#but they are an an actual engineering firm

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 19: Four Seasons Landscaping

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: dubcon; noncon; tentacles; cumflation; plant-fucking; creampie;

A/N: Apologies if this one feels rushed. It is. Today's been remarkably busy for a Sunday so I bashed this one out quick. I left the CWs on for dubcon and noncon because fem!reader isn't into it at first, even if she gets into it pretty fast. Read at your own discretion, but this is much nicer than yesterday's

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Another day, another job. You checked your docket, this sure was the address. You sighed heavily, was this another case of them giving the only woman at the firm the shitty job again, or did someone seriously see the half acre of bramble and overgrown hedges and call it "light weeding"

You may never know

First off was the perimeter hedge, where it overhung the street. Your trimmers made short work of the overhang, even if you did need the long ladder to get to the top of them. Whoever owned this plot really liked their privacy to have planted ten-foot hedges around the entire property line. You weren't sure how the neighbours felt about it, but you're only being paid for the street-side so you couldn't care less.

At least the pavement was clear now, and working inside such a private plot really limits how much randos from the street can catcall you. That's one plus, at least.

The docket specified no weedkillers, so you can't just put on a rubber suit and salt the earth with glyphosate and a cocktail of other chemicals adorned with fun-looking warning triangles. You pulled on your overalls and stocked your toolbelt with an array of trowels, secateurs, shears, forks, strimmer wire, a trusty multitool, and a pair of heavier gloves, just in case. Armed with the tools of your profession, girded in denim dungarees, safety specs, and ear defenders, you started your mechanised assault on the wilderness.

You cut your path into the tangle of weeds and vines. Foliage piled high upon itself on wither side of you as you hacked inwards. You wondered if a machete would be a better tool when you remembered: you actually have one in the van! You'd been given it as a joke when you started, but a quirk of the law let you keep it around so it lived in a cubby in the centre console. You turned to make your way back.

Your path had closed behind you. The piles of plant matter leaning on each other and blocking your way. You shrugged and revved your strimmer. Cutting out should be as easy as cutting in.

In theory.

As soon as the wire hit the brambles, it snarled up. You heard the engine struggle, then stall entirely. Damn. You couldn't pull the machine free. The secateurs came out, and you leant down to cut it out.

Big mistake.

You hadn't noticed the vines that had wrapped themselves around your ankles when you turned, and tripped, falling into a bank of thorny vines. You felt the brambles piercing your gloves and long sleeves. Your hands wouldn't pull free. Your legs were rooted to the ground. You struggled against your bonds, thorns biting deeper with every movement.

You start to panic.

Plants don't act like this.

Plants don't do this.

You felt the briars start to pull at your ankles. Plant's definitely don't do this. You called out as you watched the entrance recede from you as you were hauled over the cutting barbs, deeper into the tangle.

Nobody came.

The vines were pulling you on, you could tell you were going downhill, though the plot should be level. A sinkhole perhaps? It didn't matter, down you went. You craned your neck to look behind you. Trying to get a glimpse of where you were going. That's when you saw it.

A flower. Huge and angry pink. You were going straight towards it.

You felt the petals close around your waist. Your hands were free now, but you couldn't wriggle them between your flesh and the opening of the plant. Each ankle was being pulled a different direction, holding you spreadeagled within the plant. You felt something strange within the flower, like your clothes being moved around on you. Something was... rubbing your legs? For some reason your skin felt wet

Wait

Those overalls were waxed. Waterproof. Nothing should be getting on your skin unless... Oh shit.

Your clothes are being digested. The plant must be carnivorous, which made sense, why else would it have vines that drag you into it? It didn't hurt though, which was strange. Whatever the plant was using to so rapidly eat away at your clothing didn't seem to damage your skin, or even sting when it hit the scratches the vines were still leaving on you.

Something pushed up what was left of your trouser leg, tearing the weakened material away from you, leaving you almost completely bare inside the bell of the plant. Next came your underwear, the thin cotton didn't offer any resistance to the digestive juices daubed on it. Now those same tendrils were painting your bare crotch. You felt your cheeks flush with arousal, this plant felt pretty good. The tendrils kept going, lubricating you and running between the lips of your cunt, as though a lover tenderly licking you up and down.

Every stroke caught your clit, your hole, your ass, first one way, then the other. Your breathing was getting heavier as the rubbing edged you closer and closer. Your hands strayed to your tits, cupping and squeezing as you rolled your head back, delighting in the sensations until you reached your peak, crying out as your release simmered over you.

Another tendril was pressing against you now. This one was moving with more purpose, pressing against your pussy until it entered your well-lubricated hole. You whined as it filled you, anticipating another orgasm as it started to thrust in and out, worming around and stretching you out. The insistent thrusting and continued attentions on your clit drove you to another screaming finish before you felt a hot, thick liquid filling you up. More and more it pumped into you, your womb ached with the amount and you could feel your belly bloating, growing large and round with the sheer volume of the stuff.

As quickly as it began, it pulled away. The vines loosened from your ankles and the flower released you, leaving you to cut away the last tangled pieces of vine from you and start the slow climb out, leaking a thick golden sap from your cunt as you dragged yourself uphill.

It took you over an hour to get back up to your strimmer, which you cut out and dragged behind you as you wobbled back into the van. By some miracle, your toolbelt was still largely unharmed, and everything that was on it before was still there. Along with, tucked into one of the thick, heavy-duty gloves, the end of a vine.

You're no botanist, but you know how to propagate a plant.

[tanadrin]

I'm realizing that a lot of the motivation fueling antipathy towards China that I grew up experiencing can honestly be boiled down to 'foreigners scary and bad!!'. But also... isn't it true that they *are* actually doing some pretty uniquely terrible stuff? In a many ways the US is no better, but aren't there still massive restrictions on freedom of information and expression? And isn't it still an authoritarian one party system? I'm not even thinking about the ban specifically, just how people seem to have just sort of abandoned talking about that. I remember when Overwatch capitulating to a Chinese censorship demand was a massive scandal. Maybe they can't hurt us any worse with our data than domestic entities can, but it just strikes me as *weird* that we constantly worry and fight back against authoritarianism here and then just shrug at the country where it's way more blatantly in full swing.

Am I completely off-base here? Have I been fed too much misinformation to discern what's actually happening?

I think the Chinese system of government is objectively bad. I care about free speech and civil rights and the rule of law, and on that basis and many others I do not think anything I say should be construed as a defense of the Chinese system of governance, or its domestic and foreign policy. I don't even have a strong opinion on the TikTok ban! It may be good and it may be bad, and it doesn't seem like a huge legal travesty, though it doesn't make a ton of sense to me. "This policy strikes me as incoehrent and badly defended" is not, to be clear, equivalent to "I am personally outraged by this turn of events."

I don't love firms from the U.S. and Europe bending over backward to accommodate the censorious nature of the Chinese government. But there are very few tools the U.S. and Europe can wield that would practically be able to pressure China into being less censorious, and at best they could probably only manage to cause there to be even fewer commercial and cultural ties between China and the rest of the world, and that doesn't strike me as great, either. China is a large, powerful sovereign state. The CSQ can't engineer Chinese domestic policy--only the Chinese people can determine what system of government they have and what its policies are.

[incandescentflower]

The episode 6 "don't follow my speed" comment is definitely a prelude to the more internal difficulties Thame and Po are likely to face in the back half of this series. In Po's past relationship he dedicated himself to his ex's professional goals, this time Po is already dedicated to Thame's goals, first by way of his current job and then by teaming up to help him reunite the band. He's basically reverse engineered his past relationship. And although I am sure eventually the story this time will go differently, I think even the fact that on the surface it might feel similar is going to be a challenge for Po.

How do you stand firm in who you are when the person next to you takes up most of the space in the room? But honestly, I think for Po that was never really the problem, as long as the person who was next to him actually saw him. And Thame shows over and over that he pays attention to Po in a different way.

[jupitermelichios]

even if this was going into production to be sold, when's the last time you saw a Ferrari FXX on the road? An Aston Martin Valkyrie? How about a Lambourghini Essenza? A Bugatti Bolide?

Trick question: the answer is never. They're all commerically available sports cars, and none of them are road-legal.

The most expensive designer cars these days mostly aren't. (and BMW, who made the concept car we're talking about, were one of the first companies to start this trend, so we know they follow it). The majority of them are track only (meaning you can drive them on properly inspected and liscenced racetracks, but not the road), but in the case of the Ferarri XX cars, you can't even take them on racetracks, you can drive them on your own property or on Ferrarri's property only.

we might, in 30 years time, be seeing cars based on this design on the roads, but if BMW do start selling something using this, we'll almost certainly see two or three generations of eye-wateringly expensive track-only cars before they ever consider trying to make something that's certificed road-legal. and once it is, it'll be a limited run bought by people with seven zeroes on their monthly pay check. and then a marginally less limited run purched by people with six zeroes. And only after that will we reach a point were there's any chance that you will actually see something based on this on the road. that's how it goes with cool interesting new car tech - especially when it's cool interesting new tech designed to make your car lighter (and therefore faster) or weirder looking (and therefor cooler).

worrying about BMW's cutting edge sportscar concepts backing into you on the street makes about as much sense as worrying that everyone who owns a light aircraft is going to start taxing it down the road to take their kids to school. that's not the environment that vehical is designed for, and its not going to be where anyone uses it.

BMW's concept car: give it a carussy and a gear shift that looks like a clit. men aren't gonna know how to drive this thing

[red-eft]

im a corporate guy now (<- working in an office with my own cubicle and little projects to do)

[sugoroo]

GOOD COP, BAD COP!

ʚɞ summary: you get arrested and are determined not to reveal a single piece of information about your associates. that is, until the two officers interrogating you start employing... unique tactics to get you to talk.

warnings: fem!reader x choso kamo & toji fushiguro, police officer!au, fingering, oral (f receiving), spitting, praise kink, voyeurism, leg humping, power play, 18+ minors dni.

wc: 7.0k

it was a simple job — or atleast, it was supposed to be.

it began with the same simple plan as any other low stakes bank heist.

get in, get the money, get out.

but unfortunately, this time, someone in your little group decided to snitch - alerting the authorities of the exact location and time of the job before it even began.

so while you were in the middle of stuffing wad after wad of cash into a duffle bag, the last thing you were expecting was for a bunch of police officers to come barging into the bank, guns raised and badges being waved.

well shit.

silently cursing whichever person from your group that informed them, you made a break for it, darting towards the back entrance with the duffle bag clumsily slung across your shoulder.

but you didn't make it far.

the rest of your group managed to escape the bank in time, piling into the awaiting getaway car, but of course, you had to get stopped by a large hand wrapping around your wrist. you desperately tried to tug it free, but their grip was firm; almost frighteningly so.

"shit. guys, wait for—!" you attempted to yell, but the sound of the engine revving as the car dashed away interrupted the sentence, almost as if it was mocking you.

"looks like your little friends left you behind, doll." a low voice you assume belongs to the hand around your wrist rumbles from behind you, the amusement in his tone clearly at your expense.

"fuck you." you spit out, still stubbornly trying to tug your arm from his iron grip even though it's abundantly clear that it's a fruitless endeavour.

"ah ah," the voice chides, yanking a pair of handcuffs from his pocket with his other hand and effortlessly clicking them in place over your wrist, then doing the same with the other, despite your relentless struggling. "an attitude like that won't get you anywhere now."

with your movements now severely restricted by the harsh metal of the cuffs, you have no choice but to comply as the police officer manhandles you, roughly spinning you around until you come face to face with him.

unsurprisingly, the man's cocky expression fits his voice. his lips, which have a noticeable scar running down the side, are pulled up into a smug smirk as he looks down at you, and some messy strands of black hair are falling into his eyes.

"got nothin' else to say?" he snorts, his smirk only widening when he notices the way your features contort into a scowl — clearly fighting the urge to snap back at him again. "yeah, that's what i thought."

it takes every ounce of willpower you have not to list off every single curse word you know as the officer practically drags you through the bank, carelessly shoving you into the back of his squad car.

so much for a simple job.

so that's how you manage to find yourself slumped against an uncomfortable plastic chair in an interrogation room at the local police station, handcuffed to a desk.

it feels like it's been hours since the arrest, but there's no way of telling how much time has actually passed in this frustratingly empty room since there isn't even a clock to decorate the plain white walls.

when you'd first been left in here, you'd been angry.

angry at whichever member of your group decided to snitch on the operation, angry at your accomplices for leaving you there in the bank (although you probably would've done the same if the roles were reversed) and angry at the irritatingly smug officer who arrested you.

but eventually, that anger started to slowly but surely fade away —instead replaced by an overwhelmingly painful sense of boredom as you sat here with nothing to do.

you resorted to counting the tiles on the ceiling above you in a last ditch attempt at keeping yourself atleast somewhat amused. what number were you up to again? oh, right. eighty two... eighty three—

"hey, hey! s-sorry i'm so late." a voice hurriedly announces as the person it belongs to clumsily stumbles into the room, rambling about something to do with a coffee machine malfunction as he slides into the seat opposite yours.

slowly casting your eyes down from the ceiling to take in the police officer now sat in front of you, you're relieved to realize that it's not the same one from earlier. no - the difference between them is almost comical.

this one has dark tresses of hair pulled up into two messy pigtails, a small tattoo inked across the bridge of his nose, and his pale hands are shaking on the table where they rest. he seems nervous — almost as if he's the one about to be interrogated and not you.

"u-uh, yeah, as i was saying..." the man continues after a few moments of squirming under your gaze, pushing a mug across the table. "i thought i'd get you some coffee to help you feel more at ease. but the settings on that pesky machine are so complicated! i-i'm new here, by the way."

"i gathered." you murmur with a small, bemused smile pulling at your lips in spite of the situation you find yourself in. you then glance down at the mug, raising an eyebrow — it's not like you can pick it up and bring it to your mouth with your hands cuffed to the desk.

"o-oh, shit. i didn't think of that," the officer curses under his breath, grasping the mug in two trembling hands and thrusting it towards you. the movement jostles the liquid slightly, causing some of it to drip onto the table. "here."

you lean forward to reach the outstretched mug, taking a small sip of the warm liquid and resisting the urge to wince at the overwhelmingly bitter taste; this guy really wasn't joking about not being able to use he coffee machine properly.

"thanks." you push out with a somewhat strained smile, not wanting to appear ungrateful for the kind gesture. he nods quickly, seemingly pleased by your manners, placing the mug back down on the desk and pulling some files from his bag.

"so..." he begins, fanning the various folders across the desk and squinting down at them, as if trying to make sense of what's in front of him. "oh, wait! i forgot to introduce myself. i'm officer kamo — but you can call me choso, i-if you want, that is."

"right. well, it's nice to meet you, choso." you respond carefully, silently observing the way the apples of his cheeks flush a subtle shade of pink at the sound of his name leaving your lips. interesting.

"y-you too, um..." choso stammers awkwardly, glancing down and reading your name aloud from one of the files. "so, it says here you were the only suspect apprehended from the group who attempted to rob a local bank earlier today. is that correct?"

"it is." you mutter, pushing at the bed of one of your nails as some of the anger from earlier surfaces again. why did it have to be you who got caught? you should be at home rolling around in a heap of cash right about now, not sitting in a sterile interrogation room answering questions.

"i see," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck in a clear sign of discomfort as he takes note of the sudden defensiveness in your demeanour. "well, um, i was just wondering— i mean, i have to ask you... is there any information you can give us regarding your accomplices?"

your head snaps up at this, a flicker of uncertainty alighting in your chest. obviously, you were anticipating this question - but hearing it said out loud is an entirely different feeling.

the small part of you that still burns with anger wants to spill everything, get your fellow group members roped into the same predicament as you as payback for them abandoning you at the bank. but the other, more rational part of you, knows that nothing good can come of snitching on them. it would only serve to get you in even more trouble; just not with the law.

"no. i'm sorry, but i don't have anything to tell you." you lie through your teeth, toying with the edge of the metal handcuffs where they're digging into your wrist.

"a-are you sure about that?" choso prompts, seeming slightly unconvinced. he's trying to catch your eye, tilting his head towards you. "names, addresses, vehicle numberplates... anything?"

you subtly clench your jaw, shaking your head from side to side. as strong as the urge is to supply him with the information he wants, deep down you know it would only make things worse for you in the long run.

choso huffs out a small breath of air, fidgeting in his seat as he tries to remember his interrogation training. he may be new to this — but he's not oblivious. he can tell you're not being truthful, and although he understands the reasons behind that, he needs this intel if he wants to hand over a satisfactory report to his boss at the end of the day.

"if you're worried about the consequences of confessing, we can always put you into witness protection." he tries, his voice soft and earnest. it's clear he's not putting on an act, he does mean what he says. but that does nothing to change your mind.

"i don't have anything to tell you." you repeat without hesitation, your blank expression betraying nothing of your inner turmoil. you have to keep silently reminding yourself — it's not worth the risk to snitch.

"alright." choso sighs in response, wringing his hands atop the table as he seemingly tries to think of another approach to get you to talk. he has a feeling none of the other methods from his basic training are going to work with you. "um... how about i offer you something in return for your cooperation?"

"like what?" you mutter cautiously, fully intending on rejecting whatever it is he has to suggest.

"well, let's see," he hums thoughtfully, glancing back down at the files before returning his gaze to you. "how about a shorter sentence? i think we can do that."

this makes you pause — if only for a moment. a shorter sentence does sound tempting, but you can't let the idea weaken your resolve. after all, once you got out, there would be hell to pay for snitching. "less jail time isn't going to change the fact that i don't have anything to tell you."

choso's shoulders visibly sag with disappointment at your continued refusal to give up any information; he really thought that suggestion would have swayed you. "o-okay. so how about something else then?"

now that catches your curiosity.

because what else could he possibly offer you aside from a reduced sentence? that was usually the absolute best bargaining chip police officers were allowed to utilize in interrogations — you'd seen enough tv shows to know that.

he perks up when he notices the subtle signs of increased interest in your demeanour, leaning forward in his seat with clear eagerness. "okay! you're curious, that's good. s-so... what i'm suggesting is... um..."

you raise an eyebrow at his sudden hesitation, noting the way his eyes dart away from yours and his already pinkened cheeks flush further. "what you're suggesting is...?" you prompt.

"that... um... i—" choso tries again, anxiously digging his nails into his palm. he can't believe he's actually going to say something like this out loud, but he needs to get this information if he wants to make good progress at his new job. "i s-service you."

what?

you have to hold back a choked sound somewhere between a snort and a gasp at his words, your eyebrows raising so high they almost disappear above your hairline.

hearing this timid-looking, blushing rookie police officer say something so... suggestive was definitely not the way you expected this interrogation to go.

it was like the start of some cheap porno.

"are you serious?" is all you can manage to mutter, leaning forward in your seat slightly to get a better look at his expression, searching for any signs that he's just playing with you; maybe trying to get you to lower your guard so that you're more likely to spill intel.

"...yes," comes choso's meek reply, his voice so soft and quiet it's hardly audible, despite the lack of any other sounds in the room. he looks like he's about to die of embarrassment, his flush spreading down his neck and disappearing below the neckline of his uniform.

"i don't see how that's supposed to get me to supply you with information that i don't have." you huff bluntly, keeping up the act as best you can; but you can't deny there's a small part of you that's curious as to what he would actually do if you were to agree to the proposition.

he finally meets your gaze again at this, the look in his eyes telling you point-blank that he knows you're holding back the truth from him. and he knows that you know he knows.

it's a stalemate.

"h-how about..." he mumbles after a long stretch of silence, rolling a dark strand of his hair between his fingers nervously. "how about i just try something? you don't have to agree to anything yet. i-i just want to try."

again, choso manages to capture your curiosity.

he's now basically offering to please you for nothing in return — although he's obviously hoping he'll be able to get some information out of you eventually, maybe during or after this 'service'.

you wish you could say you weren't tempted by his offer. but as a criminal, most of the people you associate with are disgusting lowlifes who you wouldn't even dream of letting in your bed.

needless to say, it's been a long while since another person brought you pleasure.

"so if, hypothetically, i was to say yes, i wouldn't have to actually agree to anything yet?" you repeat cautiously, your demeanour still guarded. you can't afford to let him get the upper hand here, no matter what happens.

"y-yes," choso nods in response, seeming slightly pleased by the fact you haven't outright rejected his suggestion or threatened to report him to one of his superiors. "hypothetically." he adds, for good measure.

another few moments of silence pass where you mentally weigh up your options. you come to the conclusion that it couldn't hurt to go along with his little proposition for now, as long as you make sure you keep your guard up throughout. right?

"okay." you hum, leaning back in your chair and observing the police officer before you. he seems to be trying to hold back his excitement at having won you over, but then you can see the exact moment it dawns on him what it is he's actually signed himself up for.

choso swallows thickly, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he stands up from his chair, legs visibly trembling in his dark uniform trousers as he awkwardly shuffles closer to your side of the desk.

you open your mouth to speak, but whatever you were about to say instantly leaves your mind when he sinks to his knees before you, effortlessly moving your chair to the side so that he's positioned directly between your legs.

"i know you said that you're new and all," you mutter with slight amusement as you watch him look up at you with those wide eyes from where he's knelt on the floor. "but i'm pretty sure most police officers don't do this for suspects."

"i-i know that," he huffs sheepishly in response, the tips of his ears reddening to match the shade of his face. "but i couldn't think of any other ways to get you to talk."

"who said i'm going to talk?" you murmur, enjoying the way his bottom lip juts out into a little involuntary pout in response to your words. "i didn't actually agree to say anything, remember?"

choso doesn't reply this time, seeming to have come to terms with the fact that he can't convince you with his words alone; this situation clearly requires him to use his actions.

the problem is, he's never actually performed said actions on a woman before. sure, he's watched his fair share of porn — but he knows that doesn't compare to the real thing.

he's just going to have to wing it.

he brings a shaky hand up to one of your legs, slowly trailing his fingers up the skin there. it's soft to the touch; much softer than he expected. he had this stereotypical notion imbedded in his head that a criminal's skin would be rough and hardened - but not yours, clearly.

choso can feel your eyes on him the entire time his digits travel up the length of your leg, can tell that you're curious about exactly what he's going to do as his so-called service to you.

he couldn't tell you even if you asked — he's just going to make it up as he goes along and hope he does atleast something right that might get you to spill some information while you're lost in the throes of pleasure.

eventually, his fingers reach the hem of your skirt, and he pauses for a moment to look up at you, as if asking for silent permission. you nod with a small jerk of your head, so he steels himself before continuing.

he lifts up the material of your skirt slightly, taking a quick peek underneath to see what he was to work with. and oh, he almost forgets that he's supposed to be the one holding the power in this situation when he catches a glimpse of your covered cunt.

your panties aren't anything special — since you obviously weren't expecting to end up in this position today. but choso couldn't care less, his closed mouth filling up with salvia as he stares at the small wet patch forming on the front of the fabric.

you can't help but huff out a small laugh, the sound halfway between bemusement and slight embarrassment as the police officer before you just kneels and stares between your legs, the silence in the room so thick you could hear a pin drop.

"trying to make me uncomfortable by staring isn't going to make me tell you anything, you know." you mutter with eyes narrowed in suspicion, causing his head to dart up in surprise.

"w-what? oh... um, sorry. i didn't mean to stare." he rasps hurriedly, forcibly shaking himself out of his daze. he knows you're right; he's not going to get anywhere by just kneeling here completely motionless like a statue.

he needs to get to work.

choso starts by brushing a gentle, barely-there kiss against your inner thigh, his lips soft as they press against your skin. it feels a little too intimate for what is supposed to be an interrogation tactic, but right now, he can't bring himself to care.

you feel a small shiver ripple down your spine as he leaves a trail of sweet kisses up to the apex of your thighs, his head disappearing underneath your skirt with just the tips of his dark pigtails peeking out.

this entire situation is so overwhelmingly surreal — just hours ago you were being arrested, and now you're in an interrogation room with a pretty rookie police officer inches away from making contact your clothed core.

what a strange turn of events.

your sink your teeth into your lower lip once you feel his breath fan across your panties, attempting to hide any sounds that threaten to escape. you have to make sure not to let on how much you're enjoying this - have to make sure you don't lower your guard and accidentally let any information spill.

choso presses a chaste kiss to your covered mound, and it's all you can do to hold back a little gasp at the action. he's just so sickeningly gentle with you; like he's handling his lover and not a criminal under arrest for robbing a bank.

a soft rumble, almost a groan, comes from under your skirt, the sound vibrating against your skin as it leaves his lips. you can't see his face, but if you could, you'd see how drunk he is on you already — just from the miniscule taste of you he's gotten through your panties.

"h-hah," he breathes quietly, mostly to himself, flicking his tongue out gently against the now-dampened fabric to get a better taste. "i never thought a criminal would taste so sweet."

fuck.

those simple words shoot straight down to your cunt, causing a small gush of arousal to trickle out into your underwear. you're sure he can feel it against his tongue, and you wince. it's going to be more difficult than anticipated to keep your composure if he's gonna keep saying things like that.

choso gasps slightly, the sound quickly morphing into a satisfied hum when your syrupy slick seeps through the fabric and onto his awaiting tongue. despite never having done this before, he's sure no one else could possibly hold a candle to how delicious you taste.

he's in trouble.

at this rate, he's going to be the one falling apart first instead of you; he can already feel himself growing hard in his slacks, pushing against the restricting material.

gently pulling your soiled panties to the side, he swipes his tongue through your glistening folds, gathering more of your juices on his tastebuds. he's not sure what else to do to please you, all he knows is that he wants more and more of that sweet sap.

choso is so lost in 'interrogating' you with his mouth, and you're so lost in trying not to forget about the consequences of snitching and just tell him everything you know, that neither of you notice when the door creaks open.

"well, well, well... i assign you to your first solo interrogation—" an irritatingly familiar voice grunts out, the sound of the door clicking shut sealing him in the room with you. "and where do i find you? with your tongue on the suspect's cunt, kamo."

it's him. the way-too-smug officer with the scar on his lip who arrested you back at the bank, who fastened the handcuffs so tight the harsh metal dug into the skin of your wrists. who simply laughed mockingly at your struggles to break free. him.

choso breaks free from between your legs so fast he probably gets whiplash, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed a deep shade of red as he peeks out from under your skirt. he resembles a deer frozen in headlights.

"oho, don't go stoppin' on my account." the other officer chuckles deeply, sauntering closer and grasping one of choso's messy pigtails. he uses the grip to push him back under your skirt, forcibly pressing his face against your needy flesh.

choso whines, a pathetic, drawn out sound, feeling conflicted. he's unsure if he's supposed to stop or continue; unsure if his boss's words are meant as sarcasm or not. is this some sort of test from his superior? he doesn't want to risk losing his job, not when he worked so hard to get here.

"c-captain fushiguro... i'm sorry. but i-i don't understand." he mumbles shakily, his meek voice vibrating directly against your core.

"tch. thought i told you before to j's call me toji, didn't i?" the smug officer — toji, apparently— huffs in irritation, practically ignoring your presence entirely as he shoves choso's face right into your pulsing heat. "now get back to fuckin' work. that's an order, rookie."

unable to resist the authoritative tone of his voice, choso's tongue peeks back out from between his lips and swipes through your sopping folds again, his mind quickly going pleasantly blank a second time from your sweet saccharine taste.

toji's eyes then meet yours for the first time since he stepped into the interrogation room, seemingly seeing effortlessly past your careful blank expression. he smirks, in the same annoyingly smug way as he had when he arrested you.

he knows that while his subordinate may be trying his best, the small amount of stimulation from the inexperienced man isn't anywhere near enough to properly please you.

and if they want their stubborn little suspect to break, you need to be more than properly pleased.

"y'er not gonna get her to reveal any damn information like that, kid." toji grunts in a mix of amusement and annoyance, tugging choso back by his pigtail and causing him to whimper pathetically. "d'ya even know where her clit is?"

"c-clit?" he repeats timidly, glancing between your pretty pussy and his boss's unimpressed face, as if unsure which to give his full attention.

"yes, clit. jesus, what are they teachin' you youngsters these days?" toji mutters disapprovingly, snaking his free hand underneath your skirt to point directly at your puffy little bud without much trouble. "should be right... there."

you can't stop the sharp gasp that escapes your lips when he pushes down on your sensitive clit like a button, snapping your head to the side to send a sharp glare in his direction.

"aww, look at that," he coos mockingly, removing his finger as quickly as he had placed it there and returning your scowl with his trademark smug grin. "little lady still has 'er attitude, i see."

"fuck you." you hiss out, not appreciating where this is going. the sweet rookie officer servicing you was one thing, but the infuriating one who arrested you joining in? now that's an entirely different situation.

"ah ah, doll," toji hums, waving the finger he just had pressed against your clit in front of your thoroughly irritated face. "'m not here for that, unfortunately. just thought i'd give kamo here a little... helping hand, 's all."

"well i don't want your helping hand." you scoff in response, but despite your desperate struggling against the handcuffs that still have you chained to the desk, you can't do anything to slap his hand away when it returns between your legs.

he ignores your protesting movements completely, angling his face down to glance at choso, who is watching his superior's pudgy finger rubbing teasingly slow circles on your clit with rapt attention, seemingly tuning out the bickering between the two of you.

"y'see now, rookie?

choso nods a little too enthusiastically, and the moment toji removes his finger, his tongue is back on your cunt. but this time, it's circling messily around your little bud, his movements sloppy and uncoordinated.

a small moan escapes your lips unwarranted, and you instantly snap your eyes shut in embarrassment — it's becoming increasingly harder to keep your priorities straight with these two extremely attractive police officers attempting to wreck your resolve.

"yeahhh, she likes that," toji leers mockingly, rubbing his fat thumb against the edge of your thigh just to work you up even further. "dontcha, pretty?"

"shut... up." you push out through clenched teeth, fighting not to lose yourself in the sensations they're providing you with. you have to stay strong. you won't become a snitch.

he only snorts in response, pulling his thumb back and giving you a brief moment of relief before swiftly slapping a hand against your folds, the obscene wet squelching sound echoing throughout the room. "don't tell me what to do, girl."

"t-toji," choso whines, pulling his tongue from your clit and glancing down at your twitching flesh from the slap, which he starts peppering with gentle kisses in an attempt to soften the blow. "that was mean."

"oh, that was mean, was it?" he scoffs, rolling his eyes and giving the other man's pigtail a sharp tug as punishment for his words. "what would've been mean is if i fired your scrawny ass the second i got in here for fraternizing with a suspect. but i didn't, did i?"

"n-no... you didn't." choso murmurs meekly in response, his eyes wide and pleading at the prospect of losing his job. he quickly attaches his mouth back to where toji showed him your clit is, suckling gently in an attempt to please both you and his stern boss.

"now thaaat's more like it," toji croons lowly, his voice rich and gruff as he pats the top of choso's hair like he's a well-trained dog. "good boy."

a quiet mewl spills from his busy mouth in response to the praise, his hips weakly bucking against your leg as he tries desperately not to let himself fall apart without getting the information they need from you first.

toji notices, because of course he does, and he wraps a hand around your chin and forces you to look down at the pathetic display below you. "look at him, pretty. y'got him humping your leg like a damn bitch in heat. pussy must be sweet as candy."

"i-it is— shit, it is." comes choso's slurred mumble, popping his mouth from your clit with an lewd pop! before delving his tongue back between your sweetened folds. he may be inexperienced, but he's a quick learner.

"'s that right?" he chuckles, tilting his head to the side. he's speaking to his subordinate, but his eyes never leave yours. it makes you shudder involuntarily, his smirk stretching wider when he takes note of your reactions to him. "lemme get a lil' taste for myself then, kid."

choso obediently moves to the side to make room for toji, but when he doesn't join him on his knees, he looks up with an adorably puzzled expression across his features.

his boss moves his hand from the other man's pigtail down to grasp his chin, roughly pulling him up into a bruising kiss before he can even think of uttering a single protest.

choso whimpers helplessly into the kiss, not bothering to fight back at all as toji sucks lewdly on his tongue, stealing your sweetened juices straight from his subordinate's mouth.

he smacks his scarred lips once he pulls back, humming in satisfaction as his eyes return to you. "rookie's right; that's one ripe cunt y'got there. too bad it's wasted on a damn criminal."

his words make a mixture of arousal and annoyance flare up in the pit of your stomach, another small trickle of wetness gushing out of your core to pool on the plastic chair beneath you as you glare up at him.

"you're deluded if you think i'm telling you anything when you talk to me like that." you spit out, the look on your face one of pure disdain, despite your situation.

"oh, dollface," toji chuckles deeply, ignoring the squirming choso beside him and leaning down so his face is level with yours. "you're not gonna tell us just anythin'. you're gonna tell us everything."

before you can scoff right in his face, choso has been shoved back between your legs by his hair yet again, the feeling of his sweet, warm mouth sucking on your clit making your eyes almost cross in your head.

taking your distracted state as an opportunity to rile you up even further, toji shoves a pudgy thumb between your lips, pressing it right to the back of your throat so you can't even think of talking back anymore.

your resolve is hanging by a very, very thin thread.

despite how much you despise toji, you instinctively start to suckle on his thick digit, too blissed out from choso's sloppy ministrations to bother with how shameless you must look right now.

"mhmm, that's a good girl," he coos mockingly, swirling his thumb around inside your mouth. as composed as he seems, the feeling of your warm, soft little lips around his digit is making him extremely hard in his slacks. "knew y'had some obedience in ya somewhere."

choso mewls again when he feels your spongy walls fluttering around his tongue when he slides it inside your needy hole, assuming that must mean you're close to the edge; close to spilling the information they need.

instinctively, he speeds up his movements, fucking you on his tongue in such a lewd yet somehow gentle way as he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you from squirming on the chair.

but suddenly, just when you can feel the coil of an impending orgasm building up in the depths of your stomach, all the stimulation is gone.

toji's thumb leaves your mouth with a wet pop!, and choso gets yanked away from your core with his mouth open and drooling like a dog.

"what the fuck?" you pant out breathlessly, your eyes half-lidded as you glance between them quizzically. choso looks just as confused as you, wriggling against toji's grip on his hair in a fruitless attempt to get back to your sweet pussy.

"what? y'thought we were g'nna let ya cum that easily?" toji chuckles richly, a wide grin stretching across his scarred lips as he easily restrains a rabid choso with one strong hand. "nah, girl. y'gotta tell us what we wanna know first."

shit.

you should've known this would happen. to begin with, you were sure you could manage to keep yourself together if it was just choso servicing you. but now, with your body writhing and desperate for release and it was just toji standing in your way to stop you from getting it?

you were surely about to break.

"what's the matter?" toji croons, his voice dripping with mock concern as he thumbs at your lower lip with his free hand. "lost y'er attitude, pretty?"

you could just stay quiet. refuse to talk — get sent to a jailcell with your panties soiled and your cunt still throbbing with need.

or, you could tell them what they wanted to know. spill the beans on your shitty team members who had abandoned you and were probably rolling around in heaps of cash right now at your hideout without a care in the world. and in return, get your first proper orgasm in a long, long time.

you already know which option you're going to choose.

your voice quiet, you mutter the numberplate of the getaway car your group had used to escape the bank. it's all they need to find your associates; a little tracking using the police system and they can easily decipher the exact location of the vehicle.

toji grins, reaching up to give your head a condescending little pat as a reward while he releases his grip on choso with the other hand, causing his subordinate to dive face first back into your needy pussy.

a shameless moan escapes from deep in your throat, your hips weakly grinding up into choso's face as he feasts on you like it's the last meal of his life. you can feel him smiling happily against you, clearly pleased his method of interrogation worked out in the end, even if he did need his boss's help.

you end up hurling into an overwhelming orgasm when toji spits down onto your cunt, the salvia being swiftly lapped up by choso's eager tongue without a moments hesitation.

your entire body convulses against the plastic chair, the handcuffs digging into your wrists as you writhe and squirm, shameless mewls and cries escaping your lips as you attempt to come down from your high.

you can't even remember the last time you came that hard.

"aww, y'didn't even make 'er squirt, kamo," toji huffs in overexaggerated disappointment, causing the other man's swollen lips to form into a confused little pout. "dontcha think she deserves a proper reward for givin' us the information we were after?"

"squirt? how do i make her do that?"

"tch. damn clueless rookie," he huffs, shoving choso away from between your legs and sinking to his own knees before you. "let me show ya."

suddenly, the consequences of snitching don't seem so important anymore.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

[satellite-evans]

Verano Argentino

Pairing: Franco Colapinto x reader

Summary: Franco taking his girlfriend to Argentina for the first time :)

Word count: 6k

Warnings: nothing but fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The hum of the airplane engine softened as the wheels touched down in Buenos Aires. You glanced out the window, seeing the city stretch out under a pastel sunset. The sight was breathtaking, a blend of orange, pink, and lavender that painted the skyline. But the butterflies fluttering in your stomach made it hard to fully focus. This wasn’t just a vacation—it was a first in many ways. You were in Franco’s world now, stepping into a piece of his life that he’d always spoken of with such pride and warmth. The thought was equal parts exciting and nerve-wracking. Would his family like you? Would you fit into this place that clearly held so much of his heart?

As the plane taxied to the gate, Franco turned to you with a grin that lit up his face, his dark eyes shining with excitement. He gently squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in soothing circles. The small gesture grounded you.

“How does it feel to finally be in Argentina?” he asked, his voice soft but tinged with a palpable eagerness.

“It feels surreal,” you admitted, a small smile playing on your lips. “I can’t believe I’m actually here. I haven't seen anything yet, but I know it will be magical.”

Franco’s smile widened. “It gets even better, trust me, mi amor. Get ready because the adventure is just getting started.”

The plane came to a halt, and as the seatbelt sign dinged off, the cabin filled with the sound of passengers stretching, opening overhead compartments, and chatting. Franco leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, playful murmur. “And remember, if you get overwhelmed by my family, just give me a look. I’ll swoop in and save you.”

You laughed softly. “Thanks for the backup.”

As you disembarked, Franco took charge of the luggage, grabbing both your suitcase and his with ease. “I’ve got this,” he said, waving off your protests. “You just enjoy the moment.”

You stepped into the arrivals area, where a small crowd bustled around, families reuniting with hugs and cheerful voices. Standing near the back, a man and a woman held a handmade sign that read, “Bienvenida,!” with both your and Franco's name written on it. Franco’s parents, Aníbal and Andrea, waved enthusiastically when they saw you. Beside them was a younger girl, practically bouncing on her heels excitedly. Martina, Franco’s sister.

“There they are,” Franco said, his voice warm as he guided you toward them. “Ready?”

You nodded, your pulse quickening.

Andrea was the first to reach you, her arms opening wide as she enveloped you in a hug. It was warm and comforting, and she smelled faintly of lavender. She began speaking quickly in Spanish, her words spilling out in a flurry of excitement.

Franco leaned in, his cheek brushing against yours as he whispered a translation. “She says she’s so happy to finally meet you and that I’ve been talking about you non-stop.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you offered a shy, “Muchas gracias,” which earned you an approving nod and a wide smile from Andrea. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she held your hands for a moment longer, as if to absorb the reality of your presence.

Aníbal’s handshake was firm but friendly, his grip warm and steady. He spoke in accented English, his voice rich and deep. “Welcome to Argentina. It is a pleasure to have you here.”

“Thank you so much for having me,” you replied, grateful for his calm and reassuring demeanor.

Martina, however, couldn’t contain her energy. She darted forward and threw her arms around you in a quick but enthusiastic hug. “I’m Martina,” she said in clear English, her bright eyes darting between you and Franco. “So, this is your girlfriend,” she added with a mischievous grin, her tone teasing as she turned to her brother. “You’ve got good taste, hermano.”

Franco laughed, puffing out his chest in an exaggerated gesture of pride. “Of course I do. Did you expect anything less?”

Martina rolled her eyes but was clearly amused. “We’ll see if she survives dinner with the family,” she quipped, winking at you.

Franco groaned dramatically. “Don’t scare her off already!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at their banter. Despite your initial nerves, the warmth and energy of Franco’s family were already making you feel at ease. You exchanged a look with him, and he gave you a reassuring smile, as if to say, “See? I told you they’d love you.”

The ride to the Colapinto home was filled with laughter and chatter, the kind of easy, effortless conversation that only a close-knit family can share. Franco’s family, warm and welcoming, switched seamlessly between Spanish and English, ensuring you felt included in every exchange. His father, a jovial man with a booming voice, would joke in Spanish, while his mother, Andrea, would smile at you knowingly, making sure you understood the sentiment even if you didn't catch every word. Franco sat beside you in the backseat, his arm draped casually over your shoulder, the comfort of his touch a quiet reassurance.

Every so often, Franco would lean in, his lips close to your ear as he translated a joke or explained a comment made in Spanish, his breath warm against your skin. His voice, soft and intimate, made you feel as though you were the only one in the world.

“I love you so much,” he murmured, his fingers lightly tracing circles on your shoulder, the gentle pressure of his touch sending a warmth that spread through you. His thumb brushed your skin in a slow rhythm, sending little shivers down your spine as the car cruised down the sun-dappled streets.

You leaned into Franco, feeling his presence, his steady, comfortable energy. "It feels nice," you said softly, almost to yourself.

He gave a small, affectionate smile, squeezing your shoulder gently. “I knew you’d fit right in,” he said, his tone filled with quiet pride, and you couldn’t help but feel a deeper affection for him in that moment.

When the car pulled into the driveway, you were immediately struck by the home’s charm. It sat nestled in a quiet neighborhood, with the glow of the setting sun casting a light on the terracotta roof. Colorful tiles lined the pathway leading to the front door, and vibrant bougainvillea vines clung to the walls, their brilliant pink blossoms adding to the home’s already welcoming feel. You could already sense the warmth and love that filled this space, just from the beauty that surrounded it.

Andrea led the way, her steps light and purposeful as she ushered you inside. She spoke animatedly in Spanish, forgetting you couldn’t speak even tough Franco told her. And Franco, walking beside you, translated with ease, his voice calm and steady. He made sure to include you in every detail explaining that his mother would only speak in Spanish if she was too excited, as his mother proudly pointed out the little quirks of the house.

“This is where Martina and I used to play football,” he said, gesturing to the backyard where a weathered soccer ball lay forgotten on the grass. “We would run around for hours, trying to beat each other. We even had a goalpost set up here.”

The smile on Franco’s face grew softer, nostalgic, as he remembered those childhood days. His eyes met yours, and there was a tenderness in his gaze that made your heart skip a beat.

“And this is my mom’s pride and joy,” he continued, leading you toward the garden, “her garden.”

Andrea beamed with pride as you admired the rows of flowers and herbs. Her hands fluttered in the air, explaining the significance of each plant, from the rosemary that was said to bring good fortune to the lavender she used to make soaps. She spoke with a gentle warmth, the joy in her voice obvious as she shared stories of her garden’s growth.

Franco, leaning closer to you, chuckled quietly, his breath brushing against your cheek. “She’s telling you about the time I accidentally trampled her mint plants when I was a kid,” he whispered, his voice playful. “She still brings it up every chance she gets. ‘Franco, you ruined my mint,’ she says.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, glancing over at Andrea, who nodded emphatically, her expression a mixture of amusement and mild exasperation. "You never learn," she added, her eyes twinkling with affection. You could feel the family bonds here, the playful teasing, and the genuine love.

“Oh, really?” you teased back, glancing at Andrea as you wiped a mock tear from your eye. “Such a tragic mint disaster.”

Franco laughed, his arm still comfortably around your shoulder, pulling you slightly closer. “It was a disaster,” he said with a wink, “but she’s forgiven me.”

The tour continued inside, where Franco led you to his childhood room. You took in the modest space, the way it still held pieces of his past—racing car posters on the walls, trophies and medals carefully displayed on a shelf. The room had been a place where dreams had been born and nurtured, and you couldn’t help but smile as you ran your fingers over the polished metal of the trophies.

“Wow,” you said, genuinely impressed. “You were quite the athlete.”

Franco’s grin widened, and he stepped closer to you, the playful energy between you palpable. “Still am,” he replied, his voice dripping with confidence. He leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your neck as he whispered, “But these days, my best moves are off the track.”

Before you could respond, his lips found yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It was tender, filled with a quiet affection that made your heart race. When he pulled away, his eyes danced with that mischievous glint, and your cheeks warmed.

“What?” he asked innocently, his hands resting gently on your waist. “You’re cute when you blush.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible,” you said, but the affection in your voice was undeniable.

Franco laughed, his eyes never leaving yours. He pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours, and for a moment, it was just the two of you—connected in this quiet, simple moment of joy. You could feel the depth of the bond you were beginning to share with him, the easy, unspoken affection that had already taken root in your heart.

"Come on, let me show you the rest of the house."

That evening, Franco’s family gathered around the dinner table, and the warmth of the atmosphere felt like a physical embrace. The house was alive with energy, voices mingling in a beautiful harmony, the air thick with the savory scents of grilled meats, fresh salads, and the unmistakable smell of empanadas. The table was an impressive spread, a feast that seemed to invite everyone to stay and share stories, laughter, and love.

Aníbal worked the grill with an ease that spoke of years of experience. His hands moved with confident precision, flipping steaks and sausages, while his deep laugh boomed across the backyard. Andrea and Martina flitted around the kitchen, preparing side dishes and making sure everything was perfect. You asked if you could help with anything, but they declined you immediately and said that they had everything under control. Their voices were like a symphony, creating a sense of inclusivity and warmth.

Franco, ever the attentive host, stayed close by your side and talked your ears off about F1 while he played with a strand of your hair. He would lean in every so often, his breath warm against your skin, and whisper a funny remark or a translation, filling in the gaps and ensuring you never felt left out. His hand would occasionally brush yours under the table, a subtle but constant reminder of his presence, and each small touch made your heart flutter.

Andrea turned her gaze toward you, her eyes soft and filled with curiosity. In the midst of the laughter and clinking glasses, she asked, “So, how did you guys meet? I keep asking Franco but he doesn't budge.” Her tone was kind, but there was a spark of genuine interest in her voice.

You felt your cheeks warm at the question, and before you could find your words, Franco leaned in, flashing you a playful grin and finally giving in. “I chased her down after a race,” he teased, his voice dripping with mock bravado. “I saw her standing with a bunch of her friends, but she was the only one that stood out, for me at least. Her hair, her smile. Her eyes were 100 percent more shiny than the moon that night. So I couldn't help myself and went after her. And she couldn’t resist my charm, of course.”

The family burst into laughter, but Martina raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a mischievous smirk. “Oh really?” she said, her tone laced with humor. “Or was it the other way around?”

You couldn’t help but laugh along with them, the tension in your chest dissipating as you realized how at ease you were with Franco’s family. With a lighthearted shrug, you started recounting the real story of how you met. The way you’d first encountered each other at that event, the way Franco had been more focused on winning than on noticing anyone else, until he had finally caught your eye. His family listened intently, nodding and smiling as you shared your version of the story, and soon the conversation began to flow naturally, with everyone chiming in and taking turns asking questions.

Andrea asked you about your life back home, her eyes warm as she listened to you explain your culture and what you loved to do back home. By the time dessert came around, a homemade flan served with dollops of rich dulce de leche, you felt like you had known these people for years. You laughed at their stories, shared in their fondness for each other, and couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the warmth and genuine affection they exuded. They made you feel like one of their own, not just a guest in their home, and for the first time in a long while, you felt completely at ease, as if you truly belonged.

Later, after the table had been cleared and the evening’s conversations turned to soft murmurs, you and Franco headed up to his room. As you both prepared for bed, Franco pulled you into a gentle embrace, his arms encircling you with a tenderness that was comforting and intimate. His chin rested on the top of your head as he whispered, “They really like you.”

You leaned into him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. “You think so?” you asked, a little uncertain.

“I know so,” he replied with a quiet certainty, kissing the top of your head. “When you went to the bathroom, they told me. Martina thinks you’re ‘ too cool for me,’ by the way.”

You giggled at the thought of his little sister’s approval, feeling your nerves melt away. His words were like a balm to your heart, reassuring you that you were more than just an outsider in their world. As you climbed into bed together, you whispered about the day, recounting moments of laughter and things you wanted to see in Argentina. But before you could fully drift off to sleep, Franco rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze at you.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “I don’t think I’ve told you just how beautiful you looked today.”

You turned your head to face him, a smile tugging at your lips. “You might’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you said, narrowing your eyes playfully. “But I’m not complaining.”

Franco smirked, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. His hand moved along your waist, pulling you closer as his lips deepened the kiss. His touch was gentle yet insistent, the way his fingers traced the curve of your spine sending shivers through you. The moment felt electric, the quiet of the room amplifying the intensity of his kiss, the way his lips moved against yours with increasing intent.

When his hand slipped to the small of your back, you pulled back slightly, your cheeks flushed. “Franco,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “We can’t. They can hear.”

He grinned, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously in the dim light. “So?” he teased, his lips grazing your ear. “Mama and Papa are heavy sleepers and my sister is probably busy watching tiktoks. They won't hear your moans.”

You gasped, a little flustered, “Franco!”

His laughter filled the space between you as he leaned in again. “Shh,” he said, kissing your lips lightly before nipping at your ear. “You’re going to wake them up if you keep talking.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could get a word out, he silenced you with another kiss. His hand cupped your cheek with a gentleness that contrasted his teasing nature, and in that moment, his confidence was like a force, making you forget the world outside the room. His lips moved to your neck, and you could feel his smile against your skin.

And then, as if the universe decided to make things even more dramatic, the door creaked open.

“Franco! I—oh my God!” Martina’s voice cut through the intimate moment like a thunderclap.

You froze, your face instantly heating up, and you scrambled to pull the covers up to your chin. Franco, on the other hand, didn’t even flinch. Instead, he flopped back onto the bed, covering his face with his hands as he burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“I just needed my jacket!” Martina squeaked, her voice high-pitched with embarrassment. She quickly grabbed the jacket from the chair by the door, her face a shade of red that almost matched the blush on yours. Without another word, she fled, slamming the door behind her.

You groaned, burying your face in the pillow. “I can’t believe that just happened,” you mumbled, half laughing, half mortified.

Franco turned his head toward you, still chuckling softly. “Why not? It’s not the first time,” he said, his grin teasing but full of affection.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension from the awkward interruption easing as the two of you shared this moment.

"Seriously, Franco, that was so embarrassing."

He grinned, brushing a strand of hair away from your face with a tenderness that contrasted with his earlier teasing. "It’s only embarrassing if you let it be. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’ll be too mortified to bring it up again anytime soon."

You glanced toward the door, half-expecting Martina to burst in again with more awkwardness. But there was nothing—just the lingering tension from the interruption and the weight of his words. “I guess you’re right,” you admitted, your fingers tracing absentminded patterns on the blankets. The only thing you wanted to do was sleep and forget that it ever happened.

The following morning, the sun poured in through the window, casting a warm light over the room. You woke up feeling disoriented for a moment, the unfamiliar sounds of birds outside and the gentle rustling of trees in the breeze signaling that you were no longer at home. Beside you, Franco stirred, his arm draped over your waist. His chest rose and fell with steady, rhythmic breaths, his presence comforting in the quiet of the early morning.

You smiled softly to yourself, memories of the previous evening flooding back—the laughter, the teasing, the way you felt so welcomed by his family. Despite the brief and awkward interruption by Martina, last night had been a success. You felt like you were becoming a part of something bigger than just a visit to a new country. You were beginning to feel like family.

You shifted slightly, careful not to wake Franco, and quietly slid out of bed. The coolness of the wooden floor greeted your bare feet as you stood up, and you stretched your arms above your head, yawning. You felt at peace, as though you could enjoy this moment forever—just you and Franco in this foreign city, with nothing but time and possibility ahead.

The aroma of fresh coffee reached you before you even stepped into the hallway. As you walked downstairs, you saw Andrea already bustling in the kitchen, humming softly as she prepared breakfast. She looked up when she saw you enter and greeted you with a bright smile.

"Good morning, querida," she said warmly, her hands moving gracefully as she flipped a few pancakes on the griddle. “I hope you slept well.”

“I did, thank you,” you replied, feeling a warmth spread in your chest at her kindness. You stepped further into the kitchen, drawn to the comforting scents of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling eggs. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Pancakes, scrambled eggs, and churros,” Andrea said, her voice carrying a hint of pride. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I think I could eat everything you’ve made,” you said with a smile, your stomach already rumbling in anticipation.

Andrea chuckled. “Good. I’ll make sure there’s enough for everyone.” She poured a cup of coffee for you and handed it over. “I thought you might enjoy this before Franco wakes up.”

You took the coffee gratefully, savoring the rich aroma as you took your first sip. It was strong, just the way you liked it. For a moment, you stood there, simply soaking in the feeling of being surrounded by Franco’s family—this sense of belonging that was starting to settle in your chest.

Before you could settle into your thoughts, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and Franco appeared in the doorway, his dark hair slightly messy from sleep. He looked half-awake but still incredibly handsome, his eyes sparkling with a lazy warmth. He stretched his arms above his head, letting out a small yawn.

“Morning,” he mumbled, a sleepy smile forming on his lips as he saw you standing by the counter.

“Good morning,” you replied, taking another sip of coffee. “Your mom’s made an incredible breakfast.”

Franco’s eyes immediately turned to the food, and his stomach gave an audible growl. “I didn’t know churros were on the menu,” he said, walking over to the griddle. “Mama, you’re spoiling me.”

“Don’t complain,” Andrea teased as she flipped another batch of pancakes. “You’ve been away for so long, you deserve a good breakfast.”

Franco grinned and turned to you. “I might just stay here forever if it means I get breakfast like this every day.”

You laughed, but there was a part of you that agreed with him. There was something so comforting about being here, surrounded by the warmth of family and the simple pleasures of a meal shared together.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze of laughter, delicious food, and easy conversation. After breakfast, Franco’s family insisted on showing you around Buenos Aires. It was a beautiful, sprawling city, full of color and life. You wandered through the cobbled streets, the city’s architecture blending colonial influences with modern design. You felt like you were walking through an art gallery with every step.

Franco was in his element, eager to share his love for his hometown with you. As you walked hand-in-hand, he pointed out landmarks he cherished, the small café where he and his friends used to hang out, the bookshop where he’d spent hours on lazy afternoons, and the street art that lined the walls of the city. You soaked it all in, fascinated by the rhythm of the city and how easily Franco moved through it, as though it were part of his very being.

“Do you like it here?” Franco asked, his voice casual as he leaned in a little closer to you.

“I love it,” you said with genuine enthusiasm. “It’s so vibrant. There’s so much life here.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Franco said with a smile, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. “I’m proud of my city, and I wanted to show you why.”

By the time the sun began to dip low in the sky, you had already explored so many new places that you felt like you could call Buenos Aires home.

That evening, you and Franco sat on the balcony of his house, overlooking the garden below. The evening breeze was cool against your skin, and the sky had shifted to a deep, star-filled navy. The two of you were wrapped in a blanket, with soft laughter and comfortable silence filling the space between you.

“What’s your favorite thing about this city?” you asked, your voice low as you nestled further into the warmth of Franco’s side.

Franco didn’t answer immediately, instead taking a moment to look out at the city below. The lights twinkled like a sea of fireflies, and the hum of the city life seemed so distant now, replaced by the peaceful quiet of the moment.

“I think it’s the energy,” he finally said, his voice thoughtful. “There’s a kind of pulse here, like the city is alive. It’s a place where anything can happen, where people chase their dreams and live for the moment.”

“I can feel that,” you said softly, your heart full as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

Franco’s hand found yours, his fingers curling around yours with an easy familiarity. You squeezed his hand in return, not knowing what the future held but knowing that, in this moment, everything felt perfect.

But just as the night seemed to settle into a peaceful lull, the sound of footsteps interrupted the moment. It was Martina again, her head poking out from behind the sliding glass door, a playful grin on her face.

“You two look cozy,” she teased, crossing her arms over her chest. “I hope you’re not making out on the balcony again.”

Franco groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Martina, go away,” he muttered, but you could tell he wasn’t really bothered.

“I’ll leave when I’m ready,” Martina shot back, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You two should try to get out of the house tomorrow. Buenos Aires has more to offer than just each other.”

You both chuckled, the awkwardness of the situation evaporating instantly. Franco, as if to save you both from further teasing, stood up and stretched. “We’ll go on an adventure tomorrow,” he promised. “But tonight, it’s just us.”

Martina raised her hands in mock surrender. “Fine. Have your moment, lovebirds,” she said with a wink before disappearing back inside.

You and Franco exchanged an amused glance before turning your attention back to the sky, the sound of the city below blending with the quiet rhythm of your shared breathing. The night was still, and for the first time in a long time, you felt at peace.

The next morning, you woke up feeling lighthearted and content. The warmth of Franco’s family had melted any lingering nerves, and today felt like the perfect opportunity for a little relaxation, just the two of you.

You had no idea what Franco had planned, but as he ushered you into the car that morning with an excited grin, you knew it was going to be something special. The drive was filled with playful chatter, the kind that had become second nature between the two of you. Franco kept glancing at you from time to time, giving you teasing smirks as he described the beach he was taking you to.

"I hope you like it. It's one of my favorite places to clear my head," he said, his voice warm with that familiar, easygoing confidence.

You raised an eyebrow. "Clear your head? I didn't take you for the beach type."

Franco shot you a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying the playful challenge. “Oh, trust me. I’m more than just a race car driver with a need for speed. Sometimes, I like to slow down, enjoy the simple things.”

You smirked, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “So, you’re saying you're a beach philosopher now?”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m just trying to bring a little culture to your life, cariño,” he teased, calling you by the affectionate nickname he had already grown fond of using.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

Soon enough, the city gave way to open roads, and before long, the landscape shifted to a view of the ocean—an endless stretch of golden sand meeting the calm waves. As you both pulled into the parking lot, the salty breeze hit you, and you couldn't help but breathe in deeply, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace settle over you.

Franco was already out of the car, grabbing towels and a beach bag, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Come on, let’s go! You’re going to love this place,” he said, already pulling you toward the shore with that infectious enthusiasm of his.

You followed him to the water’s edge, feeling the warm sand beneath your feet as the sound of the waves intensified. It was as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

Franco turned to you, a wicked grin forming on his face. “Bet you can’t beat me to the water.”

You looked at him skeptically, already plotting your move. “You know I don’t have the competitive edge like you, but I’m not letting you get away with that.”

Before he could react, you dashed ahead, running toward the waves, feeling the rush of the cool sea spray against your legs. Franco laughed behind you, quick on your heels. You both reached the water at the same time, with him managing to grab your wrist just before you got fully submerged.

"Cheater," you muttered playfully, but Franco only flashed a grin.

“Gotta keep you on your toes, cariño,” he teased, his hand never leaving your waist as you stood in the shallows, the waves rolling gently around your ankles. “You’re too cute when you get competitive.”

You shot him a mock glare, crossing your arms. “I’m competitive when I want to be.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “I’ve noticed.”

The warmth of the sun on your skin and the coolness of the water felt like the perfect combination, and soon the playful banter faded into a comfortable silence as you both soaked in the beauty of the moment. Franco’s fingers gently tugged at a lock of your hair, his voice soft.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You laughed lightly, nudging him with your elbow. “Oh, please. You’re not getting all mushy on me now, are you?”

He grinned, pulling you closer, his gaze full of affection. “You’re not letting me get away with anything today, huh?”

“Well, you did challenge me to a race to the water,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I have to keep you in check.”

Franco laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Fair enough.” He paused for a moment, gazing at you with a tender expression. “But seriously, you’ve made everything better since you got here. I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and you smiled softly. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

The two of you spent the afternoon in the water and on the beach, laughing, talking, and enjoying each other’s company. Franco showed off his stone-skipping skills—though he did “accidentally” pretend to miss one just so you could give it a try.

“Not bad, huh?” Franco said with a wink after you got a few decent skips across the water. “I’ve got some moves.”

“You just wait, I’ll be skipping stones like a pro soon enough,” you said confidently, and Franco grinned.

You continued to trade playful jabs and laughs with each other. It felt like time had slowed down, and you didn’t want it to end. Franco was as playful as he was affectionate, constantly pulling you into small hugs, kissing the top of your head, or whispering jokes in your ear. Every little moment was filled with genuine warmth, making you feel more and more at home.

The heat of the Argentinian sun was burning your skin the same like you arrived hours ago, so Franco suggested another swim. You didn’t hesitate. Without a word, he took your hand and led you back into the ocean, both of you letting the waves carry you along.

The two of you floated in the water, the rhythm of the waves calming, and you both began to laugh over the little things, the world outside the water feeling like a distant memory. Franco’s fingers gently brushed against yours, the touch sending warmth through you even as the cool sea embraced you.

As you swam a little further out, you could see Franco's playful glint return. “Race again?” he teased.

“Not a chance,” you said with a grin, then swam toward him, only for him to pull you into the gentlest of holds, twirling you as you both spun in the sea.

“Maybe not now, but you’ll regret it later,” Franco whispered with a wink.

You laughed, feeling completely at ease as the sea surrounded you both.

Later, as you returned to the beach to rest in the shade, you dug into the bag beside you, pulling out sunscreen. “Time to help out the little boy,” you joked, grinning as you held the bottle in front of Franco.

He raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “You really want to help me out, huh?”

“What can I say, I’m a giver,” you said with a wink, before squirting sunscreen into your hands.

As you rubbed it onto his back, you couldn’t help but notice how natural this felt. His skin was warm under your touch, and his eyes closed as he relaxed into your hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever been pampered quite like this,” he muttered with a lazy smile.

“Good thing I’m here to change that,” you teased, smoothing the lotion down his arms, making sure every inch was covered.

“You know,” Franco said with a grin, “You should consider adding ‘sunscreen expert’ to your resume.”

You rolled your eyes, still laughing as you finished. “You’re lucky you’re cute, or I might not have done it.”

Franco leaned over, his lips brushing your cheek in a soft kiss. “Gracias cariño, I love it when you take care of me.”

Eventually, the two of you relaxed further into the beach towels. Franco sprawled out beside you while you read, the sun warming your skin as the breeze whispered through the palm trees. When your eyelids began to droop, Franco was quick to notice, and without a word, he shifted beside you, propping himself up on his side. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep,” he said softly. “Want to take a nap?”

You smiled, feeling so content you could easily drift away in his arms. “Just for a little while…”

Franco opened his arms, inviting you to rest your head on his chest. You gladly took the offer, snuggling in close as the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat and the soft ocean waves lulled you to sleep.

After a few hours, you woke to find the sun setting, and the sky was painted in brilliant hues of orange and purple. You both stood, stretching and shaking off the sleepiness as you packed up. Franco grinned, wrapping an arm around you as the two of you walked back to the car.

And as you both headed back, the evening sky above you and the warmth of his hand in yours, it felt like the world was in exactly the right place.

[alchemistc]

He never hid it from Bobby. That's the thing he keeps trying to remind himself, as he sits on the razor edge of this dumb fucking argument and keeps deciding not to ask for advice on how to fix it.

He never hid it from Bobby. It was just -

Bobby's approval means something to him. It always does. Hell, even fucked up coma-dream Bobby digging through pill bottles had been the conscience on his shoulder. And at the time he'd been sure of two things:

1. He wanted this to work with Tommy

and

2. If Bobby had cautioned him he'd have backed off from his speed run to reassess and he didn't want to second guess himself.

Because it had felt right. It had felt good, and safe and warm and terrifying in a way he'd never really experienced before.

So. He'd talked about Tommy at work and he'd dealt with the teasing (he'd loved the teasing) and when Bobby had caught him tucking a toiletry bag stuffed with condoms and lube into his overnight bag, and told him Tommy was good people - good for him - he'd rode that high for another three months.

It had felt - adult. Grown up. No need to hit up Captain Dad for advice on this new thing he'd navigated with advice from people he saw more as peers than authority figures.

Only.

It had felt like the first time Emily Harden had smiled at him from her desk two seats over from his, too - heart fluttering in his chest and eyes catching on the thin skin of her neck right below her earlobe and he'd ducked his head and wanted to bash it into his desk just to make sure he wasn't dreaming because he could still feel her lips - sticky with that sweet tasting gloss - on his from when they'd snuck behind the auxillary classroom after lunch.

And it had felt like that first time he'd fumbled with a condom in the back seat of someone else's car and Ashley J had giggled, two years older and definitely not the first time for her, and steadied his hand as she rolled it on for him, and Buck had been pretty sure he loved her. (He'd loved her the way a child loves it's favorite toy, and he'd cherished her for paying so much frank attention to him, and she'd loved the way his cock filled his shorts and her pussy and how focused he was on making it good for her.) He hadn't even come, that first time, too fucking terrified to go off early that the nerves had settled like a vice around his balls and so instead he'd grunted into the side of her neck, pulled out and gotten his fingers up in her just to make sure the fluttering he'd felt around him was real, and with hushed gasps she'd ridden the palm of his hand until the fluttering happened a second time and he discreetly tucked himself back in his shorts before she could notice.

It felt like - firsts and lasts and everything in between. Tommy - Tommy was something new and good and achingly familiar at the same time Buck felt like he'd never experienced anything quite like this before.

So.

And Bobby - Bobby's been off doing this new thing, away from them because he'd - he'd been done, or something. With the job, with the 118, with Buck maybe too

He's mad as hell right now, though, headset on while Athena relays the absolutely ridiculous plan they've concocted and even as Bobby drives the engine they'd one hundred percent stolen from the set of Hotshots (they weren't even hotshots, is a thing he knows and has ranted about to Tommy multiple times, while Tommy licked icing from Buck's bellybutton and dropped amusing snark into the skin of his thigh). And actually, Bucks's mad too, because he and Tommy haven't resolved the whatever it is that had actually been at the heart of their stupid fight and now he's - now he's -

Mehta is already on scene, commandeering a hangar to set up the engines from other stations, and he's taking over comms even as Bobby's lips purse and Athena's voice trails off.

"They're insane," Buck says, and Bobby's nod is crisp and firm. "That sounds like a bad movie plot."

Bobby blinks, and then he does something inexplicably frustrating. He laughs. "It is. It actually is a bad movie plot."

He barely stops laughing the entire drive there.

Buck isn't actually sure why they took the fake fire engine - it isn't actually kitted out with anything real other than a CO2 tank, Buck isn't even sure the ladder extends, but maybe Bobby had just been caught up in the moment, although - although he's driving this one, after some weird tense standoff with the actor Buck's pretty sure plays the captain in the dumb inaccurate firefighter show (they've never even shown the 119 doing fire suppression, let alone dropping into a wildfire, why did they call it Hotshots), which is not usual at all.

Buck feels the stress all along his spine, in his bad leg, rolling along his arms and up his neck while Mehta keeps the lines mostly clear and then there's Tommy's voice. He's in the air, and it's weird to realize that he's not at the controls, because instead he's gonna do something absolutely batshit insane.

("Give that man thirty seconds and he can figure out how to fly anything," Ruiz had mentioned, three months ago, while Buck piled another scoop of casserole onto her plate and watched Tommy duck his head bashfully like it was embarrassing to be so good at your job that people thought you were maybe a little superhuman.)

Mehta looks simultaneously pissed and resigned when they disembark from the purloined engine. It's gone full dark, by now, and most of the engines in the bay are set up and ready to go, and Bobby's haphazard parking job has put them just out of the way. There's a 217 engine tucked in between two 118's and Buck wants to take a picture of it to send to Tommy because he'll either have something amusing or devastatingly charming and sappy to say back but -

But Tommy's harnessing up in the back of a chopper he's usually flying and also they're still fighting.

Maybe.

Kind of.

Bobby gets a stern look and a finger pointed towards where Hen has the 118 circling her, and Mehta just sighs when Buck looks to him for orders. Buck is - technically - maybe a little suspended right now, on account of being the reason Gerrard has a crack in his skull instead of a saw blade in his side, but the all hands on deck situation seems to be tipping in Buck's favor.

"You leave my comm line open, Buckley," Mehta says and waves him in the direction of the 118.

Buck races to catch up to Bobby

---

It actually works, is the thing, and Buck watches Bobby wrapping Athena up in his arms and remembers that moment something had clicked over in his head - some deep part of his brain following the interesting pull of this firefighter pilot with a wicked sense of humor and the same fucked up crazy fuck it attitude Buck's family had. Who Cares, only they all care so goddamn deeply about everything all the time, and Buck's hindbrain had recognized something long before the rest of it did.

Tommy's the last one off the plane. He's got a helmet tucked under his arm and the harness still in place and his hair is a mess, sticking up on one side and plastered to his head on the other, sweaty and windswept and smiling at Buck the moment he catches sight of him.

Eddie and Chim are both busy dealing with passengers and Buck is grateful as hell because he absolutely knows he'd end up competing for Tommy's attention if they were around to see him disembark.

(They're at work, Buck reminds himself. They are in full view of about a dozen different firehouses and a planeful of passengers besides. Buck is still mad at Tommy.)

"Hey," Tommy says, low and gravelly half a second before he slings out an arm to drag Buck in by his neck.

("Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?" he'd asked, anxiety creeping red hot up the back of his neck, and Tommy had been joking, probably, but Buck can't quite remember the circuitous path they'd made to this point, only the feeling like he was five inches tall and Tommy didn't want to be his date to some official LAFD thing. "Like - I mean - I thought the whole point of you pumping the brakes forever ago was you didn't want to hide or be hidden, Tommy!"

And they hadn't actually gotten past that, because all hands on deck meant every firefighter in LA had gotten the reverse 911 that highly encouraged them to get to their stations immediately.

Buck resists for half a second, and Tommy's eyes dart to his when it takes more muscle than he'd been expecting to tug Buck to him.

He looks so goddamn good. Buck wants to eat him up. He also -

"People can see, Tommy," Buck says, and Tommy's smile is wry.

"Kinda the point, sweetheart," he says, and Buck doesn't fight it when he tips his head to press their foreheads together.

They still gotta have this out. They need to actually talk about it, despite Tommy's aversion to digging deep into his psyche to pick at his vulnerabilities. They need to -

Someone wolf whistles across the tarmac. Probably fifty heads turn in their direction. Tommy tips his chin up to press his lips to Buck's birthmark.

"You're not off the hook for the conversation just because you decided to be a bit of an exhibitionist," Buck says, and Tommy's face does something complicated but ultimately understanding.

Mehta makes direct eye contact and looks somewhere between amused and annoyed, but he doesn't make a move towards them.

"Do I at least get points for being a badass?"

Buck raises a brow, and Tommy pouts a little.

"How about a very public kiss, at least?"

"I distinctly remember you saying something about how shoving it down peoples throats was something you had a problem with."

"I had some time to rethink my position, while I was clinging to the nose of a plane."

Buck loves him. He's - they're -

Buck dips forward for a quick peck, and across the tarmac it sounds like Donato and at least a dozen other firefighters have gathered to heckle - they get a few canned boos and some hissing, a rapt audience. Tommy tosses something over his shoulder that Buck can't see because he's suddenly being crowded into Tommy, hands on both hips and his nose digging into Buck's cheek.

"They're not gonna stop until we give 'em a show."

"They got a whole B Movie plot already," Buck argues, but he's tracing the grooves of Tommy's smile.

"Evan, you know those always close on a kiss before the credits roll."

He does, actually, now, because Tommy isn't shy at all about sharing his interests with Buck. Movie nights happen all the time, and sometimes Tommy gets invested enough that Buck climbing into his lap isn't even enough to distract him.

"I'm serious, though. We actually have to talk about this, at some point."

Tommy tips his head to the side, blows out a breath against Buck's earlobe. "You finally cave and hit up Bobby for advice?"

Buck can't help but nip at a tendon drawn tight against the side of Tommy's neck. Whatever their crowded audience can see in their shadowy embrace spurns them into a catcall or two.

"At least I'm not going to Eddie," he snipes, because he knows Eddie knows more than he's letting on. "Also no, because we can figure this out on our own."

Tommy's cheek dances up against Buck's, like Buck's said something he appreciates. "Will you just kiss me already so we can get rid of the peanut gallery?"

Buck tips his chin and gathers Tommy's lips in his own - a beat, two, three, and off in the distance he can hear Donato making her minions disperse, and then he's lost to the kiss for a bit.

When they break for air, Buck has a hand stuffed half-in the zip of Tommy's flight suit, and Tommy's looking at him with something soft and warm and achingly quiet amidst the cacophony. "I really wish you were a little less of an adrenaline junkie, but, uh... you just rappelled out of a helicopter onto the nose of a plane and landed it safely and that's - really doing it for me."

"Evan," he says, faux-scandalized. "Stop trying to seduce me before we've had excruciating serious talk."

[rafecamerons-national-anthem]

PAPARAZZI SLIP UP-DREW STARKEY

The night was supposed to be a break from the chaos of Drew's fame. You had both been keeping your relationship a secret for months, sneaking around the paparazzi's prying eyes, and using every excuse to keep the world out of your private life. But tonight, you had decided to take a chance.

Drew had insisted on a low key dinner, somewhere out of sight. The two of you sat at a quiet corner booth in a small, cozy restaurant, the dim lighting and soft jazz music providing the perfect cover. You had laughed and talked like you hadn’t a care in the world, like no one was watching, like your connection was just yours.

"I can't believe we actually got away with this," you whispered, leaning in as Drew gave you that signature smile of his, his blue eyes glinting in the low light.

"I told you. A little patience and a lot of sneaking around," he chuckled, reaching for your hand under the table. His thumb traced small circles on your palm, sending a shiver up your spine.

You squeezed his hand, your heart warming at the sight of him so relaxed, so normal. It was rare, these days, for the two of you to have a moment without the constant threat of paparazzi or fans showing up out of nowhere.

But as the night wore on, that illusion was shattered.

The door to the restaurant opened with a jingle, and suddenly the warmth in Drew’s eyes turned to wariness. You didn’t need to look to know what had caught his attention. You had learned to recognize the signs: the sudden tension in his shoulders, the shift in his posture, the way his gaze darted toward the window.

"You’re being paranoid," you said softly, trying to reassure him, though your own heart was beginning to race. You glanced over your shoulder, catching sight of two figures standing outside the restaurant, their cameras flashing through the window as they tried to get a shot.

Drew’s jaw tightened. “It’s them,” he muttered under his breath, his grip on your hand tightening. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

A flash of panic surged in your chest. You knew what this meant, this was no longer a quiet night, no longer a secret dinner. The paparazzi had caught wind of you two, and they were about to blow everything open.

Without saying another word, Drew stood, pulling you gently to your feet. “Come on. We need to leave.”

You both made your way toward the exit, Drew leading the way with his hand firmly on your back, guiding you through the maze of tables and chairs. But as soon as you stepped outside, the bright lights from the cameras hit you like a wave. Flash after flash blinded you as you shielded your face with your hand.

"Mr. Starkey! Is this your girlfriend? How long have you two been seeing each other?" a voice called out, the question sharp and demanding.

You could feel Drew’s grip on your waist tighten as he pulled you closer, his free hand moving to shield you from the crowd. "Just keep walking, Y/N," he muttered, his voice low and protective.

You both hurried toward his car, the flashing lights following you, but Drew’s pace never faltered. You could hear the reporters’ voices growing louder as they shouted questions you didn’t have answers to. "Is it true you're keeping your relationship a secret?" one asked.

"How long have you two been together? When are you going public?" another one shouted.

You tried to ignore them, focusing instead on Drew’s hand on your waist, the firm but gentle pressure reminding you that you weren’t alone in this. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.

Once you reached the car, Drew quickly opened the door, ushering you inside, then climbing in after you. As he started the engine and sped away, the flashing lights and shouting grew distant.

For a moment, all that was left was the sound of the engine and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

"That was insane," you said, letting out a nervous laugh as you sank back into the seat, your heart still racing.

Drew’s eyes were focused on the road ahead, but you could see the tension in his posture. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice apologetic but tinged with frustration. "I didn’t think they would catch on so fast. I just wanted a night where we could be normal, you know?"

You reached over and placed your hand on his, squeezing it gently. "It’s not your fault. We knew the risk. And honestly, it wasn’t that bad. I mean, we made it through, didn’t we?"

He chuckled softly, his thumb running over your knuckles. "Yeah. I guess you’re right. But I hate it. Hate that this is part of the deal now."

"I know," you said quietly, staring out the window. "But we’re still together, right? That’s what matters."

Drew looked at you, his eyes softening. "Yeah. Nothing’s going to change that."

The weight of his words settled in your chest, and for the first time that night, you allowed yourself to relax. Despite the chaos, despite the flashing cameras and invasive questions, you knew that Drew was right. This was just a bump in the road. You had each other, and that was all that really mattered.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop hiding.

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine meeting Rob Lucci again on Egghead Island

Warning: Contains spoilers! If you aren't caught up in the Egghead arc and don't want spoilers, don't read.

Rob: [tied up and unconscious on the floor of Vegapunk's lab]

You: [glaring at him from the other side of the room]

Stussy: Oh my, that's quite a scary look. It's almost like you know him.

You: I do know him, or at least I thought I did... A little over two years ago I lived on Water 7 where I worked for an engineering firm, and had a life, and a boyfriend.

Stussy: {looks shocked and points at Rob] Was he your boyfriend?

You: Yup, but I got transferred here shortly before he tried to kill Iceberg, who is my adoptive father. We used to exchange letters, and then one day they just stopped, and then three weeks later I got a letter from Iceberg that explained everything.

Stussy: That must have come as quite a shock.

Kaku: [wakes up] what the? [looks around, before cringing away when he notices you] oh dear.

You: [glares] Is that all you have to say to me?

Kaku: Listen, it was just a job, it wasn't personal.

You: Really? Because trying to murder members of my family feels really personal to me, buddy.

Kaku: [Nods to Robin] Technically, she shot Iceberg.

Robin: I shot him the first time, and I didn't feel I had another choice because you were threatening my friends and I didn't know what to do.

You: The second time was Blueno, and then you and Rob beat Paulie, and then left both Iceburg and Paulie tied up inside a burning building!

Kaku: we did do that, didn't we...

You: not to mention Rob played with my feelings by pretending to be a loving boyfriend.

Kaku: I swear that wasn't pretended Lucci really does love~

Rob: That's enough, Kaku.

You: You can talk! Why am I surprised, everything was a lie, wasn't it?

Rob: .... not everything [looks up at you, clearly pouting that he's being admonished]

You: I don't believe you.

Rob: ... can we discuss this in private, please?

You: no, we can't, I do not want to be alone with the World Noble's attack dog.

Rob: I'm a cat.

You: Excuse me?

Rob: I am a Zoan-type devil fruit user, the Neko Neko no Mi, Model: Leopard, specifically.

You: I don't care, because then you're just plain bad at being a cat.

Rob: Bad at being a cat!

You: yes, because if you knew a damn thing about cats, then you'd know you don't ever actually own a cat, you just live with one. They don't listen, they don't obey, and they most certainly don't respect you. So, I suppose, you were good at being a cat when it came to me, but bad when it comes to the world nobles.

Rob: That's not true...

You: save it, I don't want to hear your excuses.

Rob: [Takes a deep breath] They're not excuses, it's true I got close to you in the first place because of Iceberg, but I grew genuine feelings for you once I got to know you. I know I hurt you, it's why I stopped writing you after what happened in Water 7.

Nami: And because his ego was bruised because our captain whooped his ass.

Kaku: He was also in a coma for like a week afterward.

Rob: I figured by then you would have already had word from Water 7 of what happened, so I didn't want to rub salt into the wounds by trying to stay in your life, and that a clean cut was best for you.

You: [remembering that Iceberg had said he wouldn't be upset with you if you elected to stay with Rob] ... Where is Hattori?

Rob: what?

You: Where is Hattori?

Rob: He flew away when Stussy attacked.

You: I'll go get him...

Rob: [smirks[ thank you, I'm sure he'll be happy to see you again. Although he might not recognize you, you've glowed up since your Water 7 days. [winks]

You: [rolls your eyes] I know single life suits me, so save your smooth talk tough guy, it doesn't work on me [lying].

Rob: uh huh

You: [feels your cheeks heat up as your heart flutters, and you avoid eye contact with Lucci] Whatever, I'll go look for your bloody bird.

Rob: [eagerly watches the door slide shut behind you] It's still there

Stussy: What's still there?

Rob: I believe most people call it, "a spark between us'.

Nami: [dramatically gags]

Kaku: Dude, they always liked Hattori more than you, don't go getting a head of yourself.

Rob: [kicks him] zip it.

Stussy: [sighs] men are so stupid.

Robin: [nods in agreement]

Shaka: [judges in silence]

List of Up-and-coming works || Master list || Twitter| Kofi || Patreon

[sturniolohouse]

Only over You - M.S.

a/n: sorry sorry sorry if there's any typos !!

summary: after being separated during the holidays, matt and reader reunite for a late-night rendezvous.

warnings ! : little bit of choking...nothing crazy

word count: 1.5k

song: only over you - fleetwood mac

"Angel, please don't go. I miss you when you're gone."

I had spotted the familiar headlights before he hastily pulled up to the curb, barely bothering to park or turn off the car as I climbed inside. 

“You are aware that it’s three in the morning—” I giggle, sliding into the passenger seat of his car, but my words are cut off by his kiss before I could even close the door. 

His hand cupped the side of my face, his touch warm and grounding as he leaned over the center console. I suck in a sharp breath from the intensity and smile into the kiss, he smiles back, deepening it as he tilts his head into me. 

His familiar, warm, clean scent hits me and makes my heart race and my belly swirl.  

“You’re insane,” I murmured through a giddy laugh, unable to contain it against his eager mouth. “Like, actually insane. You know that?” He laughs into the kiss this time, wrapping his hand into my hair and pulling me closer.

My heart feels as though it’s going to beat out of my chest.

“Don’t care, couldn’t wait any longer,” he mumbled into the kiss, teeth grazing the corner of my mouth lightly with the hot rush of his words. “M’missed you,” he added and my heart stuttered just as he suffocated me with another deep kiss.

We were both impatient.

The quiet hum of the engine fills the silence, the only light breaking the darkness comes from the streetlamps and the soft beam of his headlights stretching across the empty road. It was a rare occurrence where it was simply the two of us.

He pulled back, holding my face in his warm palms, taking a long look at me. His eyes scanned my face, analyzing my features. I took the time to do the same, admiring the faint flush in his cheeks, the way his messy hair falls over his forehead–– shorter now too and the familiar icy blue of his eyes that seem to soften when they meet mine.

A crooked smile broke across his face and my eyes fell to the charming crease it carves into his cheek. 

“Y’look tired,” he murmured, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Yeah? Well, I’m still on east coast time,” I counter, rolling my eyes softly. The corners of his mouth twitch, his face scrunching in amusement before sighing audibly. 

“I really…really, missed you.” He traced my bottom lip with his thumb, his eyes growing a shade darker. He shakes his head, “You have no idea––”

“Oh, I have an idea,” I teased, smirking.

“Alright, kid,” He rolled his eyes before silencing me with his lips again. We took our time, slipping back into the easy rhythm of us. 

He sucked on my bottom lip letting it snap back before delving back in, his tongue coaxing mine into a languid dance. His hand gripped my jaw, firm but gentle, before sliding down a couple of inches to rest around my neck. 

His fingers pressed into my skin, occasionally squeezing at my pulse points, just enough to give me a head rush. My breath hitched and I let out a whimper when heat trickled down my sternum and pooled at the bottom of my belly. 

I pulled back, desperately needing air, but he didn't let me go far. He leaned more, trailing wet, sloppy, open-mouth kisses along my jaw and down my neck. 

My hands slid from his shoulders and up to his hair. I brushed my fingers through the short, silky strands before giving a gentle tug at the roots, making him hum in satisfaction, the vibration of his deep voice reverberating through me. 

I released a content sigh before I managed to whisper back, “I missed you too,” My voice airy and dazed. 

The car windows began to fog up from our body heat and heavy panting, but we paid no mind. Matt continues to nip at my neck. 

With both of us going home to visit family for the holidays, it had been weeks since we’ve seen each other. The first week was easy, nothing out of the ordinary for us. We called each other every night, kept up with texts and sent photos anytime we crossed each other's minds. 

I was used to the distance too, with Matt always going back to Boston for a couple weeks at a time. 

But this time seemed to drag on. Half-way into the third week, we had begun counting down the days until we saw each other again. 

We were even annoyed with ourselves. 

“Who are we?” I cringe, after one of our late-night calls turned sappy, pressing my phone to my ear as I turned on my side in my childhood bed. 

“I know, we sound disgusting.” Matt agreed, a low laugh laced in his words. I can picture the grin on his face perfectly and how he was probably rubbing his eyes. “We told ourselves we would never be that couple,”  

“I know, I know.” I blow out a raspberry, letting out a small hiccup as I stare at the half empty glass on my bedside table that’s already gone warm, “I’m blaming it on the wine,” 

“Well, then what’s my excuse?” I hear him shuffle on the other line and my mouth quirks to the side.

“You don’t have one,” I tease, “You’ve always been soft,” 

“Take that back, kid.” he warns playfully, most definitely rolling his eyes. 

“Nope. You’re a big softie. And you miss me,” I smile harder when I hear him huff on the other end. I hold my hand over my mouth to suppress my tipsy giggles but it’s no use. 

“You know, what? Your annoying ass can stay where you are,” 

I had barely been back in LA for a few hours before Matt texted: I’m coming over.

Now, his mouth is latched onto my erratic pulse, eliciting a low moan from me. He smirked into my neck, biting down onto the spot playfully and I gasped in surprise before giggles bubbled up in my throat. 

He pulled back to make eye contact again, “Three weeks is officially the longest I’ll go without you,” He cradled my head in his hands, sweeping his thumbs across my cheeks softly. “S’too fucking long,” 

I melt in his grasp, my eyes fluttering as I meet his pale blue ones. His pupils are blown out with desire, his cheeks are flushed and his lips swollen from kissing, parted slightly as he catches his breath.   

I nodded my head almost mindlessly, grabbing onto his wrists and stroking them with my thumbs.

“Agreed," I pant, going in to kiss him again. 

He hummed as I matched his urgency, sweeping his tongue across my bottom lip before I allowed him in. His large hand went back to the base of my neck, while the other remained at my jaw, holding me in place. 

“How much did you miss me,” He asked against my mouth, his voice low and my cheeks flush with heat.

I knew exactly where this was heading.

“So much,” I answered quietly, beginning to feel like my skin was on fire. 

“Yeah?” He pulled back, keeping my head locked in place when I tried to chase his lips. I nodded in response, staring at his red lips longingly before meeting his blaring gaze. 

“D’you think about me?” He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth tugging into a knowing smirk. 

“You know I did,” I attempted to regain some composure on my end, but my shaky voice betrays me.

I pressed my legs together again, the ache growing stronger. He glanced down, taking notice of my restlessness before looking back at me.

“Thought about you too,” He tucked my hair behind my ear. “Every day,” He looked between my eyes, loosening his grip and instead stroking his thumb behind my ear. 

I took this opportunity to kiss him again, my tongue asking for an invitation this time, to taste the intoxicating, familiar minty flavor of his mouth. 

“My girl,” he whispered. Praised. 

I didn’t hesitate when I nodded, humming in acknowledgment. Moving my kisses to his jaw, which is cleanly shaven given by the scent of his after-shave. I stopped myself from biting his chin, feeling an almost animalistic urge to mark him. 

“Need you,” I practically whined under my breath against his skin. He sucked in a breath, pondering my words before muttering something under his breath. 

My bottom lip tucks between my teeth, attempting to hide my giddy grin at his reaction. But Matt doesn’t bother hiding his. He let out a shaky breath, a near growl escaping and I squeezed my legs together again to dull the ache the sound brings. 

“Get in the backseat,” Noding behind me and licking his lips. The glossiness from his saliva sent me into a trance, wanting to feel the fullness of his lips everywhere.  

“Gracie’s not home…she’s at Dylan’s,” My hand rubbed up and down his arm, trying to invite him inside my rarely empty apartment. 

His eyes flick back to mine, dark and intense, sending a shiver down my spine. I halted my hands movements when he kissed his teeth, trying to suppress a smug grin. But it broke through anyways–– etching a crescent moon into his cheek. 

He leaned closer, his nose nudging mine and his voice rougher now. The teasing tone replaced by a quiet command.

“Get. In. The backseat.”

[capitanoidyll]

Cracking open a book while using your little reading light, you hoped that the flicker of it wouldn't disturb your seatmate too much as you felt the plane jolt forward, the engines slowly revving up as it began to take off down the runway.

"You need the overhead light, love?"

Jumping a little at the little tap on your shoulder, you glanced to your seatmate, "o- oh, uhm, no. I'm good. Thank you, though."

He took a glance at the title when you held it up a little. A smile gracing his lips, "you like the book so far?"

"W- well, i like it, but it's not one of my favorites... I actually like a different book from this author way more."

The man hummed as he leaned back in his chair, "which one?"

You gave the title, your voice a little meek, a little quiter and less confident than a few moments prior. Almost as if you were trying to see if you gave the right answer or not to a question asked by a teacher.

"That's one of my favorites too. Which part of it did you like more?"

"Probably when the detective realized that the villain was playing around with him during the aquarium crime scene."

Chuckling softly at your response, he clasped his hands in his lap, "i can definitely see why that would be good, and love, I didn't catch your name."

You gave it to him, your face slightly heating up, "and you," you managed to ask.

He held out his hand for you to take, which you hesitantly reached for. His hold was firm, surprising you slightly, "it's John Price."

Now, with a name to a face, you found yourself happily chatting away with him. The four hour flight seeming to fly by as you talked about your favorite books and whether or not you're going home or not.

Even when the plane landed, you found yourself wanting to talk to Price some more. (You also found yourself calling him Mr. Price, but it wasn't your fault! He was just older than you!)

"Here, let me."

When you had stood up (you had the aisle seat) to reach for your carry-on luggage, Price had offered to get it for you. Which you ended up letting him despite feeling a little bad for it.

"Thank you," you said, as you looked at him, but just as you did so it seemed the crowd of people wanted to get moving so you had to move along with them off the plane as Price got his own bag.

And just as you made it off the plane before him, you thought about waiting. Is it considered weird to wait for him? Biting the inside your cheek to pull over the thought, you felt someone tap you on the shoulder. And when you turned, you immediately grimaced at the one disturbing your thoughts.

A man with greasy, long hair tied into a low ponytail was shifting from foot to foot. His gaze was on you as he gave you a nervous smile.

"Hey, I thought I wouldn't see you again."

He was referring to when he saw you in the security line. Regrettably so, you think this is one of those times when someone gets an "airport crush" you just didn't think it would be happening to you...

"R- right. Well, it is good to see you too, but I need to get going."

"If you want," he started quickly before you could leave, his hand grabbing onto your wrist, "we could hangout this weekend, or maybe i could drive you home?"

"Oh, uhm, well-"

"She's with me."

The man holding your wrist was immediately forced to let go as you felt someone throw their arm over your shoulders and pull you back.

Looking up to see Price, you relaxed instantly in his hold, something that didn't go unnoticed by him as he gave your sholder a light squeeze.

"And I would very much appreciate it if you left her alone."

The man huffed, but got the memo as he readjusted the straps of his backpack on his shoulders and skulked away down the hall, most likely where the baggage claim area was along with the other people heading their as well.

"Sorry about getting handsy with you there, love," Price said as he took his arm off of you.

And before your brain could give a proper filter to your words, your mouth already said them, "i would rather have you touching me, then him."

You heard someone whistle off to the side, "aye Captain, you going to let that remark slide?"

Glancing over, you noticed three others.

'Captain?'

"Don't mind them, love, they don't know how to keep their noses out of my business."

"He has a point though," you wondered where you managed to get the courage, but pushed the thought aside, "are you going to let what I said slide?"

[honeyryewhiskey]

BREAKING NEWS IN THE POPSCENE!! . . .

You're America's shiny new star, dominating the industry with thousands of adoring fans—but with fame comes danger, and some fans have taken their admiration too far.

After a break-in at your California home, your management scrambles to tighten security. A series of failed bodyguard hires leaves you skeptical—until your publicist brings in Dean Winchester.

he's no-nonsense. full of attitude. And now your roommate, your new companion 24/7.

Unlike most people in your orbit, Dean isn’t fazed by your playful, bratty charm or flirtatious antics, nor is he afraid to call you out when needed.

But there’s something undeniably thrilling about testing his limits—and when you get under his skin, the sparks really start to fly.

DISCOGRAPHY!! . . .

001. bad idea, right? 002. obsessed 003. guilty as sin? 004. piece of me 005. clumsy 006. false god 007. oops!. . .i did it again 008. primadonna 009. escapism 010. think later 011. cruel summer 012. so high school

THE B-SIDE!! . . .

i. my goodies ii. diet pepsi iv. nonsense

DULCIE'S ONE SHEET!! . . .

stage name. . . dulcie! [ doll - see ]

❝ eat me! ❞ made of sugar, glitter, and escapism

BEHIND THE SCENES . . .

Dean dips his head, lips brushing your ear—so you can hear him over the chaos of screaming fans and a million camera shutters as you're exiting your hotel.

Someone leaked your location—again—and it didn't long for your name to be trending on X, people flocking to get a glimpse at their favorite icon.

"Keep your head down," he mutters, his brows set in a firm line as he scans the crowd. Each muscle tense with anticipation, keeping his body close to yours. You're wrapped in the thrill of his need to protect.

With a sly little smile, you glance up to catch his gaze, "relax, killjoy, I can handle walking thorugh a crowd just fine."

Your teasing earns a tempered side-eye, his stubbled jaw tighting in a way that makes you have to bite your lip to stop from laughing. "Uh, huh," he huffs, his palm finding the small of your back to keep you just a step ahead of him, "until you trip over those skyscrapers you call heels and make my job harder. Now move."

Any other man spatting demands at you like that would be quick to get the finger and a verbal lashing sharp enough to make the color drain from his face.

But Dean, is not just any other man. All he ever hears from your lips are quips of endless toying and maybe just a little attitude.

"Catch me if I fall, alright, Winchester?" you whisper back, throwing him a wink before turning back to the crowd.

You can practically hear the smirk in his chuckle, "keep that up, babydoll. See how far that mouth of yours gets you."

And just like that your heart skips a beat—Dean has you flustered in a way no one else ever manages. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. It’s ridiculous, really, how one cocky remark from him can unravel you, but there’s no way you’ll let him see that.

"Careful, Dean," you throw over your shoulder with a cheeky grin, "wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’re actually having fun."

His low chuckle rumbles behind you, rich and warm. "Fun? Babysitting a spoiled pop princess? Dream come true."

You roll your eyes but don’t miss the faint curve of his lips as he steers you toward the waiting car. The paparazzi frenzy intensifies, flashes blinding, questions flying—your name, his name, rumors already sparking.

Dean doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even glance at the chaos. His grip on your back is firm, steady, and somehow reassuring. You hate how much you like it.

Once inside the car, the noise fades as the door slams shut, leaving just the two of you and the hum of the engine.

"You’re awfully good at this whole brooding, protective act," you tease, leaning back in your seat with a smirk. "Think it comes naturally, or did you practice in the mirror?"

He raises a brow, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as he settles into the driver’s seat. "Natural talent," he shoots back, shifting the car into gear. "And if you don’t quit running that mouth of yours, you’re gonna see just how good I am at keeping you in line."

That shouldn’t make your pulse race, but it does. The words hang in the air between you, thick with a tension that neither of you dares to address.

You bite your lip, turning to stare out the window to hide the grin tugging at your mouth. Dean Winchester might be all business, but he’s playing a dangerous game—one you’re all too eager to win.

PRODUCER NOTES. . . babydoll got a face lift! if you read the first part i posted like months ago... no u didn't bc i had to rewrite it lol

[tvgals]

‘ BARBIE WORLD ! ‘

the spider teen group w a black barbie reader !!

MILES MORALES —

he was stunned that he pulled you to say the least

imagine when he took you home..

you and miles stand outside of his parents apartment. “and make sure you don’t call them by their first names, they hate that!” miles tells you, biting his bottom lip when he sees you knocking on the door. “i know, miles. i’m not disrespectful!” you giggle, hearing the door unlock. you’re met face to face with a brown skinned woman with her curly hair braided, laying on her shoulder. her face seems to light up when she sees the two of you. “miles!” she beams, engulfing him in a hug, when she pulls away and turns to you, she brings her hands to her chest and smiles. “and you must be y/n! miles talks so much about you!” she says, you smile and look at miles, his face flushed with embarrassment. “these are for you, mrs morales!” you grin, handing her the bouquet of azaleas. “for me? thank you so much!” she thanks you, softly grasping the stems and welcoming you two in. you see miles’ dad sitting at the table, scrolling though his phone. “dad!” miles blurts out, waiting to get his attention. once he looks up, his eyes go wide. “who’s that?” jeff asks, looking around the room just in case this was some prank.

“dad, this is my girlfriend y/n.” miles sheepishly grins, you sending a happy wave his way. jeff stares for a moment. his awkward, teenage son, was able to get a girlfriend like you? no way! “jeff, don’t just stare at the poor girl!” rio laughs. this was gonna be a long night .

HOBIE BROWN —

he loves it

the opposites attract always gets me !!

hobie watched you as you struggled to put on your favorite pair of pink chunky heels onto your feet, your annoyed groans ringing out the room. “baby!” you yell out into the apartment, hoping your boyfriend would just walk in and put your shoe on for you. you think for a second. you’ve worked multiple engineering jobs as an intern, you’ve studied multiple languages and worked many jobs, and you’re currently letting a shoe disrespect you? hobie walked in and bit back a smile at your determined face.

“love, let me help-“ hobie is cut off with a stern, “no” from you, putting your manicured hand up to stop any movement from him getting closer. “princess, just let me help.” hobie chuckles, crouching onto the floor next to you. “no! i can do it by myself. i am a strong, independent woman!” you sputter out, pushing your foot into the shoe. “bam.” you say, looking at hobie’s smiling face. now onto the next shoe.

PAVITR PRABHAKAR —

he lovessss your style

definitely helps you with makeup

“pavi!” you call out to your boyfriend, who was casually hanging off of a web from the ceiling. “yes?” he calls back to you, flipping onto his feet and walking into the bathroom where you were applying your false lashes. “baby, will you go to the mall with me?” you ask, fanning your hand in front of your eyes to dry the lash glue.

“of course! why would i say no to a pretty girl like you?” pavitr says, walking behind you and resting his chin on your head. “pavi, i need to talk to you.” you say, your tone serious and solid. pavitr gets worried, he’s never heard this tone from you like this, not so..strict and firm. “oh no…what is it?” pavitr mumbles, trailing his hands onto your waist, now moving his head to rest in the crook of your neck.

“it’s very important, like i’m talking end of our relationship if you say the wrong answer, important.” you warn him, pulling lipsticks out of your makeup bag. “now you’re scaring me.” pavitr chuckles. “what is it?” you look at him through the mirror and hold up two lipsticks, “rose red or like a light pink?” you ask, turning to actually face him. “jeez, y/n! you can’t scare me that way!” pavitr giggles, dramatically holding a hand over his heart. “but definitely rose red.”

GWEN STACY —

gwen watches you style the wig on the mannequins head, walking over to take a better look. “what are you doing?” she asks you, watching you shimmy the hair curler from the dark brown wig. “styling my wig for this party tomorrow. wanna help?” you ask, inviting her to sit down in the chair in place of you. gwen sits down and you hand her the curler, placing your hand on top of hers.

“so you gotta put the hair into this little part right here and hold it there for like…eight seconds for looser curls. that’s how i like mine.” you shrug, watching her face contort in concentration. when gwen let’s go, a perfect curl emits from the curler, you smile and give her a hug.

“see? you’re a natural!”

TAGLIST ; — @venusluvslove @kisminarii @xricly @ohsanghoe @conniesbbymama @6olar @cupids-soul @sza-luvrrr @gobblethiskitty @lovedsolana @maniacvell @stellabunniii @theyfwkayla14 @radicaledward55 @bbytamaki @princess-hellokitty @hellomyearthlings @eva7ari @draculara-vonvamp @jared-oranges

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

MORE BUMBLEBEE EARTHSPARK SMUT PLEASE 🙏😼

Your wish is my command

ES!Bumblebee x reader, AFAB gender neutral, racially ambiguous, vaginal penetration, size kink, sub reader dom Bumblebee, dirty talk, mild humiliation, eye contact kink, praise kink

“B-big!”

“Yeah?” Bumblebee couldn’t help but feel smug having you spread out on his berth. “Feel good?”

“Yes!” Your voice was airy having all of the oxygen pushed out of your lungs from the fierce thrust that pushed Bumblebee’s spike into you.

“You like being all spread open? Havin’ your cute little valve stretched out?” Bumblebee cooed giving you another sharp thrust.

You squeezed your eyes shut and moaned out his name. Your toes curled towards the bottom of your feet in pleasure. Bumblebee couldn’t help the shudder that ran through his body and caused his plating to rock. You were so cute underneath him. The way he could turn you into a puddle of nothing but slick arousal made his engine rumble in delight.

“You’re so cute,” Bumblebee teased giving the fat of your cheeks a pinch making you groan and try shaking your head away from his servo. “I haven’t even started fragging you yet and here you are acting like you just got fucked stupid.”

His words sent goosebumps across your skin and a warm tingling sensation down your spine. The erotic warmth traveled along your nerves until it reached the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t help but clench around him at the feeling earning a shaky swear from your lover.

“Look at me,” Bumblebee instructed while scratching the top of your head like a dog.

You warily opened your teary eyes to look up at the mech. His glowing blue optics shone down on you in a ray of loving light. “My good little babe.”

The praise had you whining and looking away out of embarrassment.

“Ey!” Bumblebee grabbed your face squishing the fat of your cheeks together making your lips pucker like a fish. “Don’t look away. I want to see your face when you get fucked.”

He started a steady rhythm dragging his spike along your walls then giving you a harsh thrust back in. You choked out a sob having your hole stretched so wide around his fat cock. Bumblebee couldn’t help the amused look on his face at your noises.

“I got you trained so good on my spike,” Bumblebee cooed giving you wet kisses along your face. “You’re like a little toy now.”

“Bwee!” You moaned through your squished mouth.

His massive frame loomed over you as he rested his forearm next to your head. His robotic body curled towards you as he angled his hips to better push his aching spike deeper into you.

“Look at you,” Bee smiled turning your head side to side. “You’re so cute when you’re getting spiked down.”

You whined at his praise squeezing your eyes shut.

Suddenly Bumblebee stopped moving. His thrusts came to a close with the tip of his spike sitting at your entrance. You peeped opened your eyes curious as to why you felt so empty all of the sudden.

“I told you, you have to keep your optics on me when I fuck you,” Bumblebee scolded all too smugly.

You furrowed your eyebrows in frustration but focused your eyes on Bumblebee hoping he would return to stretching your hole on his spike.

“A little too late for that,” Bumblebee smirked while releasing your face. Your cheeks felt sore from the firm grip he had on them and it felt strange to not have your lips squished together. “Now I don’t know if you actually want this.”

Your eyes went wide and you nearly bolted up but Bumblebee spreading his servo over your chest held you down. “If you really do want this spike filling you,” Bumblebee pushed his hips against you causing his spike to slip through your folds and bump against your clit. “I need to hear you beg.” He said the last part in an airy almost breathless voice. The low thrum of his cooling fans was starting to pick up and you could hear him rev his engine a couple times.

“Please,” you mumbled holding onto Bumblebee’s digits as they lay spread over your chest. “Please.”

“You can do better,” Bumblebee teased blowing air into your ear. You whined and squirmed at the sensation that brought goosebumps to your skin.

“Please, Bee!” You moaned moving your hips and trying to spear yourself on his cock. “Please, I need you!”

“You need me to what, sweet spark?”

“I need you to fuck me.”

Your whole body felt hot with embarrassment at admitting exactly what you needed.

“How do you want me to fuck you, hm?” He asked rubbing his spike through your slick folds. “Where do you need me, babe?”

You whined out in frustration feeling embarrassed to have to admit out loud exactly where you want him. “Just fuck me!” You whined.

“Oh I will,” Bumblebee growled into your ear. “I just want to hear you ask for it.”

You admitted defeat when you wailed out in need for him. “Please just fuck my pussy, Bee!”

Bumblebee swore under his breath, words in Cybertronian you didn’t understand but from the tone you know Optimus would be aghast at.

“If you look away again,” Bee said sternly moving his servo over your throat. He didn’t grab nor choke you but instead let the heavy weight of his metal hand sit over your jugular. “I’m not gonna let you cum.” Before you could respond the air was stolen out of your lungs a harsh and sharp thrust into your cunt that pulled the muscles of your hole apart so deliciously. Your body made room for the fat girth of his spike even if it struggled to find any.

“Optics on me,” Bee reminded giving you a wet kiss on your cheek. “I wanna see that look on your face when I fuck you stupid.”

You nodded doing your best to keep your eyes trained on his baby blue optics. You could feel the heat of embarrassment sitting behind the skin of your face as Bumblebee’s optics studied every inch of every feature that made your face yours.

“Gorgeous,” Bumblebee moaned his thrusts starting to pick up in pace. “Primus, I want you to milk me dry.”

You gripped his servo like your life depended on it. Anything to redirect your nervous energy from looking away and disobeying Bumblebee.

Tears began to form at the corners of your eyes as your mouth hung open on an O shape. His cock was so big it bullied your walls open and forced your pussy to move and form around it. The thickest part of his spike pushed against your G-Spot making sparks ignite deep in your stomach.

“I wish you could see how good you look right now,” Bumblebee moaned pressing his optic ridge to your forehead so he could stare into your eyes. “You’re so perfect like this. It’s like you were meant to take my spike. Your whole body was built to be stuffed by me.”

You moaned out his name while blinking away tears. The band deep within your stomach tightened letting you know your orgasm was close. The way Bee abused your hole sent such wonderful stinging strikes of pleasure through your nerves.

“You can overload, baby,” Bumblebee groaned leaving wet kisses all over your face. “Look at me while you do. Let me see those beautiful eyes when you cum.”

The praise he showered you in was becoming too much. Shivers of pleasure ran through your body like acidic heat rolling in tour blood stream. His spike fucking you open felt so good it hurt and it hurt so bad it felt orgasmic. You squeezed your eyes shut and swung your head back as every muscle in your body clenched in bliss.

The harsh squeezing of your pussy grabbed Bumblebee like a gazelle in an alligator’s maw pulling him in a vice like grip. He couldn’t help the way he shakily moaned your name at the feeling of your sopping cunt sucking him in.

“Look at you,” Bumblebee cooed placing wet kisses along your face. “You came so well. You look so beautiful when you overload.”

You whined and grabbed his helm as he sloppily thrusted into you to try and ground yourself in some way. “Bee!”

“But, baby,” Bee mocked letting his servo wander to your clit. He teased the throbbing nub between two of his digits making you kick out your legs and squirm. “You looked away from me.”

He gave you a particularly harsh thrust that stole the air from your lungs. “You can give me another one to make up for it, hm?”

You opened your mouth to protest but the way he jammed two of his metal fingers into your mouth to shut you up stopped anything but moans to come out of your mouth. You cursed Bumblebee’s amazing stamina knowing you’ll be here for hours.

[babybatss-blog]

SMITTEN

Sirius x reader, 600 word

Authors notes: anyone else in end of year exam period? Screaming crying throwing up D:< anyways here is a fic inspired by that.

Summary: you have some assignments that NEED to be finished, but it seems Sirius has other plans.

Cw: modern au (still at Hogwarts but they have phones and social media), kissing, making out, swapping saliva, sirius feels up reader. Horny but not smut. One swear word.

School projects. The bane of any self-respecting persons existence, forcing you to sit at your desk learning about some brain numbing, boring subject for hours on end, only to get judged by a teacher on some ridiculous and arbitrary scale. Well, at least that’s what Sirius thinks. So he avoids them wherever possible, usually preferring a painstakingly long detention session instead.

But unlike Sirius, you actually attempt these arduous tasks and want to do (somewhat) well at them. So here you are, on a random Tuesday night writing an essay on the benefits of honking daffodils, trying desperately not to fall asleep amidst your exhaustion. You’re at your desk, the room barren of any life as everyone is out in the common room except Sirius, who has refused to leave your side and is now laying lazily on your bed. He’s stubborn, you can give him that.

The words on the page drift away, faltering in your consciousness as the resilient noise of Sirius’ phone overpowers you. He’s watching some dumb video on motorbikes, the revving of the obnoxious engine somehow echoing across the walls of your skull. “Siri?” You mumble, eyes not leaving the page below you.

“Yes my love” he chirps, a smile growing on his face. Despite your apparent interest in your schoolwork, Sirius cannot help but wish he could possibly waver your attention. “Could you please turn that down?”

Well, that wasn’t what he hoped for. But anyways, he reluctantly agrees and turns it down a tad. You continue scribbling away, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. A momentary loss, but Sirius knows not to give up that easily. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Sirius sprawled on your pillow, his raven hair shimmering in the dim light and his eyelashes fluttering softly through tired eyes. Merlin, he looks so pretty like that. You’d be naïve to not admit how totally smitten you are with him, easily getting lost in his gaze for hours on end. His voice, his smile, just everything about him is unavoidably distracting to you, bringing out a side of you never before seen or unveiled.

And now he’s committed the same crime all over again, as you’ve been sitting here for a full three minutes thinking about how hopelessly in love with him you are. You groan at this frustrating realisation, throwing your head back in exasperation. He turns his head towards you at the noise, selfishly hoping its one of surrender. “Everything alright darling?” He asks, mock worry on his tongue. Without a word, you stand up, sliding your feet over to him and falling on top of him like a log. Your lips intertwine in a lazy yet passionate display, saliva falling by gravity into his mouth without a care in the world about where this may lead. But you both know where this may go, his hands cupping your ass firm yet safe as his fails to conceal a smile under your touch.

“What happened to school?” He mumbles, the rumble of his throat against yours causing a sharp shiver down your spine. “Fuck school” you retort, now fully straddling his strong groin in an act of defiance. Something tells you the essay will have to wait.