#yes that but then follow up later when its time to pick a side piston does a cowboy accent very sadly like they have to pretend its not real | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

olivia200312 · 4 years ago

Text

Sexy Car Wash~ Bay! Optimus x Human! Reader (Lemon)

Plot: Y/N decided to give Optimus a car was and dressed in her bikini. The Prime couldn't control himself but mate with her inside his truck.~ ;)

Ok, I did read about Bumblebee's car wash with the reader, but never about other bots. So I decided to give Optimus a chance. I know that Optimus is a truck and not a car, but I decided to call it a car wash. This one shot is a lemon!

This takes place in TF4 inside Cade's barn!

Head area:

Brain: Processor / Brain Module

Head: Helm

Face: Face plate

Ears: Audio receptors / Receptor Orifice / Audials

Nose: Enstril / Olfactory Sensor

Eye brow: Optical Ridge

Eyes: Optics

Mouth: Intake

Lips: Dermas

Teeth: Denta/Dentas

Tongue: Glossa

Chest area:

Chest: Chassis / Thoraxal Cavity

Back: Hexa-Lateral Scapula

Spine: Bipedalism cord / Back Strut

Chest and back armour:

Chest plate

Back plate

Mid-section plating

Neck guard

Side plating

Arm area:

Arms: Arms / Restarlueus

Forearms: Bitarlueus

Hands: Servos

Fingers: Digits

Arm armour:

Gantlets

Shoulder pads

Arm guard

Lower area:

Pelvis: Pelvis

Butt: Aft / Skid-Plate

Thighs: Tibulen

Calves: Cadulen

Feet: Pedes - the high heel bits are called Struts or Heel Struts.

Lower armour:

Skirt plates

Aft plate / Skid plate

Thigh guard

Ankle guard

General/Internal components:

Muscles: Cables / Pistons - It depends on the area in question.

Veins: Fual lines

Stomach: Tanks

Lungs: Vents - used to stop the con/bot from over heating.

Heart: Spark

Tattoos: D-con/A-bot Insignias and the lark

T-Cog: The thing that allows all Cybertronians to transform, be that their arms or their whole body.

Bonus:

Penis: Spike

Vagina: Valve

Body: Frame

Note: the art goes to the owner!

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

Y/N was Cade's eldest daughter. She was 18. Yes, it meant that Tessa was younger than her. Only a year younger. Y/N simply followed college online. She had a lot of problems in high school. When Cade found out, he was so mad at the school and principal that he homeschooled Y/N. Tessa was lucky that she didn't have problems. Y/N decided to follow college online and finish her studies that way. She was more glad and happy in fact.

When Y/N was young, she watched how her dad fixed things. Sometimes even build things. She found it interesting and asked her dad if he could teach her. He gladly agreed. Y/N found it hard, but she was learning and she was getting better and better that at one point, she could do it herself!

Tessa was different. She didn't have interest in how her dad and her 1 year older sister were fixing and building things. Tessa was beautiful if you see her. You know, blond hair and blue (?) eyes. She focused more on fashion but that doesn't mean that she was a brat. She was in fact kind and helpful. She had a secret. She had a 20-year-old boyfriend named Shane. Tessa knew that if she introduced Shane to Cade, then oh boy. Troubles will come. But she did tell Y/N her secret and her, being a good sister she was, kept Tessa's secret.

Now, you both noticed that their mother was never mentioned here. Well, to tell you the sad truth, their mother wasn't alive. She died when Y/N and Tessa were very young. It was sad that some kids didn't know who their dead relatives were. But Cade was a good dad and told his daughters everything about their mother. He even showed photos.

Years later, when the girls were adults (well, not Tessa since she's 17), something unexpected happened that only will happen probably in the far future (or it were only fantasies). Cade brought one day an old truck home with Y/N. Now, Cade, Tessa, and Y/N had problems with money during that time. Tessa wanted Cade to sell the truck, but he simply said no. Y/N agreed with her dad. She had a feeling that it wasn't just a truck...

When Cade and Y/N were busy at the barn, they found that it wasn't a truck, but an actual Transformer! It was the leader of the Autobots, Optimus Prime himself. Everyone was shocked. Lucas was there too. Even Tessa. When Optimus transformed, he was mad. He threatened the humans to stay away or else he'll kill them. Y/N wasn't blaming the Prime for it, but at KSI. They decided to team up with Lockdown and hunt the Autobots down... The sadly manages to kill Ratchet.

Once Optimus was calm thanks to Cade and Y/N, they all introduced themselves. The leader was thankful to Y/N and Cade. He also started to lay his optics on Cade's eldest daughter. He couldn't help but admire her beauty and personality. Even though when he was freaking tall, he actually can transform small. It's called a bipedal form. He didn't told and show it yet to others, but he did have a plan to show it very soon.

Y/N became very close to the leader of the Autobots. She fell in love with him. He was just so brave, smart, and strong. They got to know each other and chatted for hours.

Now~

Y/N just entered the barn. Her hair was in a ponytail and wore a loose F/C tanktop and shorts. She noticed how Optimus wasn't clean that she decided to give him a car wash. Well, maybe a truck wash since he was a truck and not a car. Still, car wash suited more perfectly.

"Hello, Optimus."

Optimus was in his Cybertronian form and was sitting on the ground. He looked down at Y/N and couldn't help but blush. She was wearing a bit of revealing clothes. "Hello, Y/N. Is there something you need?"

Y/N smiled. "I came here to give you a car wash since you're dirty. Do you mind if you're in your alt form?"

"Not at all, Y/N." He then transformed into his truck form and stood still. However, he can still speak.

"Are you ready, Optimus?"

"Yes, I am. Take your time much as you need."

Y/N smiled and got the water hose ready. She then turned the water on and started to spray Optimus. The water was a bit cold that the Prime wiggled a bit in surprise. Y/N giggled by his actions.

Once the Prime was wet enough, Y/N turned the water off and... took her tank top off and shorts, revealing her in a bikini. It was dark blue with red a bit mixed up. Just like Optimus' colors. Optimus blushed bright blue now while in his alt form. He started to think... dirty things about her. He was getting horny and turned on.

Y/N then grabbed a sponge and started to wash him. Optimus was watching her washing him. The soap on him was only used on vehicles and since Optimus was a truck, Y/N used it. The dirt was coming off very well. Y/N then put the soap in the bucket and grabbed the water hose. She turned it on and splashed the Prime. Once the soap was off, she turned the water hose off.

"Alright, now I need to wash your hood so I'm gonna climb on a ladder, ok?" Y/N said.

Optimus hummed. "Understood."

Y/N walked off to get the ladder, her hips moving. She felt Optimus watching her, but what she didn't know was that Prime was getting horny. He never thought that femme humans like Y/N could be sexy.

Y/N came back with the ladder and pressed it gently against Optimus' side and climbed. Once she was on the top, she made the hood wet with the water hose, and then she grabbed the sponge and washed. She heard Optimus purr and heck, even moan softly! Prime was feeling pleasure!

Y/N smirked and continued to tease him. "Enjoying it, Prime?"

Optimus was speechless. He was enjoying it but didn't expect that Y/N would tease him with her voice. Oh, she's going to get it...

Once Y/N was done washing, she sprayed to get the soap off. She then turned the water hose off and climbed down. "There you go, Prime. All clean."

"Thank you, Y/N. It was enjoyable."

Y/N smirked. "You definitely did, Prime. I heard you purr and even moan.~"

Y/N then walked off to put the stuff away. Optimus was blushing mad now. He was sure now going to teach her a lesson.

Y/N was about to put the water hose back to its place when suddenly she felt servos on her hips. Y/N yelped as she got turned around and dropped the water hose. She couldn't believe what she saw. It was Optimus! Only... smaller.

"H-How?"

Optimus chuckled. "When we were on Earth, Lennox made us these forms."

Y/N blushed. He was so sexy up close! She couldn't believe that Prime and others had these forms! And the Optimus' optics... they're so beautiful up close.

Suddenly Optimus smirked and backed Y/N into a wall. "You teased me, you know that?"

Y/N's face got redder. She didn't expect him to show this side of his. Usually, he's a calm, respectful, strong, brave, stern (etc) leader. But this side? Oh boy, this was new.

Y/N didn't respond. She was just lost.

Optimus chuckled deeply and leaned down towards her ear. "You need to be punished, my dear."

Y/N snapped awake and tried to escape, but Optimus quickly picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. Y/N squealed and yelped. She started to hit his hexa-lateral scapula. "Prime!"

Optimus chuckled and opened his truck and laid Y/N down on the backseat of the truck. He then got in too, closed the door, locked in and climbed on top of her, both of his servos besides Y/N's head.

"Are you ready to be punished, sweetspark?" His voice was deep and seductive that it cause Y/N to shiver.

Y/N's eyes filled up with lust. "Hell yes."

Optimus then smashed his dermas against her soft lips, kissing her roughly. Y/N kissed him back with force and Optimus' glossa was already in Y/N's mouth, marking her territory as his. They both were just lost in pure pleasure that they're going fast. Let's just say that Y/N was already in lacy bra and panties. They were dark blue with a bit red like Optimus' colors. She was in love with the leader ever since she met him.

Optimus was roughly sucking and kissing her neck. "Look at you, laying underneath me, wearing my colors. You're so beautiful..."

Y/N's arms were rubbing her hands over his entire hexa-lateral scapula. She was basically exploring and even scratching his paint in pleasure. Once Optimus was done, he leaned down and literally ripped her bra off.

"H-Hey!"

Optimus didn't say anything and just kisses her chest everywhere, especially her boobs. He read on the world wide web about humans so that he can learn more. He accidentally stumbled about bodies and read everything about it. He was surprised about some facts of male and female bodies.

Optimus buried his helm between her boobs and licks everywhere. They were just so soft and warm that he couldn't keep it. He also read that when female humans gave birth to babies, then they can feed them with milk through breasts. Optimus then took a nipple and started to suck. Y/N moaned while stroking his helm. Optimus then switched and gave other nipple attention. He even bit them softly! When he bit, then Y/N flinched. Her nipples were hard.

Once Optimus was done, he moved his helm lower until he reached Y/N's panties. He actually also used his own denta to pull it down. Y/N blushed but giggled. She even lifted her ass a bit up so that Optimus could pull her panties off with his denta. Once her panties were on the floor, Optimus spread Y/N's legs open and started to eat her out. Y/N moaned loud. She felt his glossa touching sensitive spots. "P-Prime!"

Optimus hummed while his glossa went deeper. He was enjoying the taste and he loved hearing Y/N's moans, squeals, and screams of pleasure. It was like music to his audio receptors. He continued to eat her out while Y/N was moaning and panting.

"I-I'm cumming!" Y/N said while panting.

"Cum for me," Optimus said in a deep voice.

Y/N shivered and moaned loud. She then came and Optimus licked her juices up. Y/N panted while she laid her head on the seat. Who knew that all of this pleasure could make you tired. But Optimus wasn't done yet. He wanted to claim the human girl as his. Only his. He towered above Y/N and looked deep into her eyes. Her cheeks were puffing pink. "You taste delicious, my dear. But are you ready to be claimed by me?" He purred.

Y/N blushed. She wasn't gonna lie. She was slightly nervous, but she wanted to be claimed by the mighty strong Prime. "Claim me, Prime. I want you so bad. Fuck me so hard till I can't walk."

Optimus growled. He was so ready to frag her so hard till she can't walk the next day. He began to push spike, who was free, into Y/N's wet human valve. Y/N felt tears building from the pain. The Prime was just so huge that he was stretching her walls. When Optimus was full, he gave Y/N to adjust. He whispered sweet things into her ear to distract her from the pain.

When Y/N felt that the pain was gone, she wrapped her legs around his and wrapped her arms around his neck. "M-Move."

Optimus then started in and out, causing Y/N to moan. The Prime grunted a bit of pleasure. He could feel that Y/N's walls started to tighten in pleasure.

"F-Faster! H-Harder!" Y/N begged.

Optimus gladly granted her wishes and went faster and harder. He growled in pleasure and hid his faceplate in the crook of her warm neck. Y/N started to moan loud and when Optimus hit her G-spot, she screamed. "R-Right there!"

Optimus then began to slam her G-spot many times that Y/N will for sure not walk the next day. He started to bite Y/N's neck to leave more hickeys. He purred while enjoying hearing Y/N's screams and moans in pleasure. Y/N felt a knot in her stomach. She was coming close. She then screamed Optimus' name in pleasure.

"O-Optimus! I-I'm cumming!"

"Cum for me," Optimus growled while continue to slam into her.

The truck was also moving a bit. You know... when people were having sex inside an alt. And look at that, Optimus and Y/N were having sex inside Optimus' truck. Good that others weren't in the barn or else they'll ve been suspicious and shocked. Y/N was also scratching Optimus' paint since the pleasure was unbelievable.

Y/N screamed and finally came. Her juices were over Optimus' spike and he growled lowly and came to a lot. Y/N's gasped a bit when she felt his warm seed deep inside of her. Even to her womb. Some cum even dripped down. Optimus stayed inside of Y/N for a few minutes before he pulled out. He then laid beside Y/N and pulled her in his arms. The human girl snuggled and fell asleep. Optimus fell into recharge as well.

Finally done. I'm busy with other stories. I'm trying to update more on my one shots books. I'm also surprisingly thinking to make a one shot book of Bowser. King of the Koopas and a dad as well from Mario. He isn't getting attention a lot. Not all villains are that bad then you think.

#optimus prime x reader #optimus prime #Transformers 4 #TF4 #Bayverse #Lemon

161 notes · View notes

themissinghippogriff · 5 years ago

Text

Waxing Moon ~SMUT~ Young Remus x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Description: Holy shit this is SMUT, and fucking vulgar as shit. Remus takes reader roughly due to the full moon being soon. Lil fluff at the end uwu

Warnings: Rough sex

____

The full moon was tomorrow, and Remus had kept his distance from you. You were left to assume he was just extra irritable and didn't want to take the chance of blowing up in your face like he tended to do with James and Sirius.

You understood, but at the same time you couldn't help but be a little hurt, he was your boyfriend after all. Remus had ordered the other marauders to get out of the dorm for the night, and they obliged, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his yelling.

They had snuck out of the castle to go to the Hog's Head, and even invited you to go with them. You declined, not wanting to leave Remus, even though he was avoiding you like the plague.

So here you were, lounging on one of the crimson sofas in the Common Room. It was around midnight and you couldn't sleep. You had awoken about half an hour ago to see the boys sneaking off.

Usually, you would have made your way to the boy's dorm and crawled into bed with Remus, but that wasn't happening anytime soon.

Your (E/C) eyes snapped to the staircase upon hearing someone coming down them, subconsciously wrapping your robe closer to you.

It was Remus.

You felt your lips turn upward into a smile, " Oh, hi,"

He looked to you and returned the smile warily, " Hi, love," he walked over to one of the chairs and sat down, keeping his distance from you, " What are you doing up?"

You frowned, " You know spending a little time with me won't kill you," you muttered.

The werewolf opened his mouth then closed it, his own eyes looking to the fire.

" I mean, I understand why you're keeping your distance Remus, ut what I don't understand is why you can spend time with the guys and not me? Am I that bloody irritating?"

His green eyes widened, " What? No, love, I..."

Your frown deepened, " What?" you all but snapped.

" I'm not staying away from you, I..." he cleared his throat awkwardly, a blush rising to his face, " I, um, You see sometimes it's different, sometimes I'm emotional, irritable, and then other times I- um-"

It clicked in your head and you felt your heartbeat increase considerably, " You get horny," you stated.

Remus buried his face in his hands, " I was going to say aroused, but yes, horny,"

You felt a grin stretch across your face, " Why didn't you just say so, " you purred, dropping your robe to reveal small blue night shorts and a white tank top.

Remus's eyes widened as you approached him, " (Y/N), when I get like this I can be, um, rough, and I would never want to impose myself on you,"

You smiled, " It's not imposing if I want it," you whispered taking a seat in his lap.

Remus licked his lips, his hand resting on you (Y/S/T) thigh, " Love, are you sure," he said, his eyes darkening.

You answered his question with a kiss and he responded with a hand going to your neck and his tongue plunging into your mouth.

You felt desire beginning to pool in your stomach as you began to rock back in forth on his hard-on. An idea popped into your head and you pushed away from him and climbed off his lap.

His confused look turned to one of sinister glee. You backed up towards the stairs, feeling like a rabbit who had just been spotted by a hungry wolf. A second later you spun around and flew up the stairs towards Remus's dorm, the sandy-haired teen followed closely behind, only arousing you more.

You launched yourself onto his bed while he locked the door behind him before turning to you. You watched as he stalked towards you, excited for what was to come next. Usually, when you and Remus got intimate he was gentle and loving, so this was a whole new side of him that you couldn't wait to discover.

Remus grabbed the waistband of your shorts and yanked them off your legs, making you fall back onto the bed, but was quickly lifted back up by him pulling your tank top over your head, exposing your breasts to the cool air.

The werewolf threw your shirt to the other side of the room before attacking your right breast with bites and licks, causing you to fall back onto the bed with an appreciative sigh. You attempted to run your hand through his sandy locks but was stopped by his large hand.

He gripped both of your wrists in one hand, placing them over your head, rendering you defenseless against his attacks on your breast.

You could feel your swollen clit pulsing with arousal with every flick of his tongue over a hardened bud.

" Remus," you panted, " Please,"

He nipped your nipple, making you gasp, " I'm not finished," he said lowly before placing a chaste kiss to your collarbone. He attached himself to your neck, making sure to leave purple blotches over that special vein on your neck.

He made his way back to your breasts leaving love bites and sloppy kisses in his wake.

You could feel your arousal soaking your panties and it was about to drive you mad. You began to try and free yourself from Remus's grip but was met with his free hand going to your throat. He kept a firm grasp on your neck, it didn't hurt ut shocked you none the less.

" I told you,"

Your chest heaved up and down as he leaned towards your ear, " I'm not finished,"

His commanding voice turned you on more than you would have liked to admit, and him keeping you from touching yourself made it even better and worse at the same time. You bucked your hips and whined, " Please Remus, " you begged.

His hand released your neck and dragged itself between your perky breasts and then down your naval, finding its way to the hem of your panties. Slowly, his manicured nail dragged itself over the cloth and to where your clit was.

He pushed down slightly, causing you to release a breath you didn't know you had been holding, " I want you to move," he growled while still hovering over you.

You swayed your hips ack in forth, trying to create the sensation of your clit being rubbed. You were blown away with your own arousal, surprised at how the lightest touch could feel so good.

" Do you wanna know why I've teased you so much, love?" he asked kissing your neck, " It's because I want you wet enough for me to fuck the hell out of that cunt without stopping,"

You bucked your hips forward trying to get closer to his fingers.

" Do you think your wet enough for me, love,"

You nodded frantically, not sure if you could take anymore.

The hand that had been dancing around your clothed core grabbed ahold of the fabric and ripped it from your body, immediately plunging his fingers into your drenched pussy.

A moan left your mouth, " Merlin, Remus!"

He growled and picked up the pace, curling his fingers as he went.

You were sure if he kept on you would come undone before he had a chance to even enter you, and you didn't want that.

" Remus, please, fuck me," you managed to ground out.

He didn't answer put placed his handsome face between your thighs, replacing his fingers with his tongue, " Fuck, you taste so bloody good," he groaned as he lapped at your clit.

" Remus!" you screamed, your fingers interlacing with his hair, " Please, I want- I- I want-"

Remus smirked and peered over at you, " Tell me what you want love, " he said, knowing full well you were embarrassed by what you were going to say.

" I-I-," you felt your face heat up and your mouth shut.

" I can't give you what you want unless you tell me," he said, standing up before pulling his sweater over his head, revealing his scarred but toned chest.

Your pussy clenched around nothing, and this only encouraged you to say what you wanted, " I-I want you inside me, Remus," you breathed.

A rare smirk graced the werewolf's face, " Get on your knees, love,"

You did so without a word and bit your lip when he spanked you. He then proceeded to massage the afflicted area, " Such a good girl," he praised while grabbing your hips.

You listened to the sound of fabric falling to the ground and then felt the tip of his dick rub against you soaked entrance, " For fuck's sake Remus, please," you rasped out.

Before another plea could leave you lips, Remus thrusted into you with indescribable force. A cry forced itself out of your throat as his cock pistoned in and out of your pussy at an unfathomable speed.

You grabbed fistfuls of his comforter as if you were hanging on for dear life. It was as if you had forgotten how to speak, the only thing that left your mouth were wanton moans, only encouraging him to go faster and harder.

You felt tears prickle at your eyes due to the immense pleasure you felt.

Remus rotated his hips causing his dick to rush against a sensitive crevice deep with your cunt, you could feel yourself beginning to reach that euphoric high, you just needed a little more.

" R-Remus!" you ground out, " I'm so-so cl-close!"

Remus's hands gripped your hips so hard you were sure there would be bruises in the morning. He made it to where your face was down and your ass in the air.

His hips snapped against your ass with tremendous force, causing the bed to slide across the stone floor, but you could care less.

The scarred man snaked a finger down to your clit and began to flick it. Your walls clenched around him, " Don't cum until I say you can, do you understand me?" he rasped.

You moaned your obedience, trying your damnest to stop teetering near the edge and not fall into that euphoric abyss you wanted so badly to dive into.

Remus groaned, " Fuck love, I'm almost there,"

You sat there helplessly taking all that he was giving, " Okay," he began," I want you to cum for me,"

Once again his fingers played with your clit and your breathing faltered, feeling yourself coming undone underneath him.

It could have been described as a dam breaking, it was magnificent. Your pussy quivered with relief, pulsing around him as it simultaneously milked the cum from his cock.

Remus let out a low moan, " Fuck," he cursed.

You whimpered, exhaustion hitting you like a brick. After Remus pulled out you practically collapsed, your breathing was labored and your legs trembled.

Remus pulled his briefs back on and flicked his wand, summoning a cool rag, " Was I too rough on you, love?" he asked pressing the cool cloth to your forehead.

You pouted and opened your arms, gesturing for him to put you to bed. Remus smirked and picked you up, placing you under the covers and climbing in next to you.

" That was bloody great," you mumbled, " I'm going to e walking crooked for a week,"

Remus snickered and pressed a kiss to your forehead, " You're so beautiful," he hummed, brushing a piece of hair out of your face.

You smiled, falling asleep.

The door creaked open revealing the other marauders. Sirius's mouth dropped at the sight of ripped clothing and Remus's bed being almost entire flipped around.

Peter hit the taller boys on the shoulder and gestured to the two of you in Remus's bed, " Full moons, huh?"

#remus x reader smut #young remus x reader #smut #marauder smut #young remus x reader smut #remus fluff

375 notes · View notes

hockeylvr59 · 5 years ago

Note

Can you do 53 and 46 with Frederick Andersen for the smut asks?? Please!!

Um....wow... So I got a little carried away and this one is absolutely filthy. Also definitely not blurb length but oh well. (1,786 words)

53. “What do you mean not yet? You can’t expect me not to cum when you’re fucking me so good!” 46. “You’re not allowed to cum without my permission.”

__________________

You’d been dating Freddie for a few months before he’d invited you to your first formal Leafs event. He’d been nothing but good to you and though you’d been having sex for at least a month now, you knew there was a part of him that was holding back in that department.

Now, dressed to the nines and standing in a hotel ballroom, you could feel Fred’s eyes on you and the weight of his gaze had your toes curling in anticipation. You had picked this dress specifically with him in mind and his reaction to it was everything you’d hoped for. The two of you almost hadn’t made it out of your apartment when he’d picked you up, but you’d insisted that he couldn’t be late because you knew how important this was for him and the team.

For the entire first part of the evening, he had to go mingle with fans and sponsors and so you were left to hang with some of the other significant others. It wasn’t until dinner that you actually got to spend time with your boyfriend, his large frame taking the seat next to yours. It was as you were digging into the main course that Fred’s massive hand landed on your thigh, slipping under the slit in your dress to rest on your skin. At first, he didn’t move it but as you laughed along to the stories told by his teammates and their partners, gradually his hand slipped closer and closer to where you needed him most. His fingers brushed against your core as you nearly choked on your wine and it was only then that Fred leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“You’re not allowed to cum without my permission.” A strangled cough left your throat at his words because you hadn’t expected him to be like this tonight. After assuring everyone you were fine, you resumed eating, trying to ignore the feeling of Fred’s fingers pressing against your core. Your boyfriend was usually the reserved type so you hadn’t seen this side of him coming, not tonight and certainly not in public.

It wasn’t until dessert was being served that Fred whispered to you once more. “Part your legs a little more for me sweetheart.” When your body reacted instinctively Fred smirked against your ear. “That’s it.. Good girl.” If you moaned slightly when Fred’s fingers slipped inside you as you took a first bite of the delicious cheesecake in front of you, you were able to play it off, no one the wiser that your boyfriend was curling and pumping his fingers inside of you making it hard to breathe let alone hide your expressions. You had been so close by the time everyone started to leave the table to mingle at the auction tables or refresh their drinks at the bar. But instead of finishing you off quickly, Fred slipped his hands from you, wiping them on his slacks before tugging you out of your chair to go meet some people. The way he was looking at you told you that he was well aware of what he was doing and you could only hope that you would be rewarded for your frustrations later.

Though your need for him ebbed slightly as he drug you from executive to executive, you still felt the need to clench your thighs together knowing that you wouldn’t be satisfied until you had Fred’s cock inside you, stretching you to your limit and making you see stars. Needing just a moment to breathe, you’d excused yourself from Fred’s side to head to the ladies' room.

Gripping the sink, you tried to pull yourself together. It was not your fault that your boyfriend was so irresistible and knew exactly what he was doing to you. It was as you were dabbing a damp paper towel against your chest that you heard the bathroom door open and then a moment later a knee was pressing between your thighs as a solid body pressed you into the edge of the sink. You panicked for a split second before you realized who it was and as his thigh brushed against your core you couldn’t help but moan aloud.

“So needy for me tonight,” Fred whispered in your ear, his hands skimming over your stomach to rest on your hips. You could feel him hard, pressed against your back and knowing that he was as turned on as you had your pulse racing. “Are you still wet for me, love?” Fred questioned and when you nodded he smirked. “Good girl. Turn around for me my love.” He directed and once he stepped back to give you the space to do so you complied, taking a moment to look up at him. His eyes were stormy and now pressed chest to chest you knew he could see just how desperate for him you were.

Gently he guided you back to the wall of the bathroom, his hands sliding down to pull your dress up and out of the way. “Alright, baby girl...undo daddy’s pants so he can properly fuck you. I know that’s what you want.” His voice was syrupy and low and you could feel even more moisture pool between your thighs.

“Fred...what if someone comes in?” You found the words slipping out before you even realized you were thinking them and Fred just chuckles lowly, his mouth pressing into your cleavage, sucking a mark into the skin there.

“No one is going to come in.” He murmurs, his fists shifting the material of your dress around your thighs once more. “Now come on babe...daddy needs to fuck you.” If Fred hadn’t already teased you so much tonight and if you hadn’t been so desperate you probably would have denied him but with the way you were already dripping down your thighs, even the risk of getting caught wasn’t enough to deter you.

Whimpering softly, you reached forward to undo the button and zipper on Fred’s pants, pushing them down his thick thighs. He wasn’t wearing underwear, almost like he had planned this...and before you could comment he was shifting his large frame forward, using his strength to lift you up off the ground and into the wall, your legs draping around his waist as he thrust into you hard.

You squeaked at the force of the intrusion of his body into yours but the sound was quickly followed by a moan which Freddie swallowed as he pistoned his hips against your own. Neither of you was going to last long, not with the sloppy sound of your bodies meeting and with the buildup Fred had been doing to your body all night long. This was fast and rough sex, sex purely for pleasure rather than the emotional connection. With your nails scraping against Freddie’s neck and shoulders you felt him wince slightly though you were likely doing the same with the way your back and hips were being rammed into the bathroom wall by the force of Freddie’s thrusts.

Within minutes you could feel your orgasm building quickly and you moaned Freddie’s name in warning.

“Not yet.” He demanded, his voice forceful, more so than you’d ever heard it before.

“What do you mean not yet? You can’t expect me not to cum when you’re fucking me so good!” You exclaimed, not sure you could control the pleasure that was so close to rushing over you. For a fraction of a second, you could feel Fred smirk at that before whatever had gotten into him tonight took back over.

“I mean not yet,” Fred repeated, his cock continuing to piston inside you like you weren’t currently torn between your body’s need to orgasm and your boyfriend’s commands. Just as the former was about to win out, Fred slipped out of you, practically dropping you to the ground, his hands still holding your dress up out of the way. “Turn around.” He directed, having pulled you back toward the row of sinks. With your hands now gripping the white porcelain tightly, Fred pulled your hips back against his own before sinking back inside of you with a groan. In this position, he only needed one hand to keep your dress out of the way so the other quickly made its way to your hair, tugging lightly. “You look incredible like this baby girl...look at yourself,” Fred mumbled. When your eyes finally met his in the mirror you could see just how fucked out you looked and how much Fred was enjoying seeing you like this.

“You’re doing so well for daddy. Are you enjoying yourself, baby girl?” He grunted. Your orgasm was quickly approaching for the third time tonight and this time it felt like Fred was getting closer too. Lost in the feeling of Fred’s cock pounding against your insides, you didn’t answer immediately and Fred quickly tugged your hair harder in punishment for not responding to his question.

“Oh god, Fred….yes…” You whimpered. That answer was also met with a stern glare and a tug of your hair along with Fred’s refusal to move his hips.

“Do you want to try that again?” He whispered lowly, giving one sharp thrust inside of you. “Or should I go finish myself off and leave you here like this?” There was no doubt in your mind that he would make good on that threat and you weren’t sure you could handle being this close again and not being able to cum.

“Yes, daddy.” You finally breathed. “You feel so good, daddy. Please….baby girl needs to cum.” Your answer seemed to please Fred because his lips dropped down to the back of your neck and his hips resumed their frantic pace. “Please.” You whispered once again and you could feel Fred’s assent before you heard it.

“Let go baby girl...cum for daddy.” The second you’d felt Freddie nod, your orgasm had already started washing over you, your knees buckling at the intensity of it. The sex had never been this good and you were so relieved that Fred had finally let you into the other side of him. Just as you were coming down from your orgasm, you felt Freddie spill inside of you and the heat and pulsing sensation had your stomach twisting so close to another orgasm. Sadly, Freddie pulled away, quickly reaching for paper towels to help clean you up a little.

“Fred…” You mumbled softly, as he stepped back from you, just dropping a soft kiss to your lips.

“So good for me tonight. Remind me to take care of you when we get home.”

And boy did he ever…

#frederik andersen #frederik andersen imagine #frederik andersen nws #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey smut #nhl smut #nws #lemon #tleafs #smut blurb #Anonymous

277 notes · View notes

theresa-of-liechtenstein · 4 years ago

Text

prompt: “pilot.” for the weeklong #ProjectTheresa fanfiction challenge!

this one ran away from me and got super long so I’m throwing it under a cut

“Douglas, if you could, would you mind checking on G-ERTI? I’ve got to see about these blasted NOTAMs...something about thunderheads over Dresden…”

“Certainly, Martin. No rush.”

Douglas closed the door. Walking down the ramp, he muscled a luridly-yellow safety vest over his shoulders. As he headed for the hangars, he absentmindedly ran the thin mesh between his fingers.

This, admittedly, ranked high in the listing of Strange Arrangements. Martin, though finally able to fly for a living, still considered aviation as a hobby—thus, the Arrangement. On the off chance that Swiss Air wasn’t busy sending him off on tours to the corners of God’s green earth, Martin would wheedle a jumpseat to England from a colleague, bring his royal girlfriend along, and fly with OJS to give Herc some semblance of time off.

Douglas frowned a little as he passed by the first set of hangars. Speaking of...where was Theresa, anyhow?

He shook his head. She’d slipped away with a safety vest, expressing a desire to wander around the airfield. Douglas and Martin, meanwhile, had devoted themselves to filling out paperwork for the day’s flight—just like old days.

Passing the last hangar, Douglas looked both ways before crossing onto the apron. G-ERTI was on stand outside their hangar, gleaming in the morning light. Before, Douglas had definitely been the type of pilot to joke that he didn’t care so much about the plane’s exterior aesthetics since he spent most of his time inside of it, but now he had to admit: something as simple as a new paint job really did wonders. The old bird was nearly unrecognizable, looking half its age. Flying like it, too, if anyone was asking Douglas.

He crossed around to the fore of the aircraft, to start his inspection at the radome. As he went to face G-ERTI head-on, he noticed another figure in a safety-yellow vest, examining their number two engine.

Douglas peered intently at the figure before abandoning his walk-around and stepping closer. “Your Highness. Grüezi.”

Theresa whirled around and blushed a little. “Oh! Hello, Douglas.”

“You were interested in the engine?” Douglas indicated it with a jerk of his head.

Theresa nodded, looking back at it. She seemed a little embarrassed—or at least uneasy. The two of them hadn’t talked in person much since those terrible days when they’d thought that it was all over. And of course, he couldn’t forget the first time they’d spoken—over the phone at this very airfield—when he’d had a bit of a laugh at her expense.

But he also remembered that she—barely hours after they’d first met face-to-face—had covered for them when they were burning off fuel. She’d been there for the auction, gamely climbed into the back of Arthur’s van, and was currently here for Martin.

He sought to make her feel a bit more comfortable. “Martin’s told you about how we got this engine, yes?”

Her eyes lit up. “St Petersburg? Of course. Many times.”

Douglas stifled the urge to laugh a little. “I can imagine.”

“He also loves to talk about you. How you tricked...erm. Carolyn’s ex-husband.”

“Oh. Yes.” Douglas chose not to analyze too deeply, and managed a noncommittal shake of his head. “Well, I. You’ve seen it. I do have some tricks up my sleeve for such occasions.”

She smiled and turned her attention back to the engine. “You seem to have plenty of tricks up your sleeve for all occasions. Such is...such is what Martin tells me.”

Silence fell between them again. He focused on a Gulfstream taxiing to the runway.

“Er, Douglas…”

“Yes.” He pulled his gaze away from the plane and looked back at the princess.

“Is it okay if I touch it?”

“Touch what.”

“The...er. The blades?”

“You want to see if they spin?”

She blushed again, and this time the embarrassment was evident. “Yes.”

“Go on ahead.”

She reached up and pushed against one of the blades, startling a little when the fan began to spin slowly.

“Didn’t expect that?” Douglas smiled at her surprise.

“No, I didn’t. It’s that easy?”

“Yep. Now imagine it spinning at God-knows-how-many-revolutions-per-second at thirty-five thousand feet.”

She must have taken the command literally, because after a few long seconds, her eyes widened. “Wow.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you think of that...when you fly?” Theresa turned back to him curiously.

“Want to find out?” Douglas shot back. She looked a little confused, so he clarified. “Want to learn how to fly?”

Her eyes lit up again. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’m sure I’ve got enough knowledge to indoctrinate—of course, I mean educate—someone who wants to learn.”

“Really?” She turned up the voltage in her eyes. “I’d love to!”

“Well, but I can’t start now…” Douglas tried to bring her back down to earth. Enthusiasm. That was what she and Martin seemed to have in common when it came to aviation. No wonder, then, that they’d become close. “For starters, I’m not an instructor yet. A few classes, and I think I’ll be able to add the qualification to my license.”

Theresa nodded, looking a little chastened. “Of course.”

“And—well, there’s the arrangement,” he pointed out. “You’re not going to get a very consistent education, seeing as you and Martin only come here every so often.”

“Yes. That’s right.” She looked down.

“Oh, don’t look like that!” He hadn’t meant to discourage her, and he attempted now to rectify his mistake. “We can figure something out. There’s multiple ways to get a transport license, assuming that’s what you want. You could go about it in a modular fashion—no need to come into a classroom a set number of days per week or anything like that. In any case, you’d be smashing as a pilot. You’ve got Martin, first of all—I think he’d be happy to coach you through revising for theoretical examinations, so you’re basically set on that front.”

She nodded, fidgeting with the hem of her vest.

“We’ll figure it out.” Suddenly, Douglas remembered the task Martin had delegated him. “Actually, we could even start now, if you’d like. Have you ever been on a walk-around?”

—

Some months later, Martin and Theresa were back in England. By this time, Douglas had a flight instructor rating, a night instructor qualification, and a multi-engine piston instructor qualification added to his transport pilot’s license and a fuel tester in his pocket.

They met in the main lobby of Fitton Airfield, fluorescent lights gleaming off the glass counter where logbooks and charts were sold. As Douglas warmed his hands with a styrofoam cup of coffee, Theresa picked out a black logbook with green pages. After bidding farewell to Martin, she followed Douglas out to one of the Cessna 152s the airfield kept for instruction.

“It looks so small up close,” she observed as they approached the plane. “So light.”

“That’s why we tie the wings down,” Douglas gestured. “The plane could, quite literally, fly away in a wind.” Noticing her shocked look, he smiled. “Yeah. The wings work, even on the ground. It’s not that noticeable in a bigger plane, like G-ERTI, and even more for the biggest planes. But the wings are working all the time.”

He walked her around the plane and explained what he was looking for, similarly to their last meeting. She pulled off the pitot cover as he explained to her that if the pitot was not adequately protected, the airspeed indicator could fail. Douglas pulled out the fuel tester and drew out some liquid from the bottom of the tank. He held it to the sky and called Theresa over to look for water with him, cautioning her against allowing water into the fuel tank. She nodded, eyes wide.

Finally, he opened the plane’s door. “Watch your head.”

Theresa climbed in eagerly, and Douglas set about untying the wings before following her inside. Until that point, everything had gone smoothly, but he somehow had a more difficult time squeezing himself into the small plane than usual.

“It’s not exactly G-ERTI,” he excused himself as he tried to find the room to place his legs without bumping into the yoke. Whoever had used this plane before was, evidently, either a hobbit or an instructor much shorter than he.

Theresa stifled a laugh, sliding on a pair of sunglasses.

Once he’d finally gotten settled, he got on his headset, handed the other to Theresa, and quizzed her on the instruments. Evidently, Martin had prepared her well—or she’d been waiting for this moment for most of her life.

They whipped through a checklist and had the engine started in no time, and Douglas decided it was about time to get into the air. “Let’s check the brakes. Push forward a little.”

“The throttle? I can touch that?”

“Go ahead.”

Theresa reached down for the throttle and gave the plane a little bit of power.

“Rolling forward. Good. Now take the power back. Brakes.”

Theresa did as she was told. “Good,” Douglas complimented her, and she smiled. “I’ll check the brakes on my side.”

They went over how to transfer control to each other, and at last, Douglas directed her to get the power up and turn onto the main taxiway.

Her hand instinctively went to her yoke.

“Rudder. Use the rudder,” Douglas advised gently.

“Oh. Yes, right.” She took her hand off.

“Good. Stay on the center.” He slung his left arm over the back of her seat and directed her.

“Okay.”

They taxied around the airfield until Theresa could comfortably turn and stay on the centerline without confusing the rudder pedals and yoke. “It’s not like driving,” he advised at one point. “The yoke looks a little too much like a steering wheel, granted, but that’s something you’ve got to overcome. Rudder pedal. You turn with the rudder.”

“So yoke for roll, rudder for yaw?”

“Precisely.”

Finally, Douglas directed Theresa toward the main runway, got in touch with Carl, and asked for clearance to take off.

Carl granted it with the bare minimum of dallying, and Douglas grinned. “Okay, Theresa, we’re going up. Follow the yellow line.”

“What! Already?” Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead as she looked at him.

“Yes. You’re doing wonderfully. I’ll help you. Keep following the yellow line.”

They checked that the horizon was lined up, and Douglas directed her to push the throttle forward. “Full power. Keep looking outside. Stay on the center line.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

Their speed climbed. Forty knots, fifty knots…

“Sixty, sixty-five—Pull back. Pull the controls back. Gently. Go on.”

Theresa pulled back on the yoke, and the ground peeled away from beneath them.

“We’re off!” In Douglas’s headset, he heard a distant cheer from Carl in ATC—and, from the sound of it, Martin.

“I’m doing it!” Theresa’s exclamation sounded not unlike one Martin would make, and he suppressed a grin. He could feel them rolling a little, but before Douglas could tell Theresa to do so, she was correcting it.

“Good. Now adjust your pitch angle. We’re a little too steep and might stall. And as interested as I am in seeing how you handle your first, I’m not keen on doing it so low and so close to the airfield. Not to mention this is your first lesson.”

“Okay.” She lowered the nose.

“Perfect.”

They climbed to a thousand feet and went through the climb checklist. Douglas put his hands on his own yoke and adjusted for her. “Don’t forget to fly the plane, Theresa.”

“Oh, yes, right. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just keep flying. Our goal now is to get this plane stable enough so that you could take your hands off the yoke, and the plane would just keep going on its own. They’re designed to be stable.”

They climbed further to about fifteen thousand feet, and after a good round of coaching, Theresa managed to keep the plane stable enough to take her hands off. After congratulating her, Douglas had her turn a few times, climb twice, and descend twice before taking control and bringing them back to Fitton to land.

Martin was there to meet them at stand, smiling in his luridly-yellow vest. “How’d it go?” he asked as soon as Douglas and Theresa had finished shutdown and piled out of the plane.

“The landing was smooth,” Douglas lazily passed the pitot cover to Theresa.

“You landed,” Theresa retorted, grabbing it out of his hand. Douglas laughed a little.

“Really, though,” he stopped her before they all went back to the portakabin. “You did well.”

She smiled.

—

Over their next productive (albeit sporadic) meetings, Douglas managed to help Theresa master slow flight. Though she was not what others might call a “natural” at flying, she could certainly absorb information better than most. After their sixth or so flight, Theresa could talk to Carl, work the trim wheel, manage a stall, recover from a spin without too much difficulty, and land visually.

Douglas, overall, was quite pleased with Theresa’s progress, especially for someone who was mostly restricted to ground schooling.

He’d told her that she could very well find an instructor in Switzerland that could help her better—one who could teach her in German and be more regular with flight lessons—but she’d insisted on staying under his tutelage for the time being, which slightly flattered Douglas.

And—more importantly—over the past few months, they’d gotten to talking between teaching moments, and by this point Douglas could, with certainty, call her a friend.

They were going up today, in slightly poorer weather than usual, to review some of the concepts they’d covered thus far in less ideal conditions. As far as Douglas was concerned, and based on the relative ease with which Theresa had been able to manage previous challenges, this was going to be a simple review flight.

“Golf Mike Bravo,” Carl told Theresa from ATC, “Piper Cub three miles on final approach. Cleared for immediate take-off.”

Theresa flicked the transmit button. “Cleared for immediate take-off, Golf Mike Bravo.”

“Good,” Douglas rubbed his hands together as Carl signed off. “Right, Theresa. Let’s get ourselves out of here before that Piper comes in.”

“Okay.”

In no time at all, they were in the air—but today, Theresa seemed to have a little trouble getting the Cessna into stable flight.

“Trim back,” Douglas advised her. “The plane wants to go up; notice how you’re trying to fight to keep the nose down? Remember, we can’t get any higher and enter Bravo airspace.”

“I know that. I’m sorry.”

“You’re porpoising,” he said gently a few minutes later, noticing how the nose kept rising and dipping. Theresa was probably still fighting the aeroplane. “Now you’ve got to trim forward.”

“Right! Right. Got it. Sorry.” Her tone had grown a little more prickly, and he noticed that the hand that reached back for the trim wheel was shaking slightly.

“It’s okay,” he tried to soothe, “relax, just correct yourself and keep on flying.”

He had her climb, descend, and turn for a while, then had her complete a checklist while he kept a hand lightly on the yoke.

“Theresa, we’re rolling a little. Watch your attitude indicator. I didn’t ask you to bank.”

Theresa nodded, but kept going through the checklist.

“Theresa. You need to scan.”

“Right, I’m going to.”

“One of your wings is higher than the other.”

“What?” Her hand flew to the yoke, and she corrected the plane.

“You need to scan,” Douglas admonished. “Remember the T.” He pointed to the instruments he’d drilled her on months ago, forming a T on the controls.

“Right, okay, I’m going to.” The prickle was back, and Douglas tried to stand down.

“Okay,” he directed in what he hoped was a calm tone. “I’ll have you do one last climbing turn, and then we’ll go and find a field we can practice spin recovery over.”

He’d thought it would be easy enough—she’d certainly done plenty of them before. But for some reason, today was different.

“Theresa! Your climb angle is too high. You need to scan!” he turned fully towards her in alarm as a stall warning began to blare.

Evidently startled by both his outcry and the stall warning, Theresa abruptly let go of the controls and screamed.

The plane, being a Cessna 152 and therefore the epitome of stalwart reliability, corrected itself and carried on happily scuttling across the English sky as if nothing had ever happened. Douglas was left to stare at Theresa, who’d buried her face in her hands, completely ignoring the panel in front of her.

He stared at her for what felt like thirty nautical miles before he cleared his throat, something like disappointment curdling in his chest.

“My controls. We’re going back to Fitton.”

“What?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide with shock.

“We’re going back to Fitton. I have control.”

And without waiting for her to confirm the handover, Douglas took hold of his yoke, dialed up the Fitton beacon, and began navigating back to the airfield.

—

“Hey, Martin.” Douglas opened the portakabin door, poked his head inside, and knocked on the wall—all while blocking Theresa from entering.

“Douglas, what—” she yelped from behind, bumping into him.

Martin took off his headphones and looked up from his charts, face brightening. “Douglas! You’re back? Where’s Theresa?” His face took on a confused expression. “Everything all right? That was rather quick.”

“Martin, get me my jacket.”

“What?” Martin stared, mouth agape.

“Douglas, let me in!” Theresa tried to squeeze past him. Finding that difficult as he’d wedged himself between the door and the doorway, she thumped him on his back. “I’m not a child.”

“Theresa?” Martin called out. “What’s happened?”

“I’m going to borrow your girlfriend, Martin,” Douglas said calmly. “Get me my jacket.”

“What!”

“Borrow me—Douglas, let me in—”

“Douglas! What do you mean, what do you want—”

Douglas sighed heavily. “I need my jacket.”

“You’ve said that already, something like three times. Will someone please tell me what is going on? And did you just say you wanted to borrow my girlfriend?”

“I’m going to debrief the flight.”

“What do you mean? You can do it in here.”

“I mean, Martin,” Douglas burst out, suddenly losing patience, “something happened up there today, and we need to talk about it like adults, so I am going to bring Theresa somewhere nice and relaxing to have something to eat and drink and then we’ll talk it out.” He held out a hand. “Won’t take more than an hour. Now please. I need my keys. Get me my jacket, will you?”

Theresa stopped trying to worm past Douglas, and Martin’s expression changed into one of stunned shock. He rose, grabbed Douglas’ jacket off a hook, and handed it to him.

“Thank you, Martin. Theresa,” he turned to the princess. With a single shocked glance at Martin, she followed him down the ramp.

“What exactly are we doing?” she dared to ask as he walked over to his Lexus.

“Exactly what I’ve just said to Martin. We’re going somewhere nice to have something to eat and drink and then we’ll talk about what happened today.” As he unlocked his car he realized that he was commanding a Princess; the humorous irony of this moment, however, would have to wait for another time. “Have a seat.”

“You realize this looks a lot like you’re kidnapping the princess of Liechtenstein.” She gaped at him over the roof of the sedan.

“You’re the one walking into the car, not me,” Douglas pointed out. “I am, in fact, very courteously unlocking the door and opening it for you as you gracefully sit in my car. Now come on. We should go. We have much to talk about.”

A former colleague from Air England had set up a coffeehouse a town over that sold food and drink at a reasonable price, having been declared unfit to fly by his GP due to worsening astigmatism.

Which was where he was heading now.

As he turned into the car park, he remembered that he was not in an aeroplane and wrenched off his tie, tossing it into the back seat. “Let’s go,” he said without looking at Theresa.

“Okay.”

They silently crossed the car park and Douglas opened the front door for Theresa.

“Douglas! Haven’t seen you in ages.” The man was drying a mug behind the counter and waved eagerly as they walked in.

“Morning, Jeremy. Just dropping in.”

“Sure. Who’s this?” Jeremy indicated Theresa with a tilt of his head.

“A student.” Douglas kept his replies short. “I’m debriefing our flight.”

“Gracious, you’re teaching now?”

“On a limited basis.” Douglas offered a chair to Theresa in the back corner. “If you don’t mind…”

“No problem.” Jeremy turned away.

Theresa nodded distractedly and sat across from Douglas.

“I’ll get you something. What would you like?” Douglas turned to Theresa. “Something to drink, something to eat…”

She twisted around a bit to look at the display case of various baked goods. “I think...erm. An éclair?”

“Nothing to drink?”

Strangely, Theresa paled a little. “Just water.”

“You’re sure?”

“Just...water,” she glared lightly, and Douglas was vaguely reminded of her barking, “I am Theresa Gustava Bonaventura, Countess of Sponheim and Protector Extraordinary of the Cantons of Nimes!” into G-ERTI’s satcom.

“Okay. Okay, sorry.” He put his hands up in a gesture of deference and headed to Jeremy’s post to get some food.

Some minutes later, he sat back in front of Theresa and handed her the éclair and water she’d requested. Jeremy went to talk to another customer in order to give them some semblance of privacy.

“Thank you.”

Douglas waited until they were both about halfway through their respective coffee/pastry before he started speaking.

“So. Let’s unpack what happened up there today,” he kept his tone low and calm. In front of him, Theresa clammed up a little, but he forged on. “Can you tell me, in your own words…”

“Who else’s words would I use?” Theresa interjected, then her ears turned red. “Well…” She thought for a second, then continued. “I didn’t have a problem getting off the ground, but I was having trouble...I was having trouble getting the plane trimmed to...to equilibrium. Then I did some climbing and turning, and that was okay, but then you asked me to do a checklist…”

“Right, and what happened then?”

“I wasn’t watching the plane, and it came out of its equilibrium.”

“That’s correct. And then?”

“You asked me to do a climbing turn, and I did, but I made a stall warning because I wasn’t scanning, and then…”

She trailed off.

“Right. That’s all true.” Douglas took a sip of his coffee. “Now. I know you knew how to do everything I asked you to. This was supposed to be a review flight, remember? I wouldn’t have let you go up in today’s conditions if you didn’t know how to do what I asked you to—the bit of cloud and all. So.” He put his cup down. “What’s going on that you don’t want to tell me about?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what was on your mind? Has anything happened between...has anything happened between you and Martin?” He dreaded to hear the answer.

“What? No. No, we’re fine! Everything’s fine with us.” Her tone had abruptly grown defensive.

“Okay, okay.” Douglas tamped down the relief. “What I’m saying is, something’s probably set you off...Theresa. It’s like driving.” A thought occurred to him. “Wait, do you know...do you know how to drive?”

“For emergencies, yes. I was taught the basics a long time ago.”

“Well, you know how you wouldn’t—you shouldn’t drive when you’re unwell? Not just physically. Emotionally, too? Mentally?”

She nodded.

“Same with flying. You shouldn’t be flying if you’re not well. You shouldn’t have been up in the air at all today on that logic. Which begs the question.” He leaned forward. “You seem physically well. You’re mentally sound. Theresa...what’s wrong?”

Suddenly, she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Come on, Theresa,” he urged. “We’re friends—at least,” he tacked on hastily, seeing the look that passed across her face, “a friend of Martin’s is a friend of mine, and you’ve—you’ve really been here for us, on quite a few occasions…” He sensed that he wasn’t getting his point across. “What I’m trying to say is…” He took a breath, reached across the table, and grasped her hand, which was lying limply next to her éclair. Her gaze whipped to him. “You can trust me. You can trust us. What’s happened?”

“Oh. Oh...I...Scheisse.” Theresa ripped her hand away and covered her face again. Douglas sat back and bit his lip, letting her talk when she wanted to.

Finally, she gulped, sat on her hands, and looked at Douglas. “Douglas. I…”

“Take your time. It’s okay.”

“Douglas...I think...I’m not saying, but I just think...I might be...Martin and I...well. I...might be pregnant.”

His jaw dropped. When the realization kicked in, he gasped and then grinned. The thought of a mini-Martin or a mini-Theresa was, frankly, incredibly endearing. “Oh my God! Congratulations—”

“No!” She shook her head rapidly. “Wait, no, I meant, not that I don’t want the congratulations, I mean no, it is not good, this is not good. Even though I’m only thinking I might...oh, it’s just bad! It’s really, really bad!” With shaking hands, she clutched at her curling hair like she was about to pull it out and looked at him, her hazel eyes desperate.

“What? How?”

“We’re...Martin and I aren’t married! If we’re having a child, right now, it’s going to be regarded as an illegitimate child since we’re not married! And my family’s already angry enough at me—”

“Why would they be upset with you, for God’s sake? You’re running a microstate in your teenage brother’s stead, I’d say that’s more remarkable than a given person of your age—”

“Let me finish!” Theresa hissed. Douglas knew her frustration wasn’t directed at him, but his interruption wasn’t exactly helping. He fell silent with an apologetic, deferential nod. “Sorry. Yes, I know I run the country, but I’m just waiting for Maxie to finish his education and take it over—there was a constitutional crisis just to allow me to become his regent—they were going to give the state to a ten-year-old! I couldn’t possibly let them do that—but there are older...more...more conservative members of the royal family that...that don’t like that I’m doing this. And...I’ve never actually wanted to be...listen, I just don’t want to be…I don’t like politics. I never have, and you know I wanted to be a pilot. But I do...what I do! Because I have to…”

Shakily, she picked up her paper table napkin and began to fidget with it. “And what’s worse...Swiss Air...Martin tells me they’re debating expanding to a hub in London, and...I want him to apply to be domiciled there. There’s a good chance they’ll let him, since he’s—he’s English, no matter how many times he reassures me that he’ll try to gain Liechtenstein citizenship…”

“Hold on. Citizenship?”

“Another problem. We talked to the archbishop of Vaduz. Martin’s not Liechtensteiner or royal, so one of those has got to give if we’re going to marry—and if any of our children are going to have any sort of claim to the throne. It’s not like I care about that last part, but the family’s going to make us suffer for it…”

“Wait, why would you want Martin to be domiciled here if Swiss Air opens a hub?”

“Because...I think it might be better for him. He’d be close to family, away from the worst of my relatives...not to mention close to you all.”

“And what about you?” Douglas stared across the table at her.

She sighed. “I...I would want to come with him if that happens. I've had...I have plans set up but I’ve never told anyone about them, not even Martin…I haven’t told anyone except Martin about me possibly being pregnant...”

“Again. Theresa. You can trust me.”

She gazed at him, openmouthed, then gave a “might-as-well-get-it-over-with” sort of shrug and continued. “Well, my next sister—she’s only a few years younger than me—she actually wants political life, she’s actually interested in running a country. She’d be overjoyed if I passed the regency to her. But after instating a constitutional crisis, I’d be expected to see the regency through, and that wouldn’t happen for...a few years yet. My God, it’s all so complicated, and I’m making no sense at all…”

By this point, the paper napkin was worried to bits on the table.

Douglas sat there for a while, trying to figure out how to respond.

“Theresa,” he began at last.

“Yes?”

“Whatever happens...whatever you choose to do, and whatever you and Martin choose to do. You...you have a home here. Both of you. Really.” It wasn’t about flying now, this conversation. It wasn’t about mistakes, it wasn’t about pilot licenses or anything of the sort. This was different. This was family. “And if certain family members are being horrible...who cares about them? We’ll be your family. You have a—you have a refuge with us. You’ll be fine. You and Martin both.”

She looked dubious, for just a second, and then she looked relieved.

“That’s better,” Douglas soothed. “You’ll be fine. You will be.”

“Thank...thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He stretched across the table and grasped his friend’s hand again—and this time she didn’t pull away.

They smiled.

A week or so later, after Theresa and Martin had returned to Zurich, he received a message.

I’m not pregnant. I’m okay, turns out it was a scare after all. I am truly sorry for the dramatics that day. Theresa

I’m glad to hear you’re okay. You are fine. You can always talk if you need it. Douglas

Thank you. Theresa

—

“She’ll be fine.”

As Douglas scanned the horizon on the day of Theresa’s first solo flight, Carolyn elbowed him lightly in the side. “Hello, Captain Richardson? Do you happen to be in? She’ll be fine.”

He looked at Carolyn, who had endeavored to put on a reassuring look. “You’ve taught her well. She’ll be fine.”

“If I can say,” Herc interjected from Carolyn’s other side, “she’s done well for someone whose flying education has been so sporadic.”

“Yes. Loosen up, Douglas,” Carolyn admonished. “She'll be okay.”

Douglas had let her take him up around Fitton twice before leaving her in the training Cessna to complete her first solo around the traffic pattern. In the distance, he saw her talking to Martin through the open door of the aircraft.

Since their conversation a month or so previously, Theresa had made the decision to maintain her regency until Maxie’s coming of age. She and Martin were still discussing the idea of the domicile and marriage, but Douglas had faith that they would make the decision that was best for them.

But that wasn’t important now, not when Martin had leaned inside and kissed Theresa, his vest stirred by the breeze, before he closed the plane’s door and walked over to meet the rest of the group, standing on the apron in front of the main lobby.

The setting was ideal—commanding a view of both the apron and the main runway.

“How is she?” Douglas asked a Martin anxiously.

“Relaxed, mostly.” Martin had his hands shoved into his pockets as he came to stand next to him. Douglas resisted the urge to laugh—Martin’s face was still a vibrant shade of crimson. “I suppose...mo-more relaxed than me.” He laughed nervously.

Arthur came trotting over as best he could with a plastic bucket in his grip. Water sloshed over the rim.

“Arthur, dear heart—pray tell me why you’ve got that,” Carolyn turned and pointed at the bucket of water.

“Ah. Well...I may have told Arthur of the tradition of a pilot’s first solo,” Herc replied a bit sheepishly. “The Americans cut off the shirt-tail—but we douse the pilot in water.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, really?” Carolyn rolled her eyes. “And she’s got on a uniform for the first time too.”

“It’s a rite of passage.”

It was Martin—of course—that had suggested Theresa get a uniform for the occasion, citing his own experience going through flight school. Initially, Douglas hadn’t even considered it—until that point he’d just let her show up in whatever she wanted to wear. However, he and Herc had agreed with Martin, and they’d pulled together to surprise Theresa with a uniform much like the ones the three of them used for flights with OJS. Martin had had the honor of fastening Theresa’s epaulettes for her—one stripe for now.

Douglas knew he would not be surprised if that one stripe would grow to three or even four.

“She’s starting up her roll,” Martin announced, ever the observant aviator.

Douglas watched her initiate her checklist before pulling forward and taxiing towards the runway.

Theresa paused at the mouth of the runway, and if Douglas squinted, he could see her take a deep breath before applying power.

The Cessna rolled down the runway, leaving the piano keys behind, quickly gaining speed.

“Rotate,” Douglas murmured under his breath.

The front wheel lifted from the ground, and the little aeroplane rose into the sky.

“Good start,” Herc assessed. Douglas saw him hold up his finger to form an angle with the ground. “Good angle.” Seeing Douglas watching, Herc looked over and sent him a grin. “You did well.”

“Hurrah!” Arthur jumped up and down excitedly. “That was brilliant!”

“Yes, well,” Martin said. “She’s got to come back down.”

Douglas nodded. The relief he’d felt upon watching Theresa take off was quickly replaced by a heavy feeling in his throat. Martin was right. For a novice pilot, taking off was easy enough—landing, not so much.

They craned their heads upward. The little Cessna was following the standard traffic pattern for Fitton, turning and coming back to land.

Theresa descended from the sky and approached the runway as Douglas had taught her. He envisioned her as he’d seen her so many times, as they practiced touch-and-go after touch-and-go after touch-and-go: correcting the side-to-side alignment, watching the PAPI lights on the sides of the runway, aiming for the touchdown zone...

“Flare,” Martin called out as Theresa tipped the nose up to increase the angle of attack.

“Come on,” Douglas muttered to himself, watching her intently. “Power through the ground effect, don’t use up the runway—!”

Finally, the main wheels touched the runway, followed by the front wheel, and he knew Theresa was pushing the rudder pedals as hard as she could to get the plane slowed down.

Martin and Douglas cheered at the same time, and Douglas felt Martin cling to him and jump up and down.

“She did it! She did it!” he chorused excitedly.

“Well done to you too, Douglas,” Herc said warmly, thumping him on the back.

“I must admit, that was exhilarating,” Carolyn added, a hint of pride in her tone.

“Douglas, here!”

He turned to Arthur, who shoved the bucket of water at him. Some of it slipped over the edges and wet Douglas’s shoes. “You should have the bucket since you taught her! I’ll help you if you need it.”

“Arthur, dearest, I should think one is enough for that!”

Almost as if in a daze, Douglas accepted the bucket. Theresa had done it. Of course, there was a long way to go in terms of licensing, but the truth still stood—she’d defied everything that had stood in her way.

She was a pilot now.

Finally, she pulled in to stand and, after completing shutdown checks, left the aircraft to slip on the pitot cover and tie down the wings.

Martin broke from the group and ran to her, and they followed. Douglas came last of all, heaving the bucket with him.

Theresa came to meet them, accepting congratulations from Herc and Carolyn, laughing as Arthur tackled her into a soul-crushing hug, and kissing Martin on the cheek.

Finally, she turned to Douglas with a brilliantly relieved grin, and he smiled mischievously at her. Luckily, she had her gaze concentrated on his face, and not the bucket he was trying to hide behind him.

“You’ve done well, Theresa. And now, since you’ve shown proficiency as a pilot...I’ve got something for you…”

Splash!

“Agh!! Douglas!! It’s cold!!!”

#cabin pressure #mine #project theresa #cabinpressurechallenge #im such a nerd. send help

8 notes · View notes

beerecordings · 5 years ago

Note

Hai bee! I’m not sure if your doing suggestions right now, but would I be able to suggest ‘magical exhaustion’ with someone? If not that’s totally fine!

“Okay. Ready?”

Their heads knock together. Their hands are clutched tight. Marvin feels their shoulder-blades digging together, firm and certain. Feels the steady rising and falling of his chest. Feels it when Jameson nods.

“Hold tight to me. No matter what happens. We only have one chance. I don’t know how else to send him away.”

Another nod. Marvin squeezes his brother’s hands. Feels his power burning at the tips of his fingers.

“I - I should warn you,” he stammers, one final message. “JJ, this could hurt.”

His tittering, breathy laugh. Marvin can’t help but grin. Jameson nods again.

“Okay, tough guy,” he chuckles.

His eyes light up blue. He tastes petrichor in the air. Feels a storm building between Jameson’s fingers.

“Three,” he breathes, clutching his hand. “Two - one.”

Their magics are twins.

Their magics are hurricanes.

Marvin screams aloud as he lets power rip through him like a razor, near to tearing him into silver and blue light, leaving nothing behind. Jameson holds him tight, the only thing grounding in the middle of the storm, the only thing that matters in the middle of the storm; he is spinning, exploding, dying, alive, he is an ocean, an earthquake, a star, collapsing - he hears someone scream and prays that is Anti, holding onto his Jameson, holding on, holding on, holding on, hold tight to me, no matter what, if we break too soon this is all for nothing and Chase is lost to us, hold on, hold on, hold on -

He lasts a few minutes. He’s strong. He holds on.

And then his hand slips from Jameson’s grasp, and he crumples like a corpse to the ground, and that is all he knows for a very long time.

He’s… swamp water.

Ugh, my head.

He’s mud. He’s molasses. He’s a car with a dying engine, panting slower and slower, dragging itself to the side of the road.

What the hell did I do to myself?

“Marvin?”

There are warm hands on either side of his face, the fingers scratchy with bandages. Marvin coughs and tries to turn over on his side, only to find something poking painfully into his arm.

“Ow, ow,” he whimpers. “Henrik, stop.”

Someone chuckles anxiously. “It’s Chase, Marv. Just an IV. You - you with me, man?”

“Mmh… Chase…”

He’s running his fingers through his hair, massaging gently at his skull. Marvin sighs sleepily, his hollowed eyes flickering.

Wait - Chase?

“Chase!” he cries, jerking awake and nearly slamming their skulls together. Chase falls back, startled, and bursts into laughter - or maybe he’s crying?

“Marv, Marv!”

“Amata, oh, Chase, I was so scared, I thought we’d lost you - ”

“No, no, you saved me, Marv, you and Jameson…”

Marvin wraps his little brother in his trembling arms, pulling him close to his shoulder, breathing in his warm vanilla smell. He is wrapped up in bandages, on his hands, on his face - even around his pale neck.

“Poor Chase, poor Chase,” whispers Marvin, clinging woozily to him. “Did he hurt you?”

“I’m okay, Marv. I’m going to be okay.”

“I was scared, I - ”

“I know. I know. We’re okay.”

“We’re - we’re okay.” Marvin is losing his grip on Chase’s shoulders. He can hear his blood rushing through his head, getting lighter and lighter, he - he can’t move, he’s just falling -

Chase catches him and lowers him back onto the bed, calling his distant name as Marvin’s eyes roll back in his head, faint and exhausted. “Schneep!” Chase shouts, turning back towards the door of the clinic. “Schneep, are you there?”

By the time Marvin comes back to himself, he has two little brothers fussing over him and a cool oxygen mask pressed up to his mouth. He breathes in deep, sighing as Henrik’s cool hand rubs over his shoulder, steady, comforting.

“I’ve never been so tired in my life,” he whispers.

“Thank God you’re awake,” murmurs Henrik.

“Was I so bad, Schneep?”

“For a while. You’re alright now. Your eyes are so dark you are a raccoon instead of a cat, but I think some sleep will fix it. Listen, though, you must stay with me a moment longer.”

A faint tremble in his voice rouses Marvin up from his pillows, rubbing at his face. “Henrik, what’s wrong?”

“I need - I need you to tell me everything you know about magical exhaustion.”

“Need me to… why, you said I was okay? Did something strange happen? Did my eyes bleed?”

“Yes, brother, but - ”

“I’ll be okay, Schneep. The bleeding and the exhaustion, they go away.”

“How about a seizure?” demands Henrik, gripping his shoulder, his white mouth trembling. “Is that normal, is a seizure normal?”

“What? A seizure?”

“Or a change in the skin color, maybe, or some sort of strange paralysis, like the body has stopped responding, like time has stopped, like - I do not know anything about magic, I don’t know what is wrong, Marvin…”

Through the thickness of the swamp water, Marvin has dragged himself back to consciousness anyway, panting as he pulls himself sitting up. He can’t sleep now. The last time Henrik’s voice broke like that, Jackie’s lungs were filling up with fluid. He barely survived the night.

“Henrik, what are you talking about? Did I have a seizure?”

“No, you are okay, you’re okay, it’s - it’s - ”

Chase’s gaze flicks away from Marvin and over to the other side of the clinic. Dragging himself up, harsh breaths rising from his piston-pump lungs, Marvin follows his eyes to the bed set apart from his own, where Jameson lies, his skin so colorless he is greyer than a dead thing. In black and white, a loaned red sleep shirt is wildly bright against his film-color flesh, and even the oxygen mask over his slack face seems bright in comparison.

“No, no, no,” groans Marvin, struggling on shaky arms to drag himself out of bed, unable to get past Chase, who begs him to lie back down, holding his shoulders and pushing him back. “No, no, no, he used too much, he went too far - how - how did he keep going so far, he’s trapped in his own power?”

“What do I do?” demands Henrik, clutching at his pallid hands. Marvin’s eyes drift and he squeezes his fingers, desperate. “Marvin, please, please, tell me what to do! Why won’t he wake up? Why does he keep having seizures? It’s like there is no energy left in all his body, in his brain! Marvin?”

He’s losing the battle with unconsciousness, but his eyes are fixed open by the sight of his little brother, stretched out on his bed like a corpse. He needs to do something, he needs to say something, he needs to save him! He sways in his brothers’ grip and Henrik and Chase both catch him together, trying to keep him steady as he passes out.

“He gave more than I did,” gasps Marvin, as the world swirls around him like the colors of Van Gogh - warm, moving, incomprehensible. “But our magics are twins.”

“Marvin, we don’t know what you mean,” moans Chase, stroking his hair. “Please, you have to tell us what to do.”

They went out together. They have to come back together too.

“Just bring him here to me,” croaks Marvin, reaching out. “Bring him here and lay him down with me. I can share my strength. We just need to hold on to each other. We just need to hold on. Jameson, Jameson.”

“Are you sure?” worries Henrik, clutching at his hand.

“Yes. Henrik. Bring him here to me.”

His exhausted fingers shake with the effort of drawing new power. But what he has, he’ll share with Jamie, and they can cling to each other when the weakness comes. He doesn’t know how else to save him.

“Hold on,” he croaks, as Chase leaves his side to pick up their little brother, scooping Jameson into his arms and returning with him to Marvin. Oh, his little body is cold, his chest draws painful air; the sensation of lightning is gone from his film-reel fingers. “Hold on tight, no matter what… Asteriscus, starling…”

Jameson gives a very soft sigh. Marvin feels his magic stir and answer the drained hands of its twin - and a moment later, at the very ends of his fingers, a little color has returned to Jameson. There isn’t really enough to share, but it will have to be. It will have to be. Jameson can have all of it if that’s what he needs. Exhausted, Marvin crashes back onto his pillows, coughing frailly, clutching at Jamie’s shoulders.

“It’s going to be okay,” promises Chase, helping Henrik slip the mask back over Jameson’s mouth. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“It was worth it, anyway, to keep you safe,” mumbles Marvin, his mask clicking against Jameson’s as he sinks back down towards sleep, his eyes fluttering shut. He reaches out to find Jameson’s hands beneath the blankets, and he clutches his cold fingers tight, tight, tight. “We knew what we were doing, amata… we chose this knowing it was worth it to keep you safe… don’t tell yourself anything different.”

Chase chokes out a noise close to a sob, calling reassurances. Henrik’s hand lies warm on Marvin’s shoulder. These are the last things he sense for a long time.

He lets his power go again, but this time it is quiet.

Their magics are twins.

Their magics are disaster zones, empty, cold, with the pair of them held close together in the middle, trying to breathe through the aftermath.

Their magics are exhausted.

But they’re not dying yet.

Jameson wakes up to sunlight on his face, and warm hands wrapped around him. Blinking, he turns to his side and finds Marvin pressed up against him like a body pillow, his arms stretched out over his chest. Abundantly bemused, he looks the other way and finds another brother - Jackie, now, his hand resting on Jameson’s shoulder, but the rest of his body relaxed in an armchair pulled all the way from the living room and into - is this Marvin’s bedroom?

Jackie startles at his movement and looks up. His eyes widen with relief, a huge smile growing on his face.

“If I may,” signs Jameson, shimmying out of Marvin’s grasp. “What the hell is happen - ”

Jackie tackles him into a hug, squishing him so tight Jameson has to resort to shrill whistling to dislodge him. Jackie’s laughing and crying and squeezing his arms through his shirt, knocking their heads together once or twice, delighted.

“Cor blimey!” cries Jamie, managing to push him back slightly. “You’re like one of those enormous dogs excited to see you when you get home! Absolute terror, you know that?”

“Sorry!” laughs Jackie, pushing him playfully, squeezing at his hands, slamming their foreheads together again. “I was just worried, I was just worried!”

“Worried? Goodness, Jackie, you act like I’ve been unconscious for weeks.”

Jackie pulls him in for another hug, holding him tight enough that he can hear his heartbeat. A soft movement beneath him makes him look down, and, oh, thank God, a second pair of warm blue eyes, a second little brother, awake, alive -

Without ever breaking their hug, Jackie slams Jamie back down onto the bed, a loud, jolly laugh bursting up from his gut, and he squeezes both Marv and Jameson into hugs, eliciting protests loud enough to summon both Henrik and Chase, dashing in from the living room, smiling wide to see their brothers awake again.

“You’re okay!” cries Jackie, gripping them both close. “You’re going to put me out of a job if you keep playing hero like that, you tiny assholes! Fuck, I thought you idiots had really hurt yourselves, don’t do that again! Holy shit, you should have seen the way Jamie’s color came flooding back, I hate magic, I’m so glad you’re okay…”

Henrik and Chase are laughing in the doorway. Resigning themselves to being squished, Jamie and Marv exchanged rolled eyes above his chest and then begin to laugh too, reaching out to find each other’s hands and clutching tight. Jameson’s eyes are warm with gratitude and pride, and Marvin’s heart swells full of light, strong enough to wake him fully at last.

“Thank you,” signs Jameson’s free hand.

“Course,” says Marvin. He smiles at Jamie, then at Henrik, and then at Chase, who almost falters beneath the weight of his affection. Marvin draws back from Jackie and shoves their foreheads together, humming something warm and familiar, steady as a heartbeat and bright with joy.

“You’re worth it,” he adds, breathing in deep the smell of sleep and health and brotherhood. “We’re okay.”

#ask #aether-mae #jameson jackson #marvin the magnificent #happy ending #soft #bee writes #blood tw #seizure mention tw

90 notes · View notes

hispeculiartreasure · 6 years ago

Text

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Eight | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: Teen

Word count: 4,000

Chapter 8/24

Warnings: Just a bad word or two. Otherwise, intense amounts of fluff!

AN: This chapter gave me all sorts of fits and is nerve-wracking for me to post. Mostly because I’m putting a ton of pressure on myself. But whatever. Huge shoutout to @lucyyannabel for being a precious human being and beta-ing for me and helping me fill some plot holes. You da bomb.com. I also pulled a ton about cars from this helpful article and this article was referenced for the Harlem Hellfighters. Let me know what you think?

Chapter Seven

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

Bucky checks your distinctive handwriting for what feels like the thousandth time, double checking the address of the garage. When he thinks he’s only got a few blocks to go he picks up his pace. There’s really no need to rush, he’s going to be on time. After seeing you in his dreams and talking about you all day, intentional and not, he really just wanted to be with you.

A freshly-painted white building comes into view, the numbers on your note matching the ones painted in red block letters on the side. There’s several driveways leading into the garage; even with the rolling doors down, he can still see a flurry of activity through their windows. On his way to the front door he passes shiny cars parked out front underneath a sign proudly proclaiming “Durst & Co. Automotive”.

Cautiously he enters the sparse waiting area, unsure where you’d be waiting for him. It’s clean, tidy, with bare-minimum furniture of chairs and a reception desk. Looking out a window leading into the work area he sees a large room filled with popped hoods, tools scattered, and workbenches covered in spare parts. After a minute of awkwardly shifting from foot to foot in the empty room he hears a roar of laughter from a door behind the desk. Checking his surroundings one more time he slides around the desk. Hoping the door leads to the actual garage and not something terrifying or inappropriate, Bucky takes his chances and pushes it open. The chatter and laughter grows louder. He hears your voice and suddenly his feet are moving to follow it.

Seems to be organized chaos, Bucky thinks to himself. Looks were deceiving because the activity inside hinted at a much larger operation than what he had expected. The cars he passes aren’t junkers, they seem to come from a solid, well-paying clientele. Cars are on lifts, some engines have been raised out of the bodies. . . the only thing missing was people.

He rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks. You’re leaning against a car that’s hood is popped, one saddle shoe-clad foot resting against its grill. Your stained shirt matches the bright red bandana wrapped around your head. Hands are in the pockets of your denim overalls, sass painted on your lips. Mechanics in coveralls surround you, attention arrested by your story.

Again, the garage is filled with howls of mirth - a reaction to a witty punchline, he’s sure. He can’t help but admire you from afar. You’re more relaxed than he’s ever seen you yet you still maintain an air of assuredness that holds its own among the group of men. A smile comes easy to your fresh face. All you really need is your sparkling eyes to highlight your naturally stunning self. And then those eyes meet his and the sparkle seems to intensify.

“Oh hey, Bucky!” You wave him over and then he’s encircled by strangers and a wave of uneasiness washes through him. All eyes are on him, obviously sizing him up. Bucky makes a conscious effort not to puff out his chest. “Boys, this is my. . . this is Bucky. Bucky, these are the boys.” He receives a litany of greetings from the large group to which he tries to smile and memorize all the names he can.

“Alright boys, back to work. Sassafras has distracted us long enough.” A gruff voice breaks through and prompts the other mechanics to drift back to their tasks. A man with a head of salt-and-pepper - well, mostly salt - steps forward, Bucky noticing a slight limp to his otherwise confident walk. “So this is the guy I’ve been hearin’ about.” He smiles a big, teeth shining bright white against his dark brown skin. Towering over you, he slings an arm around your shoulder in a familial hug.

“You’ve barely heard a thing, Harve,” you retort, leaning in to his embrace.

“Is that the way you’re supposed to treat an old friend when he’s doing you a favor? No. Your momma taught you better than that.” He turns back to Bucky, eyes wrinkling kindly behind his spectacles. “Harvey Durst.” His hand moves from your shoulder and h offers it to Bucky, who grasps and shakes it.

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky. Heard you served, right?”

“Was in the 107th for a while, moved into special ops the last few years.”

Harvey tosses a thumb at himself. “Served in the 369th Regiment from ‘17 ‘til ‘19.”

That number, why is that number familiar. “Wait,” Bucky’s brow furrows. “You were a Harlem Hellfighter?” Blatant pride beams from your features as you watch Harvey bob his head reluctantly. “My father’s unit was in France around the same time, he said y’all were tough as nails. Never lost a trench, right?”

“Or a man to capture or a foot of ground to the enemy,” the veteran recites, as if he’s spoken the same information time and time again.

“Colonel Chester Phillips always spoke highly of your regiment. You’re the stuff of legends, sir.”

“The same could be said about you, being Captain America’s right-hand man.”

Your eyes immediately drop to examine the floor while Bucky feels heat in his cheeks. Seems like Harvey had heard a thing or two. Clearing your throat, you step away from Harvey and slightly closer to Bucky.

“Just kept him out of trouble, mostly. Nothin’ special.”

“I hear that. I fought alongside Miss Sassafras’ Grandpappy in the trenches,” Harvey points to you. “Talk about bull-headedness.”

“Sassafras?” Bucky asks, eyes flitting to you as his apprehension gives way to a grin.

“Oh yeah. When she was a youngin’ and I visited to chat with William she was always gathering up sassafras flowers and bringin’ ‘em to me as a gift. Was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. Then she really grew into the “sass” part.”

“I’ll say,” Bucky directs his grin back to you.

With an eyeroll you explain, “My grandfather enlisted right before he would’ve aged out. He’d owned the shop way before the war, my mom practically grew up here. Harvey has been around as long as I can remember.”

“Only out of the kindness of your grandpappy’s heart.” Harvey shifts his focus back to Bucky in explanation. “Once we got shipped home, I was out of work and William offered to teach me his trade. He graciously passed the shop on to me when he retired. Thankfully the neighborhood put a lot of stock in William’s character so I wasn’t totally run out of business when I took over.” Bucky grimaces in sympathy.

“Good thing people had the sense to see a good man who does good work,” you mutter, a bite to your tone.

“Alright ‘Fras, don’t get worked up. It’s not worth it, darling. Almost all the other mechanics here are veterans, so if you ever need anything just ask. We’ve got each others’ backs here too, ya know?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Now,” Harvey’s voice drops an octave as he peers over his glasses at Bucky. “You keepin’ everything all honorable between the two of you?”

You choke on air before planting your hands to Bucky’s chest, urging him to take several steps back. “Thanks Uncle Harvey, we’ve got work to do, talk to you later!” Several more steps away and you groan. “Sorry about that. He can be a little protective.”

Bucky shakes his head, not sure whether he wants to laugh out loud or have the earth swallow him whole. It was a toss up. “‘Uncle’, huh? So he’s practically family.”

“I’ve known him my whole life. He’s not old enough to be my grandfather’s brother, too old to be my mom’s brother. Uncle just suits him best, ya know?”

“You didn’t tell me I was meeting family today,” Bucky teases, knocking a hip into yours.

“Steady on, he’s not technically family.”

He scoffs. “Technicalities.”

You face Bucky completely, taking him in for the first time that day. “Hi,” you hum.

“Hi,” Bucky practically beams. “Glad to see you again.”

“We were together less than 24 hours ago, huh?” Your lopsided grin whispers bashfulness. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Y’all gonna stand there giving each other googly eyes or are you goin’ to work on my cars?” a shout from Harvey reaches you both from his office.

“Mind your business!” You holler back before burying your face in your hands. Bucky can’t help but chuckle, his own relaxed state puzzling him. Seeing you a little embarrassed was more endearing than he thought it would be. “Anyway,” you perch your hands on your hips. “Let’s get you an apron and get to work. We’ll start with the basics.”

Passing a workbench you snag him an apron as you approach an engine that’s been lifted out of a car by chains. Trailing behind you, Bucky ties the apron strings and stops on one side of the machinery, you rounding the other side.

“How much do you know about engines?” you ask, zero judgment in your voice, only asking a basic question to find a jumping off point.

“Next to none. I know math and science are involved, which I’m okay at. But treat me like an idiot.”

“You aren’t an idiot, Bucky.”

“Never said I was. Just told you to treat me like one.” He winks at you which only earns a narrowing of your eyes.

“Anyway. . .” Your tone turns all business, motioning to the engine. “Cars have internal combustion engines, right? So it takes a fuel source, gas, and combines it with air. It compresses and ignites the mixture. A bunch of little explosions happen that cause these pistons,” you point toward a row of metal cylinders, “to move up and down. The pistons are attached to this crankshaft.” You move your hand to gesture the connection. “That motion makes the crankshaft turn. Then the crankshaft transfers that energy to the transmission, which ultimately powers the wheels to the car. Got it?”

“Got it. I think,” he amends, turning the process over in his mind, pieces falling into place after a few repetitions. “Okay, I got it.”

“Good. Now onto the fun stuff,” you smile a little wolfishly, signalling to Bucky that he was in for a long day of lots of information.

You run through the more technical version, explaining the physics and practicalities as well as the failings of the engine. Next, you explain what a tune-up would look like for a typical 1940s model. Soon you’ve drug him over to another car, making him clumsily replace the spark plug with your smaller hands guiding his. Next you set the mixture on the carburetor, fit new plug wires, and remind him these things should be checked on every 30,000 miles.

Currently he’s watching you struggle with a particularly rusty bolt, arm muscles straining as you finally break it free with your wrench. Your hair is a disaster, to put it kindly. Flying this way and that, becoming more untamable by the moment. But you’re so charming in this role of teacher that it only enhances your allure. Shaking his head, Bucky reminds himself to listen to your well-intentioned stream of information.

“What’s being produced right now are basically 1942s with tiny modifications. As you know, almost all production of civilian vehicles was halted in favor of supporting the war effort. So designers were stuck with getting something “new” on the assembly line as soon as peace was official. They’ve added some new body colors and a fancier bumper. We told them in the factory for years that they needed to seal the ignition so water can’t leak in and they’re just now starting to listen based on that brand new 1946 over there,” you wave vaguely behind you, nose still stuck beneath the hood.

“So what was your training like?” Bucky inquires, handing over a tool you’d asked for, hoping it was the right one.

With a hum you start, “My learning process was accelerated because of the war. It involved a ton of reading and studying, as well as a couple weeks of intensive training at a factory upstate. Usually a mechanic would need to find a shop where they could work at the lowest level doing the most rudimentary of repairs, like replacing the spark plugs like you did earlier. As they’re doing that they keep studying and move up through the system. Some people start at the bottom because they want to own their own shop or become a salesman. But most of the guys here just want to work with their hands and make an honest living doing something they don’t hate. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what it would look like for you to start down this track.”

Leaning back you gratefully accept the rag Bucky offers, rubbing some excess oil off your hands.

“Was this too overwhelming? I know I just threw a ton of information at you. Hope it didn’t scare ya. Here, triple check my work for me.”

Bucky bends to the engine. “Overwhelming, yeah. Scary? Not really. You replaced this belt, right?” At your assent his fingers trail over it, inspecting it’s fastenings. “It’s interesting work. Don’t really know how to move forward with it, if I’m being honest.”

“Don’t forget about the third attachment,” you remind as he starts to back away. “I think someone here mentioned that the V.A. provides job counseling to veterans.”

“I think you may be right. They tell you that stuff when you get discharged but at that point all I was thinking about was Ma’s cooking and hugging my sisters. Worth asking about though.”

A smile graces your lips. “I don’t blame you one bit. All good?”

“All good,” he affirms. With Bucky’s help you set the hood in place, propping your elbows on the surface to take a breather.

“Then that’s all I really had in mind for today. There’s a lot more but you’ll pick it up fairly quickly.” He thinks it’s only been an hour, maybe two at the most. Then he notices the shadows at his feet and realizes the sun is slanting through the garage windows. You must notice Bucky looking outside because you follow his gaze. “It can’t be sunset already. Have we really been here that long?”

“Guess so.”

You wipe the sweat from your forehead, leaving a giant smudge of grease in its stead. Bucky finds it too endearing to tell you anything. After a glance around the garage you say incredulously, “When did everyone leave?”

Bucky doesn’t remember when the garage had emptied either. Neither did he recall the shop becoming so clean - almost spotless. Someone had turned on a radio; the crooning of Louis Armstrong’s trumpet floats toward you from a neighboring table. The sound of Harvey shuffling around his office is the only other sign of life in the building.

“I feel like I’ve done a full day of PT,” Bucky groans as he arches his back. “Who knew leaning over an engine all day could hurt so much?”

“There’s one way to loosen up sore muscles,” you hint cheekily. You hold out a hand, waiting for him to take it. “Dance with me.”

He grips your fingers but resists your tug away from the car. “I dunno, I’m out of practice.”

“C’mon, it’s just a sway to a sweet song.”

Bucky hesitates. His last few attempts at dancing were more akin to a stumble than anything else. He can vividly remember his first night out on the town in a peaceful New York City. He can see the blonde who’d herded him to the dance floor, her grimaces as he crushed the tops of her brand new shoes. She’d been kind enough to his face but had excused herself only a minute into the song. He hadn’t danced since.

He gulps. “I might step on your toes.”

“That’s alright,” you shrug animatedly. “I may step on yours.”

There’s something so genuine, so earnest about you that he can’t help but follow your lead.

Timidly he wraps an arm around your waist, reminding himself to keep a respectful distance. Your other hand grips his bicep lightly as you step into him. This is the closest you’ve ever been to each other. Breathing the same air, sharing space. It should feel awkward. But it only feels right. His hand on your waist snakes further across your back bringing you chest-to-chest. You lean a head to his shoulder, respectful distance be damned.

S’just a dance. He reminds himself.

Taking your suggestion, he simply sways back and forth to the tune. Shifting from foot to foot you follow his feet in a slow circle.

It’s effortless.

No one’s toes gets squished. In fact, Bucky feels like he’s floating on air.

You share a sweet silence. He looks down and notices your eyes are closed. If asked why, he wouldn’t be able to answer why his chest felt so tight.

He sighs your name, prompting your eyes to open. “I feel like I’ve known you a lot longer than a week.” The words slip out almost involuntarily, like an impulse. For a moment his chest tightens even more, afraid you wouldn’t react kindly.

You continue to gaze up at him and say softly, “Technically we’ve known each other longer than that.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. . .” your voice goes even softer, “I really do.”

Fear releases its grip on him prompting him to pull you ever-so-slightly closer.

Neither of you know when the song ended but you are jarred out of your reverie when the radio host’s jabber breaks the spell. Moments later a new, upbeat song starts up. Sounds like Glenn Miller, Bucky thinks, foot already tapping to the bouncing trumpets and steady tap of the bass.

With boldness flowing through him like adrenaline he gives you a cheeky smile. “Let’s see if we have more than a sway in us, huh?” He pulls away from you only to give you a quick turn so your back is to his chest, arms connected and crossed over your stomach.

“What happened to being out of practice?” you sigh over your shoulder.

“Only way to be in practice is to practice, right?” Your only response is a giggle and you twirl away before coming back to him - feet flying across the concrete floor.

It is by no means perfect. Every once in a while you bump into each other or take a turn too hard. But your laughter soothes the hesitancy in him, reminds him that dancing isn’t about being perfect with someone, but just being with someone.

The song is swelling and muscle memory leads Bucky, sending you into spins over and over and over again, just enough to make you a little dizzy.

“Bucky, the oil-!” It’s happening before he can stop it. He’s spun you directly into a puddle left behind from a leak. Your foot flies through the slick, disrupting your already precarious balance. Down you fall - hard - taking Bucky tumbling with you to the ground.

He helplessly watches it happen in slow motion. Feels your woosh of breath escape when his full weight lands squarely on top of you. Rolling to the floor he scrambles to his knees beside you, words rushing out of him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay, did you hurt anything? What a fuckin’ idiot, I shouldn’t’ve - are you alright?”

Your chest is heaving, doing its best to recover some of the air that had been knocked out of you. Slowly you nod in response to his question, lashes fluttering as you seem to steady yourself.

Then you’re laughing.

A deep, unbridled, straight-from-the-belly laugh that brings Bucky back down to earth, reassures him that you can’t be hurt too badly. It doesn’t stop there - he’s fairly sure you snort in the midst of your giggles but he’s too overcome with his own chuckles to be certain. Your joy is infectious and soon he’s out of breath himself.

As the laughter subsides his hand clasps yours to pull you up to a seated position, watching you closely for any signs of discomfort. You seem fine, maintaining the grip on his hand as you join the vertical world again. You’re smiling that small smile of yours. The smile that caught his eye in the first place.

Your thumb swipes over the back of his hand and it registers just how close you are. Close enough for him to see the depth in the color of your eyes. To see every individual eyelash, to count each freckle he finds.

In a similar fashion your eyes rove his face. No doubt thinking what he’s thinking, wanting what he wants.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathes raggedly.

“You better,” you gasp, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

Before he can lean down fully you’ve met him halfway, soft lips all his for the taking as your eyes slip shut.

Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss. A peck to the cheek, a smooch saying goodbye, a brief moment to show affection. Given freely, barely a blip on the radar. Kissing wasn’t something Bucky thought about often. He had enjoyed his fair share of kisses, sure.

But this. No other kiss has triggered the emotions swelling in his chest like this one. It’s almost as if he’s feeling sunshine on his skin for the very first time. Like a lamp has been lit in a room shrouded by black, glowing fiercely in darkness. Somehow he learns so much about you with this kiss. You’re soft to his chapped, pliant to his firm. Warmth to his breeze.

He leans back to catch his breath allowing his forehead to rest against yours. You hum contentedly, eyes still closed, mouth twisting sweetly.

“Hey lovebirds!” Startled, you jump away from each other. “I’m locking up, some of us have dinner waiting on us,” Harvey shouts from the office.

Grinning at your embarrassed moan Bucky helps you to your feet. “Since we don’t have dinner waiting for us, wanna catch a bite?”

With a raised brow you look down at your clothes. “I’m a mess and now covered in motor oil, no decent place would let me in the door.”

“Truly decent places welcome everyone.”

“Shut up.”

“Then at least let me buy ya a hot dog on the way home,” he compromises with a grin.

“No, it’s okay, my place is out of your way.”

“It’s almost dark, I’m not letting you walk home by yourself.”

“Bucky I can’t be that much of an imposition-”

He grabs a hand you’re waving wildly as you try to refuse. “Are you trying to get rid of me? ‘Cause it ain’t workin’.”

“Never,” you reply with a huff. “Fine.”

After your goodbye hug to Harvey, Bucky shakes his hand again before thanking him for his time.

“Get her home safe, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky ducks his head, fingers threading in yours.

Moving to leave the garage, Bucky stops you. “Hold on,” he snags a clean rag from a shelf. “May I?” he motions to your face. After you nod he gently wipes away the grease you’d relocated to your forehead during your work. He shows you the stain left behind, can’t stifle a grin when you look horrified.

“How long has that been there?” you ask incredulously then hold up a hand before he can respond, “You know what, don’t tell me.”

Spring may be on its way to summer but the evening still carries a light chill, tempting Bucky to keep you even closer than usual. Somewhere along the way you wrap your other hand around his arm, basking in the safety of being able to be this close to someone.

“I have a question for you,” he rasps.

“Yeah, Bucky?”

“Can I call you Sassafras now?”

“No.”

Chapter Nine

Tags:

@moderapoppins @lookwhatyoumademequeue @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @thinkwritexpress-official @fearless2tobeme @laneygthememequeen @past-perfect-future-tense @drhughgrection @wildsageleon @promarvelfangirl @connorshero @anditwasjustus @p3nny4urth0ught5 @just-add-butter @usernamemingmei @the-canary @thorfanficwriter @blueskiesbleakeyes @silverwing2522 @satansmushroom @nerd-without-a-cause @barnesrogersvstheworld @firewolf-marvels @reginaphlanageadams @kiliakit @forsaken-letters @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @part-time-patronus @biavastarr @ellaenchanted91 @ihopeyousteponarosepetal @handfulof-roses @bloatedandlonly @barnestruck @itsbuckysworld @captainsbuck @writemarvelousthings @havanaangel @animeflower26 @igotkatiepowers @clockworkherondale @iamthemaskhewears @buckybarneshairpullingkink @abovethesmokestacks @ursulaismymiddlename @hiddles-rose @thisismysecrethappyplace @palaiasaurus64 @fanfic-diaries @fangirlfiction @creideamhgradochas

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #marvel fanfiction #beka writes #All We've Got is Time #Chapter Eight #james buchanan barnes

233 notes · View notes

star-trashinum · 8 years ago

Text

Hot and Sweaty

Chapter 1 - Mostly Sweaty

Uploaded on 2017-04-25 on ao3

Riko suffers in the most pleasurable way possible. No one has ever blushed more or accidentally pushed her face into as many rippling muscles, either. (For clarity's sake, You (Watanabe) is written as Yo).

Notes:

Italics indicate Riko's inner gay monologue.

Dear God, why is it so hard to be calm around Yo!?!?

Riko cursed her own inner thoughts, filled with images of various sculpted muscles, as she walked with her head looking down, trying hard to hide both her blush and gaze, opting not to stare at her girlfriend too long.

"C'mon Riko, the sooner we get to the gym, the more we can work out!" Yo exclaimed, bouncing excitedly while she held Riko's hand, "It's not often that I get to work out with you, so I want to make the best of it!"

"I know, I know, there's no need to pull my arms though, Yo-chan," Riko wailed as Yo tugged her arm forward until they reached the doors of the gym, "See? You're just impatient, Yo-chan."

The couple made their way into the gym, greeting familiar faces as they walked to the dressing room, changing into more suitable workout gear. Riko heard a confused noise that Yo tended to make when she walked in on her cooking, and turned to see Yo holding up a grey sports bra and matching yoga shorts. "Umm... Riko... how come this is all I have in my bag?" Yo asked, puzzled too why there was... so little, "I know I asked you to pack me some clothes but... I don't usually tend to work out like Mari or Kanan."

"Omygoshohmygosh I'm sorry dear, I just... you asked me to get something that you would look good in... and I guess I wasn't thinking straight," Riko apologized, reddening as she hid her face behind a t-shirt, "I-I have an extra t-shirt you can wear... it might be a bit small though."

"Aww, it's OK, I've worn outfits like this before; just remind me to help you with outfits next time, OK?” Yo added, before giving her girlfriend a comforting hug. The two quickly changed, quickly slipping on their shoes as they headed towards the treadmills. Riko looked down to see that her shoes were untied, and quickly fastened them before getting back up, only to come face to face with You’s abs, out there for Riko to gawk at, like usual. “Let’s go, let’s go; I can’t wait to start!” Yo cheered as they started their warm up, lightly jogging for 10 minutes before they stopped to cool down.

“Whew… I really need to get in the gym more often; this is killing me already…” Riko panted, taking a big gulp of water before catching her breath, “What’s next, Yo-chan?”

“Mmmm… Since we just gave our legs a good warmup, I think we should do the same for our arms, no?” Yo giggled, as she lead her girlfriend to the bench press, “Let’s get on the bench; I haven’t done it in so long because I haven’t had someone to spot me in forever, ehe~” Riko watched in fascination as Yo set up the bar for her set; watching her place heavy 40-pound weights on each side. Yo laid down on the bench, taking a deep breath as she rubbed her hands together and gestured over to Riko as she gripped onto it, “Just help me lift it a bit, and make sure I’m balanced, okay?”

“Gotcha; you can do it, dear,” Riko encouraged as she helped Yo take the bar off the rack, watching her breathing matchup methodically with her arms and chest, watching her face squint as she focused on nothing but benching and counting the amount of reps she had done. After a dozen, she looked at Riko, who quickly helped her place the bar back, before letting her arms down to rest, stretching out her arms to keep limber.

Wow, Yo-chan is really quite something, she’s able to lift so much with ease; must be her nice arms and muscular ch-

“Riko, are you ready now? ” Yo asked, looking over to Riko, who was quite red over staring at her, “you’re spacing out, and you should focus when you’re benching, to avoid injuries and all that sort of stuff.”

“Y-Yes, yes, o-of course!” Riko stammered, regaining her composure as she laid down on the bench, preparing herself as she readied her arms, “did you remember to change the weights on the bar?”

“Of course; I wanted to make sure you were safe while doing it!” Yo exclaimed, giving Riko a quick peck on the cheek before she lifted the bar up, “let’s go; Yosoro!” Riko lifted the bar and started her reps; face strained as she attempted to do her workouts, stopping after only 10 reps, arms tired and wobbling from the weight. Yo helped guide the bar down to its rack, and laughed as she watched Riko turn over and collapse to the floor, done after their first set. “C’mon Riko; we at least have two or three more sets, then we can do biceps next!” All that Yo got in return was a guttural moan of sadness as Riko attempted to lift herself up.

“Yoooo-chan, is the workout done already?” Riko moaned between sips of water as they made their way back from the water fountain, “I don’t know if my body can take much more…” Riko felt as if her chest was punching her from the inside and out; but Yo still looked as happy and chipper as usual, even after doing so much more weight than her. Riko gave her arms one last rotation before they made their way to a rack of dumbbells, each of the girls picking up weights that felt comfortable to them.

“You curl them like this dear, you can watch my arms as an example,” You instructed, making sure Riko was watching so that her form was ok; the last thing she wanted was for her to pull or dislocate something, “make sure your arms are at your side, and that you’re only using your upper arms to lift the weights, alright.” Yo waited for a response from Riko, but looked up, only to realize that her girlfriend’s eyes were fully transfixed on her bicep, watching them as they flexed and unflexed while she demonstrated the exercise.

They’re moving like a pair of pistons… look at how strong and muscular they are… no wonder she’s so athletic, I bet she could really put those arms to us-- PURE THOUGHTS RIKO PURE THOUGHTS

“Riko, love, you know that you need to do the exercise too; you just can’t stare at me all day,” Yo jokingly told Riko as she placed the weights down, “Now, did you get all the instructions for the bicep curl memorized?”

“O-Of course! I was listening, I swear!” Riko suddenly answered, fumbling to pick up her weights and repeat Yo’s actions, eyes still razor-focused on Yo’s prominent arm muscles, “i-is this alright? I hope I’m following your actions; I-I got a bit distracted while you showed it to me.” Yo watched her girlfriend finish up her set, and decided to tease the poor girl by pretending to stretch, which only resulted in her flexing her arms, and Riko nearly dropping her weights out of sheer surprise. “Yo, don’t do that!” Riko yelled, pausing to put the dumbbells down to make sure she didn’t end up hurting herself, “you can’t just go around doing that; o-ok?!”

“Awwww, I’m sorry Riko!” Yo sarcastically apologized as she wrapped her arms around her girlfriend, flexing her arms, letting Riko feel them press against her. Riko began to feel even more warm than she already was from her workout, reddening from her girlfriend’s effective teasing, panting as she looked down to see Yo’s muscular arms holding her.

“Yo… please l-let go…” Riko begged, attempting to wriggle her way out of Yo’s bear hug, “your arms are t-to dangerous… I’m gonna make weird noises if you keep cuddling me here…” “O-oh… my bad,” Yo apologized, letting go of her, looking down in embarrassment as she realized that her teasing had gone a bit far, “I-I’m sorry Riko.”

“No no, it’s ok darling,” Riko quickly told Yo as she returned the hug back, “now, I think we should get back to our exercises, right?” Yo nodded as she bent down to pick up her weights again, starting her reps again as she focused fully on her exercises. She finished her set, and put her weights down yet again, to take another drink. She looked over to see Riko, who was slowly curling her own weights; eyes glazed over and transfixed on Yo’s arms again, a bit of drool on the corner of her mouth. Yo giggled a bit before Riko realized that she was staring, blushing slightly before putting her weights down to take a drink, splashing herself in the face in the process.

“Ehe~ that’s what you get for being thirsty, darling,” Yo joked, walking up to her as she placed a little kiss on her cheek, “unfortunately, we only have a few more sets, but you can always watch these guns later~” Riko struggled to finish her last two sets, trying her hardest to not distract her mind with Yo, which proved hard as she kept staring at her wonderful girlfriend. After two more grueling sets, Riko dropped her weights and promptly fell to the floor, clutching her arms in pain and defeat, while Yo giggled and help her girlfriend up off the floor, who was mumbling something about no feeling in her arms.

“Wow; you really worked up a nice, good sweat Riko!” Yo cheered, giving her a thumbs up while she grabbed her water bottle and towel, “what should we work on next, love; legs, or abs?” Yo’s face lit up as she started to giggle, watching as he girlfriend’s brow furrowed and her lips pursed, thinking intensely about what part of her girlfriend she wanted to see.

“Hmm… squatting would let me stare at your butt… and it’d be good for my legs as well… but on the other hand… I’d get to see your stomach…” Riko mumbled as she thought over her options, “I guess I’d want to see your rippling six pack- I MEAN I WANT TO WORK ON MY CORE. YES. NOT LOOKING AT YOUR MUSCLES. NOPE.” Riko puffed her cheeks, trying not to be too angry at Yo as she collapsed onto the floor in laughter, unable to hold in her amusement at seeing Riko so focused on her body.

“Alright baby; you’re in for a real challenge then; I’ll make sure your abs feel nice and sore after this!” Yo cheered, walking a terrified Riko towards a different part of the gym, bringing out two yoga mats and a pair of medicine balls to Riko, who was curled up in a ball on the cold floor.

“See look… I’m working out my relaxing muscles with this exercise,” Riko announced, rolling over to her other side, “and look, I switched sides and everything.”

“You know, you won’t get to see these in action if you’re acting like a lazy kitty,” Yo replied, teasingly tracing her hands on the faint outline that was her abs, which immediately made Riko sit up in place, “See; wasn’t hard, was it?” Yo helped Riko set herself up; both girls sitting beside eachother; medicine balls in hand. “Now, we’re going to do some twists and sit ups; and you need to hold this medicine ball to make sure you're getting the full workout from this, ok?” Yo explained, watching Riko nod in understanding, watching Yo intently for instructions, “now, you just need to lift your legs off the floor, sitting upright, and twist the ball around like this!” Riko watched intently as Yo performed the exercise, watching as her stomach twisted and flexed as she finished a dozen or so rotations, before putting the ball down, barely skipping a beat. “Now it’s your turn, baby!” Yo cheered, signalling to Riko, who lifted her legs up off the floor, attempting to copy Yo’s actions before falling over after 10 twists.

“How do you subject yourself to this; and so often as a matter of fact!?!” Riko complained, groaning as she clutched her stomach, “how many do we need to do?”

“Five sets of twenty or so, then after this, planks!” Yo excitedly answered, watching Riko’s face contort in shock, “don’t worry; after a few workouts, you’ll be strong in no time!” Riko flopped over onto the mat, turning to Yo with her biggest puppy dog eyes, in an attempt to stop the exercises. “Silly Riko, you aren’t getting out of this that easily,” Yo teased, moving her mat closer to Riko, “besides, you said you wanted to tone your stomach, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t realize how much… effort I would need to put in,” Riko sighed, staring at her girlfriend’s stomach, reaching a hand to feel it, “they’re never going to look as good as these, though; your body is on a whole different level from mine!”

“Ehe~ I do take pride in my stomach after all!” Yo grinned as she felt Riko’s hand rub and touch her stomach, fingers tracing the indents of her abs, “Umm… earth to Riko?” Riko’s brain had all but shut off; too focused on the fact that she was touching firm, solid muscle, that was her girlfriend’s, of all things

They’re so tight and they just look so sexy… I just can’t stop touching and feeling them… what did I ever do to be this blessed?

Riko’s bordering-on-lewd inner thoughts were interrupted by an arm that was slightly shaking her, which turned out to be Yo, who was beet red in embarrassment. Riko soon realized why she was that flustered, after she looked around to see a few people staring as Riko had started to drool again after touching Yo’s abs, and quickly retracted her hands and curled up in embarrassment. Yo did her best to take a deep breath after that particularly embarrassing moment, and attempted to pull Riko up off the ground, who was on the verge of tears.

“I-I’m so sorry Yo, I wasn’t thinking and I just couldn’t resist; they’re just too nice…” Riko mumbled, trying her hardest to pull herself together, “I’m sorry for embarrassing you in front of everyone…” Yo suddenly pulled her embarrassed girlfriend into a hug, easing her heart and mind as she returned it.

“It’s OK; I understand,” Yo cooed, letting go of Riko to sit back down on her mat, “it’s just very flattering to see you love my body this much…” Yo giggled as she watched Riko stare at her abs yet again, flinching away in an attempt to control her gay mind. “Now, are you going to be able to calm yourself down to do more exercises, or am I too distracting?” Yo jokingly asked, receiving playful hits to her head from a flustered, giggling Riko, “I’ll take that as a yes~” Riko gritted her teeth as she started her twists again, keeping her pace at the rhythmic counting of Yo, stopping again after a few minutes, falling to the floor in pain.

“Auuugh… I feel like my stomach is going to fight me…” Riko groaned, getting ready for her next set, “three more, right?”

“Yep; and planks after!”

“UGGGGGGGGH… Yo why…”

Riko fell to the floor as her arms gave out, finishing her last plank, with Yo following a few seconds later.

“Wow Riko, you’re doing great; that time you lasted for 40 seconds!” Yo congratulated, stopping the stopwatch on her phone, “you're making great progress!”

“I would say thank you, but I feel like I’m going to collapse from the inside out,” Riko sighed with a defeated look on her face, “are we done yet, or did you plan something else to trick me with?”

“Not this time baby; just stretching, okay?” Yo told Riko, as she laid down on the mat, readying herself, “Riko, could you give me a hand with this bridge in case I fall down; just hold up my back a bit.” Riko followed Yo’s instructions and knelt beside her girlfriend, putting her hands on her back as she got up on her hands and feet.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, in Riko’s case), Riko bent over in an attempt to grab her phone and was met with Yo’s abs, pressing against her face, making her mind go dizzy and her body press more against them.

Oh God oh God oh God they right here they’re so hot and sweaty but they’re so nice thank you to whichever God graced me this day

Yo gave a surprised yelp as she fell over, sending Riko toppling down after her, turning into a mess of sweaty limbs on top of a yoga mat. “Nnnn, Riko are you ok?” Yo asked, hoping she didn’t hurt her girlfriend, struggling to get up as she noticed that something was in the way. She bent her head up a bit to see Riko, arms wrapped around her; fully red-faced as she pressed herself against her girlfriend, muttering something about ‘being too sexy to handle’.

She could almost feel the shower sex coming.

#Gratuitous depictions of muscles #you watanabe #riko sakurauchi #gym #writing #My writing

16 notes · View notes

poeticdisaster83 · 8 years ago

Text

Heat of the moment

It’s summer time in South Carolina, the hot July sun, brutal as it beats down from it’s perch in the sky, baking the small town of Fort Mill along with it’s residents. They’ve been here for two weeks, their dad three counties away, hunting only God knows what. Sam quit caring about a thousand miles ago. They’re both spread out on the queen size bed, clad in only their boxers, the heat from their bodies radiating in the small space between them.

The shoddy air conditioner rattles and clunks as it blows a weak stream of warm air into the room. Dean’s mouth is desert dry, lips sticking to his teeth as he tries to talk.

“Saaaammmm” he groans. “I’m fucking melting man. It’s like a hundred degrees in here.”

“I know,” his brother agrees, raising up to look at him. “I’m about to go take a cold shower.”

“That’s a good idea Sam I am.” He says slapping his brother on the leg and stands. “Go ahead and get it started, I’ll be in in a minute.”

“Wait! What?” His brother gasps, eyes huge as he stares up at Dean in confusion. “You wanna take a shower together?”

“Don’t make it weird.” Dean says with a shrug of his shoulders, like this is a perfectly normal thing for brother’s to do.

“Dude,” Sam scoffs. “It is weird.”

“Is not.” His brother defends and Sam wants to say something else but Dean’s already lost his boxers and is walking bare-assed into the bathroom.

“Oh god!” Sam swears under his breath. This is a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

His feet feel like they’re strapped down with iron weights as he takes the few steps leading him into the bathroom. He can see his brother’s silhouette through the thin shower curtain and he swallows hard against the knot in his throat.

Pulling his boxers off and discarding them on the floor he pulls the curtain back and climbs inside. His brother’s back is turned to him, head bent under the spray and he takes in the expanse of freckled skin thats laid out against broad shoulders. Eyes following the path of Dean’s spine down to the curve of his ass and he bites the meat of his jaw and wills his dick to stay down where he feels it stirring to life.

Dean chuckles from under the spray, like he knows exactly what Sam’s doing back here, and pulls back from under the water, rubs a hand down his face and turns to look at Sam. His eyes snap up, right as his brother turns around, and Sam tries to hide his face under his shaggy, chestnut hair, hands scrambling to cover his middle.

“Don’t be shy Sam. I’ve seen everything you got. I used to change your diapers dude.”

“Yeah well,” Sam mumbles awkardly, “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“I won’t make fun of you Sammy.” Dean promises as his hands grab his brother’s shoulders and spin him around, effectively pushing him under the cold spray.

“That’s not- I mean, I’m not.” Sam stutters, as he sucks in a suprised breath as the cold water sends a shock to his system. He wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, he also wants to cry; he does neither. Instead, he takes several deep breathes as he stands there, silent as the icy blast pelts against his skin and rolls down his back. It should be enough to kill his boner but he can feel how heavy it still hangs between his legs, refusing to go away knowing Dean’s naked body is just inches away.

“It’s almost too much at first.” Dean says from somewhere behind him. “But after you adjust to it, it feels good.”

Something in the tone of Dean’s voice makes Sam turn around, and he watches as his brother’s eyes track every single mile of his skin, not much different than what he’d done when their positions had been reversed. However, Dean’s face seems to hide no shame when his eyes shift to Sam’s, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

The silence that hangs between them is loaded but he can’t make his mouth move, can’t clear the fog that’s seemed to settle over him.

He lets his eyes continue their path down dean’s stomach, resting on the patch of hair between his legs, and there’s no mistaking how hard Dean is, except he isn’t trying to hide it like Sam is.

He slowly removes his hands from where they’re resting and watches as his brother follows the movement, eyes wide and not moving from where he stares at Sam’s erection.

“Jesus Christ Sammy!” Dean says eyes flicking back to his siblings face as he rubs the back of his neck. “That’s impressive.” He adds not sure where he should be looking but unable to pull his eyes off his little brother.

“Do you,” Sam starts to say but then the words get stuck because he’s not really sure how to ask this.

“Yeah.” Dean answers anyway. “Yeah Sammy, I do.”

They stand there a few more seconds both openly staring before Dean slowly inches his way towards Sam.

“You sure this is ok?” He asks but Sam doesn’t answer. Just reaches out and grabs Dean’s hand where it’s resting at his side and boldly brings it to his stomach, his brother’s palm burning against his cooled skin.

Dean’s hand does a slow slide down his abdomen, fingertips brushing over his hard prick and when he finally wraps his hand around it, Sam shudders and throws his head back, eyes closed as a moan bubbles up from his chest.

Dean’s hand feels good where its wrapped around him and he seems to know exactly how Sam likes it without him having to say a word. His hips snap foward and he tries not to let his legs buckle from underneath him as they shake from the pleasure.

“Maybe we should take this to the bedroom.” Dean suggests, “ lay you out on the bed, get you comfortable.”

“Yeah, okay. Yeah.” He says maybe a little too eager and turns the water off.

He’s dripping water all over the floor as he makes his way to the bed but he can’t really find it in himself to care.

He lays down against the sheets, legs spread wide and watches as Dean crawls in between them, breath ghosting over Sam’s dick.

“Can I Sam?” Dean asks, voice pleading. “Can I taste you.”

“Fuck!” he hisses, hand coming to rest against Dean’s face. “Yes Dean. Please.”

The first brush of Dean’s tongue against his shaft has his toes curling, muscles pulled tight and he allows his head to fall back against the pillows.

“Yeah.” He moans, running his fingers through Dean’s short hair, but anything else he was planning on saying gets loged somewhere inside his throat as his brother swallows the rest of his length, his cockhead hitting the back of Dean’s throat.

He wraps his lips tight around Sam’s girth and pulls off, slow slide up, tongue curling around the head of Sam’s cock, scooping up a bead of pre-come that’s gathered at the tip.

“Dean,” Sam shudders, “I want-”

“What baby boy?” Dean asks, green eyes bright as they shine down on him. “What do you want?”

He can’t think straight, not enough blood flow getting to his brain but he manages to say, “You Dean. I want you.”

His brother grins from where he’s looming overtop of Sam.

“I’m yours.” He says. “Always have been.”

“Kiss me.” Sam whispers, his voice trembling as his heart hammers inside his chest.

His brother’s lips are soft and wet, and he opens to him eagerly. Can taste the remnants of himself on dean’s tongue as it tangles with his and he tries not to think too hard about why that turns him on so much. He wraps his hand around the back of Dean’s neck urging him closer, and when Dean’s dick brushes against his it feels like a wave of electricity jolting through his body.

“Do that again.” He begs between kisses. “Do that again Dean.”

His brother grinds his hips against his, one arm supporting his weight as the other has a bruising grip on Sam’s waist.

Sam raises his hips slightly, seeking his brother’s friction but it changes the angle enough so that when Dean grinds against him again his dick slides down between the crease of his ass, the tip of his dick brushing up against Sam’s hole.

“Do it.” Sam says, voice frantic. “Please Dean I want you to fuck me.”

His brother makes a noise deep in his throat and he sounds like he’s in pain but the look in his eyes says something else entirely.

“Are you sure?” He asks but all Sam can do is nod.

Dean runs his hands down the length of Sam’s legs, thumbs coming to rest at the bend of his knees and pushes them up, legs coming to rest over his brother’s shoulder.

“We’ll start slow.” Dean says sliding one finger in his mouth to get it wet and gently pushes against the pink furl of his brother’s hole.

It slides in easy, Sam’s body accepting it with no struggle. He pushes it in and out a few times then adds another. That one burns slightly but it feels good, lighting up Sam’s insides as he tries not to come.

He stretches and sissors them, a third joining the other two and Sam has to bite his lip to keep from moaning too loud.

“I’m ready.” Sam says and Dean smiles. Leans down to kiss him as he pulls his fingers free.

He watches as Dean grabs some lube from the bedside table and slicks himself up. Slowly, so very slowly, he pushes inside the tight, wet, heat of his brother’s body. After bottoming out he rests for a moment, giving Sam time to adjust to the feeling of being so full before he starts to move again.

“You’re so tight Sammy.” Dean moans, hips pumping into him at a slow and steady pace. It’s too much but not enough and Sam feels like he’s being taken apart.

“Faster Dean.” He begs. “Please.”

So his brother picks up the pace, thrusting harder inside and pulling back out, hips pistoning as he fucks into Sam.

The headboard is banging against the wall, the sheets sliding off the bed as he keeps up the punishing pace and he hopes like hell none of their neighbors calls to complain.

He brushes something inside Sam that has him screaming out for more but he knows he’s not gonna last long. A bead of sweat drips down from Dean’s nose landing against the hollow of his throat and he watches as Dean’s arms shake with exertion.

“Dean.” Sam moans, feeling his orgasm building at the base of his spine.

He comes, dick completly untouched, as his brother follows a few seconds later.

The bed is still wet and their probably gonna have to have another shower but Sam can’t find the strength to move.

“I think you killed me.” He says as he looks over at his big brother. “Death by sex.” And Dean laughs.

“Next time,” he says smiling at Sam, “You can top if you want.”

“Really?” Sam asks, his dick feebly trying to stir back to life at the thought.

“Yeah, of course.” Dean says, fingers smoothing Sam’s wet hair from his face.

“So there’ll be a next time?” He asks voice almost a whisper.

“Oh absolutely.” His brother smiles against his lips.

He kisses him back, lips swollen and spit-slick from his brother’s mouth but he could never get tired of having Dean this close. Sometimes, he thinks to himself, everything works out exactly like it’s supposed to.

#apparently i'm incapable of writing anything but first time fics #wincest #weecest #bottom!sam #mutual pinning #my writing

196 notes · View notes

itsworn · 6 years ago

Text

Bright & Snarly 1952 Henry J Gasser Is a Tribute to His 1960s Drag Racing

If you were born before 1955, you might well remember building the famous Revell Henry J kit. Like most models of that era, it was highly detailed with many small, fragile parts. It may have taken two or three tries before you successfully built, painted, and applied decals to an example that you would be proud to add to your display case. At least that’s the way it was for me more than five decades ago, long before I knew I would make a career out of photographing and writing about cars, especially fullsize editions of cars I built as 1/25th scale models as a kid.

Fast-forward more than five decades. On a foggy spring morning in Southern California, I’m hanging out the passenger-side window of my buddy’s 1967 AMC Rambler Rogue convertible, trying to properly frame a fullsize version of one of those models.

The orange 1952 Kaiser Henry J is a tribute to the straight-axle gassers, the precursors of the Funny Cars that would dominate professional drag racing decades later.

Randy and Jodell Zeal estimate they put about 500 miles a month on their Henry J gasser, or about 6,000 miles a year. That’s a lot of enjoyable time behind the wheel for the couple, who have been together for more than 50 years.

Deluxe readers know more about the appeal of the Henry J for the drag racers of the late 1950s and into the 1960s than most folks. The formula was always simple: a big engine installed in the lightest possible body. But some might not know that the Henry J was the brainchild of industrialist and shipbuilder Henry J. Kaiser (who pioneered employer-provided health insurance that still today bears his name). He was one half of the team that launched the Kaiser-Frazer Corporation out of the automotive assets of Graham-Paige. Kaiser-Frazer was one of the first companies to try to meet the huge demand for new automobiles following the rationing of the Second World War.

Because of the buyers’ market and shortage of new cars following the end of the war, Kaiser-Frazer enjoyed a degree of success. But by 1950, when the Big Three engaged in a take-no-prisoners war for sales (interrupted by the outbreak of the Korean War), all the independents, Kaiser-Frazer included, clawed for market share. Packard, Studebaker, Nash, and Hudson all suffered.

Randy raced a ’57 Olds and later an Olds-powered T roadster at Lions and other Southern California strips in the 1960s. The decals evoke that earlier era and bring back fond memories.

In order to expand its lineup, Kaiser championed the design, engineering, and introduction of an inexpensive smaller car, one that would be easy to build, made from fewer parts (no glovebox, sparse interior trim, no opening decklid), and powered by an economical four-cylinder engine sourced from Willys-Overland. There was only one problem with this plan. The Henry J was only about $200 cheaper ($2,000 today adjusted for inflation) than an entry-level, fullsize Chevrolet. And yes, Sears sold a badge-engineered version of the car under the Allstate brand.

Its engineering simplicity ultimately made the Henry J ideal to use as a drag car. When it was discontinued after the 1953 model year (a few were re-serialized as 1954 models) and its automotive tooling was shipped off to Argentina, there was a surplus of Henry J cars for drag racers to work their magic upon.

The engine is a 383 Chevy stroker. There was no room for a blower without cutting into the little Henry J’s firewall, so Randy elected to go after a little ram-air effect thanks to the scoop feeding the twin Holleys and the tall tunnel-ram intake below them.

For Randy and Jodell Zeal of Lake Havasu City, Arizona, all of this history matters little. Now retired and with the full support of his wife, Randy has built this stunning 1952 Kaiser Henry J gasser. “We drive it everywhere,” he says. “At the shows we attend, most of the show cars are brought in on trailers and see very little street time.”

“We met while street racing in high school in 1965,” says Jodell. “He raced my sister that night. He was sitting on the hood of his ’57 Olds at Oscar’s drive-in restaurant in Garden Grove. My sister and I drove by in her ’64 Impala, a few words were exchanged, and we’ve been together ever since. We were married when Randy returned from Vietnam.”

Randy grew up in Huntington Beach and drag raced at Lions, Orange County International Raceway, and Carlsbad Raceway, among others. He made a career owning and operating a radiator repair shop in Laguna Hills, a calling that led them to Fallbrook, then to Murrieta, before retiring in Arizona.

The custom headers were ceramic-coated to help keep heat out of the car. Before Randy had this done, the floor would heat up to 135 degrees. Talk about a hot foot!

Randy jokingly said the biggest challenge in building the car was getting Jodell to write the checks.

“I retired at age 58,” he says. “Going back to my drag racing days in the 1960s at Lions Drag Strip, I always liked the Henry J gassers. Lions for me began in 1964. Ran the strip almost weekly with my ’57 Olds. It was a real sleeper since most people thought it was too heavy to be a good drag car. But little did they know that I stripped out as much weight as possible and won many times in the Street Eliminator class. In 1967 I built a ’23 T roadster with a 425 Olds and raced at Carlsbad and Orange County International Raceway until I was drafted.”

Years later Randy decided to build his own gasser. “At first, when I acquired the Henry J, I was going to do a stock restoration. But with a top speed of about 40 mph, that was a nonstarter. Then I determined that it was the right car to do a gasser like I remembered the cars from almost 50 years ago. Originally we budgeted $30,000 for the build. At last count, it has reached more than three times that amount.”

Randy built the Henry J’s straight-axle front suspension using components he sourced from Speedway Motors.

Randy characterizes his car as old-school fun. Remembering the durability of the ’57 Olds rearend, that’s where the project started. “I’m an Oldsmobile man and never gave a second thought that the rearend would be anything but a ’57 Olds. I found one in a boneyard in Phoenix. The car features a straight axle up front with ladder traction bars in the rear. It took time to figure out the right gears, starting with a 4.56 spool rearend, but we could not keep the front end on the ground. After breaking three sets of wheelie bars we now run a 4.30 positraction differential and only pop wheelies when we want to. We wore out the wheels on the wheelie bars just having fun.”

A lot of thought went into the engine before a selection was made. “GM makes a great engine, and initially the plan was for a big-block Chevy, but I decided that it would be too heavy for a street machine. Ultimately I ended up with a 383 stroker. I knew it was going to give me the power I was looking for. The bad news is that I contracted with an engine builder in Temecula, California, and almost lost it all. They were shutting down, and if not for a phone call, my engine and money would have been locked up and lost when they shut down.”

Up front, 15×5 Rocket wheels provide the spindle-mount look and are mounted to skinny Mickey Thompson Sportsman tires. In back, 15×12 old-school steel wheels with trim rings and Baby Moon caps are wrapped with fat Mickey Thompson Sportsman S/Rs.

The build included a Moroso oil pan, Scat reciprocating parts—rods, piston, crank—and Dart heads. Ruben Racing Cams of Anaheim supplied the roller cam that spec’d at 0.535/0.535 lift, 299/312 duration. “I also installed a dual-pass radiator and custom headers with ceramic coating,” Randy says. “The trans is a 700R4 converted to a floor shifter using a B&M torque converter with a 3,500-rpm stall speed. Gives me a little more hot rod action. The interior features classic Stewart-Warner gauges, a complete rollcage, and a five-point racing harness. The radiused wheelwells and the drag parachute by Simpson were added for old-school looks.”

After the debacle with the first builder and interviewing several other potential builders, Randy found “a great guy that was between jobs. His name is James Delich. I hired him fulltime and ultimately we have become great friends. James was a friend of Donnie Ho. Donnie is a great fabricator and helped a great deal on the build. James and Donnie have been friends since high school. I have been friends with Donnie for over 10 years. Both are very knowledgeable, and with our combined experience we built a fine machine.”

The whole car was built around this robust ’57 Olds rearend, Randy says, a throwback to his racing days. “I realize that a new builder would go for the default choice, a Ford 9-inch rear, but being old school myself, I knew the Olds would be stronger.”

Randy notes that the brilliant orange paint and exceptional bodywork was done by Gil’s Auto Body in Hemet, California. The paint cost was a gift of the Zeal’s good friends Stan and Catherine Sorensen. The House of Kolor Chameleon shows gold and green in direct sunlight but in shade is flat orange. Jodell says, “We were deep into just getting the car on the road and planned to wait another year before painting. Stan wanted to see it finished, as at the time he was in failing health. So he offered to pay for the paint, and we were glad he did. He got to see and enjoy the car many times before passing.”

Other contributors to the build included Upholstery by Mac in Homeland, California, and USA Metal Polishing in Lake Elsinore, California.

“There’s one experience I’d like to share,” says Randy. “As I said, James and I became good friends. Coming back from the Rat Fink Reunion in Utah, my Chevy 454 SS tow vehicle blew a water pump just west of Las Vegas. It was midday in the heat of summer, but James came to the rescue. He drove all the way out to pick us up. We put the truck on our trailer, and James towed it home. Jodell and I drove the Henry J across the desert. It was so hot that Jodell had to put iced towels from our cooler on my feet so I could keep pressing on the gas. What a day! The looks we got out on the highway were fantastic.”

The Simpson parachute is there to look cool, but the wheelie bars are functional. In fact, when Randy was sorting out his rearend gears, he broke three sets of wheelie bars because the Henry J spent so much time with its front wheels in the air.

During the first year Randy and Jodell showed the Henry J, Randy says that “people just did not get the idea of the car. Once they did, we either got First Place or nothing. By the second year we were very well received and got many First Place and People’s Choice awards. The annual gassers show at the Automobile Driving Museum in Los Angeles was a great thrill to win the trifecta: Best Gasser, Best of Show, and People’s Choice.”

“We always invite children of all ages to sit in the car and have a photo,” says Jodell. “Families are surprised that we do this, but we believe we need to include kids to keep the ideas alive. The kids are thrilled, and we give them a postcard of the car with a little history on the back.”

The Zeals recognize that appealing to the next generation is the future of our hobby. That’s why it is so important that drag racing’s rich heritage be preserved for future enthusiasts to enjoy. We couldn’t agree with them more.

The Henry J cartoon on the quarter-panel was hand painted by Ron Williams of Winchester, California, a very talented artist.

The traditional Moon tank carries just enough fuel to make a couple of quarter-mile passes.

Randy’s goal was to keep an original look to the dashboard, though he did add updated Stewart-Warner gauges to monitor the stroker Chevy. The more comfortable seats were a concession to all the road miles he and Jodell put on the car.

Pic: Tim Boyd Even if you were too young to see a real Henry J hustle down the quarter-mile, you may have built one of the popular 1:25-scale kits. The “Souped-Up Coupe” was Revell’s Model of the Month for July 1969.

At Hot August Nights in Reno last summer, one of the judges told Randy and Jodell that “if there was a trophy for ‘Wow’ we would have gotten it,” Randy says. “It just doesn’t get any better than that.”

The post Bright & Snarly 1952 Henry J Gasser Is a Tribute to His 1960s Drag Racing appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network https://www.hotrod.com/articles/bright-snarly-1952-henry-j-gasser-tribute-1960s-drag-racing/ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Hot Rod Network

0 notes

itsworn · 6 years ago

Text

Budget 350-Horse 302 Part 2: Speed Parts for Power

Whether you followed along for Part 1 of this wallet-friendly small-block rebuild or not (mustang-360.com/how-to/engine/1806-budget-350-horse-302-part-1-the-machine-shop), you won’t want to miss out on Part 2. This time around it’s all about adding a healthy dose of power to a run-of-the-mill 1971 302 small-block. We’re taking what could be an average rebuild and putting a small aftermarket spin on it by tossing out the stock top end in favor of some goodies we picked up from Speedway Motors.

With a set of reasonably priced aluminum heads from Flo-Tek as the catalyst, we spec’d out a handful of other top-end parts in hopes of bumping the little 302 up near 350 horsepower. That number might not sound impressive in the days of 1,000hp Internet heroes, but if you’ll remember, small-block Fords from the early 1970s weren’t pushing too far past the 200hp mark. So if you were being pulled around by a stock 302 like we were, you know you’re going to feel an increase of 100-plus horsepower.

So what was the plan of attack, you might ask? Well, the aforementioned Flo-Tek heads were what really got us thinking. Pre-assembled (valve seats, valves, valvesprings, and retainers), these things are going for around $400 each, so at $800 for a pair of performance aluminum heads, we were off to a great start. At that point it was about picking the right assortment of supporting mods, starting with the intake manifold. This was probably the easiest decision, and since street-driven performance was the goal, an Edelbrock Performer RPM Air-Gap was a no-brainer. Time and time again we’ve seen these make solid power at the top of the powerband without sacrificing low-end torque and drivability.

Next up was camshaft selection. We wanted something that would take advantage of the higher-flowing heads and intake manifold, but again, not give up too much down low. We also wanted to keep it cheap and simple, so we stuck with a hydraulic flat tappet. What we got from Speedway Motors was a cam with an intake and exhaust duration of 219/233 at 0.050 and .477/.510 lift with 110-degree lobe separation. Finishing off the valvetrain, we went with a set of Speedway Motors 1.6:1 roller rocker arms with a 3/8-inch stud to match the Flo-Tek heads.

To get fuel and air into the engine, we could have gone EFI, but since the word “budget” is in the title of this story, we decided to keep it simple and affordable. Thus, we opted for a Holley 650-cfm Double Pumper. Then to dress things up, we went for set of Speedway Motors black aluminum, fully finned valve covers and matching 12-inch oval air cleaner. And no, we didn’t forget about spark; our 302 was already fitted with an aftermarket HEI all-in-one distributor that was working well, so we just cleaned it up and got a set of MSD Street Fire plug wires and fresh plugs.

The end result was not only nice to look at (yes, we’re a bit biased), but it also met our expectations in terms of performance. Keep on reading to see how we got from a bare block and a pile of parts to a 350hp mill that’s ready to go.

1. First up we get ready to check the crankshaft journal clearance by installing our Clevite main bearings in the main journals and caps. Remember, install notch to notch and press firmly into place, ensuring each end of the bearing sits flush.

2. After torquing all the main bolts to spec, we checked crankshaft main journal to bearing clearance using a dial bore gauge and micrometer. If the clearances are too tight or too loose, it’s better to find out now than just cross your fingers and pray it all goes well when you fire the engine for the first time.

3. Next we installed the two-piece rear main seal with the groove facing inward and used non-hardening aviation sealant on the back and the top edges. Whether you install it flush or offset is up to you, but some claim that leaving one side higher than the other is better at retaining oil.

4. Unless you really trust yourself, its best to have a second set of hands when dropping in the crankshaft—don’t forget to thoroughly cover all bearing surfaces in engine assembly lube. Adding some lube on the inside of the rear main seal is also a good idea so it doesn’t catch on the crank.

5. Set all the main caps in place and then torque to spec, starting from the center and working your way out.

6. This could have been done earlier or later, but next we tapped in the core plugs using non-hardening aviation sealant on the edges.

7. Then, with a dial indicator and magnetic base, we checked crankshaft endplay using a screwdriver between the main caps and counterweights to force the crank fore and aft.

8. Before installing the rings on our Wiseco Pro Tru Street forged pistons, we went old school and used a file in a vise to gap each ring. Tech tip: a ring filer tool makes life much easier.

9. With the rings gapped and installed on the pistons, we prepared the rods by sliding in and lubing up the rod bearings. Then we used ARP Ultra-Torque Fastener Assembly Lubricant on the rod bolts.

10. Using a custom-sized 4.030-inch ARP tapered piston ring compressor is the hot ticket for installing the pistons without pinching a ring.

11. We then torqued all the rod bolts to spec before covering the camshaft in cam assembly lube and sliding it in. A longer bolt of the same thread and diameter as the cam bolt can be used to leverage the camshaft in place once the going gets tough.

12. The timing set was next. The big deal here is making sure those two little dots—one on the crank gear and one on the cam gear—are lined up with each other on the inside. If you want to be absolutely sure of the cam timing, use a degree wheel to dial it in, but the “lining up the dots” method is fine in most cases, especially with name-brand camshafts.

13. Then we installed one head to check pushrod length, using red marker on the valve stem. After installing two lifters, pushrods, and rocker arms, and turning the engine over by hand a few times, the rocker tips left the marks you see here. Any farther down and the pushrods would be too long; any farther up and the pushrods would have been too short.

14. Before installing that head and turning the engine over a few times, we stuck on some clay to check piston-to-valve clearance. Using a depth gauge, we found we had miles of room between the valves and the valve reliefs in the piston.

15. Before installing the rest of the lifters, we smothered them in the same cam installation lube. Failure to do so could do some serious damage to the lifters and the camshaft during engine break-in, especially with flat tappet cams.

16. We installed the Flo-Tek aluminum heads using ARP head bolts, then with the lifters, pushrods, and roller rockers all in place, we proceeded to set the valve lash. We ran down the poly lock by hand until it barely found resistance. Then, after a half-turn more, locked it down.

17. Flipping the engine back over, we installed the stock oil pump and pickup using high-temp threadlocker on the bolts and torquing to spec.

18. We then tapped in the crank seal. Like the core plugs, a large socket of the same diameter can be used to install the crankshaft seal too.

19. Next up, the oil pan and timing cover went on and were torqued to spec.

20. Then on went the Edelbrock RPM Air-Gap intake manifold. You might have also noticed that ARP sent us a set of its stainless steel accessory bolts to hold everything together.

21. When installing the Speedway Motors valve covers, we applied non-hardening sealant on the top side of the Fel-Pro gasket so later if we want to remove the covers from the head, the gasket would only stick to the valve covers.

22. The stock balancer went on next. Like the oil pan, timing cover, pulleys, and other stock parts, we cleaned up and painted the original balancer before installing.

23. We then installed the thermostat, thermostat housing, and water pump on the front of the 302.

24. The end was near as we installed the pulleys and accessory brackets, a task that was even more simple than usual since we weren’t running A/C or power steering.

25. The final steps included installing the new Holley 650-cfm Double Pumper, the old HEI distributor, Street Fire plug wires, and the valve cover–matching Speedway Motors air cleaner.

26. As far as wallet-friendly, performance-oriented small-block Ford’s go, this thing actually turned out lookin’ pretty good, if we say so ourselves.

27. Better than just looking good, it also delivered on the performance end. After breaking it in on the dyno at Westech Performance Group in Mira Loma, California, our little 302 ended up making 348 peak horsepower at 6,000 rpm and 347 lb-ft of torque at 4,100 rpm—not technically 350 horsepower, but we’re claiming victory anyway.

The post Budget 350-Horse 302 Part 2: Speed Parts for Power appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network https://www.hotrod.com/articles/budget-350-horse-302-part-2-speed-parts-power/ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Hot Rod Network

0 notes

itsworn · 7 years ago

Text

The Iron Maiden, Part 1

So we excavated an orphan LQ4: a really ancient 1999 version with iron heads. It literally was an orphan because nobody wanted it. Our buddy Bill Irwin found this neglected engine leaking on the floor of a shop in Iowa. It is perfect for a Car Craft build; Bill sored the long block for a demon-of-a-deal at $550. We dubbed it the Iron Maiden.

The plan is to burn through a sequence of tests on this cast-off engine with an emphasis on affordability and on making torque and streetable power. To this point, we will avoid using a large-by-huge camshaft combined with rectangle port heads and a carbureted single plane intake manifold. While that combination would make really good peak power, it will be a bit of a pooch at part-throttle. The Iron Maiden is aimed at making great torque where you can really use it.

We’ll tease you a little bit here just to motivate you to follow this entire series of stories. Coming soon, we’ll tell you how we made nearly 500 hp with just a few budget parts that centered around a pair of lightly-ported production cylinder heads, a mild cam, and a stock, truck-style intake manifold. Have we got you wondering? Good.

First off, why did we buy an LS engine with iron heads? Because it was cheap. We also knew we were going to swap heads, so after this first round of tests, those iron castings were destined to become door stops.

Prior to our session on the engine dyno, we disassembled the Maiden and inspected her closely because recently, we were bitten by a pair of spun rod bearings on a used 5.3L truck engine we tested. The spun bearings ate the crank, and that stinging reminder left us questioning the Iron Maiden’s stability under dyno abuse. Of course, because we made the effort to inspect her, the internals were prefect. However, we did decide to install new rod, main, and cam bearings along with a new timing chain and oil pump, while the engine was apart. Those were the only new parts we used- the old pistons and rings went back in along with the stock cam, lifters, and pushrods. If anything, the new bearings cost us horsepower because we tightened the bearing clearance, as evidenced by its 89 psi hot oil pressure at 6,000 rpm. It takes horsepower to push an oil pump that hard. We will address that later in the series.

We wanted to run the engine on the dyno in a totally stock configuration for a baseline, which demanded a stock wiring harness that we ordered from Painless Performance. A big advantage to using Painless is that once you’ve purchased a harness, you can send in your stock ECU to have it unlocked and to change other details like gear ratio or tire size. The stock fuel injection system does require the use of a mass airflow sensor (MAF) and inlet ducting, which we sourced for a 2002 truck in the Spectre catalog. RockAuto supplied the mass airflow sensor. This system also requires only one pair of oxygen sensors as Painless deleted the after-cat sensors. Another change we made was to add a set of larger fuel injectors from an 8.1L (496ci) truck engine. They flow 30 lb/hr at 58 psi, where the stock injectors flow roughly 25 lbs/hr and are good for about 400 to 425 hp before going static.

Once we installed the engine at Westech and dyno operator Steve Brule’ allowed it to warm up, we discovered the stock fuel pressure regulator peaking at 70 psi. We replaced it with a new one, which brought the fuel pressure down closer to normal, but later we installed an adjustable regulator to compensate for the larger fuel injectors.

The 8.1L injectors allowed for more horsepower potential, but running in our otherwise stock engine meant that the tune-up was too rich. The best way to fix this would be to go reprogram the ECM with the new fuel injector flow rates, but this requires investing in tuning programs like HP Tuners, LS Edit, or JET’s software. Our temporary solution was to install an adjustable fuel pressure regulator. By turning down the fuel pressure, we could manually reduce the flow through the injectors. At this point by tuning strictly with fuel pressure, we made a decent 383 lb-ft of torque and 330 hp.

Steve Brule’ suggested converting to Holley’s HP EFI system; Westech has that set-up in their dyno cell, and he’s very familiar with it’s tuning process. Because we have more than a dozen changes planned for this engine, we agreed and will be using that engine management system for the remainder of all the tests. After hooking up the HP ECM, power jumped to 365 hp and 412 lb-ft of torque, an increase of 35 hp and 29 lb-ft.. This is because we were able to correctly set the fuel maps to reflect the fuel injector size and flow, and give the engine a more aggressive timing curve. Remember, the Maiden is still stone stock, right down to her cast iron manifolds and accessory drive.

Next, we removed the stock accessory drive and water pump, replacing it with an electric pump. We didn’t except much until the results came in with a surprising average increase and a peak improvement of 10 hp. We’ve seen this before on a 4.8L engine recently, and our theory is that truck water pumps pull more power at the higher engine speeds, perhaps because they cavitate. The engine’s peak numbers improved slightly to 416 lb-ft and 373 hp at 5,200 rpm. We used to really work hard on a small-block Chevy to get to that number – remember this is with the LQ4’s stock cam and intake manifold.

A bigger cam was in order now, so we removed the stock LQ4 cam and replaced it with a Corvette LS6 version with a nice duration and lift increase. On the intake side, for example, the LS6’s 204 degrees of duration is an increase of 13 degrees over the LQ4’s specs. See the full comparison in the accompanying Cam Specs chart. With the cam change, peak torque jumped to 435 lb-ft while horsepower climbed to a solid 430. That’s an improvement of 19 lb-ft of torque and 55 hp – all from a production cam! Considering that we started at 330 hp, that’s a gain of 100 horsepower.

For the final test for this first session was to add a set of 1 5/8-inch shorty headers from Summit Racing originally intended for an early 6.0L truck. We thought these would deliver a slight bump to the power curve. Instead, we saw the power drop off slightly- an unexpected outcome. We didn’t realize until later that we had one badly bent pushrod and two others that were tweaked. This would account for the slight loss of power. We attributed this to the weak stock springs we had left on the stock iron heads that couldn’t handle the more aggressive LS6 camshaft. Yes, in case you might have forgotten, we’re still running those iron 6.0L heads with their 140,000-mile valve springs, a situation we will remedy in the next installment.

So within a very short period of time, we have restored our Iron Maiden’s virtue and have sent her on the road to becoming a true diva. In its near-stock state it now makes 435 lb-ft of torque and a solid 430 hp, still with that clunky, truck intake manifold. But don’t fret, we’re about to test a couple more very affordable manifolds, and you can plan on seeing some whippin’ power numbers. We’ll just leave you with that little tease for next time. A horsepower number north of 450 hp is certainly there for the taking.

If you like the idea of making more power than most crate engines and spending less than half the cost – then let us introduce you to CC’s Iron Maiden.

This is where we started – a greasy 1999 6.0L all-iron LQ4. We don’t know where it came from or the stories it could tell, but we got it cheap, it was in decent shape, and that’s all that matters.

Upon teardown inspection, the sloppy stock timing chain was no surprise. We replaced it just to give the Maiden a fair shot at making power.

We’ve been burned before by a used LS engine that spun the rod bearings soon after dyno testing started, so we decided to thoroughly inspect our 6.0L. After disassembly, we cleaned everything and installed new cam, main, and rod bearings along with a new timing chain and oil pump. We reused the original rotating assembly and stock 6.0L truck cam. Our long-time school buddy Bill Irwin helped in the reassembly.

We wanted to start the test session with a completely stock engine – so Painless Performance supplied this new 6.0L 24x truck harness and configured our stock computer at no extra cost. That is part of the service when you buy a new harness.

With the engine re-assembled, we bolted it to a Summit Racing engine test stand and fired it up using the Painless wiring harness, stock computer, and a Spectre inlet system that includes a MAF. Amazingly nothing fell off and it fired right up.

Early 1999-2000 6.0L engines employ this longer crank flange that emulates the flange position of a small-block Chevy. This allows you to bolt an early Chevy automatic like a TH350 / TH400 directly to the 6.0L flexplate with no adapters.

Once up on the dyno at Westech, we ran the engine in its stock configuration including the iron exhaust manifolds and a pair of mufflers.

Running the engine bone stock included configuring the engine with the Painless wiring harness, the stock ECU, and an inlet system from Spectre. We didn’t have the time or the resources to refine the stock ECU except by changing fuel pressure, without tuning software, we were unable to change the timing.

Stock truck 6.0L injectors flow 25 lb-hr at 58 psi. We used a set of 8.1L injectors instead that measure 30 lb-hr at 58 psi. With a BSFC of 0.45, this allows us to run these injectors at 58 psi up to around 480 hp before they max out. Our testing revealed BSFC’s in the high 0.380’s, which might allow us to run these little injectors up to 525 hp.

We removed this truck accessory drive (Test 2) and replaced it with an electric water pump and picked up 10 hp but power also improved almost everywhere. A previous test with a 4.8L motor also responded similarly. We think the truck water pump cavitates at higher engine speeds, which demands more power to drive the pump.

Steve Brule’ installed the LS6 cam with practiced ease. As you probably know, the LS lifter trays allow you to remove the cam without removing the lifters from the valley. This is nice because to remove the lifters requires yanking the heads! Steve hedged his bet with a set of Powerhouse lifter retainer tools just so a lifter didn’t drop into the pan.

The stock exhaust manifolds were surprisingly good to 425 hp. We changed to these shorty headers from Summit and the test results report that we lost power. We later found bent pushrods that we’re positive occurred on this test. The real results are probably slightly better than the Test 3 cam swap.

Only later when swapping to different cylinder heads (in Part II) did we realize that we had bent three pushrods, which is why the power was down slightly with the shorty headers.

This is a screen shot of the Holley HP ECU fuel flow map we were using to tune the 6.0L. It’s hard to see, but at 5,500 rpm we were commanding 206 lbs/hr.

Cam Specs

Camshaft Duration at 0.050 Valve Lift Lose Separation Angle (LSA) LQ4 -1999 – Int. 191 0.457 116 LQ4 – Exhaust 190 0.466 116 LQ4 -’01-’04 – Int. 196 0.457 114 LQ4 – Exh 207 0.457 114 LS6 – ’02-’04 – Int. 204 0.555 117.5 LS6 – Exh 218 0.551 117.5

Because our engine was a 1999 LQ4, it uses the early cam specs. If our LQ4 had been a ’01-’04 version, the baseline power would have been higher due to the slightly better timing figures.

Dyno Numbers

Test A – (not shown) –stock 6.0L with GM ECU – 383 lb-ft at 4,100, 330 hp at 4,900 Test 1 –stock 6.0L with Holley HP ECU – 412 TQ, 365 HP (+29 TQ, +35 HP) Test 2 – Removed accessory drive – 416 TQ, 373 HP (+4 TQ, +8 HP) Test 3 – Add LS6 camshaft – 435 TQ 430 HP (+ 19 TQ, + 57 HP) Test 4 – Add shorty headers – 430 TQ 424 HP* (-5 TQ, -6 HP) *bent pushrods

RPM TQ1 HP1 TQ2 HP2 TQ3 HP3 TQ4 HP4 2600 372 184 371 183 352 174 352 174 2800 378 202 376 200 360 192 357 190 3000 393 225 391 223 376 215 371 212 3200 399 243 400 244 382 233 379 231 3400 400 259 402 260 389 251 385 249 3600 406 278 409 280 400 274 396 272 3800 411 297 414 300 412 298 408 295 4000 412 313 416 317 419 319 417 318 4,200 412 329 416 333 426 340 421 337 4,400 409 343 415 348 430 360 426 356 4,600 406 356 412 361 432 378 428 375 4,800 399 364 405 370 435 397 430 393 5,000 384 365 391 372 435 414 429 409 5,200 368 364 377 373 426 422 421 417 5,400 348 358 357 367 416 428 412 423 5,600 328 350 337 360 403 430 397 424 5,800 307 340 318 351 388 428 381 421 6,000 351 401 Avg. 385.4 301.8 389.6 305.9 403.6 325.7 398.1 324.5 Peak 412 365 416 373 435 430 430 424

Average TQ increased 12.7 lb-ft Average HP increased 22.7 HP Peak TQ increased 23 lb-ft Peak HP increased 65 from 365 to 435

Parts List

Description PN Source Price Used LQ4 iron 6.0L N.A. friend’s shop $550.00 Painless truck wiring harness 60218 Summit Racing $768.99 Used 8.1L fuel injectors 17124531 eBay $150.00 Holley HP ECU 558-500 Summit Racing $1,120.95 Holley EFI harness for LS 24x/1x 558-102 Summit Racing $382.96 Holley harness for LS truck injectors 558-214 Summit Racing $153.95 Sniper fuel rail LS1 850005 Summit Racing $114.95 Summit shorty LS headers SUM-9021 Summit Racing $199.97 Hooker cast iron LS exhaust manifolds 8501-HKR Summit Racing $299.00 Stock LS6 camshaft Friend $50.00 Melling stock timing chain 3SRH60 RockAuto $16.12 Comp Hi-Tech pushrods, std. length, 7.400″ 7955016 Summit Racing $131.97 ARP head stud kit 234-4110 Summit Racing $359.16 ARP head bolt kit 134-3609 Summit Racing $199.93 ARP crank bolt 234-2503 Summit Racing $34.57 Fel-Pro head bolt kit (1 side – need 2) ES72173 RockAuto $17.12 AC Delco replacement crank bolt 917139 RockAuto $2.75 Mass Airflow Sensor (MAF) MA145 RockAuto $80.79 Spectre fresh air inlet kit for truck 9900 Summit Racing $162.89 Fel-Pro intake gasket, cathedral port MS9801GT RockAuto $33.75 Fel-Pro LS 6.0l MLS head gaskets, each 26192PT Summit Racing $38.97 Fel-Pro header gaskets 1440 Summit Racing $21.99 Valvoline 10w40 oil, 5 qt. 779309 AutoZone $27.99 Fram Extended Guard oil filter XG3675 RockAuto $7.10

The post The Iron Maiden, Part 1 appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/iron-maiden-part-1/ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Hot Rod Network

0 notes

itsworn · 7 years ago

Text

This ‘71 ’Cuda Packs A Knock-Out Punch You Won’t See Coming!

Back in the day, the Chrysler factory guys took approximately two days from the time a body was panel-jigged ( or “gated-up”) from raw stampings until it rolled off the final line and out the door. At the time, they sent about one car off the assembly line every minute. Of course, they had everything they needed to build them at their fingertips, and did each task over and over. For somebody who desires something tuned up to a later era, this is not so easy a process, but Tom Gipe of Cypress, California, went the distance with his real FC7 In-Violet ’Cuda, which started as less than a roller.

“Actually, it was probably the worst kind of decision from a financial standpoint,” he says now. “It was nothing more than a shell with two data plates, a rust bucket from New Hampshire, but the opportunity was there to build it the way I wanted it without straying too far from factory options. It also allowed me do some things without worrying about messing up an original Hemi car.”

So, yes, this is a Hemi ’Cuda tribute, one of a fairly substantial group of cars that have been upped to elephant status since the production cycle on the model ended in the summer months of 1971, sealing the Hemi legacy. And it is a real hip code FC7/340 body, which is a nice starting point to get at least some of the armchair complainers off their game. Notwithstanding, it has been the building and rebuilding effort over the course of the past dozen years that makes Tom’s car special, especially the fact that it is powered by one of the final Hemi engines to come from Dick Landy Industries.

“My 1968 Charger was finished and had won a number of awards in 2005, and I wanted to get a 1970 E-Body that was either Plum Crazy or Panther Pink,” says Tom when asked how it began. “I mentioned this to Julius Steuer and he said he had just acquired a real 1971 In-violet ’Cuda. The first time I saw it was October of 2005 and I bought it immediately. I picked up the car up from him in May 2007, so that took about 20 months to do the car that first time.”

Dick Landy passed away earlier that same year. The engine had been one of the reasons Julius could not complete the car sooner, as the Landy crew had really gone the distance to source parts for a fresh 528ci Hemi build. In fact, DLI had already built the 572ci engine for the Charger that Tom owned, and they chose to pull the displacement down a little since the ’Cuda would have a four-speed. After months of chasing what had become a very scarce MP block (some things never change!), Dick located one in Indianapolis. This block first had to be sleeved as the casting had two thin cylinders, then DLI engine builders—brother Mike Landy and son Robert Landy—used Stage V heads with a marine-application manifold under the Shaker, a pair of extrude media honed repro cast-iron exhaust manifolds, a Crane mechanical roller cam, and JE 11.25:1 compression pistons. The results were impressive to say the least.

“After getting all the parts, everything went together pretty quickly,” Tom recalls. “I visited the shop when the engine was ready for its dyno test. It was fantastic listening to the big inch Hemi spin up to 6,500 rpm and make 694 HP. That was in early December 2006 and the engine was delivered the first of the year to the restoration shop, Restorations by Julius.”

“Then the bad news came that Dick had passed away on January 11 and that DLI was closing its doors. I realized that I was very lucky to know Dick—in a small way for him, but in a big way for me. So am I a snob when it comes to my DLI Hemi? Yes, I am, proudly. His accomplishments are so large in the Mopar world. My car is an ambassador of DLI’s history.”

And of all the things that would later get changed on this car, that basic engine has remained a constant. Nonetheless, Tom found as he began driving the ’Cuda more seriously that there were adaptations that he desired. Again, Julius Steuer at Restorations by Julius would get the nod for this. The first build-up had been solid, but now it was time for some upgrading, and the treatment started right at the bellhousing.

“So in 2010, I had Julius pull the four-speed overdrive transmission out and install a Tremec TKO. This was a great swap for me as that transmission shifted much more smoothly and the hydraulic clutch was linear and light. Plus, since it had more overdrive, the engine rpm is kept down when cruising.”

The rear end is a Strange S60, as the car (born with a 340) originally had a 3.91 gear in an 8 ¾-inch rear end. Tom felt the Strange unit and its Detroit Truetrac was the best upgrade toward Dana 60 strength, and after trying steeper 4.10 and 3.73 units, he settled on a 3.54 ring since the engine makes a ton of low-end torque. The car had factory Rally wheels on it at the time this was chosen, and that era’s aftermarket rear discs would not fit onto them. Instead, Strange installed a set of OE NOS drum brakes from a Ford truck. But a car is much more than its driveline, and challenging the street corners was where Tom decided he would continue his reworking.

“The impetus for doing so came from a time that I took an employee for a ride and when we went around a right street corner, the car tilted so much that she almost flew into my lap. Good for me, not so good for her!” he laughs. “Anyway, I felt that wasn’t safe, so first I ditched the Goodyear Polyglas tires and installed BFG T/A radials. That by itself made a big improvement.”

At Tom’s direction, Julius installed a variety of suspension pieces on the nose-heavy E-Bomb during the following months before the perfect combo was found. This proved to be Bilstein shocks, U.S. Car Tool frame connectors, and Firm Feel equipment consisting of sway bars front and rear, 1.00-inch torsion bars, and A-arms. “The ride feels right in all conditions and handles the corners very well. Of course, this is a seat-of-the-pants assessment, but that’s the kind of measurement that works in this situation.”

That all sounds like improvement, but there needed to be some “sound” improvement. This came about in part because the hobby continues to advance. In 2012, the car was disassembled and repainted with some additional body tweaks. The interior was redone using the latest plastic-formed panels, changing from the coded black-vinyl covers to the factory cloth salt-and-pepper versions. Tom wryly noted they are comfortable, look great, and create some grip for the human posterior. The Pistol Grip is not shrouded by a console and features walnut grips that are a constant reminder of Tom’s late father, also a Mopar man and an expert woodworker who loved to work in walnut. A ’70 Rim-Blo steering wheel is the only major dash upgrade. Even with all that, it was the rumble that Tom really wanted to address.

“I had a custom 3-inch stainless steel exhaust system installed with flow through mufflers initially, but it was so loud and hot in the car there was no way to have a conversation with anyone. I found myself wearing earplugs. Most guys may find this difficult to believe, but I enjoy listening to stories from my sweetheart while driving down the interstate. After I attempted to quiet it down by installing aftermarket sound deadener, which didn’t do enough for the noise but it solved the heat problem, I resorted to getting a stock exhaust system installed which makes it much quieter. The driving experience is much better even though the top end is probably affected.” The only sound now primarily comes from a stock-appearing AM/FM/Aux radio from Retro Radio Restorations.

Tom admits he willingly errs on the side of caution with driving this car, saying it is real fast but he has never pushed the engine to its limits on the open road. Likewise, it’s not built for drag racing either, guessing that in the right hands the Plymouth could be shifted to a 12-second time or better with the current rear gearing. A member of the South Bay Mopars, he attends the club’s monthly meetings in Torrance, CA, plus Van Nuys Spring Fling, the charity Mopars in May at California School for the Deaf in Riverside, and other events close to home. The Charger and a variety of other Mopars, both vintage and modern, share garage space with Tom’s ’Cuda.

“I’m very happy with the results and gratified that all the hard work has resulted in a car that I enjoy driving. It has been done to look stock, but it sits a little lower, has no vinyl roof or billboards, and cloth seats. I added the elastomeric bumpers to maximize the amount of purple, but the tags read this car came new with a shaker hood, color matching mirrors, road lights, and the color FC7. I suppose I could have gotten any ’Cuda and painted it In-violet, but I have this thing about keeping a car’s color original, so for me it was a must.

“This is considered my long-distance car since the engine runs very cool and it has boundless low-end grunt, and it gets a lot of attention because of its style and color,” says Tom. For those who live in SoCal, he adds, “if you want a rush of color, drive a purple Mopar through a neighborhood with blooming Jacaranda trees in the spring. The reflection of purple flowers on purple paint is retina-searing…”

And that is FC7, the way it ought to be…

THERE’S MORE! You can read all about Tom’s custom tuning of this big-inch Hemi on our website.

The 528ci Hemi in Tom Gipe’s ’Cuda was one of the last ones built by Dick Landy Industries before Landy passed away in January of 2007. Since then, Tom has made tuning the carburetors and ignition a research and development project, to the betterment of the breed.

The first thing one sees once the Shaker plate comes off is a far-from-stock pair of Holley 750s on a Stage V single-plane intake atop the DLI-built Hemi engine. This was one of several changes that Tom executed several years after finishing the car the first time.

Most Hemi tributes have this option added on, however, Tom’s car started life as a real 340 ’Cuda, and it is stamped for the N96 fresh-air Shaker right on the original trim tag.

Chin spoilers, body-color bumpers, road lamps, and that grille have become the iconic visage of America’s love affair with muscle. Looking near-stock outside but built for 21st century enjoyment, this embodies the long-gone era as well as the best of modern restoration techniques.

Like a black shark emerging from a sea of deep water, the warning is always there, quivering just above the horizon of the hood. It scares the other guys, and everybody enjoys seeing it torque-twist from behind the windshield.

Foregoing conventional wisdom, it was decided that the combination of 1974 Dart front brakes and the large drums from Strange out back could handle the need for slowing down without power assist. It has worked well. The smaller reservoir is for the hydraulic clutch.

A tribute to Julius Steuer’s efforts on keeping the car looking stock was this Glen Ray three-row Max Cooling core inside a conventional-looking radiator frame. It does a great job for the 694hp Hemi.

One upgrade to the interior was to the cloth seat material, which proved a little easier on the riders than standard vinyl. Note the 1970 steering wheel, one minor noticeable change from circa-1971 purity.

This is the OEM-looking Hurst Pistol Grip, now equipped with real walnut grips—a reminder of Tom’s late father, a seasoned woodworker. A Tremec 5-speed transmission supplied by SST is below it.

After using a 3-inch diameter aftermarket layout, Tom went back to the OEM exhaust system, which may not breathe as perfectly but made the car’s drivability much more enjoyable…and without needing earplugs.

Fast Facts

1971 Plymouth ’Cuda Tom Gipe; Cypress, CA

ENGINE Type: 528ci Gen II Hemi replacing the OE 340 Bore x stroke: 4.500 (bore) x 4.150 (stroke) Block: Mopar Performance siamesed-design block, block cleared for extra stroke, sleeve installation, bored and honed with torque plates by Dick Landy Industries. Rotating assembly: Callies crank, Mopar Performance I-beam rods, Crane roller timing chain, balanced Compression: 11.25 JE forged pistons Cylinder heads: Stage V Gen II Hemi, aluminum, ported/polished by DLI Camshaft: Crane mechanical roller SR-254/374-2S-12, .598-/.580-inch lift Valvetrain: Mopar Performance 2.25-/1.94-inch valves; Mopar Performance dual springs, Mopar Performance stainless steel rockers, custom length Comp pushrods Induction: Stage V single-plane inline 2×4 “Rat Buster” Fuel system: 2×4 Holley 750cfm Street Avenger carbs (0-80459 SA with choke and air horn removed) Exhaust: OEM replacement Hemi, repro exhaust manifolds (extrude media honed) Ignition: OE factory Chrysler distributor, MP chrome box Cooling: MP aluminum housing water pump, Glen Ray three-row MaxCooling radiator Fuel: 91-octane hi-test gasoline Output: 694 hp at 6,200 rpm and 657 lb-ft at 4,500 rpm Engine built by: DLI, Northridge California late 2006 by Mike and Robert Landy; additional tuning by Tom Gipe

DRIVETRAIN Transmission: SST Tremec TKO-600 5-speed kit, RAM clutch Driveshaft: Unitrax steel, custom Rearend: Strange S60 with Detroit Truetrac, 3.54 gear set

CHASSIS Front suspension: Firm Feel A-arms, control arms, torsion bars, 1-inch diameter front sway bar, Bilstein shocks Rear suspension: Hotchkis rear springs, Bilstein shocks Steering: factory Front brakes: manual single-piston disc, Dodge 1974 Dart Rear brakes: manual drums, OEM Ford truck for Strange housing mounts

WHEELS & TIRES Wheels: 15 x 7 Wheel Vintiques Rallye front, 15 x 8 Stockton Wheel rear Tires: BFG T/A radials P235/60R15, front; P275/50R15, rear

INTERIOR Seats: cloth and vinyl “salt and pepper” black-and-white colors Instruments: new woodgrain bezels from Performance Car Graphics Stereo: electronic stock-appearing AM/FM/Aux radio from Retro Radio Restorations Steering wheel: stock 1970 rim blow Shifter: Hurst Pistol Grip, custom grips, no console

EXTERIOR Color: FC7 In-Violet/Plum Crazy Bodywork & Paint: Fabian’s; Chatsworth, CA

The post This ‘71 ’Cuda Packs A Knock-Out Punch You Won’t See Coming! appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/71-cuda-packs-knock-punch-wont-see-coming/ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Hot Rod Network

0 notes