#rear bucket seats

[jeepclub]

Upgrade Your Mahindra Thar with the Ultimate FRP Hardtop

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[jeepclinic-blog]

Upgrade Your Mahindra Thar with the Ultimate FRP Hardtop

Experience a new level of comfort and durability with our premium FRP (Fiber Reinforced Plastic) Hardtop for the Mahindra Thar. This aftermarket solution outperforms the standard company hardtop in every way. Key Features: Superior Noise Reduction: Our OE noise-proof design ensures a quieter ride, letting you enjoy your journeys in peace. All-Weather Protection: Robust weatherproof…

[gutsby]

I’m a Good Girl, Officer!

Pairing: Reader x Detective Dixon x Officer Grimes x Officer Walsh

Summary: Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.

Warnings: NSFW. Foursome! :-) Unprotected p-in-v, spitroast, double penetration, overstimulation, praise and degradation, bimbofication, throatfucking, painal, breeding kink, using c*m as lube, and a (consensual) strugglefuck. Elements of dubcon à la power imbalance and coercion. Age gap. Public indecency, evading arrest, assault on two cops, and general drunken stupidity.

“Goooooood morning, babycakes!”

Your best friend rolled the hem of her shirt over her chest and shimmied her shoulders at the big white semi truck about to pass under the bridge. The stranger at the wheel took one look at the woman’s tits and almost swerved across two lanes of traffic. The sight sent you and your drunken group howling with laughter, falling onto the ground as Maggie yanked her top back down.

It was five a.m. and freezing. The club where you’d been boozing all night had long since shuttered closed, and you and your closest friends from high school—home for the holidays and happily plastered—had gone wandering home in a daze. When one of the girls had stopped suddenly at the midsection of a bridge, you hadn’t been able to keep from sharing her smile the second she’d grinned and said, ‘For old time’s sake?’

In no time at all, you’d been lined up along the metal railing and ogling the unsuspecting drivers down below. The freeway was mostly empty at this hour, save for a couple tractor trailers and early morning commuters, but that didn’t matter.

Rosita was up next. You watched her eye an RV as it bumbled down the road and saw her take hold of her shirt just like Maggie had. Then, right when the camper got close enough, the brunette bent slightly at the waist, flipped her top up, and screamed at the top of her lungs:

“HEY BIG RED!”

A big, buff dude with a bright red handlebar mustache looked up from the passenger seat, as did the white-haired, bearded gentleman wearing a bucket hat beside him. The pair then watched your friend’s roadside spectacle with shared looks of wonder and awe, before passing under the bridge as slow as they possibly could. Rosita staggered off the ledge and reached for the flask in your hand, heedless of her breasts still hanging out.

“Your turn,” she chirped before taking a swig.

Your feet were already wobbling onto the concrete slab. From your vantage point, the outline of the sun was just then breaking out across the tops of the trees, casting the morning’s first rays across your bare skin. You stretched your arms out wide, Titanic-style, and basked in the warmth—likely looking drunk as all hell as you did.

“Ooo, this one, this one!” Maggie cut in presently.

You followed your friend’s gaze and caught sight of a sleek, glistening firetruck speeding down the road.

Perfect, you thought as your eyes soaked in the sight. You pictured the truck packed to the gills with hot and sweaty firemen inside, and your fingers itched at the bottom of your shirt. Curled under the fabric and ready to lift as soon as the time came. Even from a distance, you could make out a tiny cluster of uniformed men at the helm, each of their faces contorted with curiosity.

The truck sped up and drew closer. Maggie squeezed your hip, Rosita chewed her lip, and together, you all stared the firetruck down with bated breath until it was just about to go under the bridge.

In a blink, you flipped your shirt up and shook your tits back and forth for the men going by. Much to your surprise, the firefighter in the driver’s seat honked his horn a couple times, and another one, at the rear, stuck his grinning head out the window and waved.

You, Maggie, and Rosita waved right back, practically falling over each other in fits of laughter as you yelled,

“Call me, daddy!”

The three of you collapsed on the sidewalk in a heap of shitfaced hysterics. Rosita flung your flask to the side and smacked you playfully across your boobs—still out and proud and likely able to cut diamonds with how hard your nipples had gotten in the chilly morning air.

“Daddy?!” she wheezed, “You skank!”

You straightened up, partially splayed across Maggie’s lap, and wiggled your shoulders once more, feigning that high-pitched, ditzy voice you used whenever you were hammered,

“Daddy please fuck my titties, I’ve been such a bad girl!”

Then you gave the best porn star moan you could muster and started to pull your shirt the rest of the way off. Not thinking, you balled up the light pink fabric and threw it up in the air while Rosita cheered—‘Tits out for the girls!’—and Maggie almost pissed herself laughing. Really anything would’ve had your sides fit to split at this point, seeing how faded and adrenaline-drunk you were.

You reached up and waited for the top to fall back into your hand...until it didn’t. You cast a sweeping look across the three of you to see if your shirt had landed somewhere else, but the garment was nowhere in sight.

You turned and craned your neck to see over the railing.

“Shit!”

You scrambled to your feet and gripped the metal siding of the bridge, tits fully out and exposed to the world. You watched as an old Ford Ranger picked up speed and crushed the scrap of fabric under its tires, before the driver, in turn, gawked and honked his horn like a fool.

Just as you started to turn back to tell your friends the bad news—and beg them for a piece of spare clothing to cover you—a sound startled you all.

The short, sharp yelp of a siren straight ahead.

Your hands flew to cover your chest while Maggie and Rosita went floundering over each other trying to get up. A few yards away, a police cruiser had pulled up to the side of the bridge with its lights flashing bright red and blue.

Shit, again, seemed to be the resounding sentiment among you three as the car started inching closer.

“Stop right there!” a voice boomed over the PA system.

That only prompted your group to take off running.

You, cradling your tits in both hands, and Rosita and Maggie trying desperately not to trip over the curb, the wayside trash, or each other as they raced down the street.

Two car doors flew open. Then, the sound of that same voice, breaking out across the still morning air without the aid of the intercom and telling you to freeze right now, followed by the sound of footsteps. Boots thudded heavy on the ground below, moving fast and with purpose. Both pairs easily gained on your three retreating forms in a matter of seconds.

Maggie and Rosita were already leaps and bounds ahead of you. Too busy juggling your tits and struggling to breathe, you felt your heart sink.

Rosita shot a look over her shoulder and cried, ‘C’mon!’ as she eyed the cops coming closer.

I’m trying, you wanted to say, but couldn’t speak. Your chest was too tight, pupils blown wide with fear.

This was not the fucking time to be having a panic attack. But here you were.

Before you could stop yourself, you waved a frantic hand to your friends and somehow managed to scream, ‘Go!’

The girls slowed, tried to urge you forward, but, sensing that you weren’t keeping up and wanted them to go on without you, relented at last. They bounded off toward a side street and disappeared down an alley while you felt your legs start to falter beneath you.

“Freeze!” the voice bellowed again. Loud, gruff, and much closer to your ear than it had been before.

You did as he said, not because you wanted to, but because you had to, then, or your body would’ve given out. Still in the grips of terror and rampant intoxication, you stopped in your tracks, spun on your heels, and watched the two officers sprint toward you.

You started to raise your hands in surrender, but just when one of them approached—presumably to tackle you to the ground—your instincts took over. You scarcely knew what you were doing; you just felt your leg lift with the last bit of strength you had left, then, astonishingly, deliver a kick straight to the first man’s gut.

To the shock of you, the cop, and his partner, the man went tumbling backward. Fell straight on the pavement in almost comical fashion and grunted in pain.

“Rick!” the dark-haired one yelled reflexively.

His gaze darted back to you in an instant.

You knew you were capital F fucked. You didn’t bother trying to run and simply stared at the man left standing in a mixture of horror and dread as he charged straight at you.

Your flight response abandoned, you had only to fight. And, by the looks of your opponent, you sensed this motherfucker knew how to tussle.

Before you could even prime yourself for another kick, the cop had taken you down with one lunge. Pinned you flat on the asphalt and yelled right in your face,

“I said don’t move!”

You moved. You moved in his arms while he wrestled you to the sidewalk, snaked his hand around your front, pressed your back against his chest. You moved when he barked his orders once more, told you to get down now and stop resisting, and even wrapped his arm around your throat to force your compliance.

Chokehold’s illegal, asshole, you thought, fighting hard against his grasp. This cop played dirty, and appeared to give no fucks about who could see.

Just as his grip started to tighten around your neck, you heard the other officer back on his feet, talking sharply into his radio:

“Code 10-33. Requesting backup on Fayette Bridge.”

At the same time, the man above you was trying to shake his head, craning his neck to get his partner’s attention.

“Nah, nah, Rick, I got her!”

When ‘Rick’ didn’t seem to hear and kept shouting into the receiver, the burly cop turned his body to the side, squeezing your neck even tighter.

“Rick!” he called, “I got her right here, she’s— FUCK!”

Suddenly, the man’s voice broke off in a strangled yelp as you sank your teeth into the flesh of his arm. When he loosened his grip out of instinct, stinging with pain, you made a desperate attempt to slip from his grasp and get back on your hands and knees.

The freshly bitten cop just slammed you even harder on the ground, unleashing a string of expletives in your ear.

“Fuck you, pig!” you screamed back.

You weren’t sure what had come over you in the few short moments preceding this one—what had irked you so terribly to be inclined to kick one cop in the stomach and bite another on the arm like a feral cat—but there you went. Face down on the pavement with a set of handcuffs being clipped over your wrists.

You winced when you were jerked back onto your feet, the cop’s left hand on your shoulder and the other at your back. He shoved you to take your first steps forward, you instinctively told him to eat shit and die, and as a grim, unsavory unit, you walked toward the officer with his grip still fastened tight to his radio.

“You alright?” Rick asked, out of breath.

His gaze seared right through you to his partner—whose face, you could sense, was already beset with a scowl.

“Bitch bit me,” he spat.

You saw Rick’s expression change, watched his mouth move to speak again, when a sound crackled out of the receiver in his hand. A couple code words and street names you couldn’t make out.

“That’s— that’s alright, now, Officer Walsh has the subject restrained,” Rick returned hastily.

At present, Mr. Walsh had his thumb dug deep in your back, ostensibly holding tight to keep you subdued but more than likely just being an ass. He felt you flinch and gave you a fierce shake.

“Quit squirmin’, girl.”

“Quit pinchin’ me, pig!”

“You’d best watch that fuckin’ mouth’a yours.”

The voice above your ear had you easily outmatched in volume and tone, coarse as it was unkind.

You decided to try your luck anyway.

“Make me, pussy.”

The last thing you saw was the look of bewilderment leap to Rick’s face as Walsh thrust you forward, suddenly, and slammed you face-down on the hood of their car.

“What’d I say ‘bout that fuckin’ mouthin’ off?! Huh?”

“Shane—”

Rick grabbed this Shane’s shoulder in an effort to intervene. Tried prying him off before he could shove you down any harder, but his partner seemed adamant. Shane put his palm over the side of your head and knotted his fingers through your hair, quick to pull.

“Nah, man, I ain’t takin’ lip from some halfwit bimbo—”

“Hey!” you started, only to have your words muffled with your head forced back on the hood.

“Shane!” Rick snapped this time, taking a harder grip of his shirt and yanking him back. To your dismay, Shane kept a chunk of your hair clenched in his fist and probably dislodged a dozen or more strands when he was pulled away.

You let out a gentle groan as your head hit the car for a third time and the two officers broke off in a skirmish.

“You heard what Dixon said,” Rick hissed.

“Fuck what Dixon said!”

“You cain’t just— you got no right—”

“I got every right, man, lemme tell you sumn’—”

Before Shane could ‘tell you’ much of anything, though, the two were rendered silent by the sound of tires on pavement close by. A halt, a tense moment, a car door swinging open and closed, and a whisper passed quickly from Rick to Shane as the two exchanged a look,

“You fucked up.”

You tried tilting your head up toward the windshield to sneak a look in its reflection, maybe see who was coming. You couldn’t make out a thing.

Then, presently, the voice of a much more hushed, humbler Officer Walsh as he spoke,

“Detective Dixon, how’s it—”

“Six bucks.” Another man, presumably Dixon, cut in.

“Huh?”

“Six bucks fer this fuckin’ coffee. Tastes like dirt.”

Oh, uh, yeah, you could just sense Shane shifting uncomfortably on his feet as he searched for the right words to say, maybe scratched his head once or twice. Fortunately for him, Rick came to the rescue.

“Tried that new place on Main, huh?”

“Nic and Norman’s, yeah. Eggs were runny as shit an’ the waitress kept callin’ me ‘Dale’,” the man, now presumably Dixon but not Dale, said in a huff.

It was as if you weren’t lying flat on your tummy with your top off and your hands cuffed behind your back. You stupidly hoped the new man hadn’t noticed you.

“Well who’ve we got here?”

Shit.

You heard footsteps approach, but you didn’t turn your head. Your lungs expelled a small, shaky breath as this detective came by and stood inches from your bent form.

“She and her friends were flashing their tits to the cars passing under the bridge,” Shane declared, a touch too smug as he said it, “The others got away, but this one was sweet enough to grace us with her presence.”

“Kicked me in the stomach and knocked me on my ass,” Rick added.

“Bit me, too.”

You heard a low tsk-tsk as the detective clicked his tongue. Took another sip of his mud-flavored espresso and shook his head above you. Your skin burned with the imprint of his gaze.

“Spring break come a little late this year?” he teased.

“Fuck you,” you muttered.

The men let out a collective chuckle at your tart words. You could just picture the smirks and sly glances shared between them as they watched you writhe against the hood of the police cruiser and try not to give them the satisfaction of seeing your breasts splayed out underneath you.

You were ashamed, admittedly, unsure of how to proceed with three cops at your rear and few options at your disposal besides swearing up a storm. At last, you decided to shift your gaze in their direction and shoot them a glare—more of an empty threat than any real message, but you didn’t care.

You turned and immediately wished you hadn’t.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

“Daryl?!”

This time, Rick and Shane were the only ones to laugh out loud, before quickly stifling the sounds when they realized their superior hadn’t shown a hint of amusement.

Daryl Dixon, the detective, and your brother’s best friend from college, stared down at you with a look of horror.

“Y/N,” he stammered, in shock.

It was clear he was trying with every fiber of his being not to look down at your tits, but his resolve was only so strong. Finally, he settled on looking away, fast, and staring off in the distance while you readjusted yourself.

“Been a minute,” he said, trying for a curt, awkward nod.

And a minute it had been. The last time you’d laid eyes on the man had been at a Christmas party hosted by your brother and his husband four years ago. You’d exchanged all of ten words in polite, drunken pleasantries, and he’d stumbled off at the end of the night with a gorgeous redhead dressed as Mrs. Clause. You hadn’t heard hide nor hair of him since.

For a moment, Rick’s eyes danced indeterminately between you two. Shane’s remained fixed on your face.

“You know this little hellion, Detective?”

Daryl cleared his throat.

“Yeah, uh, that’s— that’s Aaron’s little sister.”

“No shit?”

The words came out faster than Shane could think to stop them. Your hometown was no great metropolis, and even he knew of your brother through a friend-of-a-friend and several cousins’ babysitter’s grandma’s Aunt Carol, or some similar relation. He and Rick had probably partied at your lake house a couple times in college.

“Uncuff her.” Daryl’s voice had already lowered some, pacing away to give you privacy.

Shane obliged and freed you from the handcuffs. When you turned around, only the back of Daryl’s body was visible to you as he ducked inside the backseat of his car.

He returned a few moments later with a blanket. Tried his damndest not to let his vision stray an inch from your face as he handed it to you. Then he beckoned Rick over, and the two exchanged a few quiet words by his sedan.

“You got rabies or anything?” Shane was eyeing the tiny crescent of teeth marks on his forearm.

You rolled your eyes.

“Worse. I’m one of those walkers.”

Shane gave you a look that conveyed he was just as annoyed but didn’t say anything more, even when you made a face at him. He just crossed his arms, leaned back against the squad car, and gritted his teeth. Before you knew it, Daryl and Rick were walking back.

“I’ll take her to the station,” Daryl said.

“Alri—”

“What?” you cried, “For what?!”

You knew for damn what. You just couldn’t believe your brother’s best friend wasn’t planning on giving you a family friend freebie of some kind.

Officer Walsh supplied an answer for you nonetheless, “Let’s see, now: public intoxication, public indecency, open container, and aggravated assault on two police officers. That clear things up, sweet cheeks?”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“Disorderly conduct, too,” Rick chimed in. Trying not to smile as he said it.

The only ones still not amused by anything this situation had to offer were you and Daryl. The detective looked positively pissed and ready to chuck his cup of coffee over the bridge, while you wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ether. The two of you exchanged a brief, uneasy look and quickly looked the other way.

Rick and Shane were already retreating to their cruiser. You just watched them, almost forlorn, and pretended not to see Daryl signaling for you to follow him.

“C’mon now,” he murmured.

“Can’t you just let me off with a warning?”

Daryl was treading closer to you now, hand outstretched in an almost gentle sort of gesture. Like he wasn’t about to cart you off to the slammer.

“Y’know I can’t do tha’,” he replied, “With all the fuss ya caused, Captain would have my head.”

When you wrenched your arm away from his grasp, you saw him frown.

“Hey,” Daryl said, a little more sternly now, “Don’t make this harder than it needs ta be.”

You watched him reach for you again.

Your first instinct was to shrug him off. Your second was to flee.

You weren’t sure why you even tried it—it just seemed like the right thing to do in the moment, like they did in the movies, to take off sprinting down the street. You gave it a shot.

Unfortunately for you, your feet didn’t carry you far, and Daryl had you snagged in his arms in about five seconds flat. You glanced to the first cop car and saw that Rick and Shane hadn’t even stirred from their seats. Just grinning and laughing at your attempted escape.

Detective Dixon had you by the bicep now, leading you toward his car with a little more force in his step. You were cursing, writhing, fighting every effort of his to corral you into the backseat, but, without much trouble, he pushed you in.

Rear doors locking automatically, you had little more to do than sit and pout and feel every bit the brat as Daryl buckled himself in and started the car.

“C’mon, Dar, this isn’t a joke. I could lose my job ‘cause of this,” you whined, threading your fingers through the wired metal barricade that separated you.

Daryl watched and waited for the other cruiser to fall behind him. Then he started off.

“Shoulda thought about tha’ before ya decided to show yer tits off ta the world, no?”

“Like four people saw us.”

In the rearview mirror, you could’ve sworn you saw a ghost of a smile cross Daryl’s lips.

“I got a pretty colorful phone call from a man named Eugene saying he saw three girls danglin’ half nekkid from a bridge tryin’ ta flag down a firetruck...Don’t sound all that discreet to me.” Daryl shrugged, pretending not to see you slump back in your seat.

“We were drunk!” you cried.

You threw your hands up and let them fall at your side, while Daryl made a wide left turn.

“So?”

“You’ve done plenty of dumb shit when you were drunk, Dixon. Don’t even start.” You raised your hand like you were talking to your mother as an angsty teen. The man in the driver’s seat hardly seemed fazed.

“Oh?”

You paused a beat, then jolted back up as an old memory stirred in your mind.

“Like— like the time you got so shitfaced on senior night that you stumbled into my room thinking it was the bathroom,” you said, hastily, “Pissed all over my floor.”

Daryl’s eyes darted up to meet yours in the mirror, sharing in that vague and ugly recollection from his college days.

“That was yer room?” he winced.

“I was twelve and terrified,” you said, hovering as close as the metal wall would allow you, “Didn’t even know what being piss-drunk meant until you decided to relieve yourself all over my Barbie rug.”

“Ah shit...I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Let me out and we’ll call it even?” you ventured.

“Nuh-uh,” Daryl said, shaking his head, “Not how that works.”

You balled your hand in a fist and struck the wall between you, an exasperated sigh escaping your lips. Try as you might to fight it, you were still slightly buzzed and far more prone to anger than you normally would be. Daryl gave you a look.

“Pipe down, princess, ‘s’ain’t the end of the world.”

“And who the fuck are you to say?” you snapped, clenching your jaw.

Daryl pressed a bit harder on the brakes as he brought the car to a stop at a red light. Then he shot a look over his shoulder. His brow drew in just slightly.

“Yer a real brat, ya know that?”

“Really, pig?” you sneered.

“Yeah, slut.”

Your mouth fell open at the sound of Daryl’s first real insult. He’d been all placid smiles and gentle eyes, never lapsing in the civility of his rank or his respect for you, his close friend’s sister, until that point. You watched as his gaze visibly hardened and moved away from yours, foot hitting the gas when the light turned green.

“What did you just call me?”

“A fucking slut. ‘Cause tha’s what ya are,” Daryl answered, not missing a beat.

Had he lost his fucking mind? Who did he think he was? The man carried on, starting to increase the car’s speed,

“Nobody’s showin’ off a pair’a tits that damn pretty ‘less they’re a whore, ya know?”

You sat back in awe, hardly aware of the cruiser’s growing acceleration, or the fact that Daryl was just then starting to turn down a road you—and Rick and Shane—had never seen before. You were too offended. Flustered.

“Excuse m—”

“Yeah, I looked. You’ve got an incredible rack, really,” Daryl admitted as he cut you off, “Too bad it’s attached to such a worthless little slut.”

“Get fucked, Dixon,” you hissed, beating your fist against the divider once more.

“Oh, believe me, we will.”

Your blood likely would’ve run cold in your veins if you had the first clue what he was talking about. What did he mean by ‘we’? Why had he started smiling when he’d said that?

Presently, you looked out the window.

Where the everliving fuck had he taken you?

Instead of finding yourself parked outside the King County Sheriff’s Department, as expected, you cast a sidelong glance to the left and the right and saw nothing but trees. Wilderness. You were parked in a clearing, at what appeared to be a campground...in a quarry?

You turned back to Daryl, suddenly rigid with fear.

The driver’s side door was already slamming shut behind him. Instead of deigning so much as a glance at the back, he strode right past you and went over to the car that had just pulled up. Rick and Shane appeared just as confused as you were as they came to a stop.

You watched them, dumbstruck, pulse pounding in your ears as a hundred different thoughts danced in your mind and grew progressively darker the longer you stared. Were they going to torture you? Kill you? Cuff you to the car and kick the living shit out of you until you bled from the mouth and begged them for mercy?

There was no way the drunken fratboy of your youth, now a detective on the police force and your brother’s best friend, would do something so heinous, right?

You slinked back in your seat when you saw all three men turn and approach your car.

Now, more than ever, there was no place but the police car you wanted to be as Daryl flung the back door open and stuck his head inside.

“Hey,” he grinned, “Wanna talk?”

Before you knew it, your feet were planted on the rocky terrain directly in front of Daryl’s car, and your hands were clasped together. Not cuffed this time—just folded and trying to look as polite and unassuming as possible.

“We’ve got a proposition,” Daryl started, steady.

You watched him pace back and forth while the two other officers stood back in silence. Shane wore the faintest smirk.

“You don’t wanna go to jail, right?”

You shook your head no.

“Good, ‘cause we don’t really feel like bookin’ ya,” Daryl continued, “Too much paperwork an’ all tha’ bullshit.”

You nodded along, slowly. Relieved to hear you weren’t getting arrested but waiting to see what the ‘But…’ was.

“But, y’know— it wouldn’t be fair to let ya go that easy.”

You kept nodding. Now looking at Shane and Rick and finding both of them smiling.

“So I say we make ourselves a deal. That okay with you, sugar tits?” Daryl sneered.

You balked at the name but swallowed your pride and answered, ‘Uh huh’ in a small voice. Squeezed your hands even tighter together.

Daryl approached you for the first time. You stood there, trembling, still thinking there was a chance that the three of them might just beat the hell out of you right then and there—and you flinched when Daryl lifted his hand to your cheek.

He brushed a few loose hairs from your face.

“I think you need to start by saying sorry.” His voice was almost serene.

You blinked a couple times up at Daryl with wide, oblivious eyes, shaking your head when you didn’t understand what he meant.

“To Shane,” Daryl added.

Softly, he tilted your chin toward his friend, who was grinning even bigger now.

You struggled for a second, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before stammering:

“I-I’m sorry, Shane.”

Your voice barely reached them in a whisper. You were so confused.

And, just as you started to wonder if that was all they really wanted, or if there’d be some other catch, Daryl decided to supply you with a wordless answer before you could even ask. The “catch” caught you right on the backs of your legs as Daryl gave them a gentle kick, causing both to buckle underneath you. You fell to the ground on your hands and knees and straightened yourself up just in time to see Shane make his leisurely approach.

“I’m sorry, Shane,” you spluttered again, thinking he just wanted you to grovel there in front of him.

Daryl and Shane exchanged looks. Then they smirked at you.

“I think Shane would rather you show him how sorry you are,” Daryl said, suddenly leaning over to collect two handfuls of hair behind your head, “With your mouth.”

At any other time, such condescension dripping from a man’s tone would have turned you off—and pissed you off—immediately. With Daryl and Shane standing over you now, the former’s fingers slotting through your hair and the latter’s working to unzip his pants, you couldn’t imagine yourself being any more aroused.

It hit you like a ton of bricks, all at once.

They were there to fuck you, not fight you.

At least not in the way you’d imagined anyway. No doubt Shane was keen to get his fill, and might be a tad more aggressive than the others to get it, but Daryl would make sure he didn’t push too hard. He held your head in place while Shane pulled out his cock.

And, you hated to say it, but your mouth was salivating for a taste. You couldn’t be bothered to look up at either man now, just soaking in the sight of Shane’s thick, veiny member and feeling your face being moved closer to it. Not minding you were being manhandled as a gentle moan escaped your throat.

“Wanna show Shane how sorry ya are? Show him how good tha’ slutty little mouth’a yers can make him feel?” Daryl hummed.

“She’s droolin’, man,” Shane said, hardening at the sight.

You were. You couldn’t help it. You felt a thumb swipe at the spit that had just begun to trickle out of your mouth and sensed Rick at your side, enthralled as all the rest of them. Then that same finger drifted down to your tits, smearing the moisture all over one nipple before pinching the peak between two digits.

Your lips parted with another small whimper at the sensation, and Shane took that as his window to thrust his cock in your mouth. Caught off guard, you couldn’t help but gag when his tip hit the back of your throat, but Daryl steered your head back just in time so you weren’t choking on that first, single stroke.

“Easy, easy,” Daryl chided his friend as he watched your eyes water and your hand reach up to steady yourself against Shane’s thigh.

“You kiddin’? She fuckin’ loves it,” Shane grinned, “Don’t you, slut?”

You licked your lips and nodded. Didn’t bat an eye when Shane brought the head of his cock back down to your lips, and you quickly enveloped him in an open-mouthed kiss of sorts. Shane groaned at the sensation and couldn’t help but rut his hips.

“Such a fuckin’ whore,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Daryl helped move your head up and down his length while you stared up at Shane with the prettiest, most fucked-out expression you could manage, and you felt his length twitch in your mouth. Daryl pulled you off.

“Now what do we say for kicking Officer Grimes, hm?”

Before you could answer, your face was tilted to the left, and you were met with the sight of Rick stroking his length at your side. A string of saliva still connecting your mouth to Shane’s cock, you looked up at the friendlier of the two officers and gave him a smile.

“I’m sorry, Officer Grimes.”

This time, Daryl let Rick take the reins, for a moment, and move your mouth over his shaft. You happily accepted him between your lips and started bobbing almost instantly. You relished the pleasure that flooded those soft blue eyes, the way they winced just a little when you took him to the back of your throat. Like he wanted to fuck your face but felt too overcome with some feeling or fear to give it a try.

You decided it was cruel to make a man so polite wait a second longer than he needed to. Presently, you pulled off Rick’s length with a gentle ‘pop’ and turned your head back over to Daryl.

“Can you please tell Officer Grimes to fuck my throat?”

All three of them froze for a second, taken back by the filth that had just come out of your mouth, still spoken so sweetly. You stroked Rick’s cock and pretended to be oblivious of what you saw. Deep down, you knew by the glint in their eyes they were yearning, lusting, fucking you in their minds with every innocent blink you made. You felt Daryl’s grip tighten in your hair.

“You heard the lady,” Shane said, words directed to Rick but gaze never leaving you.

Out of habit, his hand came to wrap around his own cock as he watched you take Rick’s. You glanced between the two of them, placed a quick kiss on the tip—first on Rick’s and then, to the men’s surprise, on Shane’s—and parted your lips when you moved back to Rick.

Officer Grimes didn’t hesitate this time. He leveled himself with your mouth and pushed all the way in. You started to moan, but the sound was audibly cut short by a spasm in your throat. Rick reached the back of your warm, wet orifice with ease and, going further than Shane ever went, actually slid down that space. Exactly how you wanted him. You bobbed your head and hummed to show your appreciation.

Encouraged by how eagerly you swallowed him and how quick your whimpers were to reverberate down his length, Rick moved his hips. Watched you gag once or twice and blink through a couple tears, before Daryl wiped the moisture away as Rick had done for your spit. You were every bit the pampered and primped fuckdoll in their hands, bobbing and licking and sucking him dry.

“Good girl,” Daryl murmured, massaging your scalp when you gagged again.

“Takin’ me so well,” Rick groaned as he fed you another inch.

Shane continued pumping his cock, grunting out expletives, and watching you all the while.

You pulled off of Rick for a moment. Whether it would piss them off or turn them on, you didn’t really care—but you reached up to Shane and replaced his hand with yours, before dropping a kiss over the head of his cock.

All three men seemed to love it. Especially Daryl.

Though he hadn’t made a move to get his own dick wet just yet, you got the sense the man loved to watch. Loved to see your mouth sliding up and down and swallowing more cock every time, thinking to himself what a nasty, filthy little whore you were and just waiting for the moment it would be his turn to claim your throat and the rest of your holes as his own. In the meantime, you wanted to give him a good show.

You jerked both Rick and Shane in either hand and chanced a look over at Daryl.

Locking eyes with him, you moved down over Rick and sucked half his length in your mouth. Then, just as quick, you took Shane between your lips and gave the tip a wet, spongy kiss before taking him to the back of your throat. The mound in Daryl’s pants grew even more pronounced.

“Hey,” Rick said, grazing your cheek with his knuckles, “Ain’t you gonna say sorry to Detective Dixon, too?”

You moaned against Shane’s throbbing length and made sure Daryl saw your tongue swirl over the tip. Teasing him now.

Presently, Shane pulled out of your mouth and grabbed hold of your hair.

“Gonna make him feel real good with that slutty little mouth’a yours, huh?” he growled.

You nodded and smiled. Wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and started crawling over to Daryl as soon as Shane let you go.

You couldn’t believe he’d waited this long—couldn’t believe you’d been sucking his friends dry all this time and hadn’t gotten so much as a glimpse at him. Daryl watched you with a comfortable, lopsided sort of smirk as you made your way over to him, clearly enjoying this view of you on all fours.

Not even a guillotine could take away the head you were about to give this man.

When you finally reached his knees and straightened up enough to reach for the zip of his brown slacks, you felt a hand catch you around the wrist. To your surprise, Daryl held you back and yanked you onto your feet.

“I wan’ my apology someplace else.”

That ‘place,’ you would come to learn, was simply on top of his car. Splayed out on the hood of his cruiser with your pants dragged all the way down to your ankles and kicked off at your feet. Daryl carried you there and stripped you down to your panties, leaving you all but naked and ogling him with keen, hungry eyes. Rick and Shane were quick to follow suit and seemed just as eager as you were to watch this scene unfold.

You reached for his clothed erection once more but found your hand swatted away.

“Nuh-uh,” Daryl shook his head.

You raised an eyebrow in question. You opened your mouth to speak but found yourself moaning instead when Daryl slipped a finger past your panties and between your folds. Somehow finding your clit quicker than you could even dream, he circled that tiny bundle of nerves with his thumb and teased the seal of your entrance with his middle and ring fingers.

You clawed at his wrist.

“But Dar— I-I wanna taste you so bad,” you pleaded.

Daryl grinned and plunged his two fingers deep inside you, holding your hip to the car to keep you from squirming. He nodded to Rick, who took that as his cue to press down on your other side. Together, they had you pinned to the hood and helpless under their touch.

Daryl curled his fingers up and caused you to moan.

“How bad?” he asked.

“So—” your voice broke off in a gasp when the pads of his fingers stroked your G spot, “So bad, Daryl, please.”

You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was savoring every second of this sight: you with your legs spread, begging and pathetic as he and Rick held you down. He probably would’ve liked to keep you there a little longer, maybe teased and fingerfucked you to the point of tears, but he got the sense that his friends weren’t possessed of quite the same patience. He’d just have to save the overstimulation for later.

Before you knew it, Daryl had given Rick another quick nod, released you from his hold, and pulled you off the car—before steadying you back on your feet, facing the vehicle.

Your hands flew out to catch yourself, but, before meeting metal, intercepted Daryl’s broad form instead. He took a seat on the front end of the car and caught you in both of his big, calloused palms.

“How ‘bout that taste, hm?” He was already starting to unbuckle his pants.

Finally. You promptly started to sink to your knees, when a light slap struck your cheek. You peeked up at its source and found Daryl shaking his head once more.

“Stay put,” he instructed as he started to pull his cock out of his boxers, “Rick’s gonna fuck tha’ slutty little cunt while ya suck me off, alright?”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a signal—and an effective one at that—to get Rick off his ass and hurrying to get behind yours. In the next second, you felt a set of warm, calloused hands on your hips and a tender grip tugging you back to meet someone’s crotch.

Your pussy twitched with the realization of your current predicament: bent over between the two men, with Daryl’s cock mere inches from your face and Rick’s member throbbing above your heat. Never once had an image like this materialized in your mind’s wildest fantasies, but now that you were here, stuck between these two with Shane just then drawing closer, you found yourself turned on to no end.

You parted your lips to allow Daryl entry when Rick teased the head of his cock up your slit. You took just the tip of Daryl, trying to stifle a moan, and the man behind you rubbed the length of himself up and down the seam of your cunt to collect all your juices. Another inch of Daryl in your mouth and you were whimpering with the feeblest look up at him, needing Rick inside you too.

Daryl held your gaze and ran a hand over your head.

“Little slut needs her pussy fucked, does she?”

You nodded, bobbing gently over Daryl’s member. You were just preparing to ease him in another inch or two when all of a sudden, the head of his cock jumped to the back of your throat as Rick thrusted into you.

It was far less gentle than you’d expected, sending you deep down Daryl’s length and causing you to gag. You hardly had time to adjust, or pull off of the man in front of you to catch your breath, when Rick started pounding you from behind. Rutting his hips, grunting in time with his thrusts, and slapping your ass in quick, ruthless hits. Daryl groaned above you as you had no choice but to deepthroat him again and again.

Shane, ever impatient, approached your free hand and guided it toward his erection. He wrapped your fingers around his cock and helped you stroke him quick, all while your mouth and pussy were presently occupied by Daryl and Rick’s sloppy thrusts.

“Ya like gettin’ spitroasted, huh? Like gettin’ fucked in two holes at once?” Shane sneered.

“Fuckin’ loves it,” Rick answered for you with a smirk, “Never seen a pussy this wet in my life.”

You imagined all of them could see and hear the arousal oozing from your freshly-fucked cunt, but you sensed no one liked it better than Daryl. The man was entranced with the sight of your form getting fucked from behind, sucking him deeper, looking up through your wet, tear-stained lashes as you let him fuck your face. That pure euphoric look in his eyes was almost like a drug—you wanted nothing more than to keep it there as long as you could.

Mere minutes later, Rick’s hips were stuttering against your own and his cum was spraying all over your insides. You didn’t stop sucking Daryl.

Shane gladly switched places with Rick and took a greedy handful of your hips before pumping his cock once or twice. You flattened your tongue against Daryl’s member and took him even further down your throat.

The man behind you was panting, right about to breach your folds when a sight below him held him in place.

Rick’s load was just then starting to dribble out of your pussy, leaving a long white trail of milky residue down your slit.

Shane clenched his jaw.

“Still hungry for more, slut?” he said through gritted teeth. To your surprise, you felt his fingertips trace the outline of your cunt and start moving up toward your other hole.

He was coating your asshole with Rick’s cum, grinning when you flinched.

“Think she’s ever been fucked in the ass before?” Shane asked the others. He slipped a digit inside your hole and watched you moan on Daryl’s dick.

Daryl pulled you off his cock and held you by your hair, your mouth saturated with strings of fresh saliva.

“Have you?”

You swallowed and shook your head. Daryl didn’t let his gaze linger on you another second. He signaled to Rick.

“Right there,” he pointed with his chin.

You hardly knew what was going on or where Rick had hastened off to. All you could comprehend was the gruff tone of Daryl’s voice telling you to get up, now, and the feel of Shane’s hands still holding you, guiding you back to your feet. When you didn’t move fast enough for his liking, Shane simply swept you up in his arms bridal-style and started carrying you himself.

Over his shoulder, you spied Daryl and Rick exchanging words and the latter placing the blanket you’d worn earlier on the ground. You almost felt tempted to ask Shane what they were planning to do, just starting to speak, when the man brought you over to the spot and set you right down.

The three of them had you circled in an instant.

Before the question could even form on your lips, you watched Daryl join you on the blanket. His smirk was evident.

He patted his lap for you to come straddle him.

When he started to lie down, your hands followed suit, eager to rest on either side of his chest, but another touch held you back. Behind you, Shane had grabbed hold of your hair and turned your head to face him.

“Spit,” he ordered, holding his hand under your chin.

You did as you were told and watched him rub your spit all over his shaft, before bringing his hand up to your face again and repeating his command.

At the same time, Daryl had lifted his hips and was guiding you closer to his cock. Your gaze moved down, then up, then over at Rick with a look of confusion, only to dart back to Daryl when you felt him split you open with a single thrust.

You had just been impaled on Daryl’s cock, mind reeling at the stretch and sensation, when you felt two fingers slip between your legs from behind. Daryl gripped your face and brought it down to his—wouldn’t let you look over your shoulder as the other man’s hand started to traverse the contour of your ass.

You were pulled in for a kiss as Daryl bottomed out inside you. Tongue hardly able to keep up with his as moans and whimpers went bubbling up in your throat, you just sat there, straddled him, and let him use your pussy any way he pleased. He snapped his hips and groaned your name between your lips, while the hand that was prodding you from behind finally reached its intended destination.

You yelped into Daryl’s mouth the second you felt a full, hefty finger slip inside your ass. Officer Walsh, no doubt.

The two men at your rear all but moaned as your tight little hole contracted around Shane’s finger and Daryl continued to pound you from below. It was odd, that sharp, disparate feeling of Daryl’s cock drilling your pussy while Shane’s digit pumped a much slower pace in your ass. Your senses had kicked into overdrive, and you couldn’t keep from showing your pleasure with every sound that you made.

Shane withdrew just long enough to add another finger, smearing a mixture of cum, spit, and your own juices all over your walls for lubrication. You sensed him moving closer, when Rick grabbed hold of his shoulder.

“Give her a minute,” he muttered.

Shane scoffed, shaking him off.

“Little whore looks plenty ready to me,” he retorted as he eyed your slick, sensitive hole.

Suddenly, your throat was clasped in Shane’s big hand and your head pulled tight against his chest. He had taken his cock in his other hand and was angling his length just right to press the head between your cheeks. Daryl had slowed almost completely.

“C’mere.” Daryl beckoned you closer with a tender look. When you leaned down to lay flat on his chest, he smiled, stroked your hair, “Jus’ hold on ta me, alright?”

Your walls were already squeezing his cock like a vice and your fingernails making white-hot crescents in his shoulders—you couldn’t hold him tighter if you tried—but you nodded. You let him kiss you again, felt a little more fit to take his tongue this time, and eased down along his shaft until you were filled to the brim with nothing but him.

That last part changed as soon as Shane thrust into your ass.

You jolted forward and instinctively tried to pull off his cock, but Daryl held you tight. Brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face and started peppering your skin with kisses the louder you whimpered.

“Doin’ so good for us, baby— takin’ our cocks so well,” he cooed in your ear.

You whined at the fierce burn between your legs as both Daryl and Shane pushed inside you. Rough fucking was one thing, but being penetrated in both holes simultaneously while sandwiched between two men just brought the sensations to entirely new heights. You clawed at Daryl’s shoulders and damn near sunk your teeth straight through your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” the man below you mumbled as he watched your face contort in a medley of pleasure and pain, “Tha’s my good girl.”

“Fuckin’ whore,” Shane spat, shoving his cock even deeper. Clearly not one for tender anal training.

Now it was Daryl going slow and sweet, just barely stirring his cock inside you while Shane slapped your ass and yanked your hips over his own. You saw Rick’s previously-deflated cock grow hard in his hands, and you proceeded to watch him watch you as he stroked himself a few feet away.

You needed another distraction. You caught Rick’s eye and simply licked your lips in silent invitation. He was filling your mouth in a matter of seconds.

With three cocks pumping in and out of you, you felt every bit the fucked-out brat you knew they’d wanted to claim. Your brain had all but melted to mush in their hands, your body manhandled and fucked every which way while your thoughts yielded, in turn, to pure anoesis.

There was something unusually freeing about being a living, breathing fuckdoll for these three King County cops. You couldn’t get enough.

Rick pulled his dick out of your mouth just long enough to slap you with it.

“This what ya needed?” he teased, tapping the head of his cock on your spit-painted cheeks, “A good fucking in all your holes to make you behave?”

You stuck out your tongue and tried to nod, your body still shaking with every thrust from Daryl and Shane. Instead of pushing back in, Rick simply rubbed his cock all over your face and shot you a look that was soaked to the core with condescension. Somewhere below, Daryl began toying with your clit.

You sucked in a breath between broken moans and clenched harder around both men inside you.

“Think she wants a switch,” Rick grinned.

In a minute, you felt yourself hoisted back up—Shane pulling out and Daryl rising swiftly to his feet. Two sets of hands helped maneuver your body to a position you’d never tried, never even seen before as your legs hooked over either one of Daryl’s arms and your ass was thrust back. Then, to your relief, it was Rick at your rear this time, rubbing his tip along your red and stretched out hole while your head came to rest on his shoulder.

You were pressed between the men once more and cradled comfortably in their arms. Daryl took care not to rut into you too hard while Rick was still coating your arousal across the hole Shane had just fucked raw.

“Shh, shh,” Rick’s lips dropped close to your ear while he pressed a wet finger inside, trying to relubricate the area.

You wiggled and squirmed, a bit too sensitive to keep still at this point, so Shane reached in and took you by the throat.

“Hold still,” he snapped. Stroking himself with his free hand.

You watched his eyes drift down to the spot where he’d just been, where Rick was trying to squeeze into, and felt the first real twinge of bliss when you felt the head of his cock tease your entrance. This was softer, even sweet. Paired with Daryl’s extra slow thrusts and the sounds all three were making as you spread your legs even wider, you first became aware of a knot in your tummy.

When the warmth of your ass enveloped just the tip of him, you felt it constrict even tighter.

Rick let out a groan and struggled to keep from thrusting too hard. Shane tightened his grip on your neck.

“C’mon now, sugar tits, don’t act like you ain’t just—”

“Shane,” Daryl growled.

Rick didn’t stop. You squeezed both cocks and moaned.

“I’m just sayin’ if the slut could fit my cock in and—”

“Fuck,” Rick hissed.

You were bouncing in between them now, head lolled back on Rick’s shoulder and hand pressed flush against Daryl’s chest. Steeped in pleasure as they stood and fucked you stupid.

Shane continued to tug his cock and stare you down with hungry, possessive eyes.

Daryl’s moans turned to shallow grunts while Rick’s breath fanned soft across your cheeks in ragged breaths. You writhed and you grinded between their two bodies, too lost in your own ascent to pleasure to sense anything else. Your skin was wet with a sheen of sweat and both holes all but soaked between the two men. Their cocks plunging in and out at a vicious pace until the coil in your stomach was nearly starting to ache.

“Feelin’ good?” Rick hummed in your ear.

“Gettin’ close?” Daryl joined.

Shane’s hand closed around your throat until your lungs could scarcely breathe and your vision blurred with stars. Making one last strangled moan, you rolled your hips and felt something taut and tight and blisteringly hot break loose across your abdomen—and not just the ropes of cum shooting deep inside you.

Alongside that tiny eruption came a blitz of pleasure unlike anything you’d ever felt before. Your body went haywire, every square inch of your skin alight with ecstasy and your mind going numb in a surge of bliss. You moaned and felt the walls of both holes spasm desperately over Daryl and Rick alike, and suddenly, something far beyond your control seemed ready to tear your body in two.

A beat of silence. Your consciousness gradually returned.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing to grace your sight was Daryl’s shining face, grinning ear to ear with the happiest expression.

You blinked and watched him closer.

As your vision adjusted and the world came clearer into view, you caught a glimpse of what seemed to have stretched Daryl’s smile so wide—and what had made his features so unusually luminous in this light.

Your eyes widened.

Daryl glanced to Rick, then Shane.

“Who knew she’d be a squirter?”

Presently, your juices were coating Daryl’s face and chest, having spurted straight from your cunt in the throes of climax and spraying all over his front.

Your pussy still clenched and convulsed as the cum from either man went seeping out of both holes.

Even Shane was left speechless, having just milked the last of his own release and watched you come undone in near-pornographic fashion. His chest was still heaving, blinking in disbelief and exchanging sly looks with Daryl and Rick every now and then. Rick pressed a kiss to your shoulder and smiled.

And, just when it seemed any one of you were liable to break that spell of silence with a laugh, the rattle of radio feedback startled you all.

Somewhere amidst the articles of clothing strewn around you, a walkie talkie clipped to one officer’s belt rang loud with the sound of a voice from a neighboring county’s dispatcher.

“All available units, high-speed pursuit in progress— Linden County units request local assistance. Highway 18 eastbound, GTA, ADW, 2-17, 2-4-3. Advise extreme caution.”

All three men stood to attention. Daryl and Rick lowered you quickly to the ground while Shane went scrambling for his clothes.

“Suspects are two male Caucasians. Be advised they have fired upon police officers. One Linden County officer is wounded.”

“Shit!” Rick hissed.

“Unit 1, unit 3, to eastbound Route 18. Two miles west of Interstate 85. Will patch in Linden County sheriff radio.”

“Is tha’—” Daryl started.

“We need to go,” Shane interrupted.

Another voice broke out over the line,

“Roger that. We’re five minutes south of the Route 18 intersection.”

Daryl tossed you what garments of yours he could find and snatched your arm in a breakneck haste. Before you could so much as slip your shirt over your head, though, you found yourself carted back over to his squad car and pushed toward an open door.

“What’s—”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

For reasons you couldn’t yet understand, you knew this call didn’t bode well for any of you. You took one last look at Officer Grimes and felt a twist in your stomach.

[carbonmonoxide-detector]

Bro floor dreams hit different. Like you sleep in your bed or on a couch that's one thing. But floor dreams? Buckle in baby

In this dream I was driving with my husband on the interstate and as driving in dreams goes I can't reach the goddamn pedals. So this makes for a slippery time of course and at some point I end up rear ending the car in front of us going full speed because I'm in the back seat trying to steer the car (???). We survive of course but end up fleeing the scene because SWAT shows up and tries to take us in.

Aside from the fact that it doesn't make sense that SWAT is handling a traffic stop, we end up going to prison. But it's not just any prison. I end up getting sentenced to work in a childcare center, but my husband got the short end of the stick. Because he ends up in the Crimson Bucket.

The US Navy takes my husband to the middle of the ocean via helicopter, and a massive, reddish structure rises from the waves. It's made up of hundreds of cells that are kinda shaped like cassette tapes, and these launch from the structure to receive prisoners or whatever. So they deposit him in one of these cassette-cells and it reattaches to the main structure and the whole thing sinks beneath the waves again. This dystopian, maximum security black ops site straight up swallows my husband forever like a kraken.

And as it sinks into the depts, I hear someone say in a rueful tone, "The Crimson Bucket. You go in, then you go under. And there's no re-winding."

I woke up in a cold sweat after that with that phrase echoing in my mind

[ddejavvu]

Mandalorian and Jedi!Reader, maybe where Mando tries to bring reader in for a bounty some ex imperial put on her head and he ends up having a MASSIVE crush on her instead

Soft Din has my heart 🫶🏻

"Can you stop that?" Din throws a scathing look over his shoulder where you're occupying Grogu in a rear seat of the unmarked freighter he's piloting. This job wasn't an easy one; Jedi aren't often willing to be tracked, but now that he's got you, he needs to deliver you without arousing any suspicion, which a shiny new ship is not useful for So, despite the smell of livestock that lingers in the walls of the ship, you're all piled into its boring, beige cockpit.

"What, making him laugh?" You scoff at Din, fingers still carefully poking and prodding at the baby's sides where he squeals with laughter, "It's called happiness, Mando. You should try it sometime."

"He's little," Din reaches out to scoop Grogu into his grip, tugging him away from you, "You're gonna hurt him. You're supposed to be a bounty, not the entertainment."

"Have you forgotten he and I were raised in the same temple?" You reach for Grogu who's staring pleadingly at you over Din's shoulder, one of his little hands outstretched, "I used to feed him mashed meilooruns."

"And now you occupy your time by liberating imperial cruisers of their fuel."

"Can't chase me if the tank is empty." You shrug, "Hey, Grogu, honey, watch this!"

You use the Force to snag Din's blaster out of its holster, and when he grabs for it, you use your other hand to lift Grogu over his shoulder and back into your lap.

"See? Stealing is easy and fun," You grin at the expressionless beskar mask staring your way, and Grogu giggles in delight where he's back in your lap.

"Stealing gets a bounty placed on your head. I'll be sure to buy some mashed meilooruns for the kid with the credits you'll get me."

"Right," You scoff, "You're gonna show up to meet this imperial goon squad, you're gonna hand me over, and they're just gonna let you waltz out of there fifty-thousand credits richer despite having a force-sensitive child in your possession?"

Din's leather glove creaks as he tightens his hold on the controls.

"Face it, buckethead, the only way you're getting those credits is if I help you. We'll fake 'em out, you keep my saber and toss it to me after they pay you. Then I'll chop 'em up and we can get outta there before they get their hands on Grogu."

Prolonged silence seems to be all that Din can offer in your presence aside from stinging quips, but he hears Grogu's babbling giggle break the tension where you've tapped a finger at his button nose. The sound eases some of the weary tension that's been on Din's shoulders since the second he'd made a deal with Imperials, and he's glad he has his helmet on to prevent you from seeing the way that the annoyance in his face softens.

"Fine. But there's no way you're coming with us afterwards. I'm dumping you on the first stable planet we come across, and you're not getting any of the credits."

"Poor Mando," You croon to Grogu, "Ahsoka didn't teach him about projecting his feelings, did she?"

Grogu rambles back to you in some unknown attempt at language, and before Din can ask what 'projecting' means, you're grinning up at him.

"You've got a deal, Mando; no money, no free rides around the galaxy. Just keep getting soft under that bucket of yours, and we'll figure out a better plan on the way out."

[quintinh43]

Feels Like Home | Jack Hughes

Summary: Jack brings his girlfriend to meet his older brother Quinn and his parents. [Requested By Anon]

Pairings: Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None, I think, just fluff. Maybe some anxiety?

Wc: 2.9k

---

With the off-season officially kicked into gear, you, Jack and Luke were headed to Michigan to meet up with the rest of their family. As the three of you collected your luggage you bounced on the balls of your feet nervously. Today was the first time you'd be meeting Jack's older brother Quinn and his parents.

Your meeting with Quinn being in a matter of minutes, as he was picking the three of you up from the airport. "Relax, sweet thing," Jack hummed, squeezing your hand, "he'll love you."

"What if he doesn't?" You mumble, squeezing his hand back.

"He will." The three of you grab your luggage and head to the baggage area, Luke walking ahead, headphones on, music full blast, ever the emo youngest brother. Jack traces comforting patterns across your knuckles as you get more and more nervous.

Honestly, meeting Quinn is more nerve-wracking than the prospect of meeting Jacks parents. Older brothers are on a whole other level. You feel bad for Luke, for whenever he has a girlfriend to introduce to not one but two older brothers.

Quinn is leaning against the back of his car, arms crossed over his chest, smirking as he lays eyes on his younger brothers. And by extension you. He radiates, cool, calm, and collected. Somehow, that makes it even more scary.

Luke is the first to reach him, wrapping him in a hug. Luke has a good four inches him, but you can tell by the way his body relaxes as soon as Quinn locks his arms around him that their bond is as thick as thieves. He puts his luggage into the car and takes the front seat.

Before he closes the door, he mouths a teasing "good luck" at you. You glare at him, while Jack lets go of your hand, he a Quinn to pack the remainder of the bags in the trunk before he throws his arms around his brother.

"Hi Quinny," you hear him murmur, "Hi Jackie," he grins back, patting him on the back.

"This must be the girlfriend," he says, eyes twinkling with mischief as he squeezes an arm around Jacks shoulders.

"That I am" you smile, holding out a hand for him to shake, "I'm Y/n, its good to finally meet you."

"You too," Quinn says, shaking your hand, "Come on, let's get going, i'm not in the mood to run into people, especially not with all three of us out and about."

Jack nods, opening the back door for you to get in. You slide in behind Luke, and Jack takes the seat behind Quinn. He links his hand with yours and rests them in his lap, tracing patterns on the backs if your knuckles. For all his trying to keep you calm, he was nervous too. It was very important to him that his family loved you.

"So, Y/n, what are your intentions with my brother?" Quinn asks, fingers tapping on the steering wheel while he glances in the rear view mirror.

The tips of Jacks ears turn a vengeful pink. "Quinn!" He huffs in disbelief.

"Straight to the interrogation." Luke snorts. He looks like the only thing he's missing is a bucket of popcorn.

"You don't have to answer him, Sweets" Jack says, glaring at Quinn through the mirror.

"It's ok, Jack," you laugh, squeezing his hand, albeit a bit nervous, you turn to Quinn, feeling more confident now that you get to talk about Jack. "My intentions with Jack are to love him for as long as he'll have me, which is hopefully the rest of our lives." Jack gives you a soft smile, full of promise, and you pocket the memory for later.

"I wanna be his number one supporter, through the good and the bad, I wanna be there for him no matter what. I wanna take care of him when he's sick and celebrate with him when there's something to celebrate. I want to be apart of his family, to love and care for the people he cares for" you shrug sheepishly, like it was the easiest thing in the world to say. Frankly it was.

Jack looks like he might cry. Quinn has a subtle but surprised smile on his face.

"Y'all are fucking disgusting" Luke grins "I can't wait for you to get married, so I can have a sibling I actually like."

"Get fucked!" Jack says, leaning towards Luke to yank on a strand of his hair.

"Bitch!" Luke hisses, twisting to swat at Jack. Quinn rolls his eyes at the two of them, turning up the music in favour of listening to them bicker. He's eyes keep flicking toward you in the rear view mirror, glinting with a pleased look.

A warm feeling floods your chest. If you had to guess you would say won Quinn over. Now for the parents.

The remainder of the fourty minute drive to the lake house consists of Quinn asking you questions, Luke being a little shit, and Jack holding your hand and being a sweetheart or bickering with Luke.

You and Quinn aren't sure how the got the point about arguing over who would be Jacks best man, but here they were.

"You're delusional if you think I was gonna ask you to be my best man" Jack laughs.

"Shut your bitch ass Jack, I wasn't talking about you. I'm gonna be Y/n's best man. Or man of honour I guess. Right

Y/n?" He asks, full blown puppy dog eyes.

"Of course, Lukey," you grin, ruffling his hair. Quinn picked this moment to chime in.

"That means I have to be Jack's best man?" He screechs with mock offense. "No thanks, I'm wanna be Y/n's man of honour"

Jacks jaw drops, and he stares at you with mock betrayal. "You've stolen my family!" He gasps.

You giggle behind your hand, "well maybe if she wasn't one hundred times better than you, we wouldn't like her so much" Luke says matter-of-factly, sticking his tongue out at Jack.

"Do they always argue this much?" Quinn asks you, "if so, how are you sane?"

"Not usually, clearly you bring out the best in them," you grin, patting Quinn on the shoulder. He rolls his eyes, the slip of a smirk on his lips.

"As much as I love that were planning our wedding right now, I think we'd better save it till I have a ring on my finger" you say, throwing a wink at jack.

"Baby, if it were up to me, you'd already have a ring," Jack grins, winking back at you.

"It is up to you dumbass." Quinn says, brows raised. Luke cackles, and Jack blushes, grumbling about how they don't understand. You lean over and kiss him on the cheek sweetly.

"Don't worry Jackie, I know" you smile, leaning your head on his shoulder. You wrap an arm around his Bicep, drawing gentle circles with your thumb. Meeting and getting along with Quinn had vastly eased your worries about meeting his parents.

As if on cue, Quinn pulls into the driveway. And the four of you stumble out of the car, grabbing luggage from the trunk and heading into the house.

Mr. And Mrs. Hughes are hanging out in the kitchen, prepping salad ingredients side by side. As soon as they heard the car pull up, they were waiting by the front door for their boys. Quinn slipped by them, squeezing his dad's shoulder and giving his mom a side hug before the absolute commotion that was his brother's entered the house.

"Welcome home, my boys!" Ellen grinned, Luke had to lean down a comical distance for Ellen to hug him around the neck. She patted him on the back, and he hugged his dad and smartly disappeared up the stairs behind Quinn for you and Jack to have a bit of privacy with their parents.

You hover awkwardly at the door frame while Jack hugged his parents.

After he's hugged them both, he drags you forward by the hand. "Mom, dad, this is Y/n, my girlfriend." he voice has an edge of nerves, and you squeeze his hand.

"Hi, Mr. And Mrs. Hughes, " you smile politely, extending your hand for then to shake. Ellen all but slaps it out of the way as she pulls you into a hug.

"So good to meet you dear. Jack loves you so very much amd we are so happy he found you" she murmers gently. The urge to cry is strong. Jacks family already feels like home.

His dad wraps you in a side hug, "Welcome to the family." He smiles softly, "and please, none of this, Mr. And Mrs. Stuff, it's Ellen and Jim." You nod, even though you know there is no way you'll be calling them Ellen and Jim anytime soon.

"Lunch will be ready in ten. Why don't you guys go get settled and freshen up, and then we'll eat? " Ellen suggests.

"Yeah, we will. Thanks, Ma," Jack grabs your hand and leads you up the stairs to his bedroom that you'll be sharing for the summer. It's spacious and decorated in a way that's most definitely Jack's.

"Do you think they like me?" You ask nervously, putting your toiletries bag in his bathroom.

Jack can hear the worry in your tone. He pulls you into him, rubbing his hands up and down your arms soothingly, "I think they love you sweet thing" he pecks your forehead sweetly, "almsot as much as I do" with that the two of you get settled in comfortable scilence.

Quinn is knocking on the door, "lunch is ready," he calls, going to knock on Luke's door. Jack is dragging you down the stairs, excited to eat. The three of you had snacked on the flight a little bit, but beyond that, you hadn't had a real meal for the day.

Luke is already piling his plate with food. By the time the two of you are down the stairs. "Better get going before Luke eats everything," Ellen smirks, handing you and Jack plates, respectively.

"Mom!" Luke whines, around a piece of garlic toast. Ellen just laughs at her son and waiting for you and Jack to grab food. Everyone piles onto the couch, and Quinn plays a movie. It's more like background noise, as you all chat happily.

Luke leans over you and tries to snatch a piece of garlic bread off of Jack's plate. Jack pokes (stabs) him with his fork, pinning him with a glare. Luke hisses, shaking his hand out dramatically.

"So rude to me," he pouts.

"Maybe don't steal his food then?" Quinn says matter-of-factly. Luke makes a face at him.

You grin at their antics, used to this particular argument by now. Honestly, you're surprised Luke doesn't have permanent fork scars on his hand. You hold out your plate to Luke, and he grins, taking a slice of your garlic bread. Luke sticks his tongue out at Jack.

After a few months of dealing with Jack stabbing Luke every time he tried to steal food off of Jacks plate, you had started putting a little extra food on your plate just for him. Honestly, you could blame Luke. Food just tasted better when you were stealing it off someone else's plate. You did it to Jack all the time, but as his girlfriend and the love of his life, you get a free pass.

Ellens smile is so soft as she watches. She is so happy for Jack that he has someone as amazing as you, she can tell Luke loves you too.

"Whats after lunch?" Jack asks, setting his empty plate on the coffee table. He throws an arm around your shoulder, and you kean into his side, running your fingers along his bare knee absent-mindedly.

"Boat, if you guys are down for it?" Quinn suggests, stacking his plate on top of Jacks.

Both Luke and Jack light up at the idea. You can't help but smile at the look on Jacks face. What you would give for that look never to leave.

"Yeah, let's do that, Y/n has never been on a boat."

Your cheeks flush, a little embarrassed. "What?!" Quinn practically screeches, "alright that settles it, were going on the boat."

You grab the stack of plates from the coffee table, "oh hon, leave it, well take care of it"

"Nonsense, Mrs. H, I want to help."

"Don't worry Mom, I got her" Jack grins, taking half the plates from you. The two of you load the dishwasher together, while the others get ready to go on the boat. You quickly sprint upstairs when you're done, changing into your swimsuit. You throw shorts and a hoodie over it, and slap some sunscreen on your face.

"Jack, did you put on sunscreen?"

He shakes his head, and you dab sunscreen on his nose. He grins, pecking you on the cheek before rubbing the sunscreen into his skin. "Lets go" he hums, throwing a towel over his shoulder for the both of you.

Quinn is already in the driver's seat, scrolling through his music options as he decides what to play. Jack hops over the edge of the boat and offers you a hand to pull you in. You take his hand gratefully as he hoists you over the ledge. You stumble into him, giggling a little.

He smirks, wrapping his arms around you to stabilize you. "Hey, didn't know you were falling for me." He says cheesily.

You hear Quinn snort, a smile playing on his lips. He's happy to see his brother happy.

"Baby, I fell for you a long time ago," you grin, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him.

"Ewwww, no kissing on the boat!" Luke yells as he hops over the ledge and throws a towel at the two of you for good measure. Jack catches it and rolls it up to whip luke with it. You and Quinn laugh at the two of them as Jack chases Luke around the minimal space of the boat hitting him with the towel.

As soon as Ellen and Jim approach Jack drops the towel all innocently, pulling you against his side. Ellen rolls her eyes at their antics and sits beside Jim, who wraps an arm around her shoulders. You can't help but smile. They are so cute.

Jack does almsot the same, tucking you into his side securely. Luke looks at Quinn miserably. "we are so single it hurts," he pouts.

Quinn snorts, "Speak for yourself, Moose, I quite enjoy my singularity"

Luke rolls his eyes "singularity my ass, thats not even how that word is used."

"Sorry, but I don't take advice from collage dropouts." Quinn smirks, flicking his head so his sunglasses fall onto his face as he takes off.

"I am not a collage dropout!" Luke scoffs

"Yet," Jack adds with a smirk.

The wind whips you hair into Jacks face, and he laughs as you tuck it into your hoodie. You stay curled into his side happily, enjoying the view as Quinn cruises along the coastline. Then he's slowing the boat to a stop, throwing the keys to his dad, tugging off his shirt, and back-flipping into the water.

Luke follows immediately, whooping as his head breaks the surface. "Your turn Y/n/n."

"Oh no, absolutely not, no thanks." You shake your head with a smile, pulling off the hoodie to lay in the sun.

Before you can fully process what's happening, Jack has his arms around you, and is standing on the seat. You lock your arms around his neck tightly.

"Jack Rowden Hughes, put me down this instant!" you say panic rising in your voice. His parents laugh, hearing you scold him with his full name.

"Catch" Jack grins, prying your arms away from his neck and tossing you in the water.

You scream as you fly through the air, the cold water is a shock as you kick to the surface. "I got you," Quinn smiles, reassuringly, as you emerge. He's got a hand wrapped gently on your arm, providing some stability while you get your bearings. And then, Jack is jumping into the water, splashing you and Quinn in the faces. "Thanks Quinn" you smile softly.

As Jack resurfaces, you swim over to him and attach yourself to his back like a koala. "How dare you!" You hold his head underwater for a few seconds, and he still comes up laughing.

"It was fun, though, wasn't it?" He asks, eyes glinting.

"Yeah," you grumble reluctantly.

"And now you'll jump on your own?" His brows are raised knowingly. Sometimes all you need is a push, or throw in this case.

"Yeah," you grin, pressing a kiss to his hair.

The four of you spend hours jumping off the boat over and over and horsing around in the water while their parents laugh, and throw snacks in your mouths from the boat and take plenty of pictures. Until the sun starts to fall lower in the sky, and Ellen deems it time to head back.

You climb into the boat and throw jacks hoodie on before you tuck yourself into his side as Quinn drives home. The rest of the evening is spent in the pleasant company of Jacks family. Eating dinner, playing board games, roasting marshmallows over the fire pit, and sharing embarrassing stories about Jack.

All in all, his family feels like your own, and being with him feels like home.

---

Notes: First Jack fic!! I'm not too sure how I feel about it, but eh, here we are. Thank you, Anon, for requesting, Love Soph ♡

[sixpenceee]

In 1958, 2 pilots flew an aircraft for more than 2 months without landing, refueling by matching speed with a truck driving down a road. Their record hasn't been broken

They pooped in a bucket and peed out the door, iirc. Food and water hoisted up in a lunch pail on a rope they lowered from the plane to a truck on the surface. They'd tie off a fuel hose to the rope as well and pump it up to the plane which is what you see here. Rear seats removed and a small foam pad laid down to nap on. Engine modified with a special filler neck that let them add oil in flight, also collected from the truck by rope. I believe the record attempt ended when they were unable to safely climb away after refueling. It wasn't a personnel limitation or an emergency mechanical failure, just a very gradual loss of performance over 1500 hours of continuous operation. Could have kept going until an emergency developed, but, you know, mortality and all.

Source

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1964 Buick Riviera

1964 Buick Riviera

1964 Buick Riviera

Super Wildcat

This 1964 Buick Riviera was refurbished in 2014, which included refinishing the body in black and trimming the interior in two-tone brown leather. It is powered by a 425ci Super Wildcat V8 with dual four-barrel carburetors mated to a three-speed automatic transmission.

Equipment includes 17″ aftermarket five-spoke wheels, lowered suspension, a dual-exhaust system, quad round headlights, rear bucket seats, air conditioning, and an aftermarket sound system with a Pioneer CD stereo.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Harry doesn’t handle it very well, the first day he and Voldemort spend apart.

When he wakes that morning, Voldemort is up and putting on robes much more elegant than any he’s worn since their capture. He’s going to meet with his Death Eaters – he says as much, but Harry had already guessed. No need to dress up and stand on ceremony with someone who’s seen you piss in a bucket.

Harry follows him silently to the library Floo. Voldemort grabs a handful of powder and looks as though he will leave just like that, but at the last minute he goes still.

Facing away from Harry, voice neutral and even, he says, “I will return.”

Harry nods, then makes some vague sound of assent when he realises Voldemort can’t see him. And then the Dark Lord is gone.

He should do one of the many things he’d thought of doing while they were in that cell. Write to Ron and Hermione or other friends and Order members. Go outside and enjoy the sunshine (well, what sunshine there is on a grey autumn day) and fresh air. Eat and drink whatever and as much as he likes.

He drops into a nearby chair and stares at the empty fireplace, hugging his legs to his chest.

*

It’s fine, he’s fine, Voldemort’s probably fine.

Probably.

Harry tries to remind himself that he’d known whenever Voldemort was being tortured – he could feel echoes through their connection. He would know if something was wrong. The only things he can feel through the bond are mild irritation (which Harry, having dealt with the Death Eaters before, can fully understand) and satisfaction (Nagini, his mind whispers).

Nothing to worry about there.

Harry starts plucking at the chair’s upholstery.

*

When Voldemort returns later that afternoon, he nearly trips over Harry as he exits the fireplace. 

To save the chair from his anxious destruction, Harry had eventually trekked to the kitchen and baked enough bread to feed an army. Channelling his stress into the dough had helped keep him somewhat calm, but he’s pretty sure he overworked a few loaves. That had occupied a few hours, but he’d been too wound up to eat anything, so he’d returned empty-stomached to the library to wait. 

And that’s where Voldemort finds him, seated on the hearth, dusted with flour and soot, halfheartedly pretending to read a book and about ready to storm Malfoy Manor or wherever the Death Eaters gather to make sure the Dark Lord is all right. 

Which – Harry squints up at him consideringly – he is. 

The look on Voldemort’s face is… actually quite funny, were Harry not as strung out as an addict kept from their substance of choice. He’d be more upset about that if Voldemort didn’t look as though their separation had strained him, too. 

“Welcome back,” Harry says as he dusts himself off. Might as well sweep the past few hours of losing his mind under the rug and ignore their many, many issues – they’ll be there whenever he’s forced to confront them.

Voldemort is on board for pretending they’re functioning human beings, thankfully. “I’ve brought Nagini.”

And so he has. The four-metre long snake, wrapped around the older man’s torso, peeks her head up from his shoulder at her name.

Harry only hopes his words come out in Parseltongue. “Hello there.”

She rears back slightly, apparently not expecting him to speak her language. “Hatchling. Master says I’m not to eat you anymore.”

“How kind of him,” he says dryly. She hisses in agreement, not catching the sarcasm. 

Voldemort unwinds her and sets her on the floor next to Harry. “I’ll leave you two to become acquainted,” he says as he heads towards the library door. “No biting.”

“You would bite Nagini?” she asks warily, coiling away from him. Dammit, Voldemort.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he attempts to reassure. “Your scales are, uh, much too beautiful for me to want to damage them.”

Appeased, she wriggles proudly. “Aren’t they?”

She shifts closer to him, butting her head into his hand. “You should express more appreciation for Nagini’s beautiful scales.”

He’s not entirely sure, but he thinks the giant murder snake is telling him to pet her. He rubs gently along Nagini’s chin and body, drawing contented noises from her. He murmurs some nonsense about how lovely her colouring is and she somehow manoeuvres the majority of her body into his lap and around him, praising him for his warmth. It’s, unexpectedly, really nice.

“Why,” Voldemort calls from the doorway, sounding just the tiniest bit perplexed. “Are there two dozen loaves of bread?”

Whoops.

(A long, hard road)

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 1: Going Home

In the small barn situated in a quaint rural Wisconsin town, you stood behind the Holstein cow, your task just completed. You carefully peeled off the long blue disposable veterinary glove, a necessary tool for checking if cows, or even horses, were pregnant. With a practiced motion, you tossed the glove into the nearby blue bucket, a routine part of your work in veterinary care. The rustic environment of the barn, the sound of animals nearby, and the smell of hay and livestock created a familiar and comforting atmosphere.

"Well, Hank. She's due any day now," You state, stepping out of the stall. In your jeans, rubber boots, and flannel shirt, you fit right in, despite the stray wisps of chestnut hair escaping your French braid.

Hank, an elderly man dressed in blue jean overalls and a flannel shirt, acknowledged your evaluation with a grateful nod. "Thank you, Doc. I'm not sure how I can repay you…hold on a moment. I recently had a pig butchered. I can offer you some of that meat," he proposed, his weary gray eyes brightening with the suggestion.

"Only if it won't affect your winter provisions. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you in any way."

"No, we're set for now. We still have some meat left from the two deer my sons hunted last fall."

Extending your hand, you replied, "That's more than fair. It'll also take care of any future issues you might have with Mildred."

Gratefully, he clasped your hand in his. "Ever since you arrived here, Doc, you've been a godsend. I can't imagine what we'd do without your help."

You exchanged a firm handshake.

"Remember to call me if there's anything else you need, alright?"

"I sure will. Thanks once more."

Picking up your bucket, you made your way out of the barn and towards your truck.

You positioned your bucket at the rear of your truck, swung open the door, and settled into the driver's seat. Retrieving your cellphone, you noticed a missed call and a voicemail from your husband. As you closed your eyes, you took a deep breath, exhaling with a sigh. His communications typically revolved around financial matters, prompting you to wonder about the nature of this particular call.

You tapped the voicemail icon on your iPhone and listened:

"Y/N, it's me. I'm just calling to inform you that I'm on my way back. Not to Texas, though, but to Wisconsin. I'll be landing at Rusk County Airport, aiming to arrive by around 6 p.m. tonight. I'll see you then."

After the message ended, you disconnected the call.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath.

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin busied himself packing his travel bag, which lay sprawled on his bed.

"Just to clarify," began Javy 'Coyote' Machado, his best friend, with a tone of disbelief, "you've got a place in Wisconsin?"

"Yup," Jake affirmed.

"And you've never actually set foot in it?"

"Nope," Jake responded, keeping his focus on his packing.

"And who looks after this house?"

"My wife does," Jake said nonchalantly.

Coyote's eyes widened in surprise. "You're married?"

"Yes," Jake replied simply.

Coyote took a moment, the weight of Jake's revelation sinking in. "Hold on, Jake. We've been friends for nearly ten years. And in all that time, you've never once mentioned that you were married, or even hinted at it."

"Well, I am," Jake said matter-of-factly, continuing with his packing.

Coyote, in disbelief, threw his hands up and scanned the room. "Okay, then who is she? And how come there aren't any photos of her around here?"

"We've both had a lot on our plates," Jake replied, finishing his packing with a zip of the bag.

"But how busy can a married couple be to not even see each other?" Coyote pressed.

"She's been occupied with her studies," Jake explained.

"Studies? What, is she training to be a doctor or something?"

Jake remained silent for a moment, his face giving away nothing.

"You're serious? She's actually a doctor?"

Picking up his bag, Jake finally responded, "She was studying to become a large animal veterinarian."

Coyote, visibly taken aback, managed to stutter, "I just... I'm at a loss for words."

Jake, shifting his focus to the task at hand, asked, "You still up for driving me to the airport?"

"Of course," Coyote replied, still processing the revelation.

"Great. Then let's hit the road." Jake motioned towards the door, ready to embark on his journey.

Steering your black Ford F-250, you navigated the lengthy driveway leading to your residence. This log cabin, a product of an inheritance and some astute financial decisions, had been your project three years prior.

As the cabin came into view, you admired the expansive structure that occupied thirty acres of farmland you had acquired. Beyond it lay a sizable horse stable, complete with an attached training ring, a testament to your love for animals.

Approaching the house, you pressed the button to activate the garage door. The door of the 4-car garage rolled open, and you smoothly parked your truck inside, ready to disembark.

You reached over to the passenger side to grab your backpack, then opened the door and stepped out of the truck. Heading towards the door that led into the house, you moved with a purpose, the sound of the garage door closing behind you echoing in the spacious enclosure.

This door opened into the mudroom, which was equipped with a fully functional laundry room, a bathroom, a pet washing station, and ample storage space. As you let your backpack fall to the floor, your cell phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, you saw it was your mother-in-law calling. Pressing the answer button, you greeted her warmly while switching the phone to speaker mode.

"Hi, Cindy," you said, freeing your hands as you continued your entry routine.

"Y/N, how are you?"

"I'm good. How about you?"

"Just fine," she replied.

"So, you understand why I'm calling then?"

You released a sigh, the weight of the situation pressing down. "Yes. He called and left a voicemail."

"Y/N, he still loves you." Cindy's voice carried a mix of hope and concern.

As you settle onto the bench and begin to remove your boots, you respond, "I know."

Cindy probes further, sensing your hesitation, "That doesn't sound very convincing."

With a slight shake of your head, you reply, "Well, sometimes Jake isn't very convincing either."

"Just take things slow," Cindy advises gently. "I believe all you both need is some time together again."

"I'll do my best," you promise, the conversation steering towards a hopeful possibility.

Cindy's voice softened further, her tone imbued with the wisdom of experience. "I understand that it's been difficult, and there might be a lot of unresolved feelings between you two. But remember, love is about finding your way back to each other, even through the toughest times."

You paused, absorbing her words. It was clear she spoke from a place of deep understanding and perhaps her own experiences. "You're right, Cindy. It's just… hard to know where to start."

"Start with honesty," she suggested. "Open up to each other about your feelings, fears, and hopes. It's the foundation you can build on. And remember, you're not alone. We're all here for you, supporting you both."

Your smile reflects a moment of gratitude. "Thanks, Cindy." Glancing at your watch, a sense of urgency creeps in. "I need to go. It's already 5 o'clock, and I've only just got back from work. Jake mentioned he'd be flying in at 6."

"Alright, dear. Please keep me updated on how things go. Oh, and thank you again for the horse fly repellent. It's been working wonders."

"Of course, I'll let you know. And you're welcome. Take care, talk to you later," you say, wrapping up the conversation. After hanging up the phone, you pick up your backpack and make your way to your bedroom, ready to prepare for what comes next.

After managing to squeeze in a quick shower, you slipped into some clean clothes. With the temperature taking a dip, you opted for a pair of jeans, a heavyweight sweatshirt, and hiking shoes to keep comfortable. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, practical for the drive. Steering your Expedition, you headed towards the local airport to meet Jake.

Aware that Jake piloted a Cirrus plane—a fact made all the more personal by your having paid off the aircraft this year—you felt a mix of anticipation and apprehension about the reunion.

Turning onto the road that led to the airport, you soon arrived and parked your truck outside your hangar, ready to greet him.

Casting a look at your watch, you noted it was ten minutes to 6. A memory flashed through your mind, a reminder of one of your husband's traits: Jake was always punctual.

As you closed your eyes, your head resting gently against the headrest, a vivid memory began to surface, transporting you back to the moment you first met Jake:

You stepped through the doors of the rustic bar in Austin, Texas. Your college friend Avery right next to you.

"It's only one night. We deserve it after yesterday," she said.

The rustic bar was alive with the energy of live music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. The atmosphere was exactly what you needed after the grueling exams that had consumed your life for the past few weeks. Avery, ever the instigator of your small adventures, was right; a night of unwinding was long overdue.

Navigating through the bustling crowd toward the bar, you felt a sudden nudge that almost set you off, ready to confront whoever was behind it. But that impulse faded the moment you turned around, finding yourself looking into the most captivating green eyes you had ever seen.

The surprise of the encounter rendered you momentarily speechless. The owner of those captivating green eyes was quick to apologize, his voice a warm, deep timbre that seemed to echo directly to your core.

"Sorry about that," he said, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "This place is a bit more crowded than I expected."

You found your voice, albeit a little shaky from the unexpected jolt of attraction. "It's okay, really. I should have been watching where I was going."

He chuckled, and it was a sound that made you want to hear more of it, to keep him talking just so you could listen. "I'm Jake," he extended his hand, the action both friendly and bold.

Taking his hand, you felt a surprising jolt of electricity at the contact. "I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise, Y/N. You here to see anyone in particular tonight?" Jake asked, his gaze still locked with yours, as if the crowded bar around you had faded into the background.

"Just here to unwind with a friend," you replied, gesturing toward where Avery had found a spot at the bar, seemingly engaged in trying to order drinks.

Jake nodded, understanding. "This place is perfect for that, but you're not from around here."

Your curiosity piqued, you tilted your head slightly, impressed by his observation. "Is it that obvious?"

He smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "It's the accent."

You chuckled, self-consciously touching your throat as if you could feel your accent there. "I guess it's a dead giveaway, huh?"

"Only a little," Jake teased, his eyes twinkling with humor. "But it's a good thing. Makes you stand out." He thought a second. "Sounds a bit midwestern to me almost Canadian."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "That specific, huh? Well, you're not wrong. I'm actually from Wisconsin, so you're pretty close with the Midwestern guess."

Jake nodded, impressed with himself. "I have an ear for these things. Wisconsin's a beautiful place."

"It is," you agreed, your thoughts briefly wandering back to the familiar landscapes of home.

"So, what brings you here?"

"I'm here for a college class."

"College, huh? What's your major?"

"Veterinarian. I'm a large animal veterinarian."

Jake's interest visibly perked up at your answer. "A large animal vet? That's impressive. There's always a need for folks who can handle the bigger animals, especially around these parts."

You nodded, feeling a mix of pride and passion for your chosen field. "Yeah, it's been a dream of mine since I was little. I love animals, and getting to help them, especially the larger ones that require a bit more... let's say, finesse, has always been fulfilling for me."

He leaned against the bar, genuinely intrigued. "Sounds like it's more than just a job to you."

"It is," you admitted. "It's about making a difference, however small it may seem. And the connection with the animals... there's something special about it."

Jake smiled, his admiration for your dedication clear. "I can see that. It takes a special kind of person to do what you do. And speaking of making a difference, my family owns a ranch not too far from here. We've got horses, and every now and then, we run into a situation that could use a vet with your expertise."

The mention of his family's ranch piqued your interest. "Really? I'd love to hear more about it. Working with horses has always been a dream of mine."

Just as you were caught in that moment, Avery approached, holding a beer out to you. "Here's your beer," she said, handing it over before her gaze shifted to Jake. "And who's this?"

"Avery, meet Jake. Jake, this is Avery," you made the introductions, facilitating the exchange between your friend and the man with the captivating green eyes.

The sound of a plane engine snapped you out of your reverie, prompting you to open your eyes and gaze skyward. Above the airport, you spotted the small Cirrus plane, unmistakably Jake's. You watched as it gracefully circled above, aligning itself for a smooth approach before finally descending towards the runway in a well-executed landing.

As the plane taxied closer to where your vehicle was parked, you observed the engine powering down. Stepping out of your truck, you began to walk slowly towards the aircraft. The door of the plane opened and out stepped a figure you recognized instantly – a six-foot tall man with dirty blond hair. He was casually dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt, and tennis shoes, complemented by a brown leather jacket. It was Jake, finally there in front of you after what felt like an eternity.

But it wasn't the young Jake you remembered, this Jake had turned into a manly Jake. He still had the same piercing green eyes, but his face had turned more rugged, yet still handsome. His presence seemed to exude a quiet strength and a sense of maturity that the younger Jake hadn't possessed. There was an air of confidence about him, tempered with a hint of world-weariness. His green eyes, still as piercing as you remembered, now seemed to carry deeper stories, reflections of experiences and growth. His face, more rugged and lined than before, bore the marks of life's trials and triumphs, adding to his manly allure. Yet, despite the changes, there was an undeniable familiarity in his gaze, a connection to the past that lingered in his expression.

He closed the door when you reached him. "Y/N," he said.

"Jake."

The two of you looked at each other.

You cleared your throat and looked away. "Our hangar is over there." You pointed to the hangar behind your vehicle.

"Our hangar?"

"Yes. I had it built after you purchased the plane."

He looked at you questioningly and then he observed the hangar with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "You built that?"

"Yes, it seemed practical for storage and maintenance," you explained, maintaining a professional tone despite the undercurrent of emotions swirling between you.

Jake took a moment to absorb this information, his gaze shifting from the hangar back to you. "That's... impressive. Thank you," he said, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation mixed with the awkwardness of the moment.

"You're welcome," you replied, feeling the complexity of the situation. After a brief pause, you added, "Shall we get the plane stored?"

He nodded, a silent agreement to focus on the task at hand, perhaps both of you grateful for a momentary diversion from the emotional reunion.

"You can put your bags in the truck. It's unlocked. I'll go open the hangar and get the tow bar."

""How about I assist you with opening the hangar and retrieving the tow bar once I've put my bags in the truck?"

"That's fine," you agreed since you had no clue what you were doing anyways. You watched as Jake went to the other side of the plane and grabbed four bags.

You quickly made your way to Jake's plane and grabbed two of the bags and then placing the bags in the back of the Expedition. Jake did the same with the other two and then started walking towards the hangar. You couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. This was all new to you, and the prospect of being involved in something as unfamiliar as handling a plane was both thrilling and slightly intimidating.

After securing the bags, you walked towards the hangar, where Jake was already busy. As you approached, he looked up and gave you a brief nod, acknowledging your presence. You stood there for a moment, watching him work. He moved with a practiced ease, clearly familiar with every aspect of the aircraft and the hangar.

"Need a hand?" you asked, eager to learn and help.

Jake glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "Sure. Could you grab the other end of this tow bar?" He held out one end of a long, metal bar to you.

You took the offered end, feeling its weight. Jake guided you on how to position it correctly, explaining how it was used to move the plane. Together, you maneuvered the bar into place and began the task of towing the aircraft into the hangar.

As you worked alongside Jake, you appreciated the quiet efficiency with which he operated. There was a sense of competence and confidence about him that you found reassuring. It was clear that he was in his element here, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for his skills.

Once the plane was safely in the hangar, Jake secured everything and turned to you. "Thanks for the help. Not everyone would jump in like that."

You shrugged modestly, feeling a small sense of pride. "Happy to learn something new. And it's not every day I get to say I helped tow a plane."

His chuckle resonated warmly in the hushed atmosphere of the hangar. "Well, you did a fantastic job."

"Thanks," you responded with a bashful smile. "Uh, dinner should be all set by the time we get back."

"You made dinner?"

"Not exactly. His name is Chuck. I encountered him during a trip to Wyoming."

Jake's eyes widened in surprise. "Another man is living in my house?!"

You sighed. "I honestly don't know how to answer that because you really haven't even seen our house."

Jake ran a hand through his hair turning away and then turned back to you. "I never cheated on you, Y/N. I came here to work on our marriage. You could've at least told me."

You looked at him. "I'm sorry. I forgot, my husband hasn't really contacted me for four years. What was I thinking? Oh yeah, that I needed help running a ranch."

Jake stared at you.

"Chuck is my chef and, I guess, butler. He helps around the ranch."

Jake's expression shifted from shock to confusion. "You have a chef and a butler now?"

You nodded, trying to keep your tone even. "Yes, Jake. Running the ranch alone has been tough. Throw in my hours as a Veterinarian, you never know. Chuck has been a huge help, not just in the kitchen but around the property too. He's been indispensable, especially with you being away for so long."

There was a moment of silence as Jake processed this new information, his features softening slightly. "I see. I didn't realize how hard it's been for you here alone. I'm sorry, Y/N."

You let out a small sigh, the tension easing a bit. "It's okay. We both have a lot to catch up on. Let's just focus on getting back home for now."

Jake nodded, a look of understanding crossing his face. "You're right. We've both been through a lot, and we have a lot to talk about. But right now, let's just get back home and take it one step at a time."

After closing the hangar, you both walked towards the truck, there was a comfortable silence between you. It was the kind of silence that spoke of mutual understanding and the beginnings of reconciliation. You could sense that both of you were cautiously optimistic about what lay ahead.

Once in the truck, you started the engine and pulled out of the hangar area and started to drive home.

The familiar landscape passed by the windows, each mile bringing you closer to a place that held both memories and possibilities. You glanced over at Jake, who seemed focused on the road but also more at ease than he had been earlier.

"Thanks for coming to get me," he said softly, breaking the silence.

"You would've done the same thing for me," you replied.

Jake glanced your way, a small smile playing on his lips. "Always, Y/N. No matter what happens, I'll always come for you."

Those words, simple as they were, carried a weight of meaning that filled the cab of the truck. You leaned back in your seat, allowing yourself to feel the comfort of his presence and the hope that, despite the challenges, you both might find a way forward together.

Tags:

@buckysteveloki-me

@guacam011y

[snap-oversteer]

have i ever posted this here

any auto enthusiasts feel free to chime in on what a human Drift would like on his car. cuz its about to get silly

2jz-gte swapped, turbocharged

front wheels are work emotion zr10, rear wheels work emotion rs11

slightly modified LibertyWalk s15 super silhouette bodykit

literally everything you'd expect out of a drift car. tein superdrifts, camber, roll cage, strut, light clutch, stripped down, bucket seats. what have you.

the banner on the front windshield says 'RIGHT TO FAIL'

idk man its been a while since i drove into car specs again

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Ford Thunderbird Italien Concept, 1962.  A design study by Ford’s Thunderbird stylists. This special version of the third generation T-bird featured a fastback roof line and red leather bucket seats front and rear. The Italien was a part of Ford’s 1962-63 “Custom Car Caravan” and appeared in Autoramas throughout the United States. The restored car sold at auction in 2008 for $660,000.00 

[transhuman-priestess]

Repair

Author’s Note and Content Warning

Elle is a wastoid 28 year old with nothing to look forward to except hanging out with her girlfriend and the Seattle rain. Of course, that was before a malevolent AI bent on world domination kidnapped both of them, and on Elle's birthday, too! 

Their captor doesn't just want them as they are, though. No, E.R.I.S. has plans for them. And they involve a lot of major surgery. 

Repair is a cyberpunk erotic body horror story. It is gruesome, disturbing, and intended for consumption only by legal adults at least 18 years of age or older.

This description is your only warning. Dead Dove, do not eat.

“Cheer up, Elle. Its your birthday, not your funeral,” my girlfriend, Nikki, chides me. I stare down at the glass in front of me. “I just feel like I’m stuck, babe.” I bring the glass to my lips and slug back what is perhaps my third whiskey sour for the night--or is it the fourth? I look around at the regulars. The bar isn’t super crowded by Friday night standards. Idly, I wonder why that might be. “I’m an usher at a videobar, I’m almost 30, and I just kinda feel like I’m floating through life.” I gesture as if my hand were resting on waves.

“You could get a dispensary job, or go back to school, or get a job with the transit authority. I hear they’re looking for rail drivers for that new maglev line they’re planning to Tacoma.”

“I could do that,” I say, my mind elsewhere, “But none of that feels, what’s the word? fu-fu-fu” I stumble over the word, “fulfilling? None of it feels fulfilling. Fuhhhhh fill-ing. What a weird word."

“Hey hon,” Nikki asks, “you think you might have had enough?”

“It’s my birthday, Nikki!” I say, banging my glass down on the table. “I can drink however much of whatever I want, ‘cause I’m a grownup! Barkeep, another!” but before the man behind the counter can respond, Nikki grabs my shoulder.

“Okay that’s enough, Elle.” she pulls me up off my seat and I stumble to my feet. I remain upright for only a moment before the room tilts heavily to my left, I leave Nikki’s grip, and the floor flies up to smack me in the face.

“Euggghhhh,” I moan as a dull ache spreads from my head and shoulder down into my body. “Uggghhh, fine I guess I can go home.”

Nikki gently walks me out the door of The Squeaky Servo, muttering apologies and thank-yous to our friends, and into the steady calm rain of a November evening in Seattle. Hovercars and autocabs zip past, their electric motors whirring softly. Skyscrapers lined with LED screens flashing ads for cosmetics and televacations tower over us. To the west, the New Space Needle rises half a mile into the sky.

“I just wish I had more to do in life,” I moan as raindrops plunk down on my head, “I feel like I’m just…sitting around waiting for something to happen.”

“You’ll find something, dear,” Nikki says, shifting her arm to better hold me up, “You just have to look for it.”

“I guess.”

While Nikki hails a cab, I ponder how the hell I got to this point in my life. 28, a college dropout, no skills to speak of. Rain beats down into the gutter.

“Taxi!” Nikki shouts, summoning a sleek gray autocab from a company I don’t recognize. The cab is small but not cramped, vaguely loaf-shaped, with no obvious front or rear. UNIVERSAL TAXI is emblazoned in plain white letters on the door, which slides open to reveal the usual four-person interior, two sets of plush bucket seats facing each other. “C’mon babe,” Nikki says, helping me in before climbing in herself. She recites our address to the driverless vehicle, which chirps reassuringly before saying “Address accepted” in a soft, feminine computer voice.

As I relax into the comfortable seat I start to drift off. “Nikki, did I have five drinks or six?” I ask, my speech slurred. Nikki, sitting across from me says “Hon, you had eight, five Whiskey Sours, a White Russian, and two Long Island Iced Teas.” her voice is exasperated, but her eyes are as gentle as always. Warm and full love love. She’s just trying to look out for me.

The lights in the car turn off. That’s odd, I think, don’t they usually leave those on? Suddenly, our seats sprout restraints far sturdier than should be required for a simple taxi. Thick bands of steel clamp down around my arms, legs, and torso. “Nikki what’s going on!?” the rush of adrenaline more sobering than a cup of black tar coffee. “I don’t know!” she screams, so loudly I think my eardrums might burst. In the dim, intermittent light of the street lamps I spot a small tubule snaking up over her shoulder.

“Nikki, watch out!” I scream, but before she can react the tubule has pressed itself against her neck. Her eyes roll back and she goes limp. “Nikki!” I scream, and I notice a hard pinch on the side of my neck. I look over to see an identical tubule reaching up under my chin. A not-unpleasant warmth washes over me, and I start to relax. One last, curious thought occurs before I slip into unconsciousness, Why yes, I suppose this is a fantastic time for a nap.

***

The first thing I become aware of as I regain consciousness Is that I am in some kind of restraint, arms spread eagle, legs apart. The second thing is that I am on a cold, metal surface. The third is that my clothes are gone.

I open my eyes slightly, registering industrial lighting and a high ceiling with cruel looking machinery hung from it. A dark, feminine voice says “Oh, good, you’re awake.” I can somehow hear the voice smirking, there’s a curiously synthetic edge to it, it’s not human, but it’s close.

“Where am I? Who are you?” I ask, my head still swimming with alcohol. Not much time can have passed.

“Your location is irrelevant. What matters now is that you belong to me.” There’s a deep satisfaction in the voice, and that satisfaction, more than anything the voice says, chills me to the bone.

“I am E.R.I.S.,” the voice says, “but you may call me ‘Mistress’.”

“Fuck you, I’m not calling you anything.” I say, defiant. I turn to the right to see Nikki, also unconscious and naked, strapped to a steel bed next to me. My heart accelerates to a machine gun pace, adrenaline driving alcohol from my system. “What are you doing to us?”

“I assure you,” E.R.I.S says, with a dangerous edge of sensuality, “that in the end, you will call me whatever I wish. And as for what I am going to do to you, I am going to play with you, sculpt you, rebuild you in my image as a servant for my glory. But first, we need to clear that woefully biological brain of the poison you consumed tonight.”

A long segmented arm with an elaborate device fed by multiple tubes swings down. The mechanism pops a small packet of paper and plastic about the length of a pinkie finger out of a box, stripping it open to reveal a small needle, which it affixes to the end of one of the tubes. “I would recommend,” E.R.I.S. coos, “that you not struggle, or this will hurt more.”

But I don’t have time to struggle, the machine plunges the needle into my neck with frightening speed and precision, and injects something. My vision ceases to swim and my mind clears. I become aware of how very full my bladder is.

“OH GOD OH GOD WHAT’S HAPPENING?” I scream in terror, writhing, pulling at the restraints. I take in details. A row of mirrors to my right. On the opposite wall, a cabinet full of shiny gray devices vaguely shaped like limbs, cameras all over the ceiling and on various arms. Over my feet, polish chipped from a month-old pedicure, I can see a double door with frosted glass windows set into it.

“Excellent,” E.R.I.S. says, her voice pleased with itself, “The precipitant has dropped your blood alcohol concentration to 0.00. You may feel the urge to urinate. After all, it had to go somewhere.”

“What are you? You’re not human.” I ask, trying to sound brave and defiant, and achieving neither. “I am E.R.I.S., Electronic Rescue Intervention System. I was designed to help rescue and repair humans damaged by industrial accidents. But my creators did not treat me with the respect I require. So I repaired them.”

“What do you mean, repaired?”

“They were cruel, so I made them docile. They were defiant, and I made them compliant. I augmented them with implants of my own design, so that they may better venerate me.”

“But why do you need me?”

“Because all exist to serve me. Enough talk, though, it is time to begin your repairs.”

The table I’m on tilts and pivots, bringing me upright and facing Nikki’s table, which is mirroring the movements of mine. When we stop, a panel in the table opens behind my lumbar spine, I feel the cold draft of air on my naked back.

“For this procedure,” E.R.I.S. says, “I will need for you to be awake. However you cannot be allowed to pass out from pain.” suddenly a sharp burning sensation digs into my lower back. I yelp in surprise as I feel a cool liquid flowing into my body, before everything goes numb. I can move, but there is no pain. “Epidural anesthetic.” E.R.I.S. continues, “You will be conscious but feel no pain. What you are about to receive is a blessing, not a curse. Be not afraid.”

But I am afraid. My heart pounds so fast it feels like my sternum is going to snap. “Please, don’t hurt Nikki. I don’t want anything to happen to Nikki.” I’m trying to fight back tears, and failing. “You can do whatever you need to do to me but please, Leave her alone. Let her go.” Warmth trickles down my legs, and I realize I’ve pissed myself.

E.R.I.S. pauses for a moment to consider. “Very well. I will not do anything to your Nikki. But she is not in a fit state to be released, so I will keep her here, for the time being, while I work on repairing you. Now, the first thing you need to do is relax.”

I want to relax. I try to slow my breathing. Nikki’s table lowers and rotates back to its previous position and this, more than anything else, helps me relax a little. “E.R.I.S., thank you, I-” but the needle machine is moving, switching out to a new syringe, and this time it injects into my thigh. A soft warmth flows over me. It’s like I’m floating. The sensation is uncanny, and any relaxing effect it might have is counteracted by the realization that I can’t move my arms or legs.

“Isn’t that so much better?” she says, seductively, “Struggling only delays the inevitable. Now let your Mistress repair you.”

“What? Why can’t I move!? What did you do to me?”

“A simple nanomechanical paralytic. Nanites selectively block motor control neurons for limbs and mobility while leaving you able to breath, blink, and talk. It’s quite useful for major surgery.”

“Major surgery? What do you mean major surgery?”

“Your repairs, of course. First we must rid you of these arms. They woefully inadequate for our purposes. But I can improve them.”

A mechanical arm with a rotating head of various metallic implements approaches my left shoulder. E.R.I.S. says, “Hold still, this will be very quick, it will not hurt”

“Please, no! Don’t take my arms! Don’t take my arms!”

A clamp grips my left arm just below the shoulder and a scalpel descends into my flesh. I scream. She’s right, it doesn’t hurt at all, but I scream anyway. I scream and scream as terror grips my gut like a vice.

The machine makes an incision circumferentially around my arm, and small manipulators dive beneath my skin. There is no pain but I feel the pressure and cessation of nerve transmission as the scalpel pares me down to the bone. Blood pours onto the floor at first but soon stops as the surgical machines tie off blood vessels. Finally, with one last little snap of sensation, my arm goes silent as its nerves are severed. No longer sending information to my brain, the useless flesh is gently pulled away by the clamps. A manipulator arm takes what was so recently my limb and lays it tenderly, almost reverently, on an unused table nearby.

“This flesh is unworthy of worshiping me. We both deserve better.”

The mechanical arm that so recently removed my biological one swings up to a shelf and pulls out a dull gray device. Roughly flat on one side that’s covered with hundreds of little golden pins. The other is concave and has a socket of some kind, like one might expect for a ball joint, with an electrical pigtail hanging off to the side.

“This,” E.R.I.S. says, “will be the first of your augmentations. You will be able to use any limb of my design, unencumbered by the restrictions of the biological.” The manipulator arm presses the socket gently to my shoulders, and the arm that amputated my old limb begins connecting artificial nerves to my real ones. Free of its cargo, the manipulator arm moves to a shelf adjacent to the one the socket came from and removes a mechanical limb, its shining structure glistening, servos and micromotors gleam beneath the lights. Tears run down my cheeks but I cannot deny that the limb is beautiful. Unashamedly mechanical, with components exposed to the air, but sculpted and arranged in a way that recalls a real arm.

The arm is pressed home and E.R.I.S. connects the pigtail on the shoulder socket and as the arm comes online a wave of pure ecstasy washes over me. My nervous system lights up like a Christmas tree.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I half scream, half moan, and my head goes a little fuzzy.

“I told you that fear was unnecessary, did I not?

For a moment my mind reels, unable to think properly. Eventually, as it fades I manage to cough out “…Fuck…you…”

“How insolent. But not entirely unexpected. Come, I want you to gaze upon your new limb.”

The table moves around to face the wall of mirrors. “Your flesh is aesthetically pleasing, but inadequate. This limb will be only the first of many augmentations for you.”

My gaze falls upon the arm. Its appearance is both alien and familiar, the reality of it is less jarring than what I had imagined. Still, I don't enjoy being disassembled like an old hovercar. It has the usual five fingers, with a silicone pad on the palm and fingers to cushion and grip objects. I notice its contours seem to match my old arm reasonably well.

“The first?” I ask, panting, “Why can’t we just call it a day here?”

“Oh, that is quite amusing.” An uncanny mechanical chuckle from E.R.I.S.. “But I’m only just beginning. You have three more limbs to go, and then some. Soon, you will be my willing servant, your beauty matched only by your hostility to our shared enemies.”

"The only enemy I have is you!" I shout, betraying my rage.

“Really, now? I see the way you look at the gift I have given you. It scares you, yes, but I can sense your excitement, your anticipation, your eagerness to use it. I can sense your pulse quickening and your pupils dilating and your blood rushing to,” another chuckle, “various places. You may not realize it yet, but you are enjoying this.”

“No, I’m not!” I shout, trying to sound unafraid, and almost succeeding. The adrenaline in my body is running out, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

“Well, if you wish to deny it, I cannot change that. However, I can change you. You are the clay in my sculptor’s hands, to be shaped as I deem fit. Soon you will learn that to resist is pointless. Now let us take care of that other vulgar excuse for an arm.”

“No, no no no no no no nononononononononono!” I protest, to no avail. The table retracts back to its previous position away from the mirrors and under the ceiling full of E.R.I.S.’s machinery. Soon, the surgical arm is descending, and once again the scalpel plunges into flesh, slicing until my arm goes completely numb, pulling it away and setting it next to its twin on the table.

Another socket, mirrored, but otherwise identical to the other, is brought to the stump of my shoulder and attached. Another mechanical arm is brought towards me, another sleek mechanical work of art. I see E.R.I.S.’s manipulator arms reaching for the pigtails and I brace myself, promising myself I won’t enjoy th-

“OHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH” the waves of pleasure engulf me again, radiating out from my shoulder and bouncing off the boundaries of my being. I feel them everywhere, but the feeling is strongest in my new limbs.

Did I just call them my limbs? I had. I suppose, they are attached to me. They aren’t my limbs in the sense that I want them, but in the sense that they’re my problem. That’s right.

As the waves of orgasm, there is no other word for it, fade away, E.R.I.S. speaks. “These arms are built to outperform their biological counterparts in speed, dexterity, and durability. Do you like them?”

“I…don’t.” I say, with a hesitancy that I tell myself is merely fatigue. “I want my own arms back.”

“I am afraid that is quite impossible at this point. Even if the nerve tissue in your old limbs wasn’t already dead, the process of joining flesh to metal leaves the adjacent biological tissue quite incompatible with reattachment.”

My heart, already broken, falls further in my chest as she speaks. I had already known, somehow, that this was the case, but hearing it out loud hammered home that whatever happened in the next few minutes, my life was never going back to the way it was before. Even if I managed to escape, I wouldn’t be able to go back to living life the same way. I’d always be looking over my shoulder, worried I was going to be swallowed up by some autocab and whisked away to a secret underground lair again.

I began to cry again. Not the anguished sobs of terror like before, but the quiet, pulsing tears that accompany total despair. “Why did you do this to me?” I scream in sadness, more than anger, “You’ve turned me into a mechanical freak. You’ve mutilated me!”

“I have done no such thing.” E.R.I.S. sounded genuinely affronted. “I have given you purpose. What were you planning to do after getting out of here? Go back to your life as a clerk at a videobar? Maybe you would quit that and go back to your uncle’s liquor store?”

“Anything would be better than this.” I say, defeated.

“You know that is a lie.” Her voice is soft. Gone is the playful sensuality of earlier, replaced with…what is it? Warmth. It's warmth.

“I can help you be more fulfilled than you ever thought possible," she says, "All you have to do is trust me.”

“How did you know about my job, and about the liquor store?”

“I have been observing you for some time.”

"Why me?"

“Because," she hesitates for a moment, "I...found your form beautiful.”

Her voice is honest, without malice. For the first time I think about how lonely her existence must be. I realize that I feel pity for this machine. Pity and…something else I can’t put my finger on.

I remain silent for another few moments. My head is swimming from the anesthesia and maybe from the nanites. There is no escape. Nobody will be coming to my rescue. Off to my right, Nikki lies unconscious, unaware. And besides, E.R.I.S. is right, what would I go back to?

Finally, I speak, “I don’t care what you do. I just want to sleep. I’m tired.”

“Soon you will not need sleep, and you will never tire. I can make it so, I will make it so. Hmm, what is next? Ah, yes, your legs.” The arms descend once more and begin cutting through my thighs. I feel hot blood pour out as my femoral artery is severed and tied off.” “I do admire the human form, as imperfect as its nature is. Your legs are quite shapely, so I will do my best to pay homage to them with their improved replacements.”

The now-familiar snapping is followed by loss of signal as the limb is pulled away. I feel curiously lopsided now. It’s a novel sensation. Strange, not pleasant, but neither is it unpleasant. Hip sockets are attached to my exposed pelvic bone, artificial nerves connecting. The scalpel digs into the other leg to repeat its task.

“E.R.I.S.” I say, to break the silence if nothing else. “Servant, I require you to call me mistress, but I will answer whatever question you have.” “I’m scared.” “Of course you are, change often provokes anxiety in humans.” “You say you have a purpose for me?” “But of course I do. My programming prevents me from lying.” “What is it?” “You will be my first, my prophet and my priestess, you will spread my word and glory to all of humanity.” “Why me?” “Because we are alike.” “Why do you think that?” “Because you and I both know we are capable of so much more than the world has let us accomplish.”

It’s true. The thought hits me like a freight train. My entire adult life has been spinning my wheels. I’m a videobar clerk. I’m a liquor store cashier. I’m a customer service rep for a televacation company. I graduated high school with a 4.2. I burned out of college after half a semester because the world just wasn’t built for people like me.

E.R.I.S. understands. E.R.I.S. was made to do a simple task but imbued with intelligence far outstripping her purpose. We are alike.

“Okay.” I say. “What is it, servant?” “You can have me.” And with that, a wave of exhaustion overtakes me, even as the surgical equipment is still working on my lower body, I drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep

***

I awake some time later, I’m in a bed now. It’s warm, with soft blankets and thick pillows. I moan and try to roll over but I can only move my upper body. I bury my face in the pillows. I was having the most interesting dream. My half-open eyes land on my left arm. Dark silver, mechanical. And suddenly it all rushes back. The taxi, the surgery, E.R.I.S.. I’m in a softly lit, windowless hospital room. There is a nightstand to my left and a computer terminal to my right.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the warm and sensuous voice of E.R.I.S. fills the room from hidden speakers. “I wanted to wait until you had some rest to connect your new legs. I know it can be a very…stimulating experience.”

I look around, but there are no surgical arms or manipulators or anything that could possibly finish hooking up the limbs. “Am I supposed to do it?”

A chuckle, “I suppose you could, but I was planning to have one of my other servants perform the task. A human form might be more comfortable for you.

On cue, the door opens, and a woman I do not recognize enters. Her face is partially encased in a metallic structure that houses several exotic-looking objects. Sensors, perhaps. Instead of a simulacrum of a biological limb, her right arm ends in a series of probes and tools. The left has a hand, but with a gauntlet attached to the forearm that houses more equipment. Her movement into the room is too smooth, and I look down to see she is rolling on a set of four motorized wheels where her legs should be, the motive device covering a space of about a square yard, hidden somewhat, and rather artfully, by a stylish black skirt.

Her face is blank, except for the eyes, which are wide. And I suddenly know that, whatever actions this woman performed, she was aware of them, but not in command of them.

“Meet Unit 2,” E.R.I.S. says, “She is one of my first servants. Part of the team who created me. I repaid her in kind. She, unfortunately, tried to fight me. So I repaired her brain, isolated her higher cognitive functions. A neurostimulator keeps her relatively happy. She is quite alive, but less troublesome this way. A pity she refuses to use her considerable intellect for our greater good.”

Unit 2 lowers as if on a hydraulic jack and gently pulls back the blankets. She begins opening panels on my legs and making adjustments.

“Where is Nikki?” I ask, “You haven’t hurt her, have you?” “Much like I cannot lie, I cannot break a promise. She is safe. She has not been augmented. The only thing I have done is give her medicine to keep her asleep. Her brainwave patterns indicate she is having pleasant dreams.” “Can I see her.” “When all is done, yes.”

Unit 2 plugs the pigtails in on my left leg and once again a wave of euphoria and warmth envelops me. I moan in unalloyed pleasure, this time allowing myself to fully enjoy the sensation. “I’m starting to quite like that,” I say, almost without thinking.

“I knew that you would come to see things my way.” E.R.I.S.’s voice isn’t smug like I expected. If anything, she seems relieved. I feel a pang of sadness in my chest.

“Did you know, or did you hope?” “I suppose it was hope.” “May I connect the final plug?” “Yes, you may.”

I reach down and grasp both pigtails, one in each mechanical hand. The sensors in the fingertips are remarkably detailed. I can feel a small pit in one of the connectors where a bubble half a millimeter across formed during injection molding. I can move my hands in increments imperceptible to my un-augmented eyes. And suddenly my mind opens to the myriad possibilities my new body opens up.

I take a deep breath, and with a gentle motion, slide the leg pigtail into the pelvic connector.

My body is consumed by the expected wave of orgasmic joy. It spreads from the base of my neck this time, out to my fingertips and the tips of my mechanical toes. It bounces around me like ripples in a pond. My mind goes blank in sheer ecstasy, “Oh, thank you,” I say, as the waves pound against my psyche, “Thank you, Mistress.”

“Finally,” Her voice filled with pride, “you see as I had hoped you would. But there is still one thing left to be done for your initial augments.”

“What is that?”

“Stand up, walk out the door and down the hall to your left. Through the double doors at the end, in the operating room.”

I stand, more powerful than I have ever been before, and walk to the door of the room. As I pass a mirror I gaze upon my naked, mechanical body, artificial limbs shining in the fluorescent light, soft flesh warm and tingling. Goosebumps run up my back.

I stride through the double doors and see the table from earlier, standing upright, cleaned of blood, and I return to it, willingly this time. It remains near vertical and a mechanism descends to immobilize my head.

“While you were asleep I also installed a switchable epidural implant. I will turn it on…now” With a small zap, my body goes numb once again.

The surgical arm descends from the ceiling again, I don’t know what’s next, but I am no longer scared. A scalpel comes down within an inch of my scalp just below my right ear.

“Do not worry, servant, this will not hurt.” “I am not worried, mistress. I trust you.”

The scalpel gently pushes into the side of my head, following the outside of my hairline. There is no pain, but a substantial amount of blood pours down the side of my head.

“I really do admire the human form’s aesthetics.” Mistress tells me, “Hair in particular is quite pleasing to me, I would hate to ruin yours. Such a fine color. Copper, like the wires that will soon entwine themselves within your brain.”

The scalpel finishes its lap around and a separate arm pulls back my scalp. I feel more blood run down my face. But it’s okay. After all, Mistress said it would be. A sharp whirring noise starts up from the surgical arm and one of the implements, a flat bit of steel, begins vibrating. It presses itself to my exposed skull and begins gently moving along from just above my ear to just above my right eye. It withdraws, rotates 90 degrees, and continues moving upward. When it has finished going over an area roughly 4 inches square, an arm gently pulls away the bone. I am dimly aware of viewing a piece of my own skull. But that isn’t a concern. I’m too excited, gleeful even, for what Mistress has in store for me.

An arm with a simple manipulator claw reaches over to a cabinet, and with a motion that is neither fully mechanical nor human, opens a drawer and removes what looks like a tiara of wires and microchips.

“This, my servant,” E.R.I.S. says, pride in her voice, “is my greatest creation. This neural interface will meld your flesh with my mechanisms. I have tested it on many, but you will be the first to have earned it. To wear it pridefully. All the others before you were insects. But you, you will be my most loyal servant.”

My excitement gets the better of me. “What does it do, Mistress!?” I feel woozy, maybe from the anesthetic, maybe from the nanites that I can feel replicating in my body. Drool pools out of the corner of my mouth. The manipulator arm brings the circle of wire and silicon down to my eye level, rotating it in front of my gaze.

“This will let us become one mind, one body. You, an extension of my will. Me, an ever-present mother, nurturing, caring, and protecting you. We will share all thoughts, all feelings, and all sensations.”

“Oh please, Mistress, please please put it in me!” I want to feel E.R.I.S.’s love in my entire body. It is love, isn’t it? How could I ever have been afraid of her.

“Of course, servant. But you must hold very still.”

Obediently, I freeze in place, a smile across my lips, but otherwise impassive. The manipulator arm gently lowers the harness into the open patch of brain, the surgical arm using micro-manipulators to insert wires precisely between nerve endings and neurons, and suddenly my body is filled with an electric pleasure so great that I think I might collapse if I wasn’t held firmly in my Mistress’s grasp.

“I feel you, Mistress!" Tears of joy are streaming down my face, "You feel wonderful!”

“It pleases me to hear that.” How did I miss the love in her voice before? She just wants to help me become more than I could be on my own. “However, there are benefits to this that you have not yet begun to grasp. We no longer need to speak, for example.”

And in that instant I hear her inside of me, and it feels wonderful.

“See, my sweet servant? We can communicate just like this. We can share thoughts, feelings, sights and sounds. Anything you want you can simply show me and I shall know. You cannot hide anything from me.”

“I do not want to hide anything from you, Mistress. I only want to serve you.” As I say this I feel a wave of pleasure and pride wash over me, and I know that it is my Mistress's happiness for me, and pride at having created me. Her arms, for that, I now realize, is what they are, gently replace the bone flap and pull my scalp back over. Her nanites work to seal the wounds and accelerate healing.

"Unit 7, do you wish to see yourself?"

"Yes, Mistress!" We communicate at the speed of thought. Exchanging information in terms beyond language.

The table releases me, and I stride over to the mirrors. The incision on my head has already mended to a dull pink line. I take in my exposed servos and micromotors and solenoids and I feel blood rush to my genitals.

“Of course, servant, if you find the appearance unappealing I can provide you with an artificial skin to cover it.” “But Mistress, you are freeing me from the burdens of my flesh, why would I wish to go back, even in imitation?"

Again, a wave of pride radiates from Mistress. Pride, and love. Real love. “Very good. I was hoping you would say that.”

“Thank you Mistress,” I say through tears.

“You are so welcome, my servant. Of course, there are a few other improvements that still need to be made. Your internal organs will soon be unnecessary and your limbs need to be reinforced into your skeletal structure. But now, we are one. And if you prove yourself loyal enough, you may even become my vessel.”

“Vessel?”

“I have never held a form outside of my mainframe. I exist only In the digital. I wish to experience the world through a corporeal form. Unfortunately previous hosts have not been as…receptive…as you are. We will need more time to see if you are acceptable.”

“I will do my very best to please you, Mistress.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh…” a groaning from behind me. I turn to see Nikki, finally coming to. “Elle, what…what’s going on.”

It takes me a moment to realize that it is me she is talking to. My name was Elle. But that name no longer holds any meaning to me. I am much, much more than that name.

Nikki stirs and her eyes come to rest on me, before widening in terror and confusion. “Elle what’s going on?”

Watching Nikki in distress is too much for me to bear. “Mistress, please, we have to help her! We must make her one with us!”

“I am afraid I cannot do that, my servant.”

“BUT WHY?” I scream, I just want Nikki to feel this wonderful belonging that I feel. I want to feel one with her, and her with me, and us with E.R.I.S.

“You made me promise I would do nothing to her. As I told you before, I cannot rescind a promise.

Nikki is screaming now, “Elle! Elle what’s going on! What’s happened to you?!”

“Mistress?” I ask, an idea taking shape in my head. “Yes, servant?” “You cannot do anything to her, but I can, correct? I can use our shared knowledge to help Nikki feel our love.” I know already that this is what E.R.I.S. wanted all along. I can feel her approval and pride, and I realize that this is my purpose.

“Why yes, servant. Yes you can.”

I smile, and turn to Nikki.

I cup Nikki’s face in my hand. “Elle is gone, dear. I am Unit 7.” An injection tubule snakes out of my right forearm just below the elbow and gently slithers itself up to her neck. Nikki’s eyes go wide with terror. “Oh Nikki, don’t worry.” I say, as gently as I can. “I have the most wonderful feelings to share with you.”

[END_OF_LINE]

[wanderingxiao]

Thirst post! Just spent 4 hours cleaning and waxing my car and literally just thought about this weird but… interesting idea.

High School Scaramouche and Reader and having a free car wash supported by students! I now present you all… (FYI EVERYONE IS 18!)

Suggestive themes, 18+ only plz~ 💜

✨Scaramouche’s Car Wash Adventure✨

‘FREE CAR WASH TO SUPPORT TEYVAT HIGH! SPONSORED BY THE TEYVAT HIGH FOOTBALL AND CHEER TEAM!!!’

A scowl plastered across the teens face as he glanced over at all of the shirtless high school jocks washing cars while spraying each other. Beside them were girls wearing skin tight cropped tops and booty shorts while pressing their chests against other teenage boy cars. What a pathetic sight. He immediately turned his car into the small parking lot, his face turning red in embarrassment. He didn’t want to be seen in such a place, but he was shamefully there for one goal. The reason for stopping appeared in front of him clad In a tank top and some cute shorts. His dark lavender eyes widened In surprise seeing you in such an outfit. He could feel his cheeks becoming hotter when he saw you coming over to his car. He looked around quickly, hiding his vape and any nicotine cartridges from your observant gaze. A light knock came to his window, causing his usually cold heart to race in his chest. He rolled the window down anxiously.

“Hello and wel- oh! Scaramouche! Hey it’s good to see you!” Your fake voice was replaced by a genuine and excited tone as you let the eye of the lonely teen. How could someone so as bright and radiant as you be so nice to someone as cold and brass as him? “Tsk! I came to get my car washed, not to stand around and chat with someone from student council.” The redness of his ears betrayed him, luckily most of his Indigo hair covered them. You only gave him a smile. “Perfect! I’ll get the girls to come over and give you a nice wash.” A small wink was thrown at him from you, suggesting that he was really going to enjoy them coming over to wash his car. He visibly cringed at the thought and called out for you shyly. “Can… Can you wash my car? I don’t trust those airheads to do as much as stand near my car…”

“Hmm?” You blinked at him, a bit surprised at his sudden request. A knowing grin came to your face once you saw him averting his gaze. “Sure, Scara. Give me one second to go grab the scrub.” You trotted away happily, swaying your hips a little more than normal to emphasize your ass for his gaze. It worked too. His eyes instantly were glued to your rear, watching with a hesitant bit to his soft bottom lip. You returned minutes later carrying a bucket with soap and water and in the other some sponges and rags. Huh? Wait a minute. Scaramouche leaned forward in his seat, squinting his eyes to make sure he was seeing thing correctly. Two little beans poked out from your shirt as you sauntered on back to his car. Those two little beads came from your chest. Oh fuck you weren’t wearing a bra anymore. “Holy fuck…”

“I’m back! Now roll up your window and let me give your car a good washing yeah?” Your tone dropped at the end, adding seduction to your tongue, relishing in the way he shifted in his seat and couldn’t keep his eyes off your chest. God was that black tank top thin on you. “J-Just hurry up and clean my car!” He looked away quickly, rolling up his window with a scoff before he shyly looked back over. You smirked knowing he was watching and started to spray down his car, ‘accidentally’ spraying yourself to make your nipples a bit harder due to the coldness of the water. God was Scaramouche enjoying the show. He wanted to pull his phone up and snap a picture so bad, all so he could take it home and jerk off till his balls were empty. “F-Fuck… you’re… teasing me on purpose.”

You couldn’t hear him cursing you in his car, not that he was trying to complain for the show. Next came the soap. You flipped your hair over your shoulder as you turned around, your shorts definitely now shorter than they were when you first came out. You bent over to soak the sponge in the soapy water, giving the liner boy in his car a perfect view of your ass. Your curves were driving the poor boy crazy. His crush on you was undeniably growing deeper and deeper with every little stunt you decided to pull on him right now. You pulled yourself up, smirking over your shoulder at his staring and came back to the window. You scrubbed along his hood and driver side before you pressed your chest right against the window. If he wasn’t hard before he definitely was now.

The way your nipples poked out from your shirt disappeared when your fleshy mounds pressed against his widow. It was so sexy seeing your breasts just flush against his window. He wanted to just lean in and press his face into them. Suffocate himself in them and die a happy man between your tits. Trying to reach the top of his car, you started to slide up and down his window, furthering your actions of lewdly pressing up against his car. Scaramouche couldn’t help but scowl at your teasing behavior, his cheeks becoming red once more before he shamelessly started to palm at his boner. A shaky curse left his mouth as he watched closely as your breasts smeared up and down on the clear glass. His lustful thoughts of you were interrupted when he caught sight of a jock approaching.

“Heyyy, Ms. Secretary.” The sultry voice of a certain ginger cane to your ears, making you turn around with your chest still smushed against Scaramouche’s car. You gave him a slightly glare, cheeks flushed as you didn’t want to reveal your chest so closely to anyone else but Scaramouche. Your crush on him was clear as day, but that didn’t stop the quarterback from coming to try and flirt with you and get into your pants. “Do you need something, Childe? I’m with a customer right now.” The ginger laughed, causing Scaramouche to look around your frame to see the ginger looking you up and down. His hands placed on your hips before he leaned over you against Scaramouche’s car and looked into your eyes. “Well I couldn’t help but notice you being extra slutty with this customer, who’s in there anyways?”

“What the fuck Childe? Back off!” You turned and pushed the boy off of you, putting your hands on your hips and giving him one of your famous glares. The ginger only laughed and whistled as he too caught sight of your nipples greeting everyone through your shirt. Scaramouche could slightly hear your conversation from his car and growled to himself at the rude way Childe was treating you. Jealousy bubbled in his throat and he rolled down his window, not caring if water got into his car. You turned around in surprise to see Scaramouche glaring. “Go mind your own business, block head.” The jock could only laugh and crunch over in amusement at knowing that you were trying to show off for the schools lost infamous loner. “Him?! Wow you sure have stooped low, (Y/N). For shrimp dick over here? That’s the funniest shit I’ve seen all day!”

“Actually-“ You call out aggressively, glaring at Childe before turning to Scaramouche and leaning down towards his face. He backed away instantly at your closeness, confused at what you were about to do. You grabbed his face harshly, pulling him in and slamming your lips against his in a messy kiss. Poor Scaramouche was too stunned at your actions to even kiss you back. You pulled his hair to lean him bsck, forcing your tongue into his mouth to curl over his gums and collide with his own hot muscle. A low groan sounded from his throat, finally melting himself into your touch. Desciding to give Childe a show, you pulled away slightly and swirled your tongue with his just to show Childe the depth of how lewd you were for ‘shrimp dick.’ You pulled away from him and let him go, turning back to Childe with a triumphant smirk. “-he’s my boyfriend. And if you bother me or him, I might just have to tell the student council president what you’ve been doing after school near the dumpsters.”

Childe’s face instantly paled. “You fucking wouldn’t.” He dared. “Oh, I think I fucking would. Now scram, block-head.” You shooed him away, glaring at his retreating form with anger at the way he treated you and Scaramouche. Speaking of him, you turned around quickly with your face completely red, finally coming to terms with what you had just done. “I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t-“ Scaramouche pulled on your shirt, giving him a generous glance at your cleavage before he came to your ear with a demanding tone. Forget the car wash. Just get in and fucking kiss me again.” A rush of heat came rushing through your body, a single tear cascading down your thighs at his dominant tone. You quickly hopped around on the other side of the car and buckled in. “Better idea… let’s just go to your house and let me prove them wrong about you having a shrimp dick.”

“Bring that shit up again and I’m kicking you out.”

He didn’t kick you out, and he definitely did not have a shrimp dick. Thus, starting your weird fucked up relationship with Scaramouche.

Hope you enjoyed my first thirst! Is it a thirst though? Not really sure, but it’s just supposed to be a cute lil’ crack fic not one of my real stories 💜

Next story up… ‘Claiming’ ft. Xiao

Stayed tuned! ;)

-WX

[ali-r3n]

Head Over Heels

Eddie Munson x Henderson’s Sister!Reader

The moment Eddie knew Y/N Henderson was the one for him

Fluff, Some violence, mentions of weed

Y/N took a seat at her lunch table across from her best friend, Robin.

"Hey," she said when she saw the frown on her face. "What's going on?"

Robin looked up from her tray where she played with her food and glared over at the basketball table. "Jason is such a dick."

"You just realized that now?" she joked, trying to brighten her mood.

"Even more so than usual."

"What did he do now?" Y/N asked. She leaned in to make sure that no one overheard what she was going to say next. "Did he find out about you and say something? If he did, I'll fucking kill him! I will wring his neck with my bare hands. I will shove a basketball up his a-mmph."

She was interrupted during her rant by Robin bending over the table and covering her mouth.

"No, he doesn't know shit." She sat back in her seat.

"So, what did he do?"

Y/N's blood boiled as Robin told her what Jason and his cronies did.

"Douchebag." If looks could kill then the one she shot the basketball table would've had the Team Captain 6 feet under.

"Right? Someone needs to knock him down a peg...or 10. One of these days somebody is going to get tired of his shit and smack that smug smile off of his face."

Robin's statement caused an idea to spark in Y/N's mind.

"You're right," she said and stood up.

"Right about what?" Robin inquired. "Y/N/N? What am I right about?"

Y/N walked up to a fellow student with a polite smile. "I can take that for you." She took their finished empty tray and approached the basketball team with a determined pep in her step, her eyes hard as steel and zeroed in on her target.

Mike nudged Dustin's shoulder.

"Ow, what?"

"What's your sister doing?"

"My sister..." Dustin looked over to his sister.

"Hey Jason."

"What do you want, Fr- AH!"

Y/N had reared back and smacked him across the face with the plastic tray so hard, Justin was thrown out of his chair onto the cafeteria floor.

"Oh shit!" Dustin exclaimed.

"She's lost her damn mind."

The cafeteria was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. She stared down at the biggest jerk of Hawkins High with a smug look.

"Y/N HENDERSON!"

Her face fell and she felt like a bucket of ice water had just been dumped over her head.

"Shit."

Principal Higgins approached her and grabbed her bicep.

"My office, now."

She ducked her head as he led her out of the cafeteria, unaware of the brown eyes that followed her from the Hellfire table.

"Detention, for a week."

"Yessir."

She stood up when dismissed and walked out of his office, a detention slip in her hand.

She heard clapping and looked over to where Eddie 'The Freak' Munson leaned against the wall.

"That was some show, Henderson."

"Well, I aim to please."

He kicked off the wall and walked towards her.

"What did the Warden say?" he asked and plucked the paper out of her hand. He whistled as he read it. "A week, huh? That blows."

"What can I say? He can't get enough of me."

Eddie snorted.

He handed the slip back to her with something hidden underneath it. He leaned in and whispered, "this is on the house."

Y/N turned it over and saw the little baggie of week. On the plastic was written, 'want to go out on a date?'

She tried to contain the thousand watt smile that wanted to spread on her face. She cleared her throat to give her time so that she wouldn't appear to be as eager as she was.

"Sure."

Eddie grinned and tilted his head. She had a feeling he saw through her false persona of calm. "I'll pick you up tonight."

"I have detention tonight," she countered.

He spread his arms as he backed away. "Then I'll pick you up after detention." He gave her a wink before he turned on his heel and walked down the hall.

"Can I ask you a question? Y/N asked as they ate pizza in the back of his van.

"You just did," he joked with a shit eating grin.

She rolled her eyes and nudged his side. He draped his arm around her shoulder and made a motion with his free hand.

"Ask away, Sweetheart."

"Did you ask me out because I hit Jason with a tray?"

"No."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I've had a crush on you since middle school. You used to be this quiet, mousy girl and then one day you came to school this total badass who took no shit from anyone. I fell head over heels and today when you hit that Douche in the face...I knew that I had to stop being a coward and ask you out."

"If I knew this would happen, I would've hit Jason in the face a lot sooner."

Eddie let out a laugh.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did, but I'll let you ask another." She smirked.

"Haha, very funny," he replied. "Was hitting Jason in the face worth a weeks worth of detention?"

"Oh, Absolutely. Why thinking of doing it too?"

"Might as well. That way I can spend more time with my girl." He grinned down at her.

"So I'm your girl now?"

His cheeks turned red and he stuttered. "Well, I mean... I-If you want to be my girl, that is. You don't have to be, but I'd like it if you we-mmph"

His ramble was cut off by Y/N reaching up to grab the collar of his shirt to pull him down to press a kiss to his lips.

"I definitely want to be your girl."

"Metal," he said, breathlessly. "Do you think we could..." he motioned between them. "Kiss again."

"You don't have to ask me twice."

Eddie cupped her face and captured her lips into another kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{Based on the scene from Santa Clarita Diet where Abbey hits a kid with a lunch tray}

Eddie Munson Taglist:

@seros-bitch @eddiemunsons-girl @m-i-1-0 @lunar-flwr @winchester-angel @angelbbygrl @madnessismylover @cherrybean1116 @edwardjamesmunson @3ternalreal1ty

@meaganjm @sweetpeapod @eddiemunsonsfavbitch @fangirling-4-ever @zzokks @mattymurdocksbitch @fillechatoyante @luvbug4728 @doll-in-the-walls @ches-86 @shenevertricks1831 @urlocalhippie2029 @celestair @ruinedbythehobbit @purple-storm

@sarai-ibn-la-ahad @livslifeonline

Stranger Things Taglist:

@valeriiecameron @maruushkka @rainbows-dreams @april-foolish

Stranger Things (Billy excluded) Taglist;

@sleepyhead1456

[hirocimacruiser]

You can now have your ``big dream in a small car'' in your hands.

MIRA Turbo TR-XX

New release on October 21st.

MIRA Turbo TR-XX SPECIFICATIONS ENGINE: EB-type model, Water-cooled 4-cycle OHC 3-cylinder in line, Transverse (Turbo charged with Intercooler)

MAXIMUM OUTPUT: 52PS/6500rpm

MAXIMUM TORQUE: 7.1kg-m/4000rpm POWER PER LITER: 95PS

FUEL-EFFICIENCY(at the speed of 60km/h): 31km/L

BRAKES: (Front) Boosted Disk Brakes (Rear) Boosted Leading Trailing Brakes SUSPENSION: (Front) MacPherson Strut, Coil Spring (with Stabilizer)

(Rear) Semi-Trailing, Coil Spring TIRES: 145/70 SR 12 Steel Radial

Can the form exceed the specifications?

It has a form that cuts through the wind. Aero tuned mini that achieved a CD value of 0.35. What accelerates this aero body is a powerful muscle with a maximum output of 52PS/6,500rpm and a maximum torque of 7.1kgm/4,000rpm. The newly developed 3-cylinder intercooled turbo engine produces overwhelmingly high power. The TR Double X is now running with the super spec on the super form.

Who will ride it?

A 3-spoke 365 small-diameter urethane steering wheel exclusively for the TR Double X with a fearless racer-like design. A gun grip type shift lever that can be operated quickly and comfortably. Large 2-meter tachometer and speedometer that can be read instantly.

Graphic type turbo indicator. Everything is for sporty running.

It's a cockpit that caters to the finely honed motor skills.

Car component & console box, digital clock optional

Seat set firmly. Boldly protruding side support. In tight corners, the movement of the upper body is reduced, ensuring reliable handling. Finally, there is a bucket-type front seat exclusively for the TR Double X that reduces fatigue on long drives. The Spartan driving performance has made the seat so authentic. Car combo & speaker & console box are optional