.

and despite the bitter taste of defeat continuously lingering on his flat tongue even still . . your cunt sprinkled a bit of flavor to it, an aftertaste of vying rivalry . .

“mmph,” he grunts, feeling you push him further into your cunt with one hand. with a twist, you turn your torso just a bit to look down at him, bringing his face further. geto’s slick wet tongue slides across your nub before he’s sloppily thrusting it in and out of your weeping flowery entrance.

you whimper once he reaches that spot, feeling a sudden heave of a breath snatch its way out from your puffed lungs. geto’s dark brows amusingly knit together and he’s already nose deep—the hooking bridge that smears against your pussy makes you nearly wail out a needy weep.

he’s smearing his face everywhere, and wet splotches of your juices started to coat his clear face.

but he doesn’t mind - geto’s always been one to get a ‘lil dirty during a match.

two slack lips munch against your clit wholly before his lengthy tongue reaches toward your winking hole. “pff,” he clicks his tongue, letting off another husky groan once he feels the tint in his pants arises.

fuck, you made him hard—even more, now that he was eating you out.

the louder you were, the more his dick twitched underneath the rough fabric of his jeans. it’s almost painful- the way his hardened bulge prods its way against the leathery fabric makes him suck his teeth. he needs you.

geto’s lips remain glued against your cunt before he uses a gloved thumb to peel your pudgy sweltering folds apart just a biiiit more.

his tongue creates a downward slope that trickles its way below your clitoral hood that’s frantically throbbing right in his mouth.

ba dum, ba dum, ba dum. . .

pulse pulse pulse after fucking pulse,

a smoky chuckle echoed from his lips as his shoulders slightly shake and fuck- it vibrates against your pussy. “god, she’s a ‘lil crybaby isn’t she,” he breathlessly mumbles as his thumb peels your soaked flaps all the way down. he’s intently staring inside, studying all the pretty nerves and your twitching nub before spitting right inside yet again.

airy cold breath fans over your nude slit and you whimper, feeling his tongue douse itself back inside. “were you drivin’ around this wet the entire time, princess?” and you moan, feeling the rubber of his palm smear a few circles around your clit. “drivin’ around, tryin’ to beat me with a pretty pussy this fuckin’ soaked?”

with a shivering whimper ghosting past your splintered lips, you snivel out a soft mewl.

“sugu—fuuuck, ‘m gonna cum,” and as your breath gets caught in your throat, you feel him grab a nice chunk of your ass.

at his very grip, he gives your rear a rude spank and the recoil makes him hum in amusement. so soft, the way it bounced just from his palm alone.

oh, and spanking you became his favorite thing to do, especially since you were so fucking noisy.

as a shrilling whine prepares to race out your strained esophagus, you nearly yank his head forward again, hearing him groan against your clit. “d- did you hear me? ‘m close, gonna cu—”

“yeah yeah girl, i heard you,” he swats your hand away, and the low grit that rumbles from underneath his tone makes you throb for the nth time.

geto brings a few digits up toward your cunt to rub against your runny folds, and he starts making out with your pussy - with tongue.

sloppy smacks slosh out from your crying folds and you gasp, feeling him impishly nip your clit with his teeth once more. “mmf,” and his eyes start to become low and hooded.

he’s pussy drunk, very much so.

geto eats you out until you’re abruptly coming undone on his tongue, letting off a sweet euphoric battle cry with your toes curling in your knee-high boots. fuck, and even as he’s savoring the syrupy taste that pours on his flat flushed tongue, he’s still eating you out.

with brief circular maneuvers of his tongue, he’s got you whimpering from the sensitivity. as a staticky twinge pulses through your pussy, your hand grabs at his hair hard, tugging near his roots, having to literally pry him apart.

your cunt was so sensitive, throbbing a plethora of pulses as your mouth fatally goes dry. “f- fuck,” you moan, and you can feel your legs stick together once they instinctively close shut.

“tsk. drama queen,” he soils his lips together that were now perfectly glossed from top to bottom with your juices.

oh, his chiseled chin was just shimmering with such sparkling sap that it even poured a stream down the lower part of his face. his tongue slides near the cracked corner of his right lip, and he’s just luxuriating at the treacly taste of you. if you tasted this good, maybe the second place wasn’t so bad after all. .

as he’s still lapping up his lips with a wolffish grin, geto notices you openly gawking at his bulge and he snickers, patting his fly with a gloved hand. “it’s rude to stare, sweetheart.”

“it’s rude to walk around with a bulge that big.”

“oh yeah? how ‘bout you fix that problem for me then, rookie?”

a brat, almost as much of a brat as you.

geto gets silenced once you slam your lips onto his, not even batting an eyelash that you’re tasting yourself on his tongue that’s swirling around yours.

it’s intense, you could feel your heartbeat start to match the exact pulsing pace from between your legs. his lips were icy, and you moaned—tasting a bit of mint that resides on his tongue.

his breath is freezing cold, it’s an almost sweet candied taste and you whine in his mouth once his hands start to roam up and down your body.

geto’s feeling you up- feeling up the pretty girl who just beat him in a race.

rough protected hands drag down your frame, taking in your curves before toying with the leather straps that droop against your pink lace-up chaps.

it’s as if even the kiss was far more competitive than the actual street race.

both desperately fought to win, swerving through each tongue like swerving lanes.

geto grunts, lightly pushing your ass back against the hood of your car. as tongues twist and tango in lewd unison, he seductively sucks on your pointed tip.

as geto’s eyes open halfway, you open yours, and he’s just staring at you with a look of feral - a carnal smug grin tweaking on each side of his lips.

“turn around again, pretty. hands on y’r hood like…this,” and once he spreads you apart, you moan once he rubs his bulge against the middle fabric of your pants. “good hah- messy girl.” his bulge was so damn hard, it felt like a brick.

the more he rubbed himself against you, the more your body ached and yearned for more.

oh..

his hands, geto kept his racing gloves on the entire time. as the stretchy rubber sensually crawls down your waist, you hear the jangling of his studded skull belt. with a few shuffles, he leans up close, pinning your hands behind your back like you were under arrest.

“just for the record again, you didn’t ‘beat’ me, you cheated,” and you scoff, feeling frigid air waft between your inner thighs. oh- here he goes again. talk about a sore fuckin’ loser.

“sur— mmph,” and he cuts you off, placing a gloved palm over your mouth.

“quiiiiet, you’ll get your turn to talk,” he cuts you off, and you let off a moan once you feel his bulbous tip smack against your sopping cunt.

it’s loud..

dozens of paps and squelches leave it right away and he plants a wet kiss near your exposed neck.

the rubs from his blushing reddened cockhead make loud noises that constantly replay through your empty mind.

“see? let her talk,” and you swallow thickly, feeling him use an extra hand to pry your legs apart further. clammy, big hands glue against the pink hood of your car before your tongue tastes the metallic fibers of his glove. “so eager. poor baby,” he coos against your ear, feeling you trying to swallow and gulp him down right away. your twitching pussy’s aching, and you can’t help the pathetic whimpers that hiccup from your lips. you even try to wriggle your ass but he rubs a hand underneath your clit. “aw, impatient are we? what’s the sayin’, princess? slow ‘n steady wins the race?”

‘okay…but i beat you,’ was what you were saying in your head… but you sort of forgot his hand was covering your mouth. duh girl.

“mmph—” you let off a muffled moan against the palm of his hand, trying to wriggle your ass against him harder.

geto lowly groans and then you groan, feeling what was a piercing that attaches toward his pre-creamed dewy frenulum. geto strokes himself a bit, fisting his cock. with hooded, jaded eyes, he watches his loose skin peel back before arising up again and he hisses. the frenulum perfectly hooks itself over his tip, and oh- how you wished you could have seen it.

you couldn’t see but, fuck did you feel it.

you’re so wet, your swollen pussy lips resemble a blossoming flower as he spreads you apart with two scissoring rubber fingers.

his dick piercing almost tickles once it starts to rub against you some more. he swipes it all against your clit, teasing it near your opening before pulling it right back out. “fuck,” you whine once he finally removes his palm from your mouth, glossy strands of your saliva coating the entirety of your hand. “h.. hurry up, suguru. ‘m gonna fall asleep at this rate.”

geto rolls his eyes, and that’s when with a semi-loud thud, your chest lands against your hood.

“oh please..” he murmurs, a brow twisting upward in annoyance. one of his hands still has its grip on your wrists and you bite your lip in anticipation.

geto’s tip leaked with creamy coating pre, and you felt remnants of it sprinkle against your entrance. with a raspy grunt, he drags his angered pierced crownhead down your drooling folds before roughly smacking it against your cunt.

more sloppy wet splats! of squelches spurt out from your folds as if it’s saying its own kind of lewd language and he grunts.

geto makes sure you’re arched over the hood of your car before whistling at your presented frame. “so damn…pretty,” and within seconds, he’s easing his way inside.

immediately, your eyes widen with your jaw collapsing down like earlier—fuck, he’s big.

from the countless times, you stared at his bulge, you figured as much. geto’s vast head had a rosy-pink tint of vermillion with how close it mirrored to being a pinkish red.

sucking in a greedy breath, he watches as he’s gradually disappearing inside of your cunt. his pierced dick made things even more sensitive, and you moan once you feel the piercing softly graze its way inside of your fluttering orifice.

pasty gummy walls welcome him, and now it’s his turn to bite his lip.

“hng, f- fuckin’ big,” you try to inhale a single breath, and he raises your leg just a bit. it now sits over your hood- and damn it, the angle he has was just brutal.

you just knew you were gonna feel him everywhere.

geto’s obelisk-like girth was wide ‘n fuckin’ tall, you felt him fully and the shaft ring that’s on top of his top continues to kiss against your sensitive throbbing nub.

prince albert to be specific!

it decorates his tip perfectly, making sure to tickle inside of you as he’s feeling you clamp down. “shiiiit,” you slur out your words in a mere whiny syllable, gasping at the curved column of his fat dick search through your walls like a maze. he’s expanding through you and you can’t help but part your lips, squealing before letting off a cute, ‘ooohh!’

your hand prints stick against the pink-stained hood of your car due to the insane amounts of perspiration and you whine once he gives you one biiiig thrust.

just one- and ah!

it rocks your world - literally.

you let off a cute squealing shriek, your legs shimmying a bit from his pressed-up weight.

“atta girl, bare ‘round me, good girl—fuck,” and the warmth you envelop his dick with makes him groan. your pussy was clingy, already so eager to devour him whole.

within a few punctuated thrusts to start, geto’s finally fucking you and each vigorous piston of his honed snatched hips makes your crossed eyes roll back in needy rapture.

his hands now stick toward your sides and you’re just whimpering from his size over and over again.

weighty inches pound into you at full speed, giving you whiplash every time as he impales your sweet greedy cunt. “fuck, mhm,” you bawl a fist against your car, gritting your teeth. riiiight there, the moment his tip smooches its way against that pretty bullseye spot, it’s over. there, he locates a spongy texture with the mushroomy pierced crown of his cock and it earns out a sobbing whimper from you. “ahng! right there, fuck. faster, there sugu.”

“right there, fuuuuck. faster there, sugu,” he mocks your whiny babbles, fully exaggerating.

to hell with him, you didn’t even sound like that but oh, did he enjoy getting on your nerves. just like you did- cute.

geto’s hefty sack smacks back against you from each nudging thrust he creates with his hips. every time, it makes him groan at how your body cutely slams back against him. with how sharp your ass pounds on his dick, those pretty wet sounds singing straight from your cunt- a sound way better than screeching tire wheels. “god, so fuckin’ warm. hah, squeezin’ all around me,” and as his irregular breathing patterns pick up, he leans in to kiss a slope down your neck. “bend over just a bit more- hah. there we go, m- my good girl.”

as your chest continued to lie flat down against your car’s hood now—he’s got you at such an angle to where you feel his cock expand everywhere.

it reaches every depth and rummages through every open orifice or just about near it. “oh my god!” you whimper out, hearing the sloppy sounds of your cunt whistle through the silent night. geto’s hitting you deep, slamming his keen hips into you with such rhythm, and each time he does, your brain short circuits.

tiny invisible stars circle and float over your head as you’re completely dumbfounded, thinking about nothing but how big his cock is and the way his pierced tip just plummets its way in and out of your drooling cunt.

speaking of drooling—you were starting to drool from the slit cracks of your mouth. you couldn’t help it- his dick was out of this world, and maybe you were exaggerating but fuck, you didn’t want him to stop. ever.

geto’s hastily rearranging your insides with just a few inches and it felt oh so good.

it was so good that you forgot the two of you raced together. you forgot about street racing as a whole, and instead, he had you dumb from his dick. “biiiiig fuckin’ stretch baby,” he’d grunt, starting to witness viscid stringy strands glue against each slapping thighs. geto’s dick slips out for a minute and he groans, gradually sliding himself back in.

it’s a sloppy ‘pop’ that rings between your cunt and it’s cute. you were wringing him dry, and with how wet you were, it wasn’t exactly helping things.

geto’s hot breath brushes against the open part of your neck before he gives your ass another playful swat. “fuck, that’s it. fuck back against me, don’t get lazy, uh huh. work those hips baby, f- fuck.”

as you weakly try to sway your ass into him to coordinate in sync with his crazed hips, he holds you in place—pumping inch after inch into you.

his cock sheaths inside between your syrupy-coated pussy almost effortlessly, and you let off a melodic moan the second his tip starts making out with your g-spot.

the pierced bulbous head dared to french kiss against there—making you writhe around him, on the verge of losing composure. you don’t think you’ve felt more sensitive than ever.

geto’s silvery dick piercing probes up and down your pearly clit every few seconds and he grunts at the gripping friction. “suguru…..fuuuck!” and as your words start to get bouncy, more sweet whimpers rose out of your sore throat. “more, more.”

“ungh,” he purses his lips together as he feels your cunt hungrily swallow his cock from top to bottom. with a rough pound, your ass smacks against his base—right near his tender plump testes and he groans.

such power-

even geto’s stunned for a moment, and his head throws itself back. the air surrounding you both starts to feel thick as smoke, and his eyes glance at your exposed backside that’s oh-so-pretty while arched.

all for him, and him only.

geto’s hips were simply maddened, and even he didn’t care about the race anymore.

well actually, maybe he did a little..

your pussy was brimmed with cock — sooo full, and you felt yourself starting to pant quicker and quicker. it’s as if you were having a literal street race with your breathing. geto’s getting lost inside of you, and it’s only a matter of time before his hips turn wildly sloppy.

gloved hands still reel you back into him as he’s breaking sweats within each long millisecond that passes. “pheww,” he’d wipe a sheet of sweat off his forehead, veins bulging in his beefy tatted arms. the drenching grip you had on his dick had him craving more…more of you.

the stoutness of his shaft jackhammers inside of your walls repeatedly until you’re on the verge of breaking yet again. geto grunts, the loud quick snap of his hips bringing him back to reality every time he’s about to go into another fantasm.

“fuuuck, ‘m gonna cum,” his words come out in a quiet rasp, and he claws a hand near the back crown of your head. “god,” his jaw tightens, and geto leans right up close to your neck, panting heavily against the outer shell of your ear. as long tangled tresses of hair freely cascade past his shoulders - all ruffled and messy from his helmet, he groans. “where do ya want it, sweetheart. tell m—”

“insideee,” you whine, barely giving him time to finish his husky words. your legs slightly raise against your headlight as it’s still stretched up and over.

geto’s still hitting you deep - so deeply good, swollen tip massaging every part of your clit and all. dozens of your toes curl up in erotic excitement as your tongue lolls out. you probably looked a sight. “inside, sugu, in- fuckin’- side.”

sassily smacking his lips together, he spanks you. “tch, dumb girl,” and the racer brings a hand to wrap around your neck. with a firm safe grip, his gloved thumb caresses a trail up your neck before he drills into you much quicker.

each snap of his hips draws out harmonic whines from you, gargled moans following out of your throat shortly afterward. the burn that’s twinging near the undersides of his thighs grows more and more intense before he geto lets out a guttural growl.

so……damn….. wet..

your flooding cunt’s slathering all over him, dripping near his base and he can’t help but snicker. “hah, fine. better hold still though.”

“fuck,” you whimper in response, feeling his sharp hips pound into you at such a pace. his rhythm was insane and there was no way in hell you could match his pace.

when it came to geto’s speed- yeah, you’d always lose. sure, you may have won today but when it came to his cock- you were losing with the hasty speed of his hips drilling into you at such miles per fuckin’ hour. .

as his turgid fat tip gives its final thrusting pumps inside of your cunt, geto’s body starts to violently shudder.

oh.. you were about to wring him dry. with a mewling slosh sound leaving the front your folds, you gush out yet again.

but at the same time…. so does he.

geto’s head remained tossed back with his round adam’s apple bobbing out of his throat. gnawing in the inside of his squishy cheek, he lets off a low grunt. his abs cockily flex through the white tee that tucks underneath his half-on leather jacket.

geto pulls out though, and it’s quick like the flash. he doesn’t finish inside to your devastated surprise, and a downturned pout forms on your lips. he huffs, watching such creamy-white amounts gush ‘n goo out in ropes and he sprays it on the outside of your pussy.

“damn,” he murmurs, feeling the awkward needy fidget of your hips. cute. darkened eyes remain on you the entire time and he grabs ahold of his veiny cock, aligning hit pierced tip against your pearled throbbing clit. “heh.. ain’t that a pretty sight,” and he smears it all against your pasty-creamed entrance.

now . . it’s painted with his color, white.

and geto came a lot because it’s still trickling out in ribbony globs, filthily oozing from the thick girthy sides and all like an erupted volcano. his teeth get caught by his quivering bottom lip as he watches such immoderate ropes of cum leave out of him. “such a- hah, messy girl,” and as he’s still lathering his sloppy seed that’s pouring out, sticking wads of splotches between the heat of your thighs, geto squeezes your ass. “awww,” he huffs breathily, noticing a few ivory stains splattered near the pink bumper of your car. “oops. might wanna clean that, sweetheart.”

hours passed . . many hours, and to say that you got fucked stupid was merely an understatement.

suguru geto had the stamina equivalent to a toyota supra MK4. his horsepower was his hips- with the added addition of his cock driving in and out of you.

but oh- you knew he wouldn’t be running out of gas soon.

or would he?

so. . many rounds, geto had you questioning your insanity the entire time, all because of his dick. if it was one thing he knew how to do, it was to fuck.

whether it involved his tongue or not, he knew how to make you feel good. it was one of the many things he excelled at, truly.

the only thing that got in the way was his cocky smug ego. every few seconds, he’d boast and remind you for the umpteenth time that your win was an unruly cheat, a hoax, or that he just couldn’t see the finish line because of your pink fucking smoke.

of course, geto didn’t say that part, that would have been him admitting that he lost the race and his pride couldn’t let him admit that he lost fair in square—

but your pussy could.

“hngh,” he falls back against your front cottony plus seat. geto grunts with a scowl entrapped in his thoughts. you pushed him - the audacity.

both of you were still sensitive but you had a tiny trick up your sleeve. “got some.. nerve,” and with low-dropped eyes, he watches you align yourself on his swollen pierced tip yet again.

he’s soft-flaccid, and he was pretty ran down. maybe now, geto was finally starting to run out of gas. with sweltering reddened lips smearing together, he watches you pick back up his expensive helmet, putting it over your head. “oh, gonna ride me while wearing my helmet, yeah? do your wors— oh.. fuck.”

his priggish words come to a not-so comedic halt the moment your cunt slams down on his cock. geto was still sensitive and he slouches back against your programming warming seat, dark eyes rolling back.

“goddamnnn,” and as your hips swerve around in circles identical to 360 car donuts, he sees you touching yourself while wearing his helmet. “fuckin’ brat—god.”

“aw,” you mock the exact faux caring tone he did to you earlier, making him touch you by bringing his shaky rubber hands toward your chest. geto’s fingers feel against the cropped top you wore, squeezing at your jiggling neglected breasts. “c’mon, sugu. i gotta guide your hands now too?”

“tch, shut up,” he groans, his heavy-sunken base sticking near your skin. dried splotches of cum glue against your sheeny ass as your hips continue to whirl ‘n rotate. you were unpredictable—you moved and jerked while he sat there with the most pussy drunken expression. geto lowly grunts, already feeling his balls starting to tighten up. he was trying to stop a sleazy grin from forming and oh.. was your cunt just making it impossible. “shit, ‘m not gonna last. s- still fuckin’ sensitive…. fuuuckk.”

the pink honda’s loud grumbling engine resounds through the echoey walls of the isolated garage with only the sounds of sheer skin slapping and a mixture of grunts following afterward. without thinking, you lift his helmet off of you, leaning in to kiss him and he returns the gesture almost right away.

geto’s lips were a tad bit delayed once they pressed onto yours. its a small yet cute detail- how he’s so pussy drink that he could barely crash his lips onto yours. as he’s moaning from your hands feeling on his burly tatted arms, his tongue sloppily delves into your mouth with no rhythm whatsoever.

maybe you were crazy, but you think you heard a whimper leave from his lips as he tried to nibble on your tongue. geto grunts, feeling that same pressure from earlier build up and fuck.. you were about to make a mess out of him . . . again!

his dick stills itself inside of you and his hands continue to roam down your body, further and further away from your jostling bouncy tits. “fuck ‘m cumminggg,” he’d moan between sultry kisses as stringy strands of saliva entangle with one another.

wetly, they form a web of sheeny lustrous cobwebs. geto’s foot rests against your bedazzled hard brake pedal before within seconds, he cums again.

this time, inside.

but it’s different this time- so so different.

it feels tenderly warm..

such hot gooey amounts dribble inside of you, spraying further inside your precious womb and you hum at the feeling.

his pierced cock fitting real nice and snug inside and you moan into his mouth, cocking your head in different directions as you trap his lips with another steamy kiss. “mmph.” a muffled whimper gets caught against your lips and you can already start to feel the whiteish searing ropes of fresh cum trail down the insides of your thighs. geto feels you slowing down on his lap—still buried balls deep, and he grunts in defeat..

soon, embarrassment overtakes him once he realizes how early he finished.

it’s a lot, again.

a thick load splatters heavily inside and past the inner lining of your cunt and he’s shivering underneath you. once you finally break away from his lips, your eyes meet his.

geto’s staring back at you, and you don’t see that cocky sly look in his eyes that everyone else sees.

right now, he looks…needy, and you think you broke him.

“what . . ?” he grouses, his hands still attached to your waist. his grip- it was gentle and tender a rubber thumb softly caressing down your curve. geto wasn’t ready for you to leave the garage, at least not yet.

“say it, pretty boy,” you whisper, pressing a kiss near his chin. your touch - it drove him mad.

never in a million years would he, suguru geto- have thought he’d get humbled by a rookie . .

humbled by you.

geto’s shooting straight daggers at you, but you can tell how flustered he is because he breaks eye contact a second later. you’re making him nervous, the same feeling he was making you at first when you had your first encounter with him.

as geto’s still warmly buried inside, he grunts once you take it upon yourself to softly wrap a hand around his throat.

oh- you were a mere tease, mimicking his exact movements from earlier. slightly wide-eyed and all, geto stares at you. and as he does—there’s that familiar glimpse of brattiness glimmering in his irises again.

you fucking turned him on..

“heh, f- fine then,” he stammers, heaving every few seconds to catch his irregular breaths. his body felt like it was on empty. no more gas left in him and that same cunning grin that plastered on his lips slowly started to fade.

geto’s not so cocky now, and in fact— he lets off a soft quiet whimper once you start to grind against his lap.

shakily, his hand squeezes your ass before finishing his sentence in a shaky defeated rasp.

“you . . fuckin’ win, sweetheart,” and you let off a sweet gasp once a loud smack! interrupts the moment, his hand swatting against your ass. “mhm,” geto grunts, “didn’t s- say stop. finish ridin’ me, sweetheart,” and his gloved finger swirls itself inside of your stuffed full cunt before pulling it right back out.

again, he’s filthy.

and even while being in such a state, geto brings his fingers up to his lips, slowly poppin’ them into his mouth before tasting the concoction mixture of both bittersweet messes. your syrupy cum and his.

quickly, he presses the tips of his rubber fingers toward his uvula, before staring at you with a greedy smug expression. he’s panting harshly, still trying to get over how you just outrode him literally, and he laps up his fingers right in front of you.

geto reclines your seat back a bit as you still straddled him, and he gives your ass its final spank before tiredly huffing,

“best- two out of three, what do ya say, r- rookie?heh..”

[resurrectwheelrecon]

Resurrect Wheel Recon

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[ceilidho]

landscape with honey

summary: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 4. (read the whole thing on ao3 here) tags: light daddy kink, breeding kink, very nsfw, she/her pronouns for reader

-

He starts showing up at your house at odd hours. 

You’re fixing coffee in the morning, still fuzzy and warm from sleep, only to hear the sounds of hammering outside. Wrapping yourself in just a housecoat, you find John fixing the loose step on your stairs, barely sparing enough time to greet you before returning to the task at hand. When he finishes, he brushes off your attempts to pay him for the job, just loading his tools back in the car and driving off.

You sip your coffee and wonder. Odd.

The next day, you find him raking the leaves in your lawn. Two days later, he shows up at the grocers when you’re picking up produce, and helps you carry all your bags to the car. He also adds a peculiar amount of canned goods to your order and when you fret and try to tell him that you don’t need the pickles and sauerkraut and beans and all of that stuff, he just lays a hand flat on your head and drags it down your hair until you go quiet. 

He pays for the whole order.

You’ve never had to wonder about a man’s actions. Men are largely inscrutable to you, ever-shifting. They say one thing and mean another. They look at you like one might look at an oil painting, entitled something like Virgin Meeting Her Lover’s Eyes From The Top Of The Staircase or Landscape With Virgin. They speak to you as though an answer were entirely antithetical to their purpose in conversing with you. 

John listens to you with a focus that borders on intimidating, like he wants to hear each word enunciated exactly how you might enunciate it. It has the sharp clarity of respect, of a mutual acknowledgement of humanity. He also comes over to fix your sink without you having to ask. The world of men is still largely confusing to you. 

John grows surlier as the days grow shorter though. He doesn’t snap or snarl at you the way he does sometimes with his recruits (you rarely see him interact with them, but sometimes you’ll drop him off his lunch on the days when you’re feeling particularly generous and that’s when you’ll have the rare pleasure of hearing him shout at a trembling twenty-three year old for littering on the trail like a military captain), but it’s a near thing. 

The worst is when he catches you on a jog one morning on his drive to work. You see his truck with the faded red paint pass you by and you give a short wave that he returns. He passes you by about half a yard before coming to a full stop and reversing. You stare at him as the window rolls down, brows furrowed.

“Hi Jo—” you start.

“Get in the car,” John growls. You hear the doors unlock. 

“…My uh…my shift’s in two hours, John, I can’t just—”

“Get in the car.”

“This is my only time to exercise!”

“If I have to get out of this car and drag you inside, honey, I will. Don’t play with me. Get in.”

You get in the car. Probably wisely. Still dripping sweat and shivering from the cold—you’re not used to jogging in the winter, or at all for that matter, but it seemed like as good a time as any to start—you glance over to stare at the side of John’s face. His jaw is set, almost as if in anger. His knuckles are white over the steering wheel as he makes a U-turn and drives back into town. The cab of his truck smells like flannel pulled out from the back of a closet, almost musty, but comforting in the way that old clothes can sometimes smell. There’s a cigarette ashed out in the dish in front of the centre console. 

He takes you to the nearest bakery for coffee and a breakfast muffin and stares you down until you eat the whole thing. You feel like you have to scarf it down. Customers bustle into the bakery to order coffee to-go and fresh cookies and scones in waxy paper bags; everyone in town knows each other so you try to avoid the more curious stares when they’re turned on you.

“This is weird,” you say, staring down at the crumbs on your plate. “This is really weird.”

“This is what you get for exercising before winter,” John says, flagging down the barista for another muffin and a refill on your coffee. “Waste of calories.” The last part is said derisively, almost with a scoff. 

You frown. “Lots of people exercise. Even when it snows.”

“Winter is a time for hibernating. Not��sweat,” he says with a grimace, like the very thought is anathema to him. 

"Hibernating?" you repeat skeptically, scrunching up your nose. "I mean, I spend a lot of time indoors, but I wouldn't say I'm hibernating."

John stares at you until you look away, flushed. "Finish your breakfast."

The barista returns with another blueberry muffin and a fresh cup of coffee. At least John's the one paying. When he finally seems satisfied, he hustles you home and leaves you off at the door with a stern warning. 

“You gonna be good for me this time?” he asks, a finger curled under your chin, tilting your head up. One of his hands curls around the doorframe and your heart jumps when you hear the wood creak under his grip. This close, you can see the faintest silver streaks at his temples and the flecks of it in his beard.

“It was just a light jog,” you mumble, looking away. 

“Not a light anything,” he warns, ducking closer until you feel like shrinking back, like disappearing into your house. “Bake a cake if you have to burn off energy so bad. I’ll be over around seven, alright?” 

You mumble something, the words getting lost in themselves. It’s impossible to think with John in your space like this. It’s only when he finally pulls away and ambles back to his truck that you rock back on your heels, let go of whatever spell he had you under. 

The first week of December hits town like a truck. 

You’re trudging home alone after your shift when you make the decision to cut through the forest because you missed the last bus and you don’t want to spend an hour walking home. The first snow of the season has caught you off guard, clad in boots too autumnal and a sweater too thin for the biting cold. The flakes fall in thick chunks that stick for a brief moment before melting into the skin.

It’s not the first time you’ve travelled through the forest alone. The town is surrounded by pockets of the forest, like it can’t help enveloping whatever space is left for it. Oftentimes it’s easier just to cut through the woods rather than travel the long way around. You wouldn’t even call this the forest proper, not like the acres of trees sprouting over the mountains just off in the distance. 

A bush rustles. Your eyes flick over for a second, breath hovering in your chest before you decide that it’s just a squirrel. Nothing ever happens in a town like this. The man from the other day notwithstanding, nothing truly bad ever happens. You keep walking down the partially demarcated path, lit only by the full moon overhead. It’s so dark that the snow around you is almost blue. 

The bush rustles again. You stop this time, feet staying planted in the snow long enough for your feet to grow cold. You stare at the dark shoots covered in a layer of snow; it stripes the branches like candy from a time ago, licorice twisted with white bark, and it doesn’t move when you look at it. The bushes and trees are dense, impossible to peer through. Even walking through the forest doesn’t make you feel immersed in it. You follow a barely marked path, hard to see through the recent snowfall, and stare out into the dark woods with a kind of animal sense. Not sure whether you’re alone, whether something’s there with you, and whether it’s sensed you or if you’ve sensed it first. 

You start walking again when your feet go numb. Better to just get home.

It comes behind you again as a slightly louder rustle. It’s harder to shake off the fear this time, harder to say that it’s just the wind. The snow crunches under more than one set of feet, branches cracking under the weight of something larger than you. 

You don’t want to turn around, but the sound of something chuffing makes your stomach drop. The first thing that emerges when you turn to face it is its massive head, a white frosted muzzle, and the visible hump on its back. The wispy smoke of its breath puffs out when it breathes. Its eyes are dark, hardly reflecting any light at all. Then the rest of it emerges, the saplings bending out of its way as it clambers out of the woods and onto the path, staring you down all the while.

You’ve never seen a bear before. Not this close. Not so close that you know it’s been stalking you, know that it didn’t come upon you by accident. You’re staring down at your own body from somewhere else, fear displacing you. Rending you from your own body. There’s no way to guess its weight at a glance, but it’s easily twice the size of you, easily more than that. 

When it takes a step forward, everything goes dark. 

You wake up snuggled under the warmth of a thick blanket. Sleep is creamy thick, engulfing you on all sides, only the faintest prickle of awareness letting you know that you’re awake. 

It’s unpleasant to leave the cotton miasma of sleep, you think. Your nose scrunches up and you let out a tired huff, trying to will yourself back into it. The harder you try to force yourself back into it though, the farther away it floats.

Still it weighs you down. It takes an age to work up the energy to so much as twitch a finger. Even your eyelids insist on staying shut. Yet, the prickle of consciousness needles at you as if to say hello, wake up, you need to get up. You sigh and try to shimmy up onto your elbows.

A hand shoves you back down. The breath rushes out of you.

“Get…back down,” a rough voice grunts from over you and then the full weight of a man settles on top of you, pressing you deep into the mattress. 

Consciousness snaps back into you, elastic sharp. The weight of him pins you to the bed, makes you sink into the plushness of—and this is gradually coalescing in your mind—an unfamiliar place. All four corners of your body are trapped under him. The voice is familiar though. Ragged, brutal. A saw taken to the trunk of an old, thick tree, too many interior rings to count. You whisper John’s name and he grunts, making you flinch from how the sound reverberates through the side of your head.

Exhaustion is thick though and it leaves you heavy, even when John slowly lifts himself to his elbows from behind you. You feel him drag his body down the length of the bed, beard scratching into your skin with every petal soft kiss dropped along your spine during his descent.

“John?” you whisper, only just able to turn your head, not even able to struggle up to your elbows. “J-John?”

He doesn’t answer you. The room is near pitch black, only a window on the other end of the room with the curtain pulled back the smallest amount enough to let the moonlight in. Even the moonlight isn’t enough. You know from the shape of the window that this isn’t your house, that it must be somewhere else. You can only surmise from John’s presence that it’s his, but that thought passes over you like a rock skipping over water. 

“Wher’m’I?” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut when his lips press over the small of your back. Sensitive there. 

Rough hands with callused fingertips smooth over your ass, pressing into the flesh. His fingers pry your cheeks apart, thumbs dipping into the space between and pressing over your hole, making you burn all over. You’re too far gone to worry about any hair on your legs or anything about your body other than John’s hands undulating over your ass and thighs. You flinch violently when his teeth sink into the meat on the underside of your ass, so tender that even exhausted to the bone your body lashes out. 

Big hands pry your legs apart. You flinch at the sudden hot breath over your sex, a whine tickling your throat. His face hovers so close to your centre that the tip of his nose presses on the tender skin near your entrance. 

“Wha’ d’you…think you’re doin’...” you ask breathlessly. Your brain tries to order your leg to kick, but it stays flat and limp on the bed. 

The first touch of John’s tongue along your slit makes you melt, the flat of his tongue lapping upward and making your hips tilt up with it. It almost makes your mind go blank again, almost tips you back into the unconscious world because the synapses in your brain stop firing the second you remember that it’s John between your legs licking hungrily at your cunt. John from the grocery store, John from the ranger’s station in the mountains—the John you’ve been crushing on and coveting for months now, content to just be friends with the gruff, handsome man in the house next to yours. Now sucking one of your nether lips into his mouth and tracing his tongue up the inside, gliding it over the supple flesh.

“Yer in the den,” John mumbles into your pussy and it’s like he sears the words into your brain. “‘N I’m takin’ care of you, honey.”

“The…the den…?” It’s so hard to keep your thoughts in order. Each flick of his tongue makes you gasp, pussy growing wetter and hips grinding languidly down on his face.

He hums instead of answering. 

“Why’m’I so tired?” you slur. 

His tongue saws over your clit from behind. It tears a broken whimper from you. You feel every textured ridge, the way it flicks around in a circle and then up and down again. 

“Winter season,” John says, sucking your clit into his mouth until you whine at the top of your lungs. “Bear’s sleep in winter.”

“Tha’s silly. M’not a bear,” you moan. 

“No,” he agrees, humming into your sex. “Jus’ mated to one. Makes you sleepy too, honey.”

“Mated?” you repeat back, but it’s lost in the way you moan when he eats your pussy from the back, licking into you with renewed vigour. Hungry like a bear. Grunting like a satisfied man, slurping loud enough to make your face heat up. 

Words and old memories about bears hardly matter when the handsome man from next door spreads your legs wide, almost to the point of pain, and sinks his tongue into your hole again. You never would’ve expected John to be vocal, but he’s noisy behind you, groaning into your cunt. He keeps mumbling things under his breath that you can’t catch. 

“John—” you gasp, biting your lip when he sucks your clit into his mouth again. “John—John—”

He only has to give you a single finger to tip you over the edge, feeds it in nice and slow. Your cunt clenches down at the intrusion, teeth nearly breaking through the skin of your lip. 

When he crawls back over you, anticipation makes you shudder. You hear something faint in the background that grows steadily louder as John rests his elbows on either side of your head, until you realize that it’s your own voice murmuring, “Put it in, put it in, put it in—”

He obliges. A thick, steady plunge that hardly manages more than a handful of inches before you’re crying, and it’s too much, too much, too much. Pleasure not a limpid pool anymore but something cavernous and deep-dwelling, pulling you in or trying to make a home inside of you for it. John’s biceps tense with the strain of holding himself back. 

You balance on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. There’s a single thought in your head that it might burn you up from the inside; it runs a jagged hole through you. 

His nose drags through your hair. “Never expected you. Thought I’d go another season alone ‘till I started smellin’ you around town.”

You hiccup. “Y’never—never paid me any attention ‘for— before, ah—”

“‘Course I paid attention to’ya, honey,” John says into your ear, grunting when he drives deeper into your pussy, still just a languid grind of his hips, so mind-numbingly slow that your thoughts sizzle out of your head. He keeps dragging his hips back and plunging in, barely pulling away from you, all skin on slick skin. “Made a home for m’self in your house. Made sure we had ‘nough to eat for the winter.”

“The winter?”

“Won’t be goin’ anywhere for a few months.” He brushes your hair out of the way to kiss down your neck, giving in to the urge to bite just a little. His body stays pressed tight to yours, hardly an inch of space between the two of you. “Wasn’ sure at first if it’d be here or in your house so… fuck, I had to get ready. Make sure you’d be safe when it hit.”

“Don’ even…know wha’ that means,” you mumble into the mattress, then squeal and fist the fists when John shoves a hand under you to grope your chest.

“Don’t worry about it,” he shushes you. “All y’have to do now is lie there ‘n take my cock, okay, honey? Can’ya do that for me? I’ll get some food in you after we’re done, then send ya back to bed.”

Only a whine comes out when you open your mouth. John’s arm by your head forces you to breathe in the scent of him, musky and rich. You stare at the hair on his knuckles and his thick fingers gripping the sheets as well, old nicks and scars decorating his hand. You can’t stop staring at his fingers and thinking that he had one of those in you before, that he’s felt you from the inside. 

He never pulls away, never changes positions, just fucks you on your tummy in his bed. You’ve never been in John’s bedroom before, but this has to be his room—even the pillowcase smells like him, pine needles and cigar smoke. He keeps up a steady pounding into your cunt, rutting like a wild animal. Has to be close. Gets so close to you that you feel smothered, trapped in place. Like if you struggled, he wouldn’t let up. You want to test it, see if you could, but the heaviness is still in your limbs, keeping you docile. Convenient. A little convenient thing for him to use, like a doll to get himself off with.

“Never coulda imagined such a pretty girl f’r me,” John groans, getting a grip in your hair to twist your head, tugging you into a kiss. Your whole body sparks to life, so shocked that you can’t even kiss him back at first. You wait until he pulls back, staring into his half-lidded eyes through the mess of your hair all tangled up around you. “Gave up on thinkin’ there was anyone out there. Thank fuck I found you first, honey. Can start workin’ on all the good stuff now. Get you to give daddy a baby.”

“D-daddy?” you gasp back, almost scandalized. 

He pants into your shoulder, worked up now. “Yeah, honey. Don’ I take care of you? Buy y’r food, fix y’r house? Give you someplace nice ‘n warm to sleep?”

You feel soaked with sweat, twitchy, on the verge of something dangerous. Vision all fogged up, heart beating so fast that your skin buzzes. Stretched out on a fat cock and pinned in a man’s bed, nowhere to run or hide. 

“Y-yeah,” you stutter when John gets a bit rougher, his breathing getting more staggered, laboured. 

“That’s right, girl,” he grunts, “I’m y’r fuckin’ daddy then, aren’t I?”

Magma bubbles up from deep inside of you. Rockslides off in the distance beat against the ground. When you cry out, it gets lost in the rubble. 

You stumble into the living room maybe hours later after using the washroom across the hall. Maybe a day later. It’s hard to say how many times the sun has risen and fallen behind the mountains. The clock face stares back at you uncomprehendingly. 

Come drips out of you onto the floor. Thick droplets run down your inner thighs. John is still sleeping in the bed where you left him, snoring like a chainsaw. It must’ve been what woke you up. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since he first brought you home, since he left a mess in your pussy, which is still puffy and sore from rough use. You walk with halting little steps to try to minimize the ache. 

You stare bleary-eyed around the room. It feels somehow different than the previous times John’s had you over; there are more throws and blankets draped over the couch, candles scattered around the living room with a lighter on the mantle. 

There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, blanketing the house in a layer of warmth. It makes you sluggish, stumbling forward only a handful of steps before the shaggy rug in front of the fire drags you back down to the floor. 

“What’re you doing out of bed, pretty girl?” someone rumbles from behind you. 

“Had t’pee,” you say, blinking. You try to rub the sleep out of your eyes unsuccessfully. “Why’m’I still so tired? It’s been…I slept so long…”

“C’mon, honey,” John says, coming up behind you and curling his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Told you it was gonna be a long winter. Maybe just one more and then somethin’ to eat, okay?”

It’s easy to sink to the floor, so easy. Especially with the fluffy rug under your feet. Especially with the fireplace toasting you from the outside in, the tinder crackling in the hearth. Everything in the house is dark and warm, only the fire giving you any light at all. Outside the window, the moon is still heavy in the sky. 

Something about the humidity of the den makes you suddenly so tired, boneless, pliable when he goes to move you, when John curves himself around you in the furs and reaches down to slide a hand between your thighs. 

He grunts when he finds you wet and wanting, sinking a couple fingers in and palming your clit. He doesn’t talk much still, but he says good girl when he cants your hips and slowly stretches you out on his cock. Feeds it into you achingly slow, like molasses. Like nothing’s due for another few months, so why rush it? He’ll take his time so you’re nice and happy and sweet come spring for cubs.

You’re not sure what that means. The pace is slow and deep, like before but less intentional. Like he just wants to savour the warmth of your body. 

When he finally comes deep inside you, your body goes limp, collapsing in a heap onto the rug. You expect John to pull out and turn over, maybe pull you onto his chest so you have somewhere to rest. Instead, he sighs all tired and content, and stays in you, still plugged up in your cunt, his spend only just starting to leak out into a pool beneath you. 

“Are we gonna eat?” you mumble, already half-asleep.

Somewhere behind you, he laughs; it’s soft like a snowfall in winter. “Yeah, honey. After a nap, we can eat.”

[making-you-in-spore]

pinned post

TRANS RIGHTS!! TERFS GET THE FUCK OFF MY BLOG!!!!!!!

who are you?

i'm just a guy who likes spore [2008]

why do this?

i just really like spore and making creatures in spore. it helps me practice my creature creation abilities.

can you make my oc in spore?

as of right now i do not take requests. i generally find characters and creatures i want to make by them appearing on my dashboard. refer to the Request Beast.

what is in your icon?

captain thunderhide, my main spore space stage captain.

what is peeling?

peeling is when i remove all detail parts from a creature and show the bare sculpt underneath - anything that is not eyes, mouth, hands, feet, or limbs will be removed. it is a tradition around these parts

what are "original spores"?

original spores are spore creations that aren't based on existing media - ocs, copyrighted characters, or otherwise. usually, they're just making things to make them in spore, or are based on simple prompts such as "a plate of spaghetti" or "a penis".

do you use mods?

i exclusively play this game with mods.

can i download the creatures you make?

only if the original creator of the design is okay with it and requests a png. please note that in order to successfully download the creatures, you will need to download every mod used to create them.

i will not always be able to say what mods i use to make something, so it's a gamble if you don't have all of the ones i use.

how do i mod spore/do advanced creature creation like you?

darkedgetv's FAQ is a very good resource to begin. i started there, and it's where i recommend you to start if you're interested in spore modding. it also contains many other mods i have not listed under the cut.

as much as i disagree with the process of using a discord server to contain vital information and resources, the davoonline spore modding community discord is also a good source of resources and mods that even i do not use.

what editor mods do you use?

a lot, so they'll be under the cut.

not mods, but highly recommended for enhanced playing experience

4GB patch - Tutorial - patches spore [and other 32bit programs] to be able to use 4gb of RAM. recommended if playing a highly modded copy, and makes the game more stable.

Reshade & ReSpore - post-processing injector & shader that alters the appearance of spore, giving it more detailed shading and vibrant colors. i use this for gameplay and screenshots. runs on GPU power, so excellent if you have a strong graphics card

HD graphics fix - this doesn't actually seem to work for my copy, but it alters the textures of base spore to be more high-quality.

mods that are absolute must-haves

these mods are ones that i use in almost every creation, and add a lot of QoL to the editors. if i forget a mod in a creature png i post, it will be one of these.

Dark injection - THE spore mod. it's likely a lot of other mods you'll download will mesh well with dark injection. you can turn off whatever you don't want to use through the installer.

Universal Property Enhancer - a library mod that many other mods require

The Smoother - a useful tool for building muscles and smoothing out your creatures' bodies

Enhanced Color Picker - a requirement for super detailed creations, enables hexcode color picking and color wheel selection beyond normal limits of spore

[UPE] Infinite Part Scaling - allows scaling of parts near-infinitely, beyond the limits of the original game

Project Skyncraft - adds new creature skinpaints

Unshackled - adds nodes and limbs for creating custom wings, heads, hands, etc. a little bit unstable, i mostly use this for wings.

Spore Stacker - allows stacking of any part

Subtle Rotations - reduces part rotation snapping

Advanced CE - adds building editor manipulators to the creature editor

Every Part Costs Nothing - self explanatory

Rotate Anything - lets you rotate anything, including feet and hands

Advanced Creature Paint - allows for individual coloring of parts on a creature, like in the building and vehicle editors

Ambient Occlusion Disabler - removes baked-on shadows for creatures

Delta Paints - adds new skinpaints

Valla's Skinpaint Switcheroo - adds duplicates of all vanilla, C&C, and GA creature coat and detail skinpaints into their opposite category

test drive related mods

these mods are not required to download the creatures i post, but are recommended for the test drive.

No More Creature Editor Animations - turns off the animations that play when you add eyes, mouth, feet/hands, etc

Sevan's TF2 editor animations - adds multiple animations from tf2 into the creature test drive.

Mx3's Dance Animations - adds a multitude of dance animations into the creature test drive.

Tenebris's Creature Test Drive Animations - adds many animations from within the game to the creature test drive.

EditorBG - adds extra editor backgrounds

Ramone Kemono's MMD Drag Ball - high-effort dance mod complete with special effects and a reverse engineered camera system

part mods

these mods add parts to the editors.

DroneParts 2017 - adds many mechanical and polygonal parts useful for machine creatures, i like to use it for building clothes and markings.

New Drone Parts - a sequel to droneparts 2017, compatible with the old version. install both at the same time if you want to be able to use creatures from the old droneparts mod.

Himeric Engine - adds horror-themed parts to the creature editor.

Spore Resurrection Next Steps - adds a few parts to the creature editor and several new textures to the building and vehicle editors.

Dinosaur Parts - adds parts based on dinosaurs and other animals. mostly heads.

Strange And Beautiful - a now-discontinued, reuploaded mod that adds unusual and unique parts to the creature editor

Bionicle parts - adds a few bionicle pieces to the creature editor

Little Box Of Horrors - adds many parts with an overall horror theme. some are animated.

Pandora's Toolbox [1.0] - adds a multitude of basic shapes and polygons to build with

Replicant - adds non-textured animating parts and non-animating parts in a separate tab. good for if you want to use hands, limbs, etc without them animating or adding stats

Armoured And Dangerous - adds a few high detail mechanical looking parts.

Delimbiter - increases the amount you can scale limb parts, and allows for more crazy movements of certain limb parts

Valla's Vanilla Style Parts - adds several parts which mimic the vanilla style

Wordsmith 2.1 - adds letters to the creature, building, and vehicle editors

Kaiju parts - adds several parts based on popular kaiju

Organic Help - adds many membrane pieces to the creature editor, for creating wing webbing among other things

Project: Mad Mannequins - adds many human body based parts. and a horse for some reason

A Mouth For All Seasons - adds alternate versions of all vanilla mouths [and all unused cell mouths] with alternate diets

Valla's Captain Badges - adds all space badge models into the captain outfitter and creature editor

Rock On! - adds rock props from spore into the building and creature editors

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: I hope you all enjoy this random idea.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

One hand guides the fabric as the other turns the wheel. Your work is slow but steady, every stitch perfect, every seam precise. Your fare may be modest and your product simple, but its quality cannot be contested. Your labour as yourself is honest and plain.

The noise of the machine is your only company. The one-room shop nestled behind the butcher’s rarely sees a customer through its door. Instead, the orders are sent from the factories, returned with the printed adverts you disperse outside their doors. The writs are sent along with an envelope of pence and shilling and you complete each with equal diligence before sending them back bundled in paper and twine.

The operation isn’t especially fruitful but the profit is enough to subsist. Enough to guarantee your independence; a small apartment just above and a pot of stew to last you through each week. This humble existence is preferable to any marriage you’ve witnessed. 

The letters from your sisters reaffirm your spinster’s fate. You’d rather a hand wheel and a needle than a brood and broken back. A husband seems to provide several jobs at once, you’ll happily settle for one.

As your hands work from memory and your head wanders from tedium, the bell above the door gives a single sharp toll. You ease the wheel to a halt and leave the seam unfinished. You peer up above the black iron machine, reminding yourself to fix your hunch as a client enters. You can’t but wonder if he may have come to the wrong shop.

By his attire, he is a class above the factory women who require gray skirts and simple stays. His waistcoat is embroidered and his jacket is pressed and clean. He is tall, locks part tidily so his curls lay gracefully. His face is fresh-shaven, square jaw with a cleft, and shoulders broad and strong. He does not share the same sinewy gauntness as the labourers with the coal-dusted noses.

He carries a fine leather bag. Another clue to his status. His shoes, another. Polished and without creases.

You stand to greet him, “good afternoon, sir. Might I help you with something?”

His answer is not prompt. He takes in the finished dresses hung by the east wall and turns to examine the rolls of wool and cotton. At last, he returns his attention to you.

“Afternoon,” his deep timbre fills the small space, “you are the dressmaker.”

It isn’t a question, but you answer, “I am.”

He narrows his eyes as he approaches your desk, the sole fixture in the space. From without, the shop is just as bare. The blackened windows offer not insight into the business, its only suggestion the sign hung above the door, though the paint requires a fresh coat.

“And the shop owner?”

“That is me as well, sir,” you assert. The presumption is not uncommon.

“Ah,” he accepts your explanation without comment, “so, you will have sewn this.”

He puts his bag on the desk, nearly knocking your shears from the corner. You try not to flinch as they teeter near the edge and he pulls open the top of the leather bag. He pulls out a swath of grey. You recognise it and he rolls the cuff to show your initials sewn within.

“Sir,” you say precariously, “is there some issue with it? Is it your wife’s dress?”

“Wife? No, no,” he dismisses, feeling the fabric between his fingers, “rather I am in search of the dress’s owner. The initial must belong to them, yes? So you would have a name for the buyer.”

“Mm, no, those are mine,” you point at the letters, “as it is my handiwork.”

“That makes sense,” he frowns in disappointment. “So you wouldn’t know who would wear it?”

You rub your chapped lips together. You find your tongue sliding over them often when you work, turning them raw with the habit. The man’s lips are rosy and smooth, as well-kempt as the rest of him. He is no factory worker’s husband.

“I might… would you take it out?” You ask.

He obliges as you pluck up the metal cylinder from your desk and unfurl the tape measure from within. He shakes out the dress, holding it by the shoulders to reveal salt stains along the skirts and unleashing a dingy smell in the shop. You wiggle your nose at the stench but worse roils in from the butcher’s on hot days.

You take the measure of the sleeves and the waist, then to the hem. You scribble the numbers on a scrap and take that to compare with your ledger. The measurements are in now way defining but might narrow it down. He keeps the dress aloft and you return to him to check the thread along the seams. A few months ago, you changed the thickness as the factory workers complained of splits under the arms.

“Hm, it is a recent purchase,” you assure him and return to the ledge. 

He lowers the dress and approaches. You snap the book closed and turn your face up to consider him once more, “why do you need to know, if it is not your wife?”

“You are very discerning,” he remarks as he folds the dress and drapes it over his bag, “I’m certain then you can surmise the woman who wore this dress did not meet a kind fate.” He tugs up the hem and shows a tear trimmed in scarlet, the colour not obvious from a distance. “Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. I’m a detective and I’m trying to identify a poor woman found not far from here. I believe it is in your own interest that I discover her assailant.”

“I cannot say for certain which she is,” you turn over the scrap and re-open the ledger. You write down three names which match the measurements and hold the paper out to him. He takes it, his thick fingertips brushing yours. “Those are the ones which align with the dress.”

“Mm,” he hums as he tucks the paper into his chest pocket, “and your name? I couldn’t make it out on the sign.”

You recite your name flatly, “it isn’t on the sign.”

“It requires new paint,” he admonishes, “I could hardly find you.”

“I am aware,” you reply. “Thank you for noting.”

He’s quiet, “being a detective, however, I did indeed put together the clues.”

Is he making a joke? You cannot tell. He folds up the dress completely and puts it back in the leather bag. The smell persists.

“What are you prices?” He asks abruptly.

“Sir, I sew dresses for factory women, sometimes a few communion pieces, but I’m afraid I don’t do much suit work.”

“My sister requires a dress,” he sniffs, “as simple as it is, I can see your work is fine.”

“I have only wools and cottons,” you counter.

“Do you always turn away business?” He challenges.

“I wasn’t, sir, I’m only clarifying what I currently do. My prices are set for those fabrics,” you explain.

“I will pay for the muslin and velvet,” he waves his hand staunchly, “you will be paid for your labour. Can you sew with more than wool and cotton?”

“I can, sir, but you could find a ready-made dress in a market boutique if the dress is required promptly.”

“I can afford the time and coin,” he insists. “You are not a talented advertiser, are you?”

You’re taken aback by his bluntness. Often, his ilk have that demeanour. It’s why you’d rather the factory workers and the fish sellers’ wives.

“I suppose not,” you agree, “I would need measurements before I begin. You may send the numbers along with the fabric, then. And I would require a style. Perhaps your sister is a purveyor of fashion magazines?”

“I will send a messenger,” he shrugs. “Thank you for your time. I shan't get in your way any longer.”

“Good day, sir.”

“Good day to you,” he takes the bag from your desk and the shears fall to the floor with a clatter.

You skirt around to grab them as he bends and swipes them up first. You recoil as he closes the blades with a snap. He examines them before placing them back on the desk.

“Apologies,” he says, “and miss,” he looks at you, “take to heart what I’ve told you today. Keep away from the allies and perhaps you may consider locking your door.”

“Thank you, sir, your concern is appreciated.”

“Rather you might just keep those close, eh,” he points to the shears and his cheek dimples.

Again, you can’t be certain of his humour. You keep a placid expression, neither smiling nor scowling. He clears his throat and runs his hand down his jacket, gripping the lapel.

“Very well then, I’ll be off.”

He turns on his heel and marches to the door. You stay by the desk as the bell rings with his departure. Once the door closes, you cross the shop. You turn the lock into place, his foreboding lingering with the stale scent of dirty water.

🪡

Despite the unusual visit, your days roll on like a hand on a clock. The thought of the woman’s tragic fate looms like a shadow but fades. You have too much stitching to do to fret over that man and his ominous words. You assume his interest in your work thereafter was wholly feigned as he does not return.

That day, you pass off six parcels to Eustace, the driver who takes them down to the stacks to hand off to the floor bosses who will parse them out to the women they’ve been cut for. You pay him his toll before he climbs back into the seat of his cart, his horse kicking impatiently.

“Excuse me, sir,” another driver clops up along the other side of the street, a narrow squeeze between the slanting buildings. “I’m in search of a dressmaker. I believe the store is tucked behind the butcher’s and…” the man’s voice drifts off as his eyes flit to the meat sellers marquee.

“Right here, good sir,” Eustace responds, “wouldn’t ya know, she’s right here.”

You lift your chin to see past the cart and spy the driver. He removes his cap as his gaze meets yours. Eustache dips his chin as he adjusts his own hat and snaps his old mare into a canter. As you're left alone with the carriage driver, a vehicle rather lofty for a block like this, you fold your hands behind you.

“Sir, you hardly look in need of a work woman’s dress,” you say.

“Miss,” he ties the reins off and jumps down from his seat, “I am sent for you, not a dress.”

“For me?” You echo.

“Mr. Holmes has sent,” he crosses the muck and nearly slips. “He said he made an appointment for a seamstress.”

“An appointment? I wasn’t informed of the time,” you rebuff. “I’ve a shop to run, orders paid for. I can’t simply leave.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Holmes made mention of a fee,” the man feels around his striped coat, “he said a deposit would be needed.”

He takes out a brown envelope and hands it over. You take it, a small weight within. You look at the driver before you pull back the flap and peek inside. A large gold sovereign sits in the corner of the paper; a whole pound. That’s at least three days work.

You hold your breath, trying to maintain some composure. If that’s the deposit, what is he offering for the rest? You slip out the folded paper within, a page torn from a fashion journal. The dress is elegant if not extravagant. You don’t often do off-the-shoulder or ruffles like that but it isn’t beyond your skill.

You fold the flap closed again and lift your chin to face the driver, “I must lock up, you see?”

“Take your time, miss,” he says kindly. “Mr. Holmes isn’t expecting you to hurry.”

“Thank you, sir,” you bow your head and turn away.

You measure your steps along the facade of the butcher’s shop and curl around to the alleyway. You let yourself into your shop and tuck the envelope into your apron pocket. You take your sewing bag from under the desk and shake off the dust. You don’t often have reason to use it.

You open it up and pack away your shears, a measuring tape, pins with a cushion, your notebook, and a few other bits and bobs. Just in case. You grab a role of linen from against the wall. It’s heavy but you can manage.

You take the key from your desk drawer and switch off the overhead light. You lock the door and continue back out to the street. The driver puffs smoke from a pipe as he waits.

“Miss, allow me,” he snuffs out the pipe and puts it in his pocket. He nears and reaches for the roll of linen.

“It’s quite alright, sir,” you say.

“I insist, miss, can’t have a lady doing all that,” he takes it, not forcefully, and you let him.

As he goes to the carriage and opens the door, you give pause. You don’t know if you should be so easily swayed on a gold coin. Mr. Holmes hadn’t been entirely pleasant and you do prefer your simple work. Still, you can hardly turn your nose up at a pound. Not with the summer fizzling to a finale.

You lift your skirts and cross the street to the open carriage, “sir, might I have a name?”

“Gavin,” he answers, “and I have yours. Mr. Holmes made sure of it.”

“Yes, very good,” you say as you approach, another sliver of doubt trickling through. Mr. Holmes claimed to be a detective but is that really the reason he was strolling around with a dead woman’s dress? You gulp and look at Gavin then the carriage, “might I keep the window open?”

“Surely you can,” he agrees amiably. “Mr. Holmes lives quite a ways, shouldn’t mind the air. I’ll be certain to stay away from the stacks.”

“Thank you, sir,” you accept his proffered hand and he helps you up into the carriage. 

You settle on the bench as the door shuts and you open the window from within. You lean back, your hand grasping the top of your bag. You unclasp it as you feel Gavin climb up on the driver’s seat. You dip your hand inside and clutch your long shears.

You don’t forget all of what Mr. Holmes said.

[sanjoongie]

03:32am k.s.t ~ Outlaw Customs

My timestamp for the Operation Outlaw: Before the Boom Collab

🔧Summary: the eve before the big heist, you can't sleep and neither can Yunho. The two of you meet in the garage to fix some vehicles and perhaps fix your futures as well 🔧Pairing: Mechanic Outlaw! Yunho x Shop Owner Mechanic! Reader (f) 🔧Genre: cyberpunk au, futuristic western au, coworkers to lovers 🔧Word Count: 2,990 🔧Rating: 18+ MDNI, smut 🔧Warnings: public sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, filming while having sex, fingering (f receiving), penetrative sex with a barrier, finger sucking, f and m orgasm 🔧Dedication: @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland my hardworking beta readers 💞 🔧Fic Vibes, Song Choice: Chase Atlantic, Slow Down

🔧↜02:22 | Masterlist | 04:44 ↝

You sat up from your room above your shop, sighing as you swung your feet to the side of the bed. You had been tossing and turning since you tried to get some sleep but it just wasn’t happening. The big heist was tomorrow, and even though your role in the gang didn’t allow you to be implicitly involved in the actual heist, you were still worried.

Well, there was only one thing to do if you weren’t going to sleep, and that was work in the shop. So you threw on a jumpsuit, not bothering to wear anything underneath it because who was going to be down there at the time it was?

The joke was on you because the lights were on down in the shop and you had a sneaky suspicion you knew exactly who was working.

“Yun…ho?” You said in a tentative voice.

An echo of metal being hit and dark curses met your ears and then Yunho wheeled out from underneath the cop car that had been sitting in your shop for a while now. Yunho pursed his lips, slightly glaring at you from the under car roller he was laying on. “What are you doing here?”

You crossed your arms under your chest. “Do you forget this is my shop?”

Yunho rolled back under the cop car. “I know it’s your shop, but why are you here?”

“I can’t sleep,” You admitted. Your eyes found a familiar bike, one with a red and black paint job and cherry decals. That man really did have a thing for his childhood best friend. “Why is San’s bike out in front in the shop instead of in the back?”

“He said it was making some weird noises. I checked it out already. Should be good to go now,” Yunho informed you from under the car still.

You made your way over and started to use your mechanics eye to see if everything was indeed good to go. You walked over to the toolbox Yunho was using, grabbed a wrench and then started to tighten a few nuts.

Yunho cursed again from under the cop car and wheeled himself back out. He sat up and let out a scoff. “Are you really double checking my work?!”

“Yeah,” You confirmed under your breath, “I’m the actual licensed mechanic here, Yunho.”

“Just because I didn’t go to school doesn’t mean you know better than me,” Yunho protested. The creak of the cart indicated that he was getting up now.

“I should check your bike before you leave too,” You said absentmindedly, “These nuts need way more tightening, I think I’ll grab the auto-rachet instead--”

You did not finish your sentence, as Yunho grabbed your upper arm and yanked you upwards, your wrench clanging loudly as it fell to the floor. The stare in his eyes was cold and emotionless. “Don’t go anywhere near my bike.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Yunho, don’t pull this toxic masculinity shit on me.”

Yunho laughed under his breath, smirking with one side of his lips, anger radiating off of him. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

Jongho stepped out from the office in the back, and upon seeing you and Yunho, rubbed his face tiredly. “Can you guys fuck already? I’m tired of walking through the sexual tension every time you two are in the same room together.”

You and Yunho both sent hard glares Jongho’s way. The younger outlaw threw up both of his hands in a sign of giving up. “Alright, alright, forget I said anything. I’m heading to the academy to see Raven. I’ll see you tomorrow, Yunho. G’night, Owl.”

Ever since Raven went undercover at the academy, you hadn't seen as much of her as you’d like. You knew she was a part of the heist tomorrow and you worried for her, along with the other undercover operatives. 

The heavy door to the shop closed and it knocked you out of your head. Yunho was still glowering at you. “Can I help you?” You intoned.

“Yes, in fact,” Yunho said before slamming his lips down on yours.

His kiss was angry and rushed, full of teeth and tongue and you were so in shock that you did nothing but let him kiss you. It took you a few minutes of glorious kissing before you hit his chest to tell him to stop. Yunho released your lips, but his were now red and he was breathing heavily.

“Was that good enough or do you have notes on how I could improve my kissing as well?” He demanded.

You were at a loss for words. You still couldn't process what happened. Yunho… kissed you? You shook your head a little. “I’m just going to go back to fixing San’s bike if you don’t mind,” you said faintly.

Yunho growled and you found yourself pushed up against San’s bike, the bottom of your ass nudging the seat of San’s bike. “I do mind.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Yunho--” 

“Do you enjoy taking me down a peg every chance I get? Did my kiss do nothing to you?” Yunho demanded.

You swallowed but found that there was no moisture in your mouth. “What are you talking about?”

Yunho rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Seriously?”

“All I care about is that San’s bike is okay for tomorrow, the same as yours. If they are making noises, that could jeopardize the heist!”

Yunho shook his head. “Are you even listening to me? Stop being so dense.”

Being called stupid was the line for you. You knocked his hands off of you. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you replied coolly.

Yunho let out a noise of frustration. “Nightowl!”

"Yunho, what do you want from me?" You cried out.

Yunho ran a hand through his hair and it was only then that you realized he had a smudge on his cheek. You smiled and that was your downfall. Yunho took that as condescending and grew cold with anger again. 

"I want you to acknowledge me."

"Yunho, you do wonderful work in my shop, otherwise I wouldn't let you work here, cover or not."

"No." Yunho nudged his body between your legs, prompting all your weight to sit back on San's bike, legs spreading for the outlaw. "Let me kiss you again."

Goosebumps covered your skin and you pressed your lips together subconsciously. "Why?!"

Yunho frowned desperately. "I know I'm just an outlaw. I know I have nothing to offer you. All I can do is work on this damn cop car for you because for some reason you're fixated on it. But on the hot days when you can't pay for the aircon and you walk around here in your tank top and your jumpsuit hanging off your hips." Yunho rubbed his lips together. "You drive me wild."

You swallowed loudly. "Yunho, it's literally hours before you're about to pull off a very important heist. Isn't there some kinda unspoken rule that you don't fuck before a job?"

Yunho laughed, throwing his head back and then groaning in frustration. "Don't be cute!"

You smiled painfully. "I'm not Yunho, seriously, what is this?"

Yunho's shoulders drooped. "This is me shooting my shot. You know I can't show up at the shop when the government building blows up and we rescue those kids. This will be the first place they look for me and the second place they look for Jongho." Yunho frowned in concern, "They're going to come here and raid the place. Are you sure you'll be okay?"

You put a sugary sweet voice on full blast. "Why, Officer, I had no idea! I just fix the bikes. Are my fees all paid up?" You laughed, "I've done this before, Yunho."

Yunho pursed his lip to the side of his cheek. "Is that all you heard?"

"Yunho…"

Yunho dropped to your feet and angrily picked up the wrench you had dropped there. He made to stand back up but you moved forward without his firm body holding you up and his head ended up in between your boobs. The two of you froze, neither knowing what to do.

"Owl?" Yunho said, muffled between your chest. Moving his chin, he pressed the zipper against your skin and you gasped.

"Just--don't move!!" 

Yunho fidgeted and the wrench he had in his hands rubbed against your folds through your jumpsuit and boyshorts. You whimpered and Yunho moaned at the noise. 

Everything was falling apart.

You yanked Yunho's head back, hand deep in his hair. He was looking up at you with his big brown eyes like his heart was in your hands. "Please? Let me have this before I don't get to see you for months."

"My room's not far," You allowed.

Yunho stood up, wrench still in hand and pushed up your chin so that you looked solely at him. "I don't want to fuck you in your room."

"Then where…?" Your eyes shot down to San's bike. "Yunho, no!"

Yunho laughed under his breath. "Not San's bike!" You sighed in relief until he said, "On the cop car!"

"Fuck," You cursed.

That's how you found yourself without a jumpsuit, or underwear for that matter, legs spread on the hood of the old cop car that had been sitting in your shop for ages. Yunho was still in his jumpsuit, legs spread behind yours, body almost draping over yours so that he could spread your lower lips and play with your cunt. Two of his fingers worked in and out of you slowly.

When he pulled his other hand away, you were so focused on the way Yunho's fingers worked you, that you had no clue what unhinged actions Yunho was planning. "Owl, open your eyes."

You blinked owlishly through your glasses and then gasped. "Yunho!"

Yunho used the remote controlled drone that you used to get closeups of the inside of vehicles to film himself fucking you with his fingers. The projector launched the image to the back of the garage door. You had a full view of just how wrecked you were for Yunho right now. "See how good your pussy takes my fingers?" Yunho said in a low voice in your ear. 

You looked away, "This is ridiculous."

Yunho dropped the remote control but the drone remained hovering and filming. He turned your head back towards the screen. He pressed two fingers into your mouth and you sucked on them with a groan. Shit. "So sweet for me," Yunho murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

You whined in embarrassment and lust. This was truly absurd and a complete role reversal. 

"Your holes are stuffed with my fingers and you need more?" Yunho raised an eyebrow that you could see through the drone. 

Your back arched with Yunho slid a third finger into your sopping hole. "You take me so fucking well," Yunho purred, sounding beyond satisfied with how things were turning out. "You might be ready for my cock soon."

You made a noise of distress so Yunho pulled his fingers out of your mouth so you could speak. "Might be?" You said with an incredulous cry.

Yunho chuckled. "I'm big, sweetheart. I'm just looking out for you."

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as Yunho started to move those three fingers inside of you. "Fuck, Yunho, fuck!" Your hips twitched to his rhythm, wanting more, searching for what amount of pleasure he was doling out.

"Don't hold back, tell me everything," Yunho demanded.

"Feels so good," You whimpered, "You're stretching me. Fucking fingers…Yu-yun!" You whined his name.

"You need something, sweetheart?" Yunho asked, a tiny smirk pulling at his lips again.

"Need…you…" You panted in between his fingers thrusting against your sweet spot.

Yunho jerked his head, "I dunno, you sure you're ready? Don't you think you should come first?"

You shook your head in rapid succession. "No. I'll fall asleep. It'll take me completely out."

Yunho let his head fall back again in a groan. "Stop being so cute!"

It didn't take long to switch positions. Your back was now on the hood, arms held out to brace yourself from sliding up. Yunho stood in front of the cop car, jumpsuit unzipped all the way, his chains and the zipper framing his chiseled body. Your legs were straight, pressed together, and both feet near Yunho's head on his left side. His cock was pushing its way into you, slowly but surely. He had been biting down on his lip the entire time, fighting with his own desire to be inside you in one quick thrust. 

"Yu-yunho," You attempted to claw your way back to some sort of coherency. "It's okay. I like it rough. Just go. Please."

Yunho moaned. "You're so tight though. I feel like I'm going to split you in half."

You groaned in return at his words. "If only."

With one arm around your legs, and the other gripping your hip, he was full hilt in one fluid movement and you cried out at the sensation of him filling you completely. "Fuck. Yunho."

Normal words were gone once Yunho started an intense rhythm that had his pelvis muscles slapping the back of your legs. You were simply a mess of whimpers as you took everything Yunho had to give you. But Yunho wasn't fairing that better himself.

"Fu-fuck," he began to stutter, "This pussy is so fucking tight, you keep squeezing down on me and--" He groaned, "Fuck, just like that, shit, sweetheart!"

"Mmmm, Yun," You cried, "So good, you feel so good in me. So deep. Keep hitting the end of me. I can't--" You swallowed and moaned, "I wanna come," You pouted.

"I know sweetheart, I--fuck," Yunho slowed his pace and you watched his adam's apple bob. "You gotta come soon. I don't think I can last much longer."

"Yuyu," You whimpered and Yunho slammed into you sloppily, hitting the end of you as well.

"Stop. Being. So. Fucking. Cute." Yunho said between thrusts. 

You fall apart for him, breasts thrusted into the air and his name on your lips. Your denied orgasm from previously only helped the intensity of this one. You felt your cunt convulse around Yunho’s length and then Yunho held himself inside of you as he released his cum into the condom. Your pussy milked him for all he was worth and then he let out a sigh of relief.

“Been wanting to do that since Hongjoong convinced you two open back up this shop,” Yunho admitted.

When you didn’t respond immediately, Yunho let your legs go down gently, pulling out. He tied the condom off and winced when he threw it and it did NOT make the garbage can. “Are you okay?”

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

Yunho’s eyes remained on you as you searched for your jumpsuit to put it back on. “You don’t seem fine.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “I’m not about to trauma dump on you, Yunho, you’ve got your mind on bigger things now.”

Yunho quietly walked over to where you were hugging yourself and tugged your arms down so he could hug you to his chest. “You gonna tell me about the cop car or what?”

You stiffened in his embrace. He had hit the nail right on the head. “Yunho… are you sure?”

Yunho held your hands and walked backwards until you were both back in front of the cop car where he had just ruined you. “I’m sure.”

You sighed heavily but didn’t pull your hands out of his. “My dad was a crook. There’s a precinct close and the cops used to bring their cars to the shop to get fixed. My dad used to do anything and everything for them. They’d exchange money, words, drugs, whatever you could think, my dad used this shop as a front for that. He got caught. He died during a prison uprising. I was a straight and proper mechanic at the time. I had learned everything from my dad but didn’t want to be a crook like him. But when Hongjoong found me sometime after the prison uprising, asking me if I wouldn’t open this shop back and use it the same way my dad did…” Yunho pulled you tighter to his body, chin on top of your head, for support. “...I hated the world and the government for everything. They turn a blind eye for the most part and then suddenly they’re all ‘the law is the law’ and people’s lives get ruined. So I ultimately decided to join and help Hongjoong. The car is the last remnant of my dad. He was fixing it when the government came for him. I can’t for the life of me bring it to the junkyard, so I keep working on it, thinking we might use it in a future heist to fuck some shit up.”

Yunho pulled away, eyes scanning your face, before ultimately cupping your cheek with one hand. “I’ll mention it to Hongjoong.”

You shook your head adamantly. “It’s fine, really Yunho.”

His eyes became soft and you found that you couldn't meet them anymore. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what, sweetheart?’ Yunho murmured.

“Like you might just fall in love with me.”

Yunho smiled gently. “Too late for that.”

You smacked Yunho’s chest. “You’re about to be gone for months and that’s how you confess?!” You shouted.

A bashful grin replaced his gentle smile. “I’ll make it up to you when I’m back.”

You rolled your eyes. “How are you going to one up yourself? You already fucked me on the cop car.”

Yunho poked his cheek with his tongue. “Oh, I can think of a few ways to get your engine revved up.”

You wrinkled your nose at him. “Ew, Yunho.”

Yunho threw back his head and laughed wholeheartedly.

Tag list:  @hijirikaww   @starillusion13  @flurrys-creativity  @kitten4sannie  @a-soft-hornytiny @mingsolo

Heist Collaborators: @wooyoungmybelovedhusband  @kwanisms   @smallfrye  @anyamaris @flowerboykun  @stardragongalaxy   @kpop-stories-21

[ddeonghwa-s]

abandoned mall piano

✧ mingyu x reader

✧ summary: after a shift at the movie theater in the nearly-abandoned mall, you decide to play the piano that randomly appeared by the instrument store.

✧ genre: romance, first meetings, meet-cute. awkward mingyu ft his lisp.

✧ wc is approx 2.3

✧ note: warning for a piano bench that creaks a lot. this is mostly just a meet-cute between an awkward and enthusiastic mingyu and a pianist reader. if there's interest i'm def down for a sequel

Waving goodbye at Hansol and hoping he would have a better day than you, you left the movie theater. You tore off your cap and shoved it deep into your tote bag, wishing that your bag was infinite and the cap would disappear inside. Your nametag went next, because honestly why the hell did these random people who you, quite frankly, didn’t know and didn’t want to know, need to know your name?

The mall was nearly empty, as it tended to be. Even Saturday evenings couldn’t really save the mall from the desertion of its once-regular customers. Your mom would shake her head and sigh whenever she showed up at your work, handing you a box of supper. “It’s a shame. This place used to be so popular when I was a kid.”

You always held your tongue at this, wanting to remark on how your mother and the mall predated online shopping. 

Even as a kid, you remembered the mall being busier. You remembered photo shops and bookstores, ice cream stands and a Hot Topic. Now the only places that remained in popularity were the movie theater and the instrument store, with other shops and chains constantly rotating stores in and out. 

You walked past the fountain, which was kept turned off more than it was on. The instrument shop was on the other side of the fountain, and, peculiarly, a piano was in the normally empty space that lay between the shop and fountain. 

Slowing to a stop, you glanced around. The Old Navy, which had appeared suddenly a month ago and you and Jeonghan bet would last two more months at most, had a few mothers milling about in front of it. But no one was around the piano. 

You went to it, as if there was an invisible string tying you to it and tugging you forward. It wasn’t anything spectacular, made largely out of wood and painted a horrible neon green that reminded you of Post-Its. It reminded you of the piano kept in your high school choir room, the one wheeled about for concerts. 

Still, you set your tote on the bench and slid into place. The bench creaked beneath you. You glanced up and down the keys. They were plastic, further testament to the cheapness of the piano, but when you placed your fingers down in position on Middle D, the sweet ting elicited, no matter how cheap, made you grin. 

You shifted again; the bench creaked again. 

Adjusting your fingers, you slowly began a simple melody. You weren’t so much of a master as to promptly begin playing without practice, and the plainness of the song wasn’t anything to marvel at. Still, softly, you sang along with the warm-up. 

“Puff the Magic Dra-gon lived by the sea,” your voice was low, not daring to go any higher and rise above the piano. You knew your limits. “And fro-licked in the au-tumn mist in a land called Honah Lee.”

The piano was cheap, and nothing like the Petite Grand that had lived in your piano teacher’s den (“parlor,” she had corrected you with a stern look. “it’s a parlor.”). But you were satisfied nonetheless, and shifted your hands again. 

You began your next song, more sure than when you had played the child’s song, your fingers going to the E in the third octave. Unable to help yourself, you sang along, head bent and blind to the mall around you. 

“Why do birds suddenly appear everytime you are near?

“Just like me, they long to be close to you.

“Why do stars fall down from the sky every time you walk by?”

Though you were no Karen Carpenter, and you were a lone pianist playing in an abandoned mall, in your ears you were joined by a chorus and trumpet and strings. You were lost to it, swept away by the memories the song brought to you, somehow existing both in the mall during the age of online shopping and overnight deliver, but also existing decades back, 

“What song is that you’re playing?”

Looking back, you must have jumped about a foot in the air. Your hands plopped down on the keys, a painful dang emitting from the piano. The smile that must have appeared on your face at some point during your little song, quickly disappeared as you looked up at the man standing next to you and the piano. 

The grin on his face quickly dropped at your visible fright, his eyes widening and mouth gaping. He then sputtered for a moment before reaching his hands out in a placating gesture, as if he was trying to calm you. “Shit -- I’m so sorry, I wasn’t trying to scare you! I just work at the instrument store and no one except for kids has played on the piano all day so I was curious when someone played an actual song and I just wanted to see who you were and then I wanted to know what song you were playing, and you looked so cute I couldn’t help but come up to you and ask and I’m so sorry for scaring you.”

He spoke a mile a minute, spewing out words as if he were to slow down, someone would interrupt and he’d never get the chance to talk again. You wondered if he took a breath at all during his little speech, but then your mind lingered on one phrase in particular. 

You looked so cute. 

You wondered if you looked as flustered as you felt. 

“Sorry,” he said again. He had a sheepish look on his face, and wow. You wondered how he managed to look like a kicked puppy when he was so obviously over six foot and broad-shouldered, and his uniform polo stretched across his chest and hid nothing. His dark hair was long, bangs brushing against his cheeks and making him look like a heart-throb from the 90s. He was a daydream, with his tan skin and biceps. He looked like a CEO, not a mere employee for an instrument store in an abandoned mall. 

Then his sheepish look was melting into a shy smile, his canines long and looking more like fangs. 

You licked your lips, diverting your eyes from the man. You cleared your throat, bringing your hands away from the keys and setting them on your lap. “It’s uh. It’s okay. You didn’t mean to.”

“I didn’t!” He agreed, eyes wide and earnest. 

If he was a dog, he’d be a golden retriever, you thought. 

There was a pause. 

“They long to be close to you.”

His brows furrowed, the sweet look on his face being overtaken by confusion. He cocked his head a little to the side, bangs falling to obscure his eyes. “What?”

You licked your lips again. Why were they so dry all of a sudden? “The song. It’s called ‘(They Long To Be) Close To You’, with little parentheses around the first part. Like. Parenthesis, then ‘they long to be’, parenthesis, then the rest. It’s by this old duo called the Carpenters. They were popular until the 80s.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment. Then, looking at your hands, you said, “I first heard it on the Muppets. The original show. Not the new movies.”

Another moment of silence, and then the man was talking. “Oh! That’s cool. I love old songs. My friend, Jihoon -- he works at the instrument store too -- he loves all kinds of music. I’m sure he’s heard of your song before, too!”

“What’s your favorite?”

He blinked, looking taken back. “What?”

“What’s your favorite old song?” You asked, clenching your fingers in your lap. This was the part you hated about meeting new people: the initial conversation. The only reason you got along so well with Hansol was because he was just as socially awkward, and you got along with Jeonghan because he watched you trip and drop an extra-large bucket of popcorn and decided you were pitiful enough for him to “adopt”. 

Despite how suave the man looked, he wasn’t unable to hide the panic your question sent him into. You felt as if you were watching him mentally go through all the filing cabinets of songs in his head, trying to find one suitable enough. “Uh. ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’?”

Your brow furrowed for a moment, before realization hit you. Then you felt your eyes widen and mouth open, and laughter erupted from you. You threw your head back from the force of your laughter, it loud and echoing around the open space. 

The man was beaming, clearly happy that he managed to pass your question. “Yeah, you know. The lyrics really get me. Especially the part where he talks about communism.”

You were giggling again, thoroughly charmed. Setting your hands on the piano, you shot him a smile. “Oh, you’re talking about this?”

Like a horse at the races, you were off. The staccato beats sent your fingers dancing, and you felt wild. You felt as if there was something in your heart, as if there really was a horse running a race inside there, making your neutrons and electrons come alive as you played for this man who worked at the instrument store. 

He was clearly having just as much fun. When you glanced at him he was smiling so wide, you swore you could see all of his teeth. Then he began singing, bopping his head along and wiggling his long limbs to the beat. 

You picked up the pace and so did he, and the two of you worked in perfect tandem to create an absolute mess out of the song. Your fingers were stiff and beginning to ache, having not played this much and this frantically in a long while. But there was something between you and the man, and you couldn’t help but think back to all the romances that called attraction ‘electricity’ and think they were right. 

Then your forefinger slipped, and you played a wrong note. You let out a groan, pushing your lips out in a pout as you gave up. 

The man followed your lead. His smile was like a mad man’s, but when he reached up and smoothed his hair out of his face you were once again struck with how handsome he was. 

“You never told me your name,” you said, turning towards him. The bench creaked, but you didn’t pay it any attention. “You came out of nowhere and scared the hell out of me and then came and invited yourself to my jam session. You owe me a name.”

“I didn’t come from nowhere,” he said, but his face was still lit with amusement. “I came from the instrument shop.”

“Oh, my bad,” you apologized. 

He neared, extending his hand. It was large, you noticed, and just as golden as the rest of him. “I’m Mingyu.” You introduced yourself, placing your hand in his. “I work at the movie theater.”

“The movie theater? With your talent?” The man shook his head. He slid onto the bench next to you, and you moved over. It creaked under your combined weight. He smelled good. His thighs pressed against yours due to how small the bench was, and they were just as warm as his hand. 

You wondered if he would let you hold his hand again. 

“You should be working as a professional piano-ist,” Mingyu said, voice confident. He placed his fingers on the keys, playing no tune in particular. 

“Pianist,” you corrected gently. Your hands joined his on the keys, your right thumb resting on the C in the fifth octave. You looked at his hands, and Mingyu took the cue to put his right hand on the C on his end. Then you were playing, slow enough so he could copy you. 

“Hey,” he said, brow furrowing as he glanced from watching your right hand to his own, ensuring he was playing the right notes. “Isn’t this from that movie? The Sound of Music?”

It was then you noticed the lisp. Enthralled and already hooked, you smiled at him. His jawline was sharp, and you knew that if he lived during the time of the Ancient Greeks he surely would have been a model for the sculptors. Feeling rather impish, you decided to tease. “What movie was it?”

“Oh, you know, the one with Julie Andrews.”

He still wasn’t watching you and couldn’t see the mischievous look on your face. “Julie Andrews was in a lot of movies.” “It was the Sound of Music --”

Mingyu glanced at you, and upon seeing your face he let out a groan. He pouted, and you wondered how a grown man could pull off such a face and still look cute. “Are you making fun of my lisp?”

You laughed. “It’s cute, don’t worry.”

His pout melted for a moment, his dark eyes twinkling. Then Mingyu pouted again, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, it’s cute is it?”

“It is.”

He hummed, the playful look in his eyes persisting. “Cute enough for me to ask you out on a date and succeed?”

Your eyes widened for a second, caught off-guard. You were still in your black uniform from work and you were sure you had acne on your forehead from working with the popcorn and wearing a cap. You probably smelled like popcorn. 

“Please?” Mingyu asked, somehow looking unashamed of how his voice took on a whining tone. “You’re so cute and you looked so pretty playing the piano, and I want to hear more about your favorite old songs and I want to make you laugh again.”

You glanced down at your hands. You clenched your fingers for a moment, licking your lips. 

Mingyu’s eyes were still on you when you chanced a look at him. You settled your hands on the keys. “Okay. Okay. Tell me the name of this song, and if you can I’ll go out on a date with you.”

And then you played. 

[branmuffins22]

It says failed game dev in your bio what game(s) were you working on? We're there any stories you wanted to tell?

Not all that much of a story to tell, but here's the gist:

I made a few student games with my twin in highschool (even took one to a trade skills competition, we got 7th place in nationals), went to college to pursue game development as a career, learned the hard way that I wasn't cut out for it (acquired hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt and a bunch of stress/overwork-related health complications for my troubles), flunked out in my second year, and haven't made a game since (closest I've come has been almost getting a job as a QA tester for Nintendo of America, brainstorming a handful of game ideas, and helping my twin squash bugs in his own projects sometimes).

As for the specifics, I've only worked on 3 games I'm even somewhat proud of: Run&Gun, Paint the Town, and Custom Fighter. All three were made in highschool, using a proprietary game engine made by the same school my twin and I later flunked out of. As a general rule, my twin handled the art and design, and I handled the programming, but there was some overlap where we dipped our toes into eachother's jobs.

Infodump beyond the readmore:

Run&Gun was a combination First-Person Shooter and Racing Game, with some gravity-bending mechanics, as a treat. In it, you raced on a massive, twisting track against a handful of computer players while shooting them with your trusty SMG, and trying not to get shot yourself. The player could stick to walls, treating everything they raced along as the ground, which let us get a little silly with the track's layout. There was also a really cool section near the end that featured a halfpipe (or maybe more like a three-quarters-pipe) that ended in a ramp and a huge jump, which, due to the nature of the wall-sticking mechanic, had you falling forwards moreso than down for about half of it. It was probably the only bit of spectacle that actually hit the mark.

The game had a lot of neat ideas, but ultimately failed in execution for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that it served as many firsts: our first 3D game, our first first-person game, our first game with computer players, our first racing game, our first game with dynamic physics, our first game we worked on for longer than a month, etc. I actually ended up reinventing several wheels while working on this game, since I didn't know what to look for as far as guidance at the time: linked lists, aim-assist, behavior trees, and some really crude vector math being chief among them. On one hand, I really didn't need to do all that, because the tech already existed (and is downright ubiquitous in the industry), but on the other hand, I felt smart as hell when I made it work, and super vindicated when I learned that people smarter than me had been doing the same shit for decades.

Paint the Town was a 2D Action Platformer which took heavy aesthetic inspiration from Splatoon (or, what little of Splatoon we'd seen over the shoulder of a Wii-U-owning friend of ours, anyways). There was only one level, which also served as a tutorial, and it ended on a bit of a cliffhanger, but with such a limited scope, we managed to squeeze out a solid experience. You played as Fuschia (spelled that way because we thought the real spelling of the word was dumb), an excitable teen who wanted to take back her city from the evil... Blobbers? Bloobies? I don't remember what we called 'em, they were an invading force of aliens that kinda just looked like the slimes from Dragon Quest. Anyways, they were painting everything blue, which made everyone there feel blue, so our hero took it upon herself to paint the town a fresh new hue (fuchsia, obviously).

It was a fairly linear experience, with no special movement mechanics or anything: just a short gauntlet of guys to take down as you hopped across rooftops and construction sites, picking up the occasional extra weapon here and there for variety. The three things I'm most proud of are the relative variety of unique enemies and weapons (patrolling guys, turret guys, helicopter guys, and even a bomb-throwing boss guy, as well as four different weapons with unique shot patterns), the visual effects (the city was a fairly-blank canvas, and you and the enemies would paint over it as you fought), and a handy little tool we lovingly called the ~Vector Trajector Projector~, which acted as a reticle to show the path your shots would go (discounting any spread) while you aimed. It was really just an extremely basic projectile simulation equation, but dammit, I was proud! For a project that only took a couple months to make, it was pretty solid, in my opinion.

Custom Fighter was the last of our highschool games, and the one we took to that national trade skills competition. Well, technically we took all three of them to the competition, but Run&Gun only took us as far as state the year prior, and we pivoted from Paint the Town to Custom Fighter between regionals and state of that final year. Anyways, it was a 3D Dueling Game featuring giant robots that could be decorated and customized in a pre-match menu. The only mechanical effects your customization would have was the robot's physical size (for hit/hurtboxes and so on) and its Weight, which depended on its size and determined its speed, knockback, and to a lesser extent, damage, so the rest was just for fun. Every robot had the same moveset: just a punch, an uppercut, a power-punch, a roundhouse kick, a missile barrage, and a meter-draining super move (a weird timestopping dropkick thing that we couldnt animate in time, and thus really just looked like you stopped time and flew face-first at the other guy in midair).

There were a whole lot of little things I was proud of in this game: dynamic knockback animations, light trails and other such visual effects, my largest attempt at menu/UI design to date (for the customization screen), a really satisfying application of calculus to make the dropkick hit the mark every time, and the fact that I managed to fix every last crash bug the night before the competition's showcase.

But my greatest accomplishment wasn't even technically something I did; rather, it was something I couldn't do.

The time-stopping dropkick had a funny bug that seemingly-randomly caused the player who got hit with it to get flung out of the arena at truly ludicrous speeds, instead of the intended knockback velocity of the attack. The night before the competition, I discovered that it was because the players would sometimes collide physically after the attack's hitbox reached the target's hurtbox (which applied the inteneded knockback), but before time would resume its usual flow. Because the attacking player would be going incredibly fast in-simulation (despite going at a pretty moderate pace as far as any viewers were concerned), they would impart an incredible amount of momentum to the other player, which, once time resumed its normal rate, translated to getting launched offscreen faster than you could blink. I couldn't come up with a way to fix the bug entirely in time for the competition, but I did manage to come up with a band-aid patch that made it a lot less likely.

A month or so earlier, in that same year, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild came out, and unbeknownst to me at the time, it featured the same exact bug. I only discovered it thanks to the Something About video, which came out a couple years later, but if you've ever seen a speedrunner do a shield surf jump toward an enemy's head, pull out a bow to enter arrow-time, and bounce off to launch way up into the sky, that's exactly the same mechanics at play. The enemy's animation when they get bounced on has their head snap into a different position to start, which, while in arrow-time, translates to an absurd amount of movement over extremely little time. Landing on something while shield-surfing usually only applies a certain amount of bounce to the player, but if the player and the enemy are in just the right positions relative to eachother, they collide physically after the initial hit, and the player gets flung hilariously far away.

So what was once a bug that bested me, the bane of my existence, had become something that hundreds and hundreds of smarter people had tried to fix too, each as unsuccessful as the last. I couldn't fix that bug, but neither could the entire team behind one of the biggest and best games to date.

It was extremely vindicating.

[tennypress]

Gun x Goo x reader smut

I’ll write another one !

(No smut sorry, but I might make a nsfw part to it

Street racer AU

(Inspired by fast and furious)

WARNING: love triangle, gender neutral reader

“Ooh, Mami, this a new 'Rari. Hit 150 on the dash, I bent the corner, then she bent it for me sideways, uh I might have to fuck her on the highway, yeah”

You just stepped out of your white and red 1992 Mitsubishi Galant VR 4 hugging your friend Zoe park after she ask you to drive in her place in a local street race. There you see three other cars. A yellow and black 1970 Dodge Challenger R/T and fuzzy dice hanging in the rear view mirror with a guy with blonde hair and sunglasses chilling outside chatting with others.

A green 1993 Toyota Supra Turbo with an older guy with a shaved head and wearing a tank top chilling outside while listening to music with his friends.

Then you see a car that caught your attention. It was a black 1999 Nissan Skyline GT-R R34 with a custom painted oni design on the side. You can see the owner on the side smoking a cigarette and just waved to you. Your intrigued.

But your car was amazing too. It was gifted to you by your father. It was white and red 1992 Mitsubishi Galant VR 4 with a custom paint with hello kitty in the side.

As you enter the race the other racers were snickering and making fun of your car. Saying how it looks girly and too old. However the owner of the nissan just glanced at your car before turning back to focus on the race.

You held onto your wheel as you see the flag girl raise her bandana? Or cloth and just waved it before stepping aside for you guys to race. Then you hear a speakerphone of someone you knew. Daniel park, signaling and counting down. 3, 2, 1, and go! You all step on the pedal

Your racing and your in 3rd place before you see the bridge pull up. The green car owner stopped before you see a flash of yellow also slow down. Now it’s between your Mitsubishi and the owner of the Nissan to finish this race.

Both of you speeding up you drove off the bridge and managed to land on the other side safely.

You both returned back safely and exited the car.

There you get out and a crowd comes rushing to the both of you. Including Zoe and Daniel. They just come up to you and congratulate you. Before you see the Nissan owner also coming up to shake your hand.

“That was impressive, no one has beaten me in a race before. I’m Gun. Gun park” he just greets you with a prideful smirk.

You just smile back and shaked his car before seeing the other racers come up. The green haired guy, or Taejin just comes out pissed and throws his steering wheel out on the ground while another man with tan skinned with glasses comes up to comfort Jin. While Zoe just holds onto you and Daniel looks at Gun with caution. You noticed that the two of them had tension.

“GOD DAMMIT” you see the Blonde glasses man come up with his car totaled and goes up to Gun and grabs his collar.

They were just arguing until you came up to the both of them. “Maybe I can fix your car? I own a auto shop near the city.” Goo just comes up and holds your hand into his and smiles while tears come out of his eyes and agreed. You all bid farewells and drove home. The next day you open your shop and see them both outside with their cars. You welcome them both in offering them drinks while you fix their cars.

Goo just took a coffee while Gun took a beer and you took in Goos car to fix.

Gun couldn’t stop staring at your ass. How it fitted the suit that was covered in dirt and oil. Or how your tank top perfectly outflanked your tits. And how you had that cute hat on your head.

Goo just stared at you with admiration while you fixed his car.

It took a while but you managed to repair the man’s car and took them to the register to tell them the price.

“Good thing most of the car was alright. But for the Windshield crack repair, window replacement, windshield replacement, bumper repair and replacement, scratch repair, frame damage repair, and engine replacement it’ll cost you around 3.4K. How does that sound?” You said ringing up the prices

Goo just nudges to Gun and he groans taking out his card and swiping it. You give the receipt and take out the vehicle out of your shop.

You wave goodbye as you see them leave. Closing up the shop you see a letter left on the counter. Curiosily you went to go pick it up and read it. You see tears swell up with happiness as you see the same love letter you wrote to a good friend of yours after he had left to Japan.

[spilledreality]

On Joanna Newsom:

...So did they retire to Moorcrest, historied estate of Beachwood Canyon in the City of Angels, fallen from Krotona’s garden—replacing (for instance) an earlier Astor, Astor not by birth or marriage but dream and moxie, a surname war-roomed with the Paramount chief and the local whisper-weaver (not welcome, for instance, among the redwoods of Boho)...

Krotona was to be its West Coast jewel, nestled amidst the glamour and greenbacks of a not-yet-goldbricking Hollywood, a Roaring Twenties predecessor to the wedgwood blue of the Pacific Command Base at 4833 Fountain (known more casually among Operating Thetans as Big Blue). Heineman drew the first sketches, the same Arthur who, like the many touring bands that followed him, selected San Luis County for its midway sitch atween San Fran and Lotusville, thus building the world’s first motel off 101 North. The area was chosen for its temperate climate, its virgin magnetic conditions, and its ease of access; but what draws one draws many—desires being, as they are, socially learned and evolutionarily inherited from shared stock and shared situation—Thus, they found, like many Angelanos, the town’s stock reducing to something more common (“Los Demonios”) and at last departed to more pastoral surrounds: a new Shangri-La, the once-Chumash Ojai dressed in Normandy fashions as the Taormina hood.

Another singer had fantasized the house a hundred years prior, had imagined its layout in magic specificity for the “rote” builders that followed. Her memories of travel informed its hybrid of Christian, Islamic, and Hindu design: Marie Russak had spent some time in Tamil Nadu, with a view of the Adyar River’s ox-led plows and palm trees. Did she see Los Angeles in the shimmering reflections of fronds on water, rippling like the curls of her hip-length hair? Marie’d been born in the first Indian summer of the postbellum, had studied music at the Mill and specialized in Wagner before her own ceremony (in satin faille with mousseline de soie and pointe d’aiguille lace was she lambent in pearls). Then a Theosophist and devotee-assistant to HiS Majesty Olcott, was initiated into the co-ed Masons, rising to its Provisional Supreme Council of the West Hemisphere on the fall of Paris to Hitler. Helios, they called her, Lady Helios. Now her text-trace survives in Helios Drive (the event lives only in print); she slipped off her gloves as she’d donned them, at the end of an epoch-making war. She’d come to believe in the spirit’s transcendence, “the lodger within me, larger than me”—in a hierarchy of body and soul, purification from mud.

The structures she left behind, upon spirit’s ascent? “Leaded stained-glass windows, copper and marble baseboards, custom cabinetry, hand-painted frescos and elaborate mosaic tiles.” Light floods its glassy atrium, darkness its stony grotto near the old lotus pond. Was the pool once Charlie’s sea-sim piscina, Caribbean sand and water saline, before his breakaway to shortened time horizons?

Now Joanna sits under the eaves where veggie ‘phists compared a day’s keynotes—Methods for Discerning Human Aura, and After-Death Experiences of Soldiers Killed in Battle. She’s just a California girl—raised in gold-rush country NorCal sure but planted now in Sur—but her penchant for layers (does Paul’s sirened short film attest) is decidedly Eastern in orient. Raise a Peach Melba and clink your grails in toast, King Fisher, “dear Mr. Smith,” for the mill churns eternal return on the waterway, bound to the wheel, round and round, again and again—a sense of cycles from the tomb of the womb to the womb of the tomb, amidst cypress trees and sun-bleached stone and chaliced poppies flamed to red...

(source)

[valanthius-xiv]

Consequences

[ Ambiance ]

TW: blood, violence, torture, bodily fluids

"Was that your bike Imperial triclops? Are you going to cry about it?" Laughter rang from the Ala Mhigan that leaned against the lamppost near the Coffer and Coffin. "No homeland, no comrades, and no ride. It doesn't look like your day is going well." The mischievously mirthful tone of their owner slowly changed into a combative taunt. "It is a long, long walk back to Ilsabard. Tuck your tail and return to your whore of a mother." Another round of laughter inspired others, including the Brass Blade, to join in.

The Pureblood stared at his busted bike. Traces of sugar and salt were around the ceruleum tank, the wheels were jacked and torqued out of spec, the custom paint and metalwork had been beaten and damaged with blunt force, and the masterwork leather had been shredded and charred. A subtle click of the tongue signaled his realization that hours and hours of hard work, dedication, and passion were now in ruins.

What wasn't known was that those very hours, dedication, and passion were some of the sole reasons he could keep his violent tendencies in check. Revarik gave a single glance around before locking onto the responsible party and noticing a basic compass attached to their hip, "alright. Before I leave can you tell me what direction is north?" 

Again, laughter echoed outside of the building. The Mhigan reached to the side, "they don't teach you directions in the military? Rhalgr be damned, how could we lose to a bunch of incompetent pearlbrains?! Now you've hit so low to ask your conscripted for help. Sweet irony." As he unhooked the compass from his belt and offered it to Revarik the Garlean made his strike.

The augmented hand clamped down on the median nerve of the other's hand and pulled him against Revarik. The other hand of the Garlean captured the Mhigan's other and gave it a forceful snap to dislocate it at the elbow joint. The addition of slamming the end of his knee into the side of the Mhigan's own brought the man down to the ground with surprise and anger smoldering in response.

Revarik held him there and maintained his grip. "That pain you're feeling in your hand is at a one out of ten. At a four you will empty your bowels everywhere. Imagine what will happen if I take it further. You've nine seconds to decide what happens here. You owe me a bike, mate."  There was no response for two seconds prior to Revarik ramping up the pain to a level three on that scale. Instantly, the unbearable pain in that grip sent shivers and shakes into the Mhigan with others watching on. 

"Tell them to stand down or I take this to a seven." No hesitation came in shouting at his comrades and others to stay away. "What do you want? I don't have the gil to pay that back?!" The Mhigan frantically called as his face became red and tears presented themselves within his dark whiskey-colored eyes. "You can begin with an apology," Revarik stated plainly. A slew of sorry followed and just as it felt like the Garlean was about to release his grip on the simple terms the intensity hit another level.

Shame now coupled the Mhigan's expression as he felt his insides empty into his trousers and down around his knees. Wetness had accumulated at the front of them. "I couldn't hear you, mate. Louder," Revarik instructed. In the pained cries of the Mhigan the shouts of his apology continued and prayers to Rhalgr echoed in the desert evening. The misery inflicted had reached stage five while the calm countenance of the Garlean observed.

"You won't be a problem for anyone else, mate. You will remember this moment and should you feel the need to cause grief then know I will come for you again." Revarik's metal grip tightened to a seven before ripping the index and middle finger free of their limb entirely. The messy appendages were put into his jacket pocket while the poor man let out his screech of suffering. He was practically rolling in his own fluids and screaming bloody anguish. The Garlean seized the compass and put it in a separate pocket before looking to the others. "Any of you could have prevented this from happening and this is the reward of your complacency. Clean him up." He disengaged from the ordeal and returned inside. He needed a drink for the walk he was about to undertake.

When he did good... no one remembered. But, when he did bad... no one ever forgot.

[akif122514]

Find the Best Car Detailers near Me: Why Professional Detailing is Essential for Your Vehicle

When it comes to maintaining the beauty and performance of your car, professional detailing is a crucial service that shouldn't be overlooked. Whether you're preparing for a road trip, a special event, or simply want to preserve the showroom shine, a high-quality car detailer can make all the difference. If you’re searching for "car detailers near me," you’re in the right place. This article will explore the importance of car detailing, what to expect from a professional service, and how to choose the best car detailer in your area.

What is Car Detailing?

Car detailing goes beyond a simple car wash. While a standard wash may clean the surface of your vehicle, detailing involves a thorough cleaning and restoration process, addressing both the interior and exterior of the car. Detailing specialists use advanced techniques and products to remove dirt, grime, and contaminants from hard-to-reach areas, giving your vehicle a polished look and protecting its longevity.

A typical car detailing session includes:

Exterior detailing: Cleaning, polishing, and waxing the body, wheels, windows, and lights.

Interior detailing: Vacuuming, steam-cleaning carpets, upholstery cleaning, and applying conditioners to surfaces like leather or vinyl.

Engine cleaning: For some, a deep clean of the engine bay is part of full detailing.

Paint correction: Removing scratches, swirl marks, and oxidation from the car’s paint surface.

Why You Need Professional Car Detailing

There are many reasons why professional detailing services are essential for your car’s appearance, performance, and value. Here are a few key benefits:

Preserves Resale Value If you’re planning to sell your vehicle in the future, regular detailing is one of the best ways to maintain or even increase its resale value. Buyers are more likely to invest in a well-maintained, clean, and shiny car compared to one that shows wear and tear.

Enhances Aesthetic Appeal A professional detailer knows exactly how to restore your vehicle’s exterior to its original brilliance. They can remove water spots, dirt buildup, and other contaminants that affect your car’s appearance. The result is a vehicle that looks almost new, which is ideal for those looking to impress or simply take pride in a well-maintained car.

Protects Your Car’s Paint and Finish Car detailers apply protective coatings such as wax or ceramic coatings that shield the paint from damage caused by UV rays, road debris, and pollutants. These protective layers ensure that the paint lasts longer and remains vibrant, reducing the need for costly touch-ups or repainting.

Improves Interior Health and Comfort Over time, dust, dirt, and bacteria can accumulate inside your car. Professional interior detailing ensures that these harmful particles are removed, providing a clean, fresh environment for you and your passengers. This is particularly important for individuals with allergies or respiratory issues.

Saves Time and Effort Detailing your car at home requires a lot of time and effort, and it’s unlikely you’ll achieve the same results as a professional. Experts have the skills, tools, and products to provide an immaculate finish, ensuring that your vehicle is spotless without you having to lift a finger.

How to Choose the Best Car Detailers Near Me

If you're searching for "car detailers near me," there are a few factors to consider before making your choice:

Reputation Look for detailers with strong reviews and testimonials. Word of mouth and online feedback from customers can give you an insight into the quality of service offered by local detailing companies.

Services Offered Make sure the detailer offers the specific services your car needs. Some companies specialize in luxury vehicles, while others offer packages suited for family cars, trucks, or even motorcycles. Check if they provide both interior and exterior detailing, paint correction, or other specialized treatments.

Experience and Expertise Ask about the detailer’s experience and the type of vehicles they usually work on. A seasoned professional will be able to handle different vehicle types and conditions and will be up-to-date with the latest products and techniques.

Products and Techniques Used Ensure that the detailer uses high-quality, eco-friendly products that won’t damage your car’s surfaces. Whether it’s waxes, sealants, or cleaners, the right products can make all the difference in protecting your vehicle’s finish.

Pricing and Packages Compare prices and packages to find the best value for your money. Many detailers offer tiered packages depending on the level of service, from basic cleaning to full detailing and paint protection.

Convenience Finally, consider the convenience factor. Some car detailers offer mobile services and can come to your home or office, saving you time. Others have locations with waiting areas or loaner vehicles while your car is being detailed.

Conclusion

Professional car detailing is an investment that pays off by keeping your vehicle in prime condition, both inside and out. Whether you’re preparing your car for sale, a special event, or simply looking to maintain its beauty, finding the right car detailers near you is essential. With the right detailing services, your vehicle will not only look great but also stay protected for years to come.

Visit: https://morleycarwash.com.au/

[chocolatedetectivehottub]

car wash at doorstep near me,

car wash at doorstep near me,

In today’s fast-paced world, finding the time to take your car to a traditional car wash can be challenging. That’s why doorstep car wash services have gained immense popularity. Offering convenience, efficiency, and top-notch cleaning, these services ensure your vehicle looks its best without you ever leaving your home or workplace.

Why Choose a Doorstep Car Wash?

1. Convenience: Gone are the days of driving to a car wash and waiting in line. Doorstep car wash services come to you, saving time and effort. Whether you’re at home, the office, or even at a friend’s place, these services adapt to your location.

2. Time-Saving: With professional cleaners arriving at your doorstep, you can focus on other tasks while your car gets a thorough cleaning. It’s multitasking made easy.

3. Quality Service: Doorstep car wash providers often use high-quality equipment and eco-friendly cleaning products. Their attention to detail ensures your car’s interior and exterior are spotless.

4. Customizable Packages: From basic exterior washes to comprehensive detailing, doorstep car wash services offer packages to suit your specific needs. You can choose the level of service that fits your car’s requirements and your budget.

Services Typically Offered

Exterior Washing: Gentle yet effective cleaning to remove dirt, grime, and stains.

Interior Vacuuming and Cleaning: Ensures your car’s interior is free of dust, crumbs, and debris.

Waxing and Polishing: Restores your car’s shine and protects the paint.

Tire and Wheel Cleaning: Gives your wheels a fresh, polished look.

Full Detailing: A comprehensive package that includes deep cleaning and restoration for both the interior and exterior.

How to Find a Reliable Doorstep Car Wash Service Near You

1. Online Search: Look up “car wash at doorstep near me” on search engines or use service aggregator apps that list local providers. Reviews and ratings can help you find trusted professionals.

2. Recommendations: Ask friends, family, or colleagues for recommendations. Personal referrals are often reliable.

3. Mobile Apps: Many car wash services now have their own apps where you can book, schedule, and customize your car cleaning services.

Things to Consider When Booking

Reputation: Check online reviews and ratings.

Services Offered: Ensure the provider offers the specific services you need.

Pricing: Compare prices to ensure you’re getting value for money.

Eco-Friendly Practices: Opt for services that use water-saving techniques and biodegradable cleaning products.

Availability: Choose a service with flexible scheduling options to match your convenience.

Final Thoughts

A doorstep car wash is a game-changer for busy individuals who want to keep their vehicles in top condition without the hassle. With reliable professionals handling your car’s cleaning needs, you can enjoy more free time and a sparkling clean ride. So, the next time you think about a car wash, remember that the best service might just be a click away from your doorstep.

[alfredocollisionrepairusa]

Why Alfredo Collision Repair is the Go-To Shop for Paintless Dent Repair in Austin

When it comes to fixing dents, repairing collisions, or aligning your vehicle, finding a trusted service provider can be challenging. At Alfredo Collision Repair, we take pride in offering top-notch services, including paintless dent repair in Austin, professional collision repairs, and wheel alignments. If you're searching for quality auto care in Austin, Texas, look no further!

Expert Paintless Dent Repair in Austin

Dents and dings can occur at any time, whether it’s from minor accidents or parking lot mishaps. Fortunately, paintless dent repair in Austin is a quick and cost-effective solution. At Alfredo Collision Repair, we use advanced techniques to restore your vehicle’s surface without the need for traditional fillers or repainting. This process saves time, money, and retains your vehicle's original finish.

Our skilled technicians are highly trained to carefully massage the dented areas back into shape. Whether it’s a small door ding or larger hail damage, we ensure your car looks as good as new. So, the next time you need paintless dent repair in Austin, Alfredo Collision Repair is the name to trust.

Top Collision Repair Austin Texas Services

If you’ve been involved in an accident, it’s crucial to choose a professional repair shop that can bring your vehicle back to its pre-accident condition. Our collision repair Austin Texas services include everything from frame straightening to bodywork and paint matching. Alfredo Collision Repair uses industry-leading equipment and high-quality materials to ensure a seamless repair process.

We understand how stressful collision repairs can be, which is why we focus on providing efficient and reliable services. Whether it’s minor scratches or major bodywork, you can count on Alfredo Collision Repair for exceptional collision repair Austin Texas solutions.

Alignment Shop Near Me: Why Proper Alignment Matters

A vehicle's alignment is critical for safety, fuel efficiency, and tire longevity. If you're experiencing uneven tire wear, pulling to one side, or a shaky steering wheel, it’s time to search for an alignment shop near me. At Alfredo Collision Repair, we specialize in precision wheel alignments that keep your car driving smoothly.

Our alignment experts use advanced alignment machines to adjust your vehicle's angles accurately. Proper alignment ensures your car handles better, prevents unnecessary wear on tires, and improves overall performance. Next time you need an alignment shop near me, Alfredo Collision Repair has you covered.

Why Choose Alfredo Collision Repair?

At Alfredo Collision Repair, we are committed to excellence and customer satisfaction. Here’s why Austin residents choose us:

Expertise in paintless dent repair in Austin

Reliable collision repair Austin Texas services

Advanced wheel alignment solutions

State-of-the-art equipment and tools

Friendly and experienced technicians

Whether it’s restoring dents, handling collision repairs, or aligning your vehicle, Alfredo Collision Repair is your one-stop solution. We are proud to serve Austin, Texas, with superior auto repair services that keep your car looking and performing at its best.

Visit Us Today!

For the best paintless dent repair in Austin, professional collision repair Austin Texas, and a trusted alignment shop near me, visit Alfredo Collision Repair. Contact us today to schedule an appointment or get a free estimate. Let us bring your vehicle back to perfection!

[carcare5k]

Where Can I Find the Best Car Interior Shops Near Me?

If you're looking to upgrade or maintain the interior of your car, finding the right car interior shop is key to achieving the look and comfort you desire. A great "car interior shop offers" a variety of services such as custom seat covers, upholstery repair, dashboard cleaning, and interior detailing. When searching for a shop near you, consider their reputation, customer reviews, and the quality of materials they use. Also, look for shops that offer additional services like window tinting or sound system installation to further enhance your driving experience.

Car Painting Shop Near Me: If your car's paint has seen better days, consider visiting a local car painting shop for a fresh coat or touch-up. They can restore your car's exterior and provide protection against the elements.

Car Wheel Alignment: Regular "wheel alignment" is crucial for maintaining vehicle handling and tire longevity. Find a trusted service provider nearby to ensure your wheels are properly aligned, improving your car’s performance and safety.

Nearby Car Water Wash: A professional "car water wash" can make a huge difference in maintaining your car's shine. Look for a nearby wash center that uses eco-friendly products and offers packages tailored to your needs.

Car Service in Coimbatore: If you're in Coimbatore and need reliable car service, search for certified service centers that offer routine maintenance, repairs, and diagnostics to keep your vehicle running smoothly.

By finding the right shops and service providers near you, you can ensure your car stays in top condition, inside and out! Let me know if you need more details or would like to focus on a specific service.

[we-antivirusassistant]

Mobile Car Wash Near Me

Mobile Car Wash Near Me: Convenience, Quality, and Care for Your Vehicle

With today’s busy schedules, finding time to keep your vehicle clean can be challenging. If you’ve ever thought, “Where can I find a reliable mobile car wash near me?” you’re not alone. Mobile car wash services provide a convenient, professional solution that brings high-quality car cleaning directly to your location. Instead of waiting in line at a car wash or taking time out of your day, you can enjoy a clean vehicle with zero hassle.

This article covers the advantages of choosing a mobile car wash service, what you can expect from a professional team, and why mobile car wash services have become increasingly popular. Read on to discover how a mobile car wash can save you time and effort while keeping your vehicle in pristine condition.

Why Choose a Mobile Car Wash?

Mobile car washes are designed to provide maximum convenience without sacrificing quality. With these services, you don’t need to drive to a physical location. Instead, professionals come to you, fully equipped to clean your car inside and out. Here’s why many people are opting for a mobile car wash near them: ceramic coating –

Time Efficiency One of the main benefits of a mobile car wash is saving time. With a busy lifestyle, you may struggle to fit car maintenance into your schedule. A mobile car wash allows you to continue with your day while your vehicle is cleaned right where you are, whether at home or work.

Customized Services Mobile car wash services often offer various options, from basic washing to detailed cleaning and waxing. This customization allows you to choose what best fits your needs and budget, ensuring you only pay for the services you want.

Eco-Friendly Options Many mobile car wash providers use eco-friendly cleaning products and water-efficient techniques, which can save gallons of water compared to traditional car washes. This approach is better for the environment, making it an appealing option for environmentally conscious individuals.

Protection and Quality Mobile car washes provide the same quality as stationary car wash services. Skilled professionals use specialized tools and products to ensure your vehicle looks its best. Some mobile car wash providers even offer advanced options, like ceramic coatings, that enhance the shine and protect the paint.

What to Expect from a Professional Mobile Car Wash Near Me

When searching for a “mobile car wash near me,” it’s essential to understand what to expect from a reputable service. Here are some standard services offered by mobile car wash companies:

Exterior Washing The team starts with a complete exterior wash to remove dirt, dust, and debris from the vehicle’s surface. They use high-quality, pH-balanced soaps and microfiber cloths to protect the paint.

Waxing and Polishing Many mobile car wash services include waxing and polishing options that protect your car’s paint and give it a beautiful shine. This process helps repel dirt and water, keeping your car cleaner for longer.

Interior Detailing Interior cleaning is just as crucial as the exterior. Professionals vacuum the carpets, wipe down surfaces, and use specialized products to clean and condition seats, dashboards, and other components. If your car has leather seats, they may also offer conditioning to keep the material soft and supple.

Wheel and Tire Cleaning Wheels and tyres often accumulate a significant amount of grime. Mobile car wash services typically include thorough cleaning and conditioning for wheels and tyres to enhance their appearance and protect against wear.

Final Inspection and Detailing Touches After completing the cleaning and detailing, professionals inspect the vehicle to ensure no spots are missed. They may also add finishing touches, like a final polish or window cleaning, to leave your car looking perfect.

The Benefits of Searching for “Mobile Car Wash Near Me”

When you look for a “mobile car wash near me,” you’re choosing a convenient and efficient solution. Here are some additional benefits that make mobile car washes a great choice:

1. Flexible Scheduling

Mobile car wash services offer flexible scheduling options that work around your day. Instead of planning your schedule around a trip to the car wash, you can arrange for the mobile service to come when it’s convenient for you. This flexibility makes it ideal for people with busy routines who still want a well-maintained car.

2. Professional Results Without the Hassle

Using a professional mobile car wash ensures your vehicle will be cleaned with care and attention to detail. Many mobile car wash companies employ skilled professionals who know how to treat your car’s surfaces properly, preventing potential damage caused by improper cleaning methods. This service eliminates the hassle of DIY car cleaning while ensuring top-quality results.

3. Better for the Environment

Mobile car washes that focus on eco-friendly practices offer an environmentally conscious alternative. These companies often use water-efficient cleaning techniques, such as waterless washes or low-water methods, significantly reducing water consumption. This approach minimizes the environmental impact of car washing without compromising the cleanliness of your vehicle.

4. Great for Frequent Cleanings

A mobile car wash is ideal for keeping your car clean regularly. Whether you prefer weekly or monthly service, mobile car wash providers can maintain your vehicle’s appearance over time. Frequent cleanings prevent the buildup of dirt and grime, making future cleaning easier and preserving the car’s value.

Mobile Car Wash Services for Different Vehicle Types

One of the advantages of mobile car wash services is their versatility. Whether you have a compact car, an SUV, or a luxury vehicle, most mobile car wash providers can accommodate different types and sizes of vehicles. They bring the necessary equipment and cleaning products to handle various surfaces and materials, ensuring that every vehicle receives appropriate care. Auto Detailing Website Design-

Compact Cars For smaller vehicles, a basic wash and interior detailing may be all that’s needed. Mobile car wash services provide quick and efficient cleaning for compact cars, focusing on essential detailing that keeps your vehicle looking fresh.

SUVs and Trucks Larger vehicles like SUVs and trucks require extra attention, especially around hard-to-reach areas. Mobile car wash services can handle these bigger vehicles, offering thorough washing and detailing for a polished look.

Luxury and Exotic Cars For high-end vehicles, mobile car wash providers offer specialized services tailored to luxury cars’ specific needs. From gentle cleaning techniques to high-quality products, they ensure that luxury and exotic vehicles maintain their value and appearance without risking any damage.

How to Choose the Right Mobile Car Wash Near Me

With so many options available, finding the right mobile car wash near you may seem overwhelming. Here are some tips for selecting the best service:  car ceramic coating near Phoenixville, PA –

Check Online Reviews Look for customer feedback on local mobile car wash companies. Online reviews offer insights into the quality of service and help you find a provider with a good reputation.

Verify Services and Pricing Compare the services offered by different companies, and ensure that they match your needs. Ask for a pricing breakdown so you understand exactly what you’re paying for and avoid hidden fees.

Look for Eco-Friendly Options If environmental impact is important to you, ask whether the mobile car wash company uses eco-friendly practices, such as water-saving techniques or biodegradable cleaning products.

Ask About Insurance and Qualifications A reputable mobile car wash provider should be fully insured and staffed by trained professionals. This assurance means your car is in good hands, reducing any risk of accidental damage.

Conclusion: Keep Your Vehicle Pristine with a Mobile Car Wash Near Me

A mobile car wash is an excellent choice for anyone seeking convenience, flexibility, and quality car care. By searching for “mobile car wash near me,” you’re taking a step toward maintaining your vehicle’s appearance without disrupting your busy schedule. With professional mobile car wash services, you can enjoy a spotless car wherever you are, knowing it’s cleaned by skilled professionals who prioritize care and detail.

Whether you need a quick wash, interior detailing, or a full-service experience, a mobile car wash provides everything you need for a beautifully maintained car. So, next time you’re short on time or simply want the ease of at-home service, schedule a mobile car wash and experience the benefits firsthand.