#navy belt buckles

[sarcasmic-skies]

i cant even apologize for tg posting i really cant…. the brainrot is perpetual…. i just watched tg & tgm back to back for 8hrs today so it’s spiking this week in particular

[vincestead]

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VintageBeltBucklesAndBoloTies.com

Etsy.com/shop/VintageCopperAndMore

[intramir]

[sometimesanalice]

Are You Gonna Be My Girl?

Summary: It’s been a couple of months since the two of you have started hooking up, and it’s no secret that Rooster is hung up on you. He takes the gamble and invites you to the yearly Halloween bash at the Hard Deck. The only problem is he can’t figure out what the hell you’re supposed to be. 

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 6.2K

Warnings: allusions to smut and Rooster being a simp (but what else is new 😂) (mdni)

The Black Keys’ “Howlin’ for You” playing loudly over the static-y speakers of the Hard Deck masking the sound of Rooster’s fingers as he impatiently drums them on top of the worn table, uncaring of the fact he’s out of tempo with the song.

Penny’s yearly Halloween Spooktacular has always been a fan favorite with those stationed at North Island. A name that Amelia had thrown shade at no less than five times as she worked on designing the event flier the afternoon that the Daggers had been bribed with free beers for coming in on their free time to help decorate.

There wasn’t an inch of the bar that was left untouched, and it wasn’t just that Bob had gotten carried away with the downy spider webbing. There were orange and purple string lights threaded around the circular mug racks, floating candles over the pool table, dangling bats and streamers, and an enthusiastic but poorly executed attempt at a balloon arch over the entry door.

The wispy fog covered punchbowl with a suspicious dark purple beverage bubbled away on the bartop, tendrils cascaded over the side only adding to the atmosphere. The stuff was so potent that Bradley was pretty sure it would put the jungle juice he’d thrown back in college to shame.

Rooster had been tasked with curating the playlist for tonight’s party, and if he’d been paying even a little bit of attention, he’d have known his choices were being well received by the boisterous crowd. But his attention is half split trying to listen to Hangman’s story about the Halloween prank gone wrong that left him with twelve stitches and half listening for-

Ding

He’s quick on the draw to pull out his phone from the chest pocket to check if it was his that went off.

When he’d arrived Nat, decked out in a sequined pink gown with a gun he wasn’t sure was fake or not strapped to her thigh for her Miss Congeniality costume, had given him a look of disdain and said what he was wearing was low effort even for him.

Rooster tucks his phone away with a disappointed sigh when there are zero new notifications on his lock screen.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you so whipped over a girl before, Bradshaw,” Hangman drawls, leaning into the gunslinging cowboy thing he has going on for the evening. His shirt is unbuttoned more than is strictly necessary, and is complete with a belt buckle that is larger than the state of Texas and too heavy looking to have been bought off Amazon.

Ding

Bradley fishes out his phone again from the pocket he’d put it back in only moments earlier.

You, 10:32pm: “u up?”

He grins.

“And we’ve lost him,” someone snarks, but he’s too busy punching in the password to unlock his phone to care.

Bradley Bradshaw, 10:32pm: are you ever going to let that go?

You, 10:32pm: Mmm, no. You were so bad at being a fuckboy, it was funny.

You, 10:33pm: But in a very hot way, might I add. And clearly, it worked in your favor since I let you come over and hit it a second time.

Rooster snorts in amusement.

It was the first and last time he’d taken Fanboy’s advice and you teased him about it every opportunity you got. He had been a little rusty with the ins and outs of no-strings-attached sex with someone who wasn’t in the Navy. But he’d more than made up for it that same night by eating you out until your legs were shaking and you were weakly pushing his head away as he’d coaxed you into coming just one more time against his tongue.

Bradley Bradshaw, 10:33pm: don’t remember hearing you laughing last night when your pussy was dripping all over my cock

He takes a sip of beer as he waits for your response.

You, 10:33pm: Look! You’re already so much better at sexting than you were when we met!

You, 10:34pm: “u up?” is still on the table, by the way. Not to brag, but I even have a pumpkin shaped pizza. 

You, 10:34pm: If you want to come over. 

If you want to come over. He shakes his head reading the text again.

As if he’d ever pass up on getting to spend time with you.

As if Rooster hadn’t been hooked on you since the moment he’d met you.

𝗧𝗪𝗢 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗦 𝗔𝗚𝗢

As a general rule, Bradley hated grocery shopping.

He’s never had the patience for it, with the way that everyone is in their own world. He gets tired of always having to weave around people and the way that there always seems to be carelessly parked carts or people catching up standing between him and the items on his list.

Which is why when he noticed the parking lot was mostly empty on his way home, he decided to stop and spare himself the headache of doing it over the weekend when everyone else was out and just get it done.

He’d expected to be in and out in record time until the uniform lines of colorful cartons of ice cream caught his attention as he was tossing in a few bags of frozen chicken into his cart. Normally it was always so crowded that he never felt like he could take his time looking without being in someone’s way, that he’d skip it entirely and later try to convince himself that his Greek yogurt was just as good. But tonight since no one was around, he was taking his time.

Under the glare of the fluorescents, he stands there with the hum of the freezers competing with the too-twangy-for-his-taste country song playing over the speakers and debating his options when he feels an arm thread around his own, surprising him out of the pros and cons list he was making in his head between the healthier low-calorie choice versus the one he actually wanted.

“Hi, hello there.” Bradley glances over to see the prettiest pair of eyes looking up at him expectantly. “Do you mind playing along for a few minutes, there’s some creep who keeps trying to bother me.”

He looks over the top of your head to see some guy lingering at the end of the aisle. “The guy who looks like off-brand John Mayer?”

You scrunch your nose up. “That’d be the one.”

“How good are you at picking out ice cream flavors?” he asks, standing up straighter and pulling his shoulders back.

You blink at him in confusion before your lips tick up in a relieved smile. “Very good, as a matter of fact.”

“Great, you came to my rescue just in time.” Bradley guides you closer until you’re in front of him, lightly resting a hand on your hip the way he would if you were his girlfriend. “Is this ok?” he asks under his breath, only loud enough for you to hear.

When you nod, he feels the knot in his chest loosen. Because while he wants this to be convincing to the guy still loitering at the edge of the aisle, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

“First things first, we need to establish a baseline.” You point at the carton covered in cartoony looking chocolate chip cookies. “What’s your opinion on cookie dough?”

“Overrated,” he answers, not missing a beat. “I’d rather just eat the stuff out of a tube instead.”

You lean back into him a bit more. “Ooh, tough crowd,” you tease, your head finding his shoulder. “Ok then, mister tempting-fate-with-salmonella, what’s your stance on the great vanilla bean vs French vanilla debate?”

Bradley takes a quick look around to make sure they’re not blocking any other late night grocery shoppers. He pretends to ponder for a moment before responding, “I like the one with flecks.”

“A dignified choice.” You say it so solemnly that he can’t help but chuckle.

The easy back and forth banter goes on for a few more minutes. Sometimes you rib him about his answers and other times agree. It shouldn’t be so fun standing there in front of the cooler filled with tubs of ice cream, but it is. It was the last thing he could have expected when he’d decided to stop in at the last minute on his way home after hitting up the Hard Deck.

When he tells you the two choices he had been contemplating before you’d come up to him, you hum contemplatively and tap a finger against your cheek, “Well this changes everything if you’re dairy free.”

“Nah, just watching my figure. The containers are smaller and I have a sweet tooth.”

“Respectfully, I don’t think that’s something you need to worry about. You fill out those khakis just fine, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Rooster wonders if you can hear his self-satisfied grin. “Not every day I get a pretty girl telling me she was checking out my ass.”

You let out a small, amused scoff and all he feels is pleased with himself.

“I was not checking out your- oh.” The surprise in your voice has him leaning back enough to get a look at your face. “Wait, is he gone?” You peer around his shoulder, but don’t make a move to pull away from the gentle hold he has on you.

“He left around the time you were giving a very impassioned speech about how overlooked spumoni is. I probably should have mentioned it sooner, but you were making a pretty compelling case and I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says, trying to play it off casually and hoping that he didn’t just become the creep in this story when you tell it to your friends later.

“Oh, ok. That’s, um, that’s good.” You sound almost… disappointed? You take a step towards the case and he drops his arm back down to his side, already missing the feel of you under it. “Thank you so much for committing to the bit. Seriously, I truly appreciate it,” you say over your shoulder, opening the glass door.

He rubs the back of his neck, watching as you grab a carton out of the freezer, not sure whether to move on with the rest of his shopping or not. But when you turn back towards him, he’s hit with the full force of your smile, feeling it all the way to his toes.

“Rocky Road,” you say, setting the carton into his cart. “It has peanuts in it, which is a nutrient-dense food and an excellent plant-based source of protein. There’s collagen from the gelatin in the marshmallows. And chocolate has antioxidants in it and is known to trigger the holy trinity of happy brain chemicals. It’s basically a superfood.”

Rooster grins. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“No, unfortunately, it really doesn’t,” you agree, playfully leaning a hip against his cart. “But it’s more fun this way, don’t you think?”

He’s so fucking charmed by you and he doesn’t even know your name yet.

While he’s glad he was there at the right time and got to play a small part in deterring that guy from continuing to hassle you, he kind of wishes the two of you could have met under different circumstances, because he’d jump at the chance of being able to score a date with you. He sighs and shakes the thought out of his head.

“Would you like me to walk you to your car?” Rooster offers, ready to abandon his groceries for a few extra minutes with you.

“Oh wow.” That mischievous gleam that had been in your eyes changes to something softer. You tilt your head, taking him in with a thoughtful expression on your face. “You’re one of those rare genuinely a gentleman types, aren’t you? Like the kind who always walks closest to the curb and mows their elderly neighbor’s yard without being asked.” Bradley just lifts a shoulder. He’s used to looking out for other people, it’s just something he’s always done. “And they say chivalry is dead,” you muse, contemplatively, “I should let you know though, knock-off John Mayer is my ex.”

He feels his hackles rise up immediately and scans the area again to double check the guy isn’t still hanging around. “Is he harassing you?”

“Oh no, it was only an unfortunate fluke, I promise,” you say, patting his hand that’s gripping the handle of the shopping cart reassuringly. “He’s just a jackass who thought he could cheat on me and that I’d still take him back.” Bradley grunts at that, even more irritated than he was before. “But he was still trying to test the waters, even after I told him I was seeing someone,” you continue, with a roll of your eyes, “Which was technically true- even if I am in fact single right now- because that’s when I saw you over here gazing very intensely into the freezer case like you’d been personally victimized by Ben and Jerry.”

“You’re out of his league anyways,” he rasps. 

There’s no way in hell Bradley would fumble a girl like you.

You grin widely, clearly amused at his annoyance on your behalf. “He was a tool with an overinflated ego and a flat ass.” Rooster barks out a surprised laugh. “And you’re so much hotter than him, so I really lucked out there with you as my knight in ironed  khakis,” you say unabashedly, reaching out to straighten out his already perfectly straight name tag. “You really went above and beyond for your country there helping me win the break up.”

“I don’t think you needed me for that part. It’s pretty clear you came out on top.” His eyes dart down to your hand on the cart, like you forgot it was still resting on top of his. “But I was more than happy to help all the same.” He takes a half step closer into your space, deciding just to go for it. “I’m thinking we should keep up the ruse though, you know, just in case he is lurking by the pasta or something.”

You quirk a knowing eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

“I could also use your professional opinion on cereal. That is if you still have some more shopping to do,” he suggests, nodding to your mostly empty handbasket.

There’s no question that he’s caught your interest, not with the way you’re looking at him. That smile you’re wearing tells a story of its own. “What a coincidence, that just happens to be my forte.”

“I had a feeling you might be the right girl for the job.” Bradley takes your basket from you and sets it in his cart and gestures for you to lead the way.

He learns your name around the same time he does about your hottake on Frosted Cheerios.

And later that night, his groceries are packed away in your fridge as the container of Rocky Road the two of you were sharing melts on your coffee table- the condensation puddling on the marble surface reflecting the credits rolling across the TV screen- as you ride him on your couch. Your hands tightly fisted in his hair and your breathy whines in his ear urging him to fuck you harder and faster until you come with his name in your mouth.

And in the morning, he gets your number over a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

The two of you have been fooling around for a couple of months now.

On the nights Rooster wasn’t fucking you, he was getting himself off to the thought of you and wishing you were in bed with him. You’ve never been to his place, so he doesn’t even have the bonus of that bright citrus scent of you lingering on his sheets on the nights he spends alone.

The sex was great. Mind-blowing. You were loud and enthusiastic and gave just as good as you got. Bradley found your confidence sexy as hell. You were the type of girl who knew exactly what she wanted and he was always up for the challenge of finding new ways to make your back arch and toes curl.

But he was just as much of a fan of the parts that came before and after getting you spasming around his cock.

He liked the way your mind worked. You were always telling him about something interesting you’d read, because you were naturally curious about the world around you. You asked him thoughtful questions about his job and his life in the Navy, but not in the way he was used to from the tag chasers that frequented the Hard Deck. There was no mistaking you were asking because you wanted to know more about him, and not fixated on the shiny sheen of his golden aviator wings.

Rooster has never laughed as much as he has with you. In those moments between catching your sighs with his mouth and waiting for the knock on the door for whatever late-night craving was being delivered, you’d have him laughing and grinning until his cheeks ached.

The closest he’s ever gotten to taking you on a proper date was that one late night drive-thru run when everything on delivery apps were closed. You’d looked like his favorite daydream sitting there under the glow of the streetlamp in the nearly empty parking lot in a shirt of his that he must have accidently left behind after a hook up.

That night was the most real it’s ever felt. And he wanted more nights just like that.

He liked the way you always seemed to have a documentary to recommend for any given topic, he has a list on his phone and has been working his way through them. He liked the way the glasses you wore sometimes seemed slightly too big for your face because it was cute the way you’d constantly push them back up your nose. He liked that you texted in full sentences with complete and proper punctuation.

Bradley could already imagine how tonight would most likely go.

He’d dip out of the party early and come to your place. Your tongue in his mouth and your greedy little hand tugging to get his belt undone before he’d even made it through the door. The two of you going at it until someone has to tap out- which he is smug in the fact that more often than not it’s usually you- now that he knows all the best ways to pull orgasm after orgasm out of you. Sometimes the two of you order in, and other nights you’ll pass a bowl of ice cream or cereal back and forth over the island in your kitchen where he gets to hear you laugh and tease him and tell him about your day. Then do it all over again and once you’re thoroughly spent, he’ll hold you as you fall asleep. And then in the morning he’ll press a kiss to your cheek and take one more look back at you before leaving through the same door he’d shown up at only hours before.

And that was fine for now, but he wanted more of you. He didn’t want to be just a casual hook up, he wanted to date you.

He wanted to be soft launched and hard launched, or whatever it was that Mickey was talking about that night he’d taken his misguided advice and sent the much teased “u up?” text. He wanted to block people in the chip aisle of the grocery store as you talked him into getting some crazy flavor, turning his least favorite chore into the highlight of his week. He wanted knockoff John Mayer to see he got the girl and knew how to treat her right.

He wanted you to be his girl.

“Aren’t you too old to be in a situationship, Bradshaw?” Jake asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Fuck off,” Rooster grumbles, his eyebrows furrowed and his thumbs still hovering over the screen. A couple minutes have ticked by since your last text as he sits there stewing. He knocks back the remainder of his beer, it’s mostly foam, “I think I’m gonna head out.”

“No, you’re not. Bob hasn’t even performed the dance routine to “Thriller” yet,” Nat says, pinning him to his stool with a look, “Come on, Bradley, just invite her here.” She reaches overs and squeezes his shoulder. “You’ve been seeing her for a couple months now. You’re clearly into her, and you wouldn’t disappear on us as much as you do if she wasn’t into you too. This is a low stakes environment with everything going on and people off having fun doing their own thing. And the two of you can still go and do whatever you’re going to do after.”

“I don’t know, Phoenix, she might dump him when she sees what he’s wearing at a Navy bar on Halloween,” Hangman drawls, unhelpfully, grinning around that damn toothpick.

“Shut it, Bagman,” they both say simultaneously.

“Just throw it out there and see what she says.” Nat slides out of her seat, the beads on her dress scraping against the edge of the stool. “Now, we’re going to let you panic in peace for a few minutes while we get another round.”

“We’re?” Jake asks slowly, deliberately drawing out the word.

“Yep,” she confirms, the look on her face leaving no room for arguments as she tugs him off his seat. “And you’re paying, let’s go.”

Bradley scrubs a hand over his face, but not before he sees Nat punching Seresin in the arm on their way to the bar.

He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous all of a sudden, he’s never had an issue asking girls out before. Not that he’s ever had to work that hard for it, but still.

His knee bounces on the foot rest as he works out what to say. He types out the message and gives it a quick once over and hits send before he can overthink it.

Bradley Bradshaw, 10:42pm: I’d never say no to you or a pumpkin shaped pizza. But I’m actually at a Halloween party right now at the bar near base with some friends. And I’m thinking you should stop by.

Bradley Bradshaw, 10:42pm: I’m sorry it’s a last minute invite, but it’s always a good time and I think you would have fun. I’d like to see you, if “ur up” for it.

He tries not to dwell on the fact he just double texted you, a thing he didn’t know he should be worried about before Fanboy warned him about doing it.

It’s like he’s been hit by lightning the way he shoots up in his seat when he sees those little dots appear on the screen. Rooster holds his breath when they start and stop a few times, each time they disappear and come back again his heart pounds a little harder in his chest.

You, 10:44pm: I’m all in. What’s the address?

All the bubbles from the beer he’d had earlier swarm and rush to his head at once as he drops you a pin.

Nat pushes a shot of bourbon towards him across the table when they return. “Did it go well?”

He nods. “She’s on her way.”

“Good, because you know Halloween is my favorite holiday and your sulking was bringing the vibe down.”

He chuckles, there’s no way he’s beating those whipped allegations now.

She clinks her own shot with his and they throw them back together, the warmth of the expensive tasting liquor sticks behind his sternum.

The next thirty minutes are the longest of Rooster’s life. His head swings to the front door every time it opens, hoping that it’ll be you outlined by the purple, green, and orange string lights.

When he sees you come through the swiftly deflating balloon arch scanning the bar for him, he almost does a double take.

You’ve got on a black and white polka dot top, the cuffs are a flared ruffle that are tied with a bow at your wrist. Your skirt is plain black, but the way it hugs your hips leaves little to the imagination. He can’t even begin to guess what you’re dressed as because other than the night he met you, it’s the most clothes he’s ever seen you in.

Excluding those little silky matching sets you’re usually wearing when he comes over. But those don’t usually stay on too long before they end up on the floor of your living room. Or bedroom. Or kitchen.

He usually has to leave before you, so he’s usually headed out your front door while you’re still wrapped up in one of those fluffy white towels you have. He’s enjoying seeing you here in his favorite bar in that outfit and heading towards him like you’re just as happy to see him as he is to see you.

“Huh, if I'm not mistaken I’m pretty sure that’s what I sent you into work in this morning,” you say, grinning up at him and lightly tugging on the zipper of his flight suit. “Are you supposed to be a Walk of Shame?”

Bradley wraps an arm around you because he can’t help himself. “Please, we all know it’s called the Stride of Pride. It’s never a shame when I get laid.” He presses his fingertips into the swell of the top of your ass before leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear, “Plus, I didn’t have time to go home and grab my costume because someone lured me back into bed this morning.”

He had to do 200 extra push-ups and stay behind to do paperwork as penance for being late the third time that week, but it was worth it. But by the time he was finished, the sun was already well on its way to setting. If he’d been a bit more forward thinking he would have brought the costume he had planned with him, instead of thinking he’d have time to swing by his house to change. Bradley didn’t think it was too much of a let down for you, not with the way you’re looking at him. It’s that same heated way that tells him you’re remembering your reaction to it the first time you’d ever seen him in it.

“Sounds like poor planning on your part,” you tease, your finger tracing the edge of his nametag. “I can’t believe you’re wearing your work clothes to a Halloween party, Rooster.”

“Ok, funny girl. Tell me then, what’re you supposed to be?” He takes a step back and gives you a blatant once over, taking his time admiring the shape of you from your head to your toes in some wicked looking heels and back up again.

Maybe if things went well tonight, you’d leave them on for him later when he gets you alone.

“That’s for me to know, and for you to spend the night guessing,” you smirk, the curve of your mouth promising mischief. “But I think you’ll like it once you figure it out.”

“Bradshaw, are you going to introduce us to your sexy librarian?” Hangman hollers, waving the two of you over back to the table with his hat. Bradley doesn’t hear as much as he sees the oof that comes out of the blonde when Phoenix sends an elbow into his side.

Rooster glances at you with a raise of his eyebrow and you shake your head. Not a sexy librarian then.

“I take it you know the rodeo clown?”

He tips his head back and laughs, already looking forward to telling Hangman. “I do. And Gracie Lou Freebush over there too.”

You wave over at Nat, gesturing to her costume and mouth obsessed, before turning back to him to ask, “Is that gun real?”

“I’m too afraid to ask,” he jokes, only half kidding. “C’mon let me get you a drink, I have an in with the bartender.”

“Are you trying to show off for me, Bradley?”

“Definitely.” He reaches out and toys with the end of the bow on your sleeve. “Is it working, Leslie Knope?”

You just send him that devastating smile of yours and thread your fingers through his. “I think I'm going to have so much fun with this tonight.”

“But full disclosure, you see Napoleon Bonaparte?” He points over to where Mav is behind the bar wearing tasseled shoulder pads pouring pints behind the bar next to a bedazzled Penny in a white neoclassical style dress. “That’s my godfather and his fiancée.”

You school the surprise on your face quickly. “Bradley Bradshaw, are you a nepobaby?”

“That’s a story for another time.” He chuckles, carefully winding his way around a Fred Flintstone and a Deviled Egg to the bar. “Be warned though, the Blue Slime Sipper is lethal. I had four last year and put on an a cappella performance of the Ghostbusters theme song.”

“Please tell me someone has a video of that,” you laugh.

“I called in every favor I had to get all evidence of that particular performance erased.”

At the bar, you order two Blue Slime Sippers looking the picture of innocence as you admire the giant spider affixed to the top of the bar by the till, even though he knows better.

One for him and one for you.

He briefly introduces you to Penny and Mav, trying to keep it casual. Thankfully, it’s busy enough that there’s not more time for small talk or jokes about the frosted tips he had when he was thirteen.

Their guess at a modern day I Love Lucy was also met with a no.

But he’s pretty sure Mav’s attempt to stealthily shoot him two thumbs up after you get your neon blue colored drinks fails based on the way your lips are pressed together in an attempt to smother the smile that he sees toying at the corners of your mouth.

Over the course of the night, it becomes a game that the rest of the team joins in on as he introduces them to the girl he’s been hung up on for weeks.

You help him kick Payback and Fanboy’s asses at the Eyeball Beer Pong that Penny had set up outside on the deck.

“Damn, Lawyer Barbie has an arm,” Fanboy says, the spring of the Slingy Dog costume sagging sadly between him and Payback, watching as you sink another doodled on ping-pong ball into a cup.

“I think we need a rematch,” Payback countered after their loss, “Flight Attendants have great hand-eye coordination, it’s an unfair advantage.”

Both guesses were met with a no.

When you side with Nat over Death Becomes Her as the best, but most underrated, Halloween movie, she throws her hands up in victory, “Thank you! Finally, someone with good taste… Olivia Pope?”

It’s another no, but he’s happy to see how much fun you’re having with his friends.

Between the riotous costume contest voting, and the one-man performance of “Thriller” that Bob puts on, and the pumpkin tic-tac-toe, Rooster has a lot of fun making his own guesses.

Except for the time he offers up Miss Bliss, he nearly chokes on his Cauldron Cooler when you ask him, “Is that a porn thing?”

Which in hindsight, he probably should have specified from the show Saved by the Bell, that he only knew because he’d been into Tiffani Amber Thiessen as a kid, but he doesn’t get to because you’re too busy delightedly laughing at his near spit-take.

He sticks close to your side, an arm slung over your shoulder or around your waist. There’s a moment when he gets worried he might be smothering you, but then you’d lean your head on his shoulder and he figured you were right where you wanted to be.

The two of you step outside when the Monster Mash smashburger contest starts up, the song following you to the sun-bleached wooden deck.

There are less people out here now, a few people are stationed behind the ping-pong table and others are seated on the picnic tables chatting and swapping stories. Most of his friends had stayed inside to cheer on Coyote’s attempt to hold onto his burger eating crown.

It’s the first time all night that he has you on your own, and while he appreciates how welcoming his friends are with wanting to make you feel included and slipping in more than a few jokes at his expense, he’s ready to have you to himself for a while.

But first.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you’re supposed to be?” He runs a finger along the ruffle down the front of your shirt. “I think I’ve lost count of how many failed attempts I’ve made now and It’s starting to take a toll on my ego.”

“How about this, you tell me what you were supposed to be and then I’ll tell you what my costume is,” you offer, playfully.  

You’re still toying with him like a cat does a string and he doesn’t mind a single bit.

He steps in close, winding an arm around your low back pulling you in close. “James Bond,” he says, enjoying the way your eyes light up.

“Now that’s something I would love to see,” you murmur, running your hand along his arm. “Not that the flight suit isn’t working for me.” He grins smug because he knows exactly how much this flight suit works for you.

Rooster shakes his head amused. “I’ll put it on for you later if you want.” He grins smug because he knows exactly how much this flight suit works for you, but you haven’t seen him in a tux yet. “Now, I’ve been dying to know since the moment you walked in, what are you dressed as?”

You grin, wide and bright, like you’ve been waiting for this all night.

“Your future girlfriend, I thought it was pretty obvious.”

Bradley doesn’t waste a moment bringing both of his hands to your face and getting his lips on yours. A surprised noise escapes from the back of your throat before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him even closer.

Your full lips soften under his demanding ones, the sensual slide of your lips against his has him desperate for more. His tongue chases after the sweetness of your mouth. He can’t get enough of it.

He can’t get enough of you.

“So I take it, you like my costume then?” you ask against his lips.

“I’m about to go swipe that trophy from Cousin Itt because yours is the best one here by far.” You giggle when he pulls you back in to kiss you again- or tries to. “C’mon, sweetheart, I need you to cooperate here. I’m trying to kiss my girlfriend.”

But then his teeth click against yours because now you’ve got him smiling too.

You skim another soft kiss against his mouth and lean back. “You know, I did have a back-up costume, just in case things didn’t go well.” You put a finger up and twist a little in his arms to rummage in your purse. And when you turn back towards him you’ve got a bright red clown nose on your face.

“Are you kidding me? The only clown here is Seresin.” He chuckles and gently pulls it from off your nose. “I’ve been trying to figure out how lock this down for weeks now. That tux was going to be my ace. It’s about a half size too small, but I figured it might do the trick to make things more official. It’s a good thing I’ve got a girl who knows what she wants.”

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, Bradshaw. I still want to see you in it.”

“I can make that happen. Especially since that means I get to take you home with me tonight.” He drops a kiss on your cheek. “I’ve got an idea about what we can be next year though.”

“It’s not even midnight yet, and you’re thinking about next year?”

Bradley shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m all about playing the long game. Just want to give you something to look forward to.”

“Let’s hear it then,” you say, giving him an expectant look.

“Considering how we met and all, I think contestants from Supermarket Sweep would be a solid choice for us. There’s nothing sexier than some khakis and sweatshirts.”

You look delighted and amused and like his.

“Done. You know I am a big fan of you in a pair of khakis.”

Rooster tugs you to him again needing to taste your grin. He hears a cheer go up inside of the bar, probably for whoever won the contest, but he pretends it’s for him.

After all, he’s the one who got the girl.

Happy Halloween! I'm dropping a smitten Rooster into everyone's candy bucket this year! Thank you for reading!

You can read my other stories here!

taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[coqvttes]

୨୧― 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐧. 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧

୨୧˚ synopsis : kento takes you out shopping for new lingerie for the day, and he just can’t help himself when you try it on for him.

୨୧˚ warnings: nsfw 16+ only, fem!reader, sub!reader, dom!nanami, p in v, fluff, petnames, creampie, soft sex, lmk if i forgot anything!

୨୧˚ wc : 1.1k for anon's request <3

୨୧˚ taglist : @satinwithsilk , @luvv4evaabaemh !

“ohh! kento what about this one? there’s a little pink bow in the middle!”

you spin around to kento and hold the underwear for him to see, looking up at him through your lashes expectantly.

kento finds himself in a predicament when he feels his trousers tightening slightly. gosh, you make it so difficult for him to keep himself respectable when you look at him like that and bat your eyelashes at him, waving a pair of panties in his face.

he composes himself before he speaks.

“yes, very pretty. why don’t you put them in the basket, hm?”

a wide grin adorns your features as he holds the basket out for you and you drop them in there.

“thank you, ken!”

after many more credit card swipes and shopping bags that kento insisted on carrying for you, you find yourself spoilt rotten as drives home, shopping bags serviced in the backseat.

“did you have a nice time shopping, love?” he asks as he focuses on the road, sparing you a side glance with a gentle smile as you beam at him.

“mhm! thank you, kento, for all the nice things you got me.”

“that’s alright, baby, i just wanna spoil you a bit.”

he chuckles as his hand moves from the wheel to rest on your thigh, his thumb tenderly rubbing on your exposed skin. your hand moves on top of his to squeeze it appreciatively, and he glaces at you to offer you a handsome smile that makes your heart swoon.

but nanami can only play the gentleman for so long. once he gets you in the privacy of your bedroom, he’s all over you, coming up to you from behind, unbuttoning his navy blue shirt as you try on your new lingerie, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he dips his head down to trail wet kisses from your shoulder to your jaw.

he backs you up till your knees hit the edge of the bed, and he shrugs his shirt off, displaying his toned abdomen as you shuffle back into the bed, giving him room to climb onto you, his arms on either side of your head as he leans in close.

you smile as you pull him in for a kiss, your lips moving with his fervently before he’s slowly tugging the band of the panties to the side, his rough fingers ghosting over the wetness of your slit as you let out a soft sigh against his mouth.

a smile plays on his lips as he gauges your reaction, retreating his fingers to pull the leather of his belt out of the buckle before he unzips his trousers, pulling them down along with his briefs.

“you want it, baby?” he asks as his hand moves to pump himself a few times, lining himself up to your leaking entrance as he gazes into your eyes for consent.

“yes, please, kento." your words come out more desperate than you intended, but you don’t care; the want for him only increases with every moment that passes with him, not inside you.

you brace yourself as your palms fly to his broad shoulders, holding onto him as he pushes in slowly. a deep groan resonating from within his throat as his eyes squeeze shut, your warmth welcoming him as he bottoms out inside you.

after a moment of catching your breath and a nod from you, he slowly pulls out a little before plunging back into you. the feeling causing a soft moan to fall from your lips as you tilt your head back in pleasure.

he builds a slow pace, driving his pelvis into you as he holds your legs up from under your knees. your head falls back into the pillows as a knot begins to form within your core, one of his hands moving from the pillow to your sternum slowly sliding up before he slips his hand into your bra, groping your soft flesh.

his thumb rubbing over your nipple elicits a high-pitched whine from you as he leans down to swallow it greedily. he speeds up a little, not wanting to be rough but wanting to increase your pleasure.

“o-oh yes, kento!”

he pulls away, tenderly pressing kisses up your jaw to your ear, and his voice is deep and throaty as his lips ghost over your earlobe.

“mhmm? yeah?  that feel good, baby?”

your sweet noises only spur him on as your legs wrap tighter around him, pulling him flush against you as if he could get any closer.

you feel yourself sinking impossibly deeper and deeper into the mattress as he rolls his hips deliciously into yours. the pace is sensual and intimate as the room suddenly feels hotter.

he rests his forehead against yours as a sweaty strand of blonde hair falls over his cheekbones, framing his eyes as he gazes into yours. you reach up to move the hair out of his face, and he quickly takes the opportunity to lean down and capture your lips in a breathtaking kiss.

you let out a soft sigh as he deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping against yours in a passionate dance. his grip on the bedsheets tightens as he holds himself back from pounding into you mercilessly.

the knot in your tummy tightens as your whines become harder and harder to contain until you can’t anymore, your nails digging into his shoulders just the way he likes as you chant his name like a prayer.

within seconds, the knot comes undone and your body spasms in his arms as his pace doesn’t falter, chasing his own release before his hips begin to stutter. your back arches off the bed, pressing your breasts into his chest, only adding to his pleasure before he finally gets his release.

he lets out a guttural moan, and his warmth spills inside you as his hands tighten on your waist. shirt strands of hair falling onto his face as he catches his breath, letting out a deep chuckle as he catches you staring up at him with a lovesick smile.

when he pulls out, his cums spills out of you and gets all over your new underwear, and you whine as you look down.

“kento, these were brand new!”

“‘m sorry i ruined your new underwear, baby, i’ll get you a new one. don’t worry. i promise.”

he’ll just have to buy you another one, and you can try it on so he can ruin you them again. <3

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ all works belong to © coqvettes 2024. i do not give permission to claim, translate or copy any of my works. reblogs are appreciated!

[bluebellthesponge]

thinking about if i should get new school shoes or just stick with my crusty beaten up ones…

[shotgunbunny]

*•.¸♡𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐩, 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐩♡¸.•*

[𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫!𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

pinboard│playlist│dividers│word count: 7k+│not proof read│𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤��𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤?

warnings: weed/ oral f and m receiving/ public oral/ exhibition (slightly.)/ degradation/ praise kink/ smut/ p in v sex/ pure sweetness and fluff

The first thing you noticed was that he was leaner, cooler than the others, better than how he was described. Dressed in his dark navy blue compression top and black combat pants. His pink lips were full with a blunt between them and his beautiful blue eyes had a red haze in them. The way he was sat was just so casual and dominant, his legs spread and his back slouched against the ugly red sofa with his muscular arm resting around the back. His phone was waiting on the sofa’s arm rest and he ignored every notification that pinged at his phone. He was far more interested in you, in how you didn’t seem to fit the scene. You were in your friends basement, Claire. Her bother Chris was sat in the single chair with his head tilted towards the ceiling. The couple, Ethan and Mia, was sat in the corner kissing and cuddling while in their dazed state. Then sat on the floor was Carlos and Jill, best friends but one was pining for the other. Claire had told you all the gossip about these people, including the fact that she had a huge kiss on Jill and as you look at her it’s easy to see why. Her hair looked soft and her eyes charming, a clearing of a throat breaks you away from your analysis. You gaze back up and see it was the pretty boy who had first caught your eye, he was demanding your gaze back on him, your attention in the subtlest of ways. This was Leon. The guy you had heard so much about, how he hid his sweet side beneath a personality of sarcasm and coldness.

“Who’s this?” Leon’s gruff voice says as his eyes observe you, admiring your cute trainers and white leg warmers before letting his eyes trail up to your cute lilac skirt and your long sleeve green top that clung to your body. His gaze stuck on your hands for a moment, noticing your scrunching the material of your sleeves up in your hand. You were nervous. Claire smiles, “This is the sweetheart I’ve been telling you all about!” Claire chirps before she glares down at Carlos, “Hey! That’s my spot and you sparked up early, loser.” As Claire continues her bickering with Carlos about who sits next to Jill, Leon clears his throat catching your attention again. When you finally look up to him, he pats his thighs and moves his head to usher you to sit down and you follow the silent command immediately.

Just as you reach the sofa, his big hands gently cup your hips and he guides you to sit on his thigh, you plop down onto his thigh and swing your legs. He keeps an arms around your waist before he moves his other hand to tilt your chin to face him. “So what’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ in a place full of losers like this, Buttercup?” You heart hammers at the sweet pet name he slips in and you look around the room, observing the people around you. You turn back to Leon with a pout on your glossed lips “Hey, I don’t think anyone here is a loser, you’re all unique and cool in your own way.” You mutter to which Leon chuckles, his thumb rubs against your bottom lip. “Cool? How are we cool, Buttercup?” He practically purrs to you. “Well, Chris is strong and his music taste is awesome and fun plus he’s a biker, his motorbike is so coo. Claire is just fun and she has an awesome red leather jacket, Carlos has awesome fashion sense. Claire always shows me the belt buckles he wears. Jill is pretty and super relaxed. And Ethan and Mia are a great couple.” You babbles and Leon hungrily eats your words up, hooked on your every word in his high state.

He smirks, his eyes turning mischievous, “And what about me, Buttercup?” He whispers against your ear. You blush and when you try and turn your head away, Leon’s move his hand to grip your chin making sure you can’t turn away. “Ah-ah-ah Buttercup, c’mon you can tell me.” He continues to purr at you. You shyly glance back up into his eyes, “Well, of course you’re cool. You seem so mysterious but nice, ‘n your handsome, and so chilled out.” You mutter out in a small voice and within seconds a grin is plastered on Leon’s face. “What’s your number, Buttercup?” He coos and you shake your head. Leon tilts his own at your refusal, “Why not?” You bite your lip and play with the ends of your sleeves again. “Well, you’re attractive ‘n stuff. I just don’t wanna be played or get attached.” Leon snorts before throwing his head back laughing. You watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as you listen to his melody of joy.

His half lidded eyes stare at you, “Buttercup, that’s not gonna happen.” He says firmly but the hint of a smile still on his face. He grabs his phone and opens it, he grimaces it. “Y’see Buttercup, if I just wanted to use you I’d ask for your social media. But I wanna know more about you. Wanna take you out and buy you pretty things. So, what’s your number, Buttercup?” He was so dominating but soft with his words you couldn’t help but pull your phone out and give him your number. Within seconds of adding your number to his phone he texts it to make sure it’s you. He hums happily. “So why are you here, Buttercup? You don’t seem the type to get high.” You rest your head on his shoulder as you settle into his la. The ambience in the room is so relaxing, some music plays in the background while everyone has their own conversations. “Claire invited me, and I was just curious y’know? Just wanted to see the gang.” He hums in response. “Well, I’m glad. Feels more complete with you here Buttercup, feels balanced out. 4 guys, 4 girls. But you’re gonna be my girl, right?” After a few second of you not responding, he cranes his neck to gaze down at you, “Right, Buttercup?” You blink out of your little stupor of admiring the group and return to looking at him. “But ‘m Claire’s girl.” He tuts at you. “No, she’s Jill’s girl. Just like Carlos and Chris are too. Mia is Ethan’s girl. But you? You’re my girl.” His voice leaves no chance to deny or squabble with him and you just nod. “Good girl.”

You and Leon stay cuddled up on the sofa getting to know each other for the next few hours. You babble to him and he listens intently making notes about you in his head. He was love struck, you were his absolute opposite but instead of shying away or avoiding him, here you were sat on his lap swinging your legs while idly playing with his fingers telling him about your family and your hobbies. And in return Leon would tell you about his life, how he’s a cop and how he didn’t have a family as they passed away in an accident when he was young. You hugged him tightly when he spoke, pulling his head to your chest so he was left resting his head against your breasts as you stroked his hair cooing to him and he revelled in the attention and the soft touches. A pretty girl taking care of him with tender touches and sweet words, he could get used to this. He could get used to you.

As Leon is coddled against you, both of you rambling away happily to each other, his high was wearing down but his feelings for you didn’t. He felt safe and content here, like you were made to calm him down, like you were becoming his new drug. Something he could be addicted to without having to worry about his health or getting into trouble with. His eyelids flutter open as he gazes up at you, “Please take a chance on me, Buttercup. It feels right when you’re here. Don’t let my looks deceive you.” His eyes are pleading, begging you to not overthink him and instead keep him safe in your arms. You run your hands through his hair, “okay.” You whisper and a soft grin spreads across his face and he cuddles back into you.

He listens to your heart beating and the gentle lull of your breaths mixed with the sweet sounds of your voice as you talk to him. He could drown in you, in how magical this moment was to him. He adored you within the first meeting and he didn’t want to part with you. But sadly the time did come and when you shifted Leon from your embrace he growled. “No, Buttercup I’m comfy.” He rumbles to which you giggle. “I have to go home, I have curfew, sadly.” You murmur and Leon’s grump demeanour quickly shifts to a hopeless look. As you stand up, he follows suit and wraps his arms around your waist and snuggles into you neck. He was like a puppy, desperate for your attention and desperate to keep you. “Promise me, Buttercup. That you’ll call me up and let me take you out on a date.” He nuzzles his head into you neck and you laugh softly. “I promise my little puppy boy.” You tease to which he faintly bites at your neck leaving a small imprint of his teeth indented on you, marking you as his. “Call me puppy again and I might have to howl at your window until you let me in,” He smirks down at you. You pull away and kiss his cheek before heading to the door and flashing him one last smile, “I’d let you in.” You murmur and the door closes behind you.

You stuck true to your word and 3 days later, Leon was outside your house on his motorbike. He was dressed in his black pants, a tight black t shirt and a leather jackets, a helmet adorned on his head hiding his handsome face from your eyes. As soon as Leon sees you he pulls it off and reveals a bright a grin on his face, he shakes his messy blonde hair. You giggle at him and walk over to him, but he beats you to it by taking long strides towards you. “I hope you don’t find me too keen that I scare you off Buttercup.” He murmurs as he places his hands on your hips and mumbles down to you. You can’t wipe the smile forming on your face from his sweet confession, You places your hands on his forearms and gaze up at him. You stand on your tiptoes and nuzzle your nose against his, “I am just as keen.” You whisper to him and he chuckles in response. “Well ain’t I lucky.” He says with a smug grin on his face, he places a small kiss to your nose and pulls away.

“Damn, Buttercup! You look amazing.” He coos down to you, admiring your white summer dress that ad thin straps and stropped at your thighs. You smile bashfully at him and he quickly returns to you and holds your hand, “c’mon give me a twirl.” He murmurs and holds your hand up high. You giggle as you spin for him and he whistles. “I don’t know what you did to me, but I want you doll. ‘S like I’m sick and you’re the only cure.” He mumbles to you as his gaze is utterly transfixed on you. You bite your lip at how blunt he is, it was like he was your fever dream. “Is it a bad thing?” You ask tilting you head and he just responds by throwing his head back laughing at you. “Never. You’re a disease I’ve been waiting for Doll. I want you to leave me bed ridden with shaking bone and flushed cheeks.” He says it so easily, the innuendos easily seen but you can tell he means it in every way.

He coughs and walks to his bike, “Anyway, I said I’d take you on a date and um-” He hands you a pink helmet, something a man as grungy and dark as him would never have. “I um painted it, kinda hoping you become my permanent passenger princess.” He murmurs and you giggle. “Thank you, that’s really sweet of you.” He beams at you and his baby blue eyes gleam. “Yeah?” He asks almost shyly, “Yeah.” You confirm and place it on, you strut over to him. You pull up the screen of the helmet and gaze up at him, “Y’know, we’re definitely moving fast. Hold back the love confessions for a few months.” You tease him and he smirks and slings the screen of your helmet back down with a flick of his risk. He straddles his bike and you follow suit, wrapping your arms around his muscular torso, you can feel every abdominal muscle he hides under his tight shirt and you can imagine his smirk already getting even more smug. “Fast is what I do, Buttercup. But for you, I’ll take it slow. Don’t wanna love bomb you.” He says underneath his black mask.

He starts the bike and pulls off the side and soon you begin to drift with him on his bike. You flash through the streets with the sun beaming down on you and the purr of the engine rumbling between your thighs creating a delicious little tingle. Leon smirks already imagining the effect his bike is having on you, so he throttles it making the bike roar and he speeds down the road, focusing on his directions but his mind drifts off to the idea of how wet you panties are and how they were dripping all over his seat. He groans at the thought and changes his direction, and drives you both to the woods. As you stand off the bike and peel the helmet off, you gaze up and see Leon tearing his off and throwing it down. Before you can question him, he rushes to you and pulls you to a gathering of trees, barely any sunlight gets though and you doubted anyone could see you.

Leon’s large hand frame your hips as he pins you against a tree, he falls to his knees panting his once vibrant blue eyes now dilated and nearly black. He gulps as he gazes up at you, “Can I?” He whispers shyly and you blush but nod, “Words please, Buttercup.” He pleads, a vision on his knees before you begging and pleading to hear your voice and to let him take something that he’s desperate for. “Yes.” You murmur and Leon’s head disappears under your dress, You can feel his sweet kisses being littered on your thighs leaving little mark against your skin. His hands fall down from your hips and under your dress too. He grabs your panties and drags them down and you lift your feet up for him.

You let out a gasp as his hands slide to your ass and he squeezes it before he buries his head between you folds. He groans as you let out a whimper, he licks between your folds, tasting you. You watch how his shoulders slump and for a second you fear you’ve done something wrong but those thoughts are quickly silenced by him letting out his own moan of pure pleasure and he begins to eagerly lap at your pussy. Your cunt drenching his tongue, your thighs shake and shiver and he squeezes your ass again as he latches onto you clit, bullying it with his tongue lashes and kisses. He suckles on it desperately and you whine before moaning and folding over your hands landing on his shoulders to hold yourself up. You whimper and you feel his tongue exploring your hole. He licks against your walls before he moves back up to nuzzle his nose your clit.

You cry out as your thighs tremble again. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you cum hard and he laps up every drop, like a man who had been walking the desert for years without a drop of water. You whimper at every tender licks and he pulls away. His face is flushed and his eyes are still black, yet despite his lust he remained a gentleman and pulls your panties up. He stands to his full height and you rest your head against his chest and his arms wrap around your smaller frame. His hands gently stroke your hair. “Thank you, baby. Taste so good, could get drunk off your perfect, little pussy.” He whispers down to you, you whimper how crude his words are yet he said them so soft.

You can feel his bulge against your hip and your innocent eyes peer up at him, you bite you bottom lip as he looks down at you, “Can I?” You whisper and he crumbles, “Are you sure, baby? Don’t wanna overwhelm you or ruin your pretty makeup.” He mumbles his hands grazing your cheeks. “Please? Wanna practise and Learn.” His resolve snaps, he pulls his leather jacket it off and lays it on the floor, “Don’t want you hurting or dirtying your knees.” He mumbles. As you’re getting on your knees, he unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his pants before pulling his zipper down. His pants fall to his knees and you gulp gazing up at him shyly. Your delicate fingers slide under the waist band of his boxers and you pull them down slowly, you watch in wonder as his cock slings out. He was painfully hard.

He leans against the tree panting already over how erotic this was, he lets out a choked gasp as your fingers gently trace the veins on his cock, from the base all the way to his tip. You gently pull the foreskin back and gaze at his thick, pink tip in wonder. “Fuck, Buttercup. I’m about to cum over your damn face with your soft, little hands.” He grumbles out. His eyes are focused on your solely, and you lean forward and place a small kiss to his tip. You can feel his cock throbbing in your hands from where you’re holding it from the base. His hands catch in your hair and pull it into a sloppy pony tail. “Wrap your lips around it baby, gently.” He mutter and your wrap your puffy lips around it. Leon whimpers and you wish you could bottle that noise up and repeat it in your mind forever.

You ben to work your mouth up and down his cock, using your hand to move up and down to meet where your lips don’t meet. And soon you’re in a rhythm of sucking his cock and tongue lashing his tip, just like he did to your clit. He pushes your head gently down your cock and you gag, but Leon lets out a delightful little moan at the feeling of your throat tightening around his cock. He repeats this action being careful to not hurt you or make you throw up. Your eyes are teary as you gaze up at him, all while your nose is buried in his pubes, your throat tightening around his cock. And the second Leon looks down at you, the noise that leaves his lips is heavenly. He cums down your throat before you pull off his cock with a wet ‘pop’.

You stand up and swallow his cum, grimacing at the taste and texture but you knew you’d get used to it one day. He tucks his cock away and pulls his pants up. Once he’s finished buckling his belt, he strides quickly towards you and cups your cheeks and kisses you. His lips moving against yours desperately trying to find a way to make you feel as amazing as he did. He breaks away for air but places his forehead against yours. “I don’t deserve you, pretty girl. Haven’t even kissed you or taken you on our first date and you’ve made me cum. To fucking good for me.” He mutters.

You smile, “Could say that to yo-” He immediately cuts you off, “No, doll. This is different. You’re innocent, baby. I’m not. And you just rocked my world. You want me to spoil you, yeah? Let me.” He begs and you shake your head. “Let me, Buttercup.” You sigh, “On one condition,” You murmur, “Anything, baby.” He whispers earnestly. “Can we get a bottle of water first? My throat aches.” Leon lets out a bark of laughter and wraps his leather jacket over your shoulders and then slings his arm over your shoulders. “Absolutely Buttercup.” He coos.

Hours later, The sun was coming own ad the evening darkness was crawling up the streets but it didn’t matter as you and Leon were tucked in an underground bar. There were a few other couples around but none paid any mind, you were all far too wrapped up in your own romances. And at the moment you and your romance were gathered around a pool table, the balls were scattered around. You lean against the pool que and pout at Leon, “This isn’t fair you’re like really good! This is our fourth game!” You whine and he walks over to you. His hips knock against your ass, he makes you bend over the table and he folds on top of you. He directs the que in your hands, his mouth breathing against the shell of your ear, “Focus, baby.” He whispers and you shiver. He draws the que back for you and pushes it forward and hits the white ball and you pot 2 other balls.

Leon stands up and beams down at your proudly and you squeal in excitement back up at him. He can contain himself but lean forward and press his lips to yours. He moves softly and slowly against you, trying to taste your joy in that moment, he wanted you to share that feeling with him so you did and moved your lips against his. He pulls away, “Haven’t I let you win all four games?” He muses, his lips brushing against yours as you giggle. You nudge him away with your hips and return back to the game. All while Leon directs you and holds you, any excuse he jumps at it. He was desperate to be around you.

When the games finished he pulls you to his side, his gaze scanning you. Trying to memorise every part of you, from how your pretty eyes flash with happinesses, to how amazing you look. He was hypnotised by you, completely and utterly at your mercy. He wishes he could have this memory as a drug, his forever moment, your first date together. You watch as his eyes are filled with contentment, how fast his heart beats under your small hand that rests on his chest. You two were completely and utterly in sync with emotions, how they rose up and crashed inside you like the ocean that was trapped in Leon’s eyes.

He rests his forehead against yours, “Tell me,” he mumble, “Tell me this was the best date you’ve ever been on and you want a lifetime more and I will happily provide it. I can’t give up this. You. I haven’t felt this happy- no complete- no- I haven’t felt like everything was so perfect...ever.” He whispers and your heart aches. You close your eyes and press your head against his, embracing this sentimental moment. “This was the best date ever, give me all your dates, and I’ll give you an eternity more. This feels like the universe is finally right.” He chuckles and brushes a lock of hair from your face, “Had to out do me, huh? A lifetime of dates versus an eternity of dates. Damn baby, you got me beat and begging on my knees just so I can be near you.” He confesses and you giggle. “This is just the honeymoon stage thou-” He presses a finger to your lips.

“Yeah, and it means that in the future when we’re not in this stage it is still going to be the most wonderful thing. Even if we fight, it will always be good. You said it, I’m like a damn lovesick puppy, I’d follow you everywhere even when we hate each other. I’ll always follow you.” He whispers and your heart melts. He pecks your lips, “C’mon lets get you home. I do actually wanna take you on an another date and I wanna be in your parents good books.” He chuckles as you both begin to run to his bike, an almost silent race between you that he would obviously let you win. Always.

Of course, after that Leon was desperate for another date, for more time. And within two days you were on your second date. Riding on the back of his bike again in the pink helmet he had decorated just for you. Your arms were tucked around his waist tightly again as you flew through the scenery. Old friends seeing you cuddled up on the bike of the brooding guy they had so often thirsted for, and here you were riding freely with him while he was obsessed with you. Leon was a well known cop in the area, a sweet guy that served his community and made sure peace was secure. Grandparents loved him, and parents did too it seemed.

You had heard your father speak of Leon’s good deeds, but only a few knew of him breaking the rules. Of letting a few stragglers go, smoking weed. But in all other means, he abided the law and adored his job. And you did too, especially when seeing him in his uniform, he was hot and dangerous with a belt looped around his hips and a gun attached. The threat was sexy but the man was so soft you could never comprehend him ever hurting a soul. Even though his hands were calloused and rough, the way his touch was gentle and almost shy made your heart flutter.

As you daydreamed you had hardly realised that Leon had stopped and parked. He hops off his bike and pulls his helmet off, he shakes his messy blonde hair and grins down at you and offers one of the very same rough calloused hands you had been thinking about. You slide it into his grip and are gently pulled off the bike, his hands leave yours for a moment and he places them on the helmet and gently tugs it off your own head before hanging them off the handle bars of his bike. No one would steal them because of Leon being a sweet cop everyone knew him and what e rode so they would never mess with his bike. His hands frames your face and stoke your cheeks, “Hey Buttercup.” He murmurs and you beam up at him like seeing heaven’s light. And at that moment Leon can feel his heart melt he leans down and kisses your nose. He soothes any stray hairs on your head before sliding his hand back into yours. “C’mon doll.”

He begins to tug you to a brightly coloured building where loud fun noises swell out into the car park you are walking through. You scale your eyes up to analyse the building, seeing pictures of coins and ways to win, it was like a candy fun land, as you look up at gaze at the huge neon purple and yellow sign your eyes go wide with awe, it says ‘ARCADE’. You squeeze his hand and squeal, he just kept out doing himself and all you could do is give heart eyes to the man. You begin to skip, practically dragging him along with you and he can’t help but chuckle as he jogs to catch up.

As you step inside you’re greeted by flashes of colour, teenagers and couples and children. A place where many went too gamble but in a safer way, you walk further into the arcade looking down at the navy blue carpet that had a disgusting design but in this environment it fit perfectly. Leon follows you and grabs the classic paper cup which you put your coins in and empties a small money bag of coins into it. Leon had come prepared, he didn’t care how much he spent today just as long as you were happy. The reason why was because he felt bad about doing sexual things so fast while you guys hadn’t even been on your first date. Despite you reassuring him that it was fine and that you still had fun, through texts, he wanted to make it up to you. He wanted to win you a big plushie in those scam grabber machines. He was determined to make it happen.

Soon you and Leon were playing Mario Kart and you couldn’t help but giggle at watching his tall and big frame tying to fit into the seat. When he did eventually you were red in the face from laughter then the games began. Whilst trying to play the racing game, you both had a smaller game going on, ‘Who could distract the other the most?’ It was simple at first, you’d poke his side and he’d tickle you back but it progressed to you playing footsie and kicking his feet off the pedals and then he back to squeeze your thigh and began to slide it under your skirt. Eventually the game ended and you were panting at his teasing, despite it all Leon had let you win. You had come in 6th while he came in 7th and your heart races with love and joy, He had let you win.

You continued around the arcade trying to shoot hoops to which you were terrible but Leon loved watching your tits bounce as you jumped. When his turn came he began to shoot perfectly getting hoop after hoop. He had on so many tickets for you and after his round you both decided to team up, Leon’s front was pressed firmly against your back and as he kept getting the balls through the net you would gather than and hand them to him, and when the time was nearly up his hands held yours and together you both scored the last hoop. You couldn’t help but squeal and kiss his cheek. Leon was now your ticket carrier and you decided you’d get something at the end.

You traversed to the air hockey game, but this time Leon wasn’t going easy. You couldn’t help the laughter that spilled from your lips when you managed t score a goal against him. But for once he had one and his prize was a kiss form you which he eagerly accepted, how could he not? Having your lips against his was close to going to heaven and he’d take every second of his religious moment that he could. Eventually you looped ack to the grabber machine and pointed at fluffy gold wolf plush. He raises and eyebrow and you flash him an innocent smile, “What? It reminds me of you. ‘m gonna called him Leo,” You coo and within seconds Leon is loading his money into the machine.

By the end of the day, Leon had won you your mini Leon Plush and at the counter you both decided on getting matching bracelets and a huge bunny plush. It was a perfect date and at the end you sat outside on a bench eating greasy fries and giggling together. This was beyond perfect to you both. The sun was settling and you were sharing and stealing fries from one another as you gushed about the day and joking around. You knew that this was inly the beginning and you couldn’t wait for this fairytale romance to continue. It would never end not when life could be as beautiful and happy as this.

Seven magical months had passed and you two were beyond close, You had confessed your love to each other while camping underneath the starry sky. It was no mystery now that Leon as no longer a bachelor for the town, he was head over heels for you. To the point you had began to sleep over at his place. You clothes were beside his in his drawers and your big bunny plushie he had won you was laid in the middle of his bed. He was always waiting for you, always eagerly wanting you at his apartment. Everyday after work he would drive by your house and on most days you’d join him and drive to his where you would cook dinner together and Leon was kiss you senseless. The man worshipped you and you worshipped him. Together you were a perfect pair, soulmates.

But the reason you had started staying more often at Leon’s was because of a lot of reasons, but the main one was due to many incidents of you and Leon getting frisky in you bedroom and a family member nearly walking in giving you a heart attack while Leon’s fingers were deep inside you rubbing and thrusting away, almost daring you to cum all over his fingers and your pink bedsheets with someone so close to walking in. He would do it so often, his lust was insatiable. But he was smart and every time just as you were about to paint his fingers with your sweet juices, he would kiss you hard silencing your moan, leaving you breathless and panting beneath him as you came hard.

But the most notable incident that stirred this change was when you and Leon had stated innocently watching a movie together. His hand was rubbing up and down your back soothingly as you were dressed only in one of his t shirts and he was dressed only in his loose grey joggers after along day of work. You gaze coasted up to him and you began to lazily kiss along his jaw, and he couldn’t help but groan. His hands shifted down to your hips and he tilted his head don and caught your lips in a sloppy kiss. His tongue swirls around your mouth and within seconds the beast is loose, he quickly turns you and pins you down on your bed. Your wrist locked above your head with one of his firm hands. You whine and he bites your bottom lip, “No buttercup, we gotta stop before I spear you on my cock.” He breathes out.

You can’t help but squeeze your plush thighs together at his words, “Wan’ that.” You whisper and any sense of control is thrown out the window. Leon sits up his knees and thumbs the waist bands of pants and boxers and slides them down with one quick motion. You watch as his hard cock springs loose and before you can even begin to drool, his hands slide up your thighs and grip the waist band of your panties, “Hips up.” He commands and you eagerly obey and he pulls them off and throws them on your floor leaving them a crumpled mess near the bed.

He pulls a condom from his pocket and you raise an eyebrow and as he rolls it down his cock, “What? Gotta be prepared for fucking your tight little cunt.” He mutters and lays his body over yours like a blanket, you wrap your legs around his waist as he rubs his tip between your folds before nudging at your entrance. He slides into your tight, wet heat and you moan while arcing you back and throwing your head back. He arms cage around you above your head, you watch as his muscles flex and he pants. “Fucking perfect. This fat little pussy takes care of my cock so well. You feel it don’t you? How your tight little cunt wraps around every fucking vein. You were made for this cock, my slutty little buttercup.”

You whimper as he gives a sharp thrust, he smirks down at you. “Eyes on me, understood.” He whispers against the shell of your ear as his hips grind against yours, you can’t help but obey again. Your eyes hazy with pleasure as Leon pants down at you “Look at you, dumb on my cock, Buttercup. S making e so fucking hard,” He groans out and then he leans down and kisses you eagerly and sloppily, your tongues are wrapped around each other as the tip of his cock rubs against your g spot and bullies your cervix. You felt so full and Leon showed no sign of stopping.

You mewl and moan beneath him your eyes closing as he pulls away from the kiss, the string of spit that connects you falls down all over your chin, you were drooling and panting, your body complying to every thrust and drag of his cock. “Painted with my spit, need to paint you with my cum like a good girl, because you are my good girl, right?” You nod desperately and he can’t help but groan as he gazes down at you, as the sound of skin slapping fills the room you both hear the front door open and you tighten around him to which Leon buries his head into your neck and bits down to hide the whimper that leaves his throat. You were both so close to cumming and so Leon gives a few shallow thrusts and clamps his hand over your mouth. “Shut the fuck up, be a good little slut and don’t make another noise, just cum around my cock. Fucking mark it as yours. This is your cock, what you were built for.” He whispers down harshly into his ear, adrenaline running through his veins. When you hear footsteps climbing up the stairs, Leon quickly begins to circle your clit and thrust faster, his balls slapping and he presses his forehead against yours. “My cunt. My girl. My buttercup.” He hisses and gives one last thrust and you both cum.

You don’t have time to clean up, instead Leon quickly pulls his boxers and pants up and pulls you tot sit on his lap, the blanket covering your lap as you watch the TV just as your door opens. You heart hammers in your chest as your mum enters she smiles and waves at you and Leon and quickly babbles about her day and what’s for dinner and you nod dumbly, a little out of from your orgasm a few seconds ago. Leon holds the conversation to seem less suspicious and when your mum leaves, Leon pulls you closer to his chest and showers you in kisses and praises. You couldn’t help but shiver in delight and soon Leon is cleaning up and throwing his condom away, putting your panties in the laundry, cleaning your thighs up and your pussy gently before he puts on some clean underwear on for you ad passes you a drink of water. The only things hat ran through your head was That was too close and from then on, you decided to have sex at Leon’s apartment rather than your princess bedroom.

And of course the dates only got better, from carnivals to quiet cabins. You had gone on so many wonderful adventures together. Your family had met him so many times that they adored him, he was part of the family. He was the most wonderful man, a provider and he supported your hobbies and even drove you to work at the nearby cafe where you were a waitress. Multiple times a day older customers would ask how it was going and you would tell them the truth- perfect. You were out of the honey moon stage and were well into jut being a comfortable and happy couple, but it never dimmed your love and obsession with each other.

And now here you both were, a year later. You had moved in with Leon now, and his apartment was now a perfect mix of you both pink and navy blues mixed with blacks and whites littered the apartment and it felt good. It was home. It was heaven. Nothing could compare to the feeling of walking home from work and into the apartment, having a relaxing shower and beginning dinner just in time for when Leon arrived home. He would pepper you in kisses and whisper words of adoration before telling you about his day nearly pleading at you for you to tell him about your day.

But it came back to now, sat in Claire and Chris’ basement. Claire, Chris and Carlos all sat on the floor surrounding Jill who was talking animatedly. None of them had managed to date her yet and you can’t stop the giggle leaving your lips. They would continue to try and You and Leon had a bet, You bet that Claire would win Jill’s heart whilst Leon said Chris was going to. Poor Carlos, but in both of your defences he was a well known ladies man, a player but he had the sweetest soul. Chris was dressed in black baggy jeans and a heavy metal t shirt and you noted his hair was Cut. Clair had a cute long sleeved red t shirt on and black leather pants and she looked amazing, her hair was in a claw clip and she had some eyeliner on. Carlos just had his grey sweats on and a black t shirt, he was definitely trying his best but you noted that he had started to take care of his curls and his hair was beautiful and healthy. The leader, Jill, say in navy blue jeans and a black print t shirt, she was stunning without even trying.

But your attention was quickly pulled away by a clearing of a throat, but it wasn’t from the sofa like the first time, instead it was from right beside you. You turn your head and there he is, his eyes already red and a dopey grin on his face. His hair his fluffy and despite the red and dilated eyes you can still see that beautiful ocean blue colour shining through. He was dressed in his black compression t shirt and some black jogging bottoms. And you were dressed in one of his t shirts, it had long sleeves and feel to your knees. It was a black, long sleeve t shirt that had a cool goth design of death on it. Matched with some white thigh highs and white trainers, you hair had little white bows.

Leon gently guides you to the sofa where you first ever saw him and he sits down first before gently pulling at your hips and pulling you onto his lap. You swing you legs and look around before you see Mia and Ethan again, both of them whispering sweet nothings and making you awkwardly before sharing a blunt. Leon pulls you closer and he rests his head on your shoulder. “We’re back, Buttercup.” He whispers. You nod and idly play with his fingers, “We are,” He hums, his eyes dazed from the weed and from sentimentality. “My girl,” He mumbles and you remember when he first staked his claim on you.

So much had changed yet nothing had, it seemed mundane but it was so peaceful. The plumes of smoke fill the air and Leon presses a small kiss to your pulse points. “I’ll never forget when you first walked in, dressed so damn cute, what else was I meant do baby? Not fall in love with you? And you were scared I’d play you-” He snorts and bursts into laughter, “Not ever gonna happen. Prettiest girl, with the best personality. Best pussy, Funniest girl, Sweetest smile, Kindest eyes. Ain’t another girl like you.” He rambles and you kiss his cheek, getting your lip gloss on his cheek. His eyes light up and the dopey smile grows wider. “You’re the best man I’ve ever met. Thank you for letting me date you.” You whisper.

He nuzzles his nose against yours, “Don’t thank me. Was never gonna say no. That’s just dumb, only wanted you. Now I have you and I’m never letting you go. Gonna marry you, have kids anything and everything. ‘S me and you,” He coos and you kiss him slowly and softly as his hand creeps up your thighs and squeezes it. You smile and peck his lips again. “I love you.” You whisper. “I love you too.” He responds.

As you continue your idle babble together, watching your friends fight for affection and love you can’t stop yourself from repeatedly reflect on how it all started in this room. From a single glance and Leon being a stubborn and jealous pretty boy desperate for your eyes on him, after all he had his eyes on you from the second you walked in. You’re snapped out of your trance from shuffling and a clang, Leon huffs having dropped his lighter. You lean down and grab it and Leon puts the joint back in his mouth, “C’mon. Spark me up, Buttercup.” He mutters as the joint wiggles between his lips. You leave forward and light it up for him. “Anything for you, puppy boy.” You coo back, your first ever nickname for him and he smiles. Nothing could be more perfect than this.

[porcelainseashore]

Buckle Up and Enjoy the Ride

Pairing: Dominant! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: There are many things Leon uses his belt for — some of which involve you.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Consensual kink, belts, bondage, impact play, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving).

Author's Note: Happy AO3 Posting Anniversary to my lovely friend, AliBelleRosetta / @alibellerosetta! 🎉 I’m so glad to have met you and cheers to many more fulfilling creative writing experiences. Here’s my naughty little gift to you, enjoy! 🎁❤️ (P.S. I tried to wrap Leon in a box, but he wouldn’t let me, lol)

AO3 Link

Leon’s always been a practical man with a penchant for multipurpose items. The more ways he can use an item, the better. This often means leaning heavily into his creativity, something which he prides himself on.

Take, for example, his trusty belt that has served him well through countless missions, slinking over his slim fit jeans or tactical pants, resting just above a certain pair of assets. That very same belt which he has secured over his navy blue suit trousers, whenever he needed to head into the White House for a formal function. In a pinch, he could use it as a makeshift weapon, vicious and deadly in his hands. However, there are other uses for it that he would much rather keep private, like a clandestine secret shared only between you and him.

When the layers of clothes shed off, so does his prim and proper golden boy veneer, which he wears like a mask around strangers and friends alike. The only time he lets loose is around you. You kneel down obediently before him when he unbuckles his belt, knowing full well what is to come next. He teases you by running the smooth, supple leather against your lips, the natural grain against your skin. You close your eyes and sigh, breathing in its warm, earthy smell — the smell of him.

He likes to take his time to play with you. Frequently, you find your wrists tied to the bedpost, the firmness of his belt restricting you from moving too far, separating him from your touch. Meanwhile, he does what he wants with your body, exploring every dip and curve with his tongue trailing along your bare skin. It’s only a matter of time until you feel his hot, shaky breath against your mound, and with a feverish hunger, he takes your pussy into his mouth, lapping at your clit as you squirm against him. You feel the leather around your wrists tightening and creaking under the strain of your pulling. He holds your hips down firmly with his hands and continues as you cry out his name.

Sometimes, after a bout of relentless teasing, or if you’ve done something particularly naughty, he rips his belt off, pulling it taut between his hands as you hear it snap to attention. “Wanna play?” he smirks at you.

Bending you over the mattress, he doles out a few experimental taps with his belt on your ass, just to warm up. Gently rubbing its soft, fleshy cheeks, he whacks you properly this time, adjusting the intensity to how you react, timing it perfectly with every gasp and hitch of your breath, as pain mixes into pleasure.

“You like that?” he growls, voice thick with lust, in between sharp smacks. Your ass is sore and marked up red; you’ll be feeling it tomorrow. But every wince is a hushed whisper of what took place the night before, and every imprint an insatiable reminder of who you belong to.

Other times, when you’re both too horny to wait any longer, he throws you onto the bed, wrapping the belt around your waist roughly. You’re on all fours, and he listens out for your word before tugging at you forcefully, leather bound around his hand and wrist like a leash, as he yanks your pussy back onto his hardened cock, stretching it out as you take in every inch of him. 

He rails you into the mattress deeply; you can feel his cock twitching and dragging along your sensitive walls. He savors every moan and scream in ecstasy that he manages to draw out of you, until your throat is hoarse and you’re nothing but a whimpering mess beneath him.

There’s a loud rap on the front door and he throws a towel around his waist, answering it top naked, as if to spite whoever it is. Turns out it’s another noise complaint from the neighbors from hell, so it’s back to keeping quiet and stealthy.

He fits the belt across your mouth and you clench down on the strap. His hips snap against yours, fucking you at a merciless pace as if he had never stopped to begin with. Teeth marks show on the gummy leather which he’ll wear like a badge of honor, a lucky charm he’ll never lose in a fight. 

Your words are muffled, when in actuality you’re uttering a string of curses and his name over and over like a prayer.

“What was that again, sweetheart?” he grits out, teetering on the edge, yet signed off as usual with his irresistible cocky grin.

You want to wipe it off his smug face, but as he brings both of you over the threshold where you’re riding on a high, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[ohworm-writes]

Thinking about Firefighter!Price.

Imagine him coming home after a long, exhausting day of working, keys jingling as he unlocks the door at some ungodly hour of the night, footsteps falling heavy against the floor as he walks inside, exhaustion and fatigue lingering along his form.

He's still dressed in his station wear - a fitted, navy blue t-shirt with Station 141's logo printed onto the front of it, small, right on the right side of his chest, and a pair of trousers in the same color to match, hanging loosely onto him.

He should take a shower, he knows he should. He smells of sweat and sulfur, the scents clinging to his clothes and skin like a second skin, and he know that the two of you'll have to wash the bedding come morning.

But god, the sight of you in bed, dressed in a loose pair of your own shorts and one of his spare shirts, face smushed against one of the pillows as your breathing comes slow, in and out, steady - it's far too enticing to pass up so easily.

So he unbuckles his belt in a daze, stripping off his shirt, undershirt and trouser, tossing the articles haphazardly onto the floor (he tries to toss them towards the hamper, but he knows he misses, given the way his belt buckle clanks loudly against the hardwood floor of the bedroom, but, honestly, he could care less).

And he gets right into bed beside you, fingers grazing lightly over the exposed skin of your thighs, traversing upwards, fingers splayed as his palm travels over the fabric of your shorts, sneaking their way under the loose shirt of his that you wear, hand pressing against your tummy as he pulls you close.

He presses his nose into your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed as he deeply inhales the scent of your body wash, softly shushing you as you start to rouse, the way your body gently begins to shuffle as you let out the softest, sleepiest yawn, listening as he grumbles softly against your skin.

"Didn't mean to wake you, love. Go back to sleep."

His voice is so hoarse, so strained and rough from the events of the day - yelling and barking out commands to the firefighters within the ladder and engine crews that he guides - but, at the same time, it's runs smooth like honey, settling just right in your sleepy, hazy mind.

He hugs you tighter, pressing your back flush against his chest as he curls his body around you in a subtly protective manner, littering tender kisses against your neck, trying to coax you back to sleep as he lets out a soft sigh, infatuated with the way your body molds perfectly into his.

"Mmm... s'fine, John. Wha... what time s'it?"

"None of your business, that's what time. Go back to sleep. I'll be here in the mornin'... promise you that. Okay?"

He doesn't let you ask your questions. If you try to think, he knows you'll wake up, and he already feels guilty about waking you up in the first place, so he doesn't even entertain your sleepy question, giving you a promise - two, technically. That he's here now and that it'll stay that way until the two of you wake up in the dawn.

"Stubborn..."

"Always. We c'n talk in the mornin'. Sleep."

"Mmm... glad you're back home safe. Love you."

"Love you, too."

But by the time he says the words, you've already fallen back asleep, and a deep, rumbling chuckle erupts from within his chest, amused, pressing one last kiss to the corner of your jaw before letting himself fall asleep behind you, his breaths, his heartbeat falling into sync with your own.

[seancekitsch]

How about something with Vox and an assistant reader? I'm so excited your writing for Hazbin!

hehehe you have received: smut with fem reader

“I mean, do I have to hypnotize anyone if the marketing team is good? Darling, fire them all. Especially the ones I own. Make them squirm,” Vox talks, at you, not to you while you plug in the information on your V-Pad. 

“Just squirm or flounder too?” you ask, not looking up at him either. 

“Is that a fucking fish pun?” he turns on you, pushing his chair back from his desk. 

“A synonym, Sir.”

You tap the screen a few times, filling his request and adding a bit of your own to it. 

“Done. No severance package.”

You meet his gaze, smile toothy and wide. 

“Devious bitch,” he muses, smiling just as wide, “Come to Daddy.”

You set the tablet down at the table near the door, smoothing out your skirt as you start to strut across the office, essentially modeling the outfit Vox had gotten designed for you. But before you can make it even a quarter of the way, Vox stops you with a look.

Right, how could you forget? You kick off your stilettos, a flash of the red bottoms against the navy carpet and you sink to your hands and knees; slowly, seductively crawling towards the overlord at his desk. 

His screen glitches briefly, electrical current sparkling along the edges of him. He watches you fixated like a predator stalking his prey, yet you flourish under his scrutiny, proud and confident as your nails dig into the carpet and you make your way to the spot at his feet. Vox pats his lap, a silent invitation. There is no seat for you in this office, and thats on purpose. Vox always wants you on his lap, draped over him, straddling him, perched like a shiny trophy. Today you choose to straddle him, hiking up your skirt as you settle in facing him.

“Any panties?” He asks, and you roll your eyes.

“No point when I work for you,” you tease, settling yourself flush against him, bare against his lap. He’s already hard, because of course he is. When is Vox not hard if you’re in the room? It strokes your ego, the power you have over the overlord, the control you have over a powerful man.

“Seriously, where would I be without you?” he purrs, leaning in close and grabbing fistfuls of your ass.

“Hmm, probably struggling to keep your schedule?” you muse, nails raking down the front of his suit jacket.

Without warning, he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his hips like second nature at this point before he throws you unceremoniously down onto his desk, muscle memory stopping the back of your head from connecting to his keyboard. You’d learned that the hard way when this all started.

“Certainly wouldn’t be making a mess of my office,” he muses, his claws tracing down your front, teasing your cleavage and down your navel.

You reach for his belt buckle, making quick work of it.

“For the third time this week,” you say, always teasing him. Always pushing your boss’ buttons.

Vox hastily pushes your hands away, tugging his dress shirt out of his pants and undoing them enough to slide them down, his boxers coming with them. You gaze down at his cock, while fucking has become routine you’re always somewhat in awe of the size of him.

He’s quick to push your skirt up, bunching it around your waist without any care for the fabric. He’ll probably just buy you another one, so arch your back into his movements, letting him pull you into position while slots himself right where he needs to be. His eyes meet yours, screen bright and blinding. Sharp teeth in two identical smiles, and he pushes in.

You struggle to keep your eyes on his as you moan around the stretch, no matter how many times this happens it always catches your breath in your throat.

“Fffffuck yes,” Vox practically growls, voice modulator losing control as he bottoms out with your bodies fully connecting. He wastes no time setting a pace, hips snapping against yours, slightly upwards, hitting a truly amazing spot within you. You see stars, disoriented and already high on him him him.

Vox runs his claws along your hips, electrical currents running along your skin just strong enough to make your body twitch beneath him. His hands trail under your legs, hoisting them up against his chest to control you that much more as he leans over you.

“All mine, fuck, all mine,” Vox pants, speeding up his thrusts, rocking you further into the desk as his claws dig into your thighs to keep you flush against him. He grinds his pelvis into yours each time he bottoms out, sweet friction punctuated by featherlight sparks of electricity radiating from skin on skin. You nod eagerly, gritting your teeth, but that isn’t good enough for the CEO above you.

“Fuckin— say it! Say you’re mine,” he begs, his voice urgent and desperate.

“I’m— I’m—“

A moan cuts off anything you have to say, electrical pulses going straight to your cunt and frying your brain in the process.

“Gonna short circuit for me?” he teases now, and fuck he’s so confident. You’d like for once to have him writhing the way he does you. But your brain does indeed short circuit before you can dwell on that too much, your orgasm having snuck up on you, white hot intensity behind your eyes. You wail underneath him, your hands reaching out for his and prying his claws from your thighs. Instantly, he intertwines his fingers with yours, giving you stability as he fucks you through your orgasm. Vox groans as he spills into you only moments later, practically collapsing on top of you.

He stays there, with you folded in half, his length softening inside you, your fingers still tangled together.

“Can you say it now?” he asks, the edge of his screen resting against your shirt as it dims.

“I’m yours,” you confirm, “you needy prick.”

Vox laughs, loud and barking, and finally pushes himself off you. He’s incredibly gentle to pull out, to slowly unfold limbs and help you to sit up, letting you lean onto him.

“You know, I should really report you to HR for name calling,” Vox finally says, winking as he does.

It’s your turn to laugh, scoffing as you weakly slap at his chest.

“Right, and if you get me demoted I promise you that Peppermint couldn’t give you pussy half as good as this.”

Vox kisses you hard on the mouth, static crackling as screen touches lips.

Voxtech doesn’t even have an HR department.

[wanda-widow]

Dirty Little Secret p2

Bucky x Pole Dancer!Reader

Read Part 1

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: There's no doubt that Bucky will get what he wants when he wants. There's also no doubt that it's always just a normal hookup with a good pay… until it isn't.

18+ MDNI

Warnings: smut, jealous and possessive Bucky, he's a bit of a bitch in the beginning, oral (f receiving), P in V, riding, unprotected sex, swearing, fluff

The morning after Bucky left with his light threat, you spent the hours thinking. On one hand, you did need the money to pay the bills. Not that you didn't make a solid amount from all the men throwing bills at you, but rent was being raised constantly.

Eventually, 8 pm came and you made your way to the strip club, duffle bag slung over your shoulder. You greeted a few of your coworkers before heading to your designated locker room to change.

As you stepped in, the door shutting behind you, you heard the click of the lock and whirled around.

"Change. And then meet me in the VIP room" Bucky commanded, eyes darkening as his gaze trailed down your body. "Don't even think about going on stage, dorogoy."

You opened your mouth to say something but he unlocked the door and slammed it shut, leaving you speechless once more.

Quickly changing into a lacy blue lingerie that you knew drove him crazy, you slipped on your silk robe and put on a pair of navy blue heels before making your way to the VIP room.

Raising your fist to knock, the door swung open before your knuckles even touched the wood. You walked in nervously, hands clasped behind your back as you heard the door shut and once again, the click of the lock.

When he turned to face you, you could notice a slight bruising on his left cheek and a small gash sewn up with a few stitches hidden by his hair.

When he reached for you, you took a small step back, hating the frustrated look on his face.

"I paid you for your time, not for you to stand around like a fucking coward" he growled, the building stress from missions and long meetings starting to bubble up.

"Bucky... why are you injured?" you asked quietly, meeting his hardened gaze.

"Not your business" he answered flatly, stepping towards you as you backed up until your back hit the cold door. You could feel his body heat against your skin, his arms caging you in.

"Just let me have this moment" he whispered, lowering his head so his lips were a breath away from yours, pupils blown wide from lust.

Before you could think through your decision, your need for him won out and your lips crashed into his, immediately pulling him closer by his shirt.

When he trailed his metal hand down your body to brush over a pebbled nipple through your bra, you let out a moan from the sensation, his tongue slipping into your mouth when your lips parted.

You already knew he would win out the fight for dominance, not that you could even call it a fight as your tongues slid together. Two taps on your thigh told you to jump up, his other arm supporting your weight as you wrapped your legs around your waist.

"Sexy little tease, you know I love how this looks on you" he growled, hands kneading your ass. Walking across the room to the plush couch, his lips never left yours before he threw you horizontally onto the cushions.

Quickly tugging off his henley as your hands reached up to undo his belt buckle, you could already feel the strain of his hardening cock against the fabric of his jeans. Tugging the belt through the loops and letting it fall to the floor, you gave a light squeeze on his bulge, eliciting a low groan.

"You know not to tease me" he hissed, pushing you back down on the couch as he shed his jeans. Getting back on the cushions, he hovered above you before attaching his lips to your neck, sucking hard.

Mewling, you arched your back into his touch, metal hand roaming your body one more, lower and lower until he brushed over your slick folds. Gently rubbing a line up and down as the dampness in your panties spread, he kissed down your body until he reached the apex of your thighs.

"Look at this pretty pussy, all mine" he mumbled against your inner thigh, hands forcing them apart after tugging your lace panties off.

Delivering a harsh smack to your clit, you wailed from the pleasure mixing with the pain as he started to circle your clit.

"Bucky...." you moaned, hand reaching down to thread through his hair before gripping his hair harshly when his tongue ran through your folds.

"Always so sweet for me, kukla..." his tongue dipped inside of you, earning another low moan from you. "So needy..."

Without warning, he thrusted two fingers inside of you, the cool contrast of the metal adding to the pleasure as he flicked your clit back and forth with his tongue. He knew how to play you, how to get you to come in an instant or how to drag out the pleasure.

Today, however, he was impatient, needing to be buried balls deep inside of you. Speeding up his fingers, he crooked them just so to graze that inner spot in you, a third joining the two.

Your thighs clamped around his head when he reached his thumb up to circle your clit before reattaching his mouth to it, your arousal gushing around his fingers.

"F-fuck, Bucky..." you moaned, toes curling and back arching off the couch once more as he helped you ride out your orgasm.

"Soaked my fingers, next time I'll have you soak my face" he smirked, not giving you a chance to catch your breath as he pulled you up to straddle his lap.

Tugging off his boxers, his cock sprang free, the tip hitting his abdomen. Pre-cum beaded at the tip, his length perfectly curved just the slightest bit.

"Bucky, you're to big for me to-"

"Suck it up like a big girl, I'll ruin you for anyone else if I haven't already"

Jealousy. He hadn't been possessive before yesteray, you were just a release for him.. right?

Before you could dwell on the thought further, he gripped your hips and slammed you down on his cock, a scream ripping from your throat.

"Can't" you protested, trying to adjust as he rubbed circles on your clit to distract you from the pain.

"You can and you will" he growled, lifting your hips up again until only his tip was inside you before thrusting up into you.

As you started to find your rhythm on his length, each downward motion of your hips was met with a rough thrust up, the angle always hitting the perfect spot in you.

"Feel so good for me, dorogoy" he groaned, starting to feel your walls flutter around him, one hand tweaking your nipple as he bit dark marks from your neck to your chest.

"J-James... I-, fuck!" you screamed, eyes rolling back, gripping his shoulders as you clenched around his cock, squirting all over his lap.

The sound of his given name being screamed pushed him over the edge, hot ropes of his cum painting your insides and dripping out of you as he lazily thrusted up to prolong the pleasure.

Collapsing sated against him, a thin sheen of sweat covered both your bodies, his thumb rubbing circles on your hips, lips lazily moving against yours.

"(Y/N)..." he whispered, unable to pull himself away from you, all willpower diminishing.

"hmmm..." you hummed quietly, fingers idly playing with his dog tags when you noticed something new. There was a new addition to the chain around his neck, a third dog tag that sat closest to his heart.

Engraved on it was your name and the date you first met and fucked.

"When did you get this?" you asked softly, the tip of your index finger tracing the engraving, ignoring the small flutter in your chest.

"Couple days ago" he answered, voice kept even to mask the emotion.

"And you didn't tell me?"

"Thought it wasn't important" he lied, meeting your curious gaze.

"You are a terrible liar, Mr. Barnes" you huffed, starting to move off his lap when he stopped you.

"Solnyshko" he warned, sighing as you looked at him pointedly. He released his hold, helping you move off his lap and stabilize you before slipping your robe back on.

He ran a hand through his hair after he quickly got dressed, striding towards the door before turning back and walking back to you.

Gripping your chin, he forced you to meet his eyes, clenching his jaw before he spoke.

"You belong to me. You don't go on that stage anymore. The only name you scream will be mine. And soon enough, I'll get you out of this shithole of a place and take you back to mine" he murmured before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash, as always. Placing it in your hand, he gave you one last look before walking away.

Possessiveness. Lust. Need, and something more.

You hurried back to your designated room, grabbing your heels when you paused at the small slip of paper on your vanity desk.

Written in messy scrawl was a phone number and a short message.

Call me. And the injuries were from a recon mission. -JBB

A/N: thank you all for your support 🫶🏻 Like and reblog as you wish

[vincestead]

Vintage Quality Belt Buckles, Bolo Ties, Sterling Silver, Copper Cookware, Zippo Lighters, Navy Items, Print on Demand Items, and other fun cool stuff to check out!

VintageBeltBucklesAndBoloTies.com

Etsy.com/shop/VintageCopperAndMore

[velnoni]

Idk if ur doing it rn or anything, but as a southern person, I beg of you to pretty please write the fic where the southern reader charms stan! That sounds so cute (no pressure tho, I just really like the idea)

The way I was looking up southern dialects and looking at Fiddleford fics for reference was hilarious. I never wrote a strong dialect before, so I hope I did okay!

Southern Reader x Stan

It's been a minute since the three out you spent some quality time amongst each other that didn't involve something straight out of a nightmare. You swear the Pines family always had a tendency to attract something bizarre, and that's only mildly putting it. But with Soos managing the Shack and Ford, trying his hand at being social much his distaste, the three of you decided to hang out at a small gathering at edge of Gravity Falls, a small get together for the grown folks if you will.

You opted for something light and classy, with some gold jewelery adorning your neck. As you checked your fit to make sure everything was intact, you heard the stairs squeaking as someone came down. You peer over to see Stan fidgeting about with his tie, lips turnt down as his fingers got caught up in the fabric. He was wearing an emerald green button-down shirt with black slacks and a gold buckle belt. His hair was slicked back with a few strands hanging out. He cussed under his breath, muttering about how useless ties are.

But he looked good. Real good.

"Stanley, why ya fightin' yer tie like a snake and eagle caught up inna brawl?" Stan face visibly scrunched up at you speaking to him, grumbling at your metaphor. You laugh at him and take a few strides before shooing his hands away and patting down the fabric. Stan starts to protest a tad, but you hush him. "We'll be 'ere till the sun n' moon touch an' kiss each other g'night if I don't do it for ya. Now hold still." As you're focused on fixing Stan's tie and looping it around properly, you don't notice how his cheeks flush or how he clenches his fist as he takes in your concentrated look. How his eyes linger just a second too long on your face and your neck where the gold necklace resided. He was annoyed at how he was acting like never touched anyone before.

With a final loop and tug, the navy tie falls neatly onto Stan's broad chest. You pat him lightly, your fingers lingering as you eye him up and down teasingly.

"I must say, Stan-boy ya lookin' mighty fine 'ere all gussied up outta dat mystery suit ya love to wear." You watch Stan choke on his own saliva and look away from you. "Damn brat..." he hissed lightly. You pay him no mind, understanding he's flustered & not used to genuine compliments, and pat his shoulder. "Just complimentin' is all. Can't expect ta' mosey all round the falls prettier than a glob of butter meltin' ona stack of pancakes an' spect me ta be all hush hush bout it!" You cackle and turn your attention up to Ford as he comes down the stairs, waving hello and hugging him, calling him prettier than a peach.

Ford as well, with tinted cheeks thanks you before turning to his brother. "Stanley, are you ready to go— Why is your face so red?" You feigning innocent, tack onto Ford's question.

"I concur. Stanford, reckon figurin n tellin' me why yer twin been actin' like a bump on a log? Face more redder than a rooster's wattle," you smirked as Stan glared at you. "It's nothing. Now, let's get this show on the road already!" How adorable.

*please like and reblog, I'd appreciate it!

[shadowsndaisies]

athena; the preamble

WC: 3k

synopsis: athena at a glance basically

main masterlist

athena-verse master post

a/n: i know I should be working on cnng, but this idea has just fully taken root. the brain rot is real.... please come talk to me about it... please

Having Maverick for a dad is exactly what it sounds like.

He played fast and loose with the rules of the Navy, which made him a highly decorated captain, but at the end of the day, he had two loves in his life, the Navy and his daughter. Despite the risks he took and the chances he played with, you never doubted your dad's love. You did, however, have to learn to speak his language.

That meant early mornings in the hangar, learning how to fix up engines and motors of relics. It meant doing homework on base after school. It meant learning ranks and callsigns as a kid. And so you did. You did it all. You learned poker and swindled more than a few Navy men before you'd even hit puberty. You smiled pretty for every commanding officer your father's managed to piss off. It also meant developing a need for speed.

Having Maverick for a dad meant being on edge every time he got deployed. It meant spending his deployments with Uncle Ice and Aunt Sarah and your summers with Aunt Carole and Bradley.

Every deployment that fell during the school year was spent based out of the Kazansky house. You didn't mind too much. Uncle Ice and your dad always had each other's back, a bond forged in loss, that much you knew. Aunt Sarah acted like a mom; she cooked hot meals and taught you how to make some of your favorites. You spent time with their kids and went to school with them, too. It was fun spending time with Ryan and Elizabeth Kazansky. Ryan was about five years younger than you but a ball of energy, and little Lizzie was a planner and was often your partner in crime despite being eight years younger than you.

There were the odd in-betweens when your dad would have someone he trusted enough to watch you. That being said, you'd only ever spent a few deployments with someone not named Bradshaw or Kazansky; the exception was always one woman, Penny Benjamin.

You weren't an idiot.

Having Pete Mitchell for a dad meant wising up quick. Meant quick humor and a reckless streak that you had to work twice as hard to overcorrect and suppress because you both knew he'd never be the one to police you on it. It meant a semi-stable home life but so much love and too many role models. It also meant a fluctuating Penny.

Penny, who met your dad years before you were born. Penny, who you knew your dad loved and who loved your dad, even though they never seemed to get their timing right. Penny, who taught you how to sail, throw a proper punch, and French braid. Who showed you how to open a beer bottle without an opener in several different ways, using a belt buckle, a spoon, and your house keys? Penny, who was.. a mom. As much as you are reluctant to admit it publicly, Penny Benjamin was probably the closest thing you had to a mom because even though Aunt Sarah loved you and cared for you like she did with Elizabeth, she was always Aunt Sarah, never Mom. Even Aunt Carole, who was your godmother, could never truly fill the void of mother even though you know she tried her best to help you with the parts you missed out on. Penny was the only one who came close, at least when she was around she was.

Summers, though, were your favorite. Whether or not your dad was on deployment, you spent every summer in Virginia with the Bradshaws. You had a room that Carole always referred to as "little Miss Mitchell's room" and a best friend who taught you so much more about life.

Bradley.

Bradley, who taught you how to swing a bat and throw a football. Bradley, who gave you your first driving lesson when your dad got deployed before he could. Bradley, who you talked with weekly when you weren't living under the same roof. Bradley, who let you make fun of his name when you needed an easy out, Brad Brad, had been the running joke.

Bradley always had your back; he piggybacked you home when you skinned your knees during your skater girl summer. He took you out of the way to your favorite ice cream place whenever you had cramps and planted himself on the sofa with you to watch Sabrina, the Teenage Witch, and I Dream of Jeanie when you refused to move. Bradley, who ate the things you cooked when you'd test out Aunt Sarah's recipes and forgave you while throwing up when you gave him food poisoning when you were thirteen, who still trusted what you put in front of him even after that (though he had gotten you a meat thermometer and written up a cheat sheet to ensure you knew when it was fully cooked).

And you had his.

When Aunt Carole died, you mourned for months. Navy royalty knocked on your dad's door to share their condolences with the teen for weeks. Bradley had been seventeen at the time, about to start his senior year of high school. He completed that year back in San Diego. He'd had friends and people who cared for him in Virginia, who'd offered their homes for his final year of high school, but when your dad offered, he clung to the familiarity that was Mav. That year, your dad had a few deployments, and all of them were short. Looking back, you wonder if Uncle Ice had pulled strings to ensure that. Either way, when Bradley went to his senior prom, Mav was there. He filmed the awkward getting-ready stage, caught on camera as you helped Bradley tie his tie, and you got a great moment of Mav doing the last inspection before Bradley left to pick up his date.

You spent all your free weekends that spring at every single one of Bradley's baseball games. Aunt Sarah would come to every home game, and little Lizzie and Ryan loved screaming and cheering for Brad's mama. Look at Brad Brad go!

Bradley grieved and cried, and he was so incredibly sad and heartbroken. But he was still Bradley. He was still your best friend. He intimidated any guy who got too close and was the only person outside your father who you could love one second and be planning his murder the next. Bradley was your best friend; he was until he wasn't.

Until papers were pulled and words were exchanged, Bradley stormed out one day and never came back.

You found him; of course you did. He was your best friend. And even though you coaxed him out of his hiding spot, words were said. Phrases hurled at you that targeted the softest of spots that only he knew about. You held together; you had to. You got him at Viper's and left him there. You went to Ice's. You didn't talk to your dad for months, and Bradley never spoke to him again.

He reached out to you during your senior year of high school in an email apologizing for how he lashed out at you. You never responded. A scabbed spot in your heart that used to belong to him, still too raw to touch. He kept emailing, though. Random updates, more apologies, congratulations, and happy birthdays. You read every email, but you never could bring yourself to respond. Then, four years had gone by.

Bradley's bi-weekly email arrived when you were in your second year of university. You read it, reread it, and then read it a third time. Aviation Officer Candidate School. You weren't surprised; you knew Bradley wouldn't abandon his dream. You never thought he would, but being faced with the reality of it weighed heavily. Bradley being selected for AOCS was proof of his dedication. OCS, in general, required sponsors within the Navy and was much more difficult to get into than the Naval Academy; they only took individuals with a bachelor's degree to start with. However, for Bradley to get into AOCS, specifically the aviation program, someone up the ladder had to have helped. The more you sat with it, the harder it became to figure out who. It could have been Viper, who had dealt with an Angry, Confused, and Isolated Bradley for the remainder of his senior year and the summer, probably every summer after that. Or maybe it was Ice, cleaning up the mess your dad had made, just as he always did.

Your dad had cost Bradley four years in the Navy, but this program might help him bridge it, at least to some degree.

For the first time since the day you dropped him at Viper's, you respond.

Congratulations, Bradley, I'm glad you're achieving your dream.

That was it.

You didn't tell your dad. But you heard about it when he found out. Ice, thankfully, had given you a heads-up. You played dumb; you knew better than to admit to the emails. Your dad was strong and stubborn, but you'd seen what his and Bradley's blowout had done to him. The hollowness that followed him, the pain in his eyes at every memento and reminder. The ache in his heart is located between the gaps titled Goose and Carole.

He hadn't told you why he'd pulled Bradley's papers. You'd made (somewhat) peace (begrudgingly) with that when you finally let your dad back into your life nearly two months after the Pulling of the Papers, and only because he almost died in a bird strike and you as his next of kin had been notified upon his hospitalization.

When he heard about AOCS, though, the secret came spilling out. Carole asked me, and she gave me one request. You'd known your dad had a private conversation with Carole Bradshaw on her deathbed. You and Bradley had been asked to stand outside her hospital room while they talked. When you were allowed back in, they both had tears in their eyes. You'd always assumed it had something to do with Goose, and to an extent, you were right. Carole Bradshaw was one of the strongest women you'd ever met, but it seemed even she was afraid of the price you pay to the Navy for the honor of serving your country.

You weren't sure what drove you to it.

It could have been Bradley's transition into AOCS.

The truth your dad had finally shared.

Or because you still felt like you had something to prove.

Maybe even that need for speed that had never been handled properly.

But you enrolled in your university's Navy ROTC program that same week.

The most surprising part of the change was how easily it came. Orders sounded like they did on the bases you grew up on. Your history, lineage, and contacts helped get you started and acted as an excuse for your late decision to join. You found some semblance of peace in ROTC as if the missing parts of the puzzle were starting to become visible.

You weren't sure how you managed to get through ROTC and into your first year as a Naval officer without your dad finding out, but you did. And by then, it was too late for him to do to you what he'd done to Bradley.

Bradley, to his credit, had a mellower response, only because he didn't have your phone number anymore and could only type an email in caps lock to convey his yelling. He did include it on the bottom, though; I wish I'd thought of ROTC. I could've sped the pipeline along more.

You hadn't responded to any emails since his admission into AOCS, and if you watched his college graduation and sent a gift to Ice to pass off to him, that was nobody's business but yours.

Your dad was… displeased.

But he kept calling. He didn't freeze you out, and you didn't have it in you to do it to him again. So you talked, told him how training was, and when he finally asked you why? In such a pained voice, you told him the truth. There was no tangible reason, just that you had to do it, that this was your path. Safe to say, it wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear.

Becoming an Aviator was difficult. Not only because of the requirements and the toll it takes. Not only because you were a woman. But because you faced accusations of nepotism at every turn. You were, however, your father's daughter, and his lack of movement within the Navy did not diminish his accomplishments. You learned. You learned from the best. From your teachers, from your peers, from your dad, and from the men you considered uncles. And you showed everyone what you were capable of. You were a Naval Aviator within a year of graduating from college and the ROTC program, achieving the rank quicker than almost anyone following the same pipeline. You made a name for yourself using your brain. Where people were quick to assume nepotism, you were quick to show them your dry wit, sharp tongue, and tactical thinking.

That's where the callsign came from. Athena was the Greek goddess of wisdom and war, daughter of Zeus, and king of the gods. It fit well.

You did two and a half years as a Naval Aviator Officer in training in Norfolk and another two in Japan as a Junior Officer before you got the call.

Top Gun.

Returning to San Diego was… nostalgic. Being on the Miramar base even more so. You faced criticism of nepotism from your peers here as well; never mind that only the top two percent of naval aviators are invited to Top Gun to begin with. But you worked hard and proved your calling had more to do with wisdom and war than whose daughter you were. You came out of it with two friends: a pilot named Brigham Lennox, callsign: Harvard, and his WSO Logan Lee, callsign: Yale. Both of whom were the only two to wise up within the first day and realize you are so much more than your name.

It's also why the three of you were at the top of your class.

Afterward, Yale and Harvard are sent to Oceana, off the East Coast, where you knew Bradley had been based on his emails. And you were kept in state and sent to Lemoore. You preferred that, not that you'd say so. But being in-state meant being able to visit with Ice, even when you knew he wasn't doing so well, and it meant you could continue to avoid Bradley in peace. At Lemoore, you got placed with the VFA-14, the Tophatters, also known as the oldest currently active aircraft squadron in the US Navy. There's a lot of history attached there, a legacy to make proud of, as Ice and Viper would like to remind you when you'd join them for a monthly poker game.

Being stationed with the Tophatters came with two significant perks: Natasha Trace, callsign: Phoenix, and Jake Seresin, callsign: Hangman. Stationed with the VFA-41 (Black Aces) and VFA-151 (Vigilantes) respectively. Despite the fact that the two of them could not stand each other, you formed friendships with them both. In Natasha, you found someone who understood the uphill battle for women in service, but more than that, you found someone who kept it honest, called it like she saw it, and loved you for who you were.

With Jake, it was different. His bravado and charm worked, but not on you. Where other pilots got fed up with his cocky bullshit, you were able to stay leveled and see through. A benefit you shared once after a few beers of being raised by the best of the best. There must have been a sharper edge to your reminisces than you remember because Jake never made a nepo baby joke after that. A casual one here or there, but none at the heart of it, none with genuine malice. Not like he had in the beginning.

Jake allowed you to be. Rough edges and jagged ends. He kept your feet on the ground when you spent most of your day in the skies. You like to think you balanced him out a bit, too. Able to keep him from getting too stuck in the clouds, too sure of himself. You were always happy to knock him down a peg or two; truthfully, sometimes, he needed you to do so.

You found happiness on Commander, Carrier Wing Nine in the Strike Fighter Wing Pacific. You excelled in your squad and gained recognition and honors, ribbons that decorated your lapel. You talked with your dad, mostly about random things, given the confidentiality of both his and your assignments, but you found time. Ice and Sarah checked in, and Viper, too. And every time your feet were on solid ground, they found time for a barbecue or a poker game, or both, usually both.

You still read Bradley's emails. Bi-weekly had turned to monthly, and even then, they didn't come every month, but they did come, always with a reason, just as they had been for the last decade and change. You never could figure out why he kept sending them. You'd thought about replying, now, years after the rage and pain and grief you'd held onto had been let go of, nothing productive ever came from holding on too tight, you'd learned. But Bradley sent the emails, sometimes signing his name as Bradley or Rooster, but on the nostalgic ones, he'd always put Brad Brad, an olive branch, you knew, but you never could get yourself to click send on the drafts you'd write out, dozens of them sitting in the drafts folder as it was.

You'd found your space; it wasn't perfect, but it was yours.

And then you got recalled.

And so did 'Nix.

And Jake.

Then the email came in, and they're calling me back to Top Gun for some detachment. Maybe I could find time to come to Lemoore?

And then your dad hit Mach 10 and was missing in action for over five hours, only to be found in some small-town diner in the middle of nowhere Idaho.

He was sent back to Miramar, too.

And you were left wondering what the fuck was happening now, flying down with Phoenix and Hangman on your wings, and why it seemed to be colliding all the fragments of your world.

...

everything tags: @butterfly-skinnylegend

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap six/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

I Don’t Know You, But I Want To

summary: Sometimes curiosity has consequences.

wc: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters, mentions of death, hints on how Steve’s wife died, bouts of self consciousnesses.

authors note: sorry guys, you knew this chapter had to happen. i promise i’ll make up for it! enjoy a few more easter eggs from @carolmunson ‘s orange colored sky in here. I’ve had so much fun talking about these two old men’s friendship with you!

🌇 <- chapter five -> chapter seven

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:

End of June

You didn’t realize when Steve asked you to water his plants, that he meant in just three short days after the almost kiss in his kitchen. The opposite schedules the two of you seem to always work made it so you hardly got a glimpse of him before he and Bandit disappeared to Starved Rock for what you learned was their annual camping trip.

The Good Morning Tough Girl texts started the next day after your number exchange, waking you up with a kaleidoscope of butterflies twisting and turning in your stomach and a smile so big it made your cheeks hurt. It helped you get over only getting to physically see him one time through your living room window before he left. Your phone had vibrated at your feet while you watered your now flourishing Ivy thanks to the new curtains you were proud to say were installed by yourself. You chanced a glance down at your lit up screen, his name flashing with a text that said: How’d I never realize how pretty my view is from the front yard?

The corners of your mouth twitched, flames licking underneath your cheeks when your eyes caught his out your window. The big dopey smile that took over his face made you giggle as he waved eagerly, dressed nice like he had been the morning you ran into him last week. You wiggled your fingers, biting your bottom lip at the way his dark navy button up looked tucked into the waist of his black slacks. The leather belt looked nicer than the last one, the silver of the buckle blinding in the setting sun. His hair was freshly done, free of any signs of those big hands of his. The stubble on his jaw was gone again, but you learned that was never for very long. 

Another buzz: Going to dinner with a client, wish it was fish tacos with you instead.

Steve feels like he won the lottery when he can see the way your face lights up from his spot in his front yard. Eddie’s voice rings loudly inside his head, sticking to every single one of his negative thoughts like glue telling him it’s okay and he finally starts to believe it, especially when he gets a text back from you.

Maybe next time 😉

It’s thunderstorming the day you go over, the key tucked away in a lockbox by his door. He gave you access by texting the code the night before with a promise to take you to dinner as a thank you when he got back. The nerves that dance inside you feel like they did the first time you came here when you stand in front of the stained glass of his front door even though he’s five hours away. 

It’s quiet, the lively energy from a few nights ago gone with the man. The cedar of his candle still lingers thick in the air and you can’t help but inhale deeply. It smells like him. You leave your shoes and umbrella on his front porch, closing the door gently like you were scared to wake someone up. The pattering of the rain on his windows fills the silence, your shoulders dropping in the serenity. Pulling your phone from your back pocket you look through your texts with the list of the rooms the plants were in. 

Only three — his office and living room on the first floor and his bedroom on the second.  

The coffee white oak floors creak under your socked feet as you take your first apprehensive steps past the entryway. He left the watering can on the kitchen island just like he said he would, your skin pebbles when you’re brought back to the last time you were in here. The sun fights to shine through the thick storm clouds outside, making the lighting that bleeds through his windows soften everything up. The water from the sink hits the metal of the can, mixing perfectly with the rain. 

You wish he was here.

The can is heavy in your hands when you stop at the doorway of the living room, the contents inside sloshing around and daring to spill onto his floor. You curse under your breath with a pause to take in the room you only got a glimpse of before. There’s an electric fireplace, tall black steel that takes up most of the wall next to the sliding glass door that leads to his small backyard. 

Two large beige area rugs cover most of the wood floors in here, a cream frayed trim lining them. Bandit’s bed sits big, fluffy and dark brown nestled by the fireplace, giving him a perfect view out the window. Strands of his lighter hairs leave behind evidence that this might be his favorite spot in the house. A woven basket filled with various chew toys that look freshly tossed in isn’t very far from it. The rain comes down harder but you can still see the spots of lime green littering the grass where the rambunctious German shepherd left his tennis balls. Spoiled.

The cognac color of his leather couch set is rich, and it shines even in the dim lighting like it was freshly lotioned. It looks like the kind of comfortable where the cushions mold against the weight of your body - soft, inviting, the one in the middle looking a little more worn in than the rest. This must be Steve’s favorite spot. 

Your eyes meet the 65” TV mounted to the wall in front of it and realize why. The coffee table matches the dark color of the floors. The candle that was the culprit for the smell of his house sitting in the middle next to three remotes lined perfectly next to each other.

There’s a long, taller companion table that sits at the other doorway that leads back out to the landing of his staircase. Framed pictures, bottles of various liquors of all shades and crystal cocktail glasses cover the top of it. 

What does he think of your place?

You try to push the intrusive thought down as you make your way to the lush Monstera plant that sits in a white pot on top of wooden legs next to the sliding glass door. Its leaves hang heavy, clearly taken care of. The deep emerald of it reminds you of what Steve’s eyes look like sometimes. The soil takes what you give it greedily, barely leaving enough for the few smaller plants that rest on shadow shelves along his gray walls. A few of them make you stand on your tiptoes to reach.

Curiosity wins on your way to refill the can, crossing the room to look at the framed pictures. You aren’t surprised when you see one of Eddie and Bandit as a puppy, it looks like the first day they brought him home. Eddie’s dimples show in a bright smile as he looks at the camera with Bandit’s big bubble gum pink tongue pressed sloppily against a clean shaven cheek.

The other is of Steve and a curly haired boy at a college graduation, they both look like they were caught in the middle of laughing at something. You can’t help your own smile when you look at it. Steve looks a little younger, a little less gray in his hair like it had only just started. He’s wearing wire rim glasses, and that crisp white dress shirt you like him in so much. He looks happy.

The last one is of Steve and Bandit. A selfie taken at sunrise, Bandits tongue sticks out and you swear he’s smiling just like his handsome owner that has him pulled against his side. A part of a tent peaks over his shoulder and you wonder if this is where they’re at right now.

You’re hit with the smell of his cologne when you open his office door, your thighs pressing together when you imagine him sitting in the big black leather chair behind an even bigger, matching colored desk. Glass cased baseball memorabilia takes space on one of his walls, along with plaques of achievements from his job. There’s framed pictures of him shaking hands of baseball players you couldn’t name, but you’re sure a normal person who liked sports could. There’s a tall bookshelf on the other side of the room. The spines all glossed, bright bold wording of sports memoir’s, marketing guides, and what looks like college course advertising books.

The floor of this room is carpeted with the same color as the area rugs in his living room. Your footsteps are a little more careful as you try not to spill any water on it as you make your way to the three hanging spider plants in the window that overlooks his front yard. 

Your nose catches a hint of the cigars you know he smokes as you get closer to his desk. He must keep them in here. A silver closed MacBook sits on top of it, another baseball — only this one is signed and kept safe in a glass case. There's a Polaroid of Bandit with a cubs hat on his head with a laughing Peach barely visible behind him. The obvious closeness of the three of them makes you realize how much he let you into his world the other night. 

A world where he wanted to kiss you.

You curse under your breath when you almost spill water on the carpet, too lost in realization of what this could be.

When you reach your final destination on the second floor, you stop at his closed door. Your hand hovers over the knob, heart hammering so hard in your chest like he was waiting for you on the other side. Taking a deep breath through your nose, you exhale through your lips - willing your nerves to give you mercy. There’s a soft click when you turn the knob and the quietest noise from the hinges when you push it open.

The crisp white of his fluffy duvet that covers his king size bed, mutes the gray of his walls. The olive green throw at the end of it that matches the area rug under the bed, the warmth of the color relaxes your senses. Your breathing evens out, your heart rate slows down. 

There’s another dog bed at the foot of his that matches the one downstairs and you wonder how often Bandit really sleeps in this one at night. The lack of hair on it compared to the other one tells you not very often. Your cheeks tingle fiercely when you see the mirror you got a glimpse of his bare chest through, your eyes quickly finding the bathroom he had come out of. 

“Jesus Christ,” you grumble to yourself, trying to push back the memory while standing alone in his bedroom. 

There’s another Monstera by his window that you can see your bedroom out of. The last one on the list. You have to pass by another large dresser on your way, even more pictures sit on top of it, taking up the space that was left next to a cherry wood watch box. Another cedar candle sits behind the framed pictures, the scent lingering in the air despite not being lit.

The plants take what’s left in the watering can, and you peek out the window just to see what he sees. The navy curtains you’d hung up are half open giving you a perfect glimpse into your room, the pile of dirty laundry you plan to do after this perfectly visible. You gulp audibly.

The can swings loosely in your hand when you walk to the dresser, a smirk already forming on your lips at the thought of what these ones will tell you about him. Your eyes land on one of him in between Eddie and Peach on what seems to be their wedding day, both of them placing sloppy kisses on either cheek. The big dopey grin face doesn’t hide the tear stains. The White Chapel sign behind them tells you it’s Vegas, and the way Steve is dressed as a much sexier Elvis only confirms your suspicions. 

Next to that one is a picture of Steve, only he looks really young- fresh out of high school young. Biting your lip into a smile at the volume of his hair, he’s leaning against a maroon BMW with pants so tight you're sure they made all the girls flustered. You shake your head with a roll of your eyes before taking in the brown curly haired girl sticking her head out of the back seat window. Another girl with honey waves pushing her head out in the small space next to her, you swear you can hear the giggles that are so evident on their faces.

Thunder cracks loudly outside, bringing you back with a jump. You’re dreading the short walk home. You glance out the window wearily before bringing your attention back to the little bit of Steve scattered over the top of his dresser. Then you see it. You see her.

The frame that holds the picture is silver, the words ‘always and forever’ etched across the bottom. It’s taken somewhere tropical and Steve looks like he’s your age in it, his jaw somehow sharper, his hair blonder. His smile is so big it shows all of his teeth, a bright yellow short sleeve button up that makes his skin look golden. The top two buttons undone revealing the chest hair you’d gotten a few glimpses of. He’s glowing. 

She’s just as beautiful, big bright green eyes and dark chestnut hair that falls in effortless curls down to her chest. They look natural, like she didn’t have to do it herself. She’s tucked into his side in what looks like seats in the back of a boat, the coral dress that flows over the curves of her body makes your stomach turn. The big rock on her hand rested purposefully on his chest tells you exactly what this picture is.  

Jealousy twists green in a tight knot inside of you, guilt you weren’t expecting makes you feel nauseous when you see what’s hanging off the corner of the frame. A dark teal rubber bracelet with the words Team ALS Chicago 2022 in white font.

Lightning flashes white hot, making something gleam and catch in the corner of your eye from his watch box. Taking a closer look, the tightening of your chest at what you find makes the air leave your lungs all at once when you see their wedding rings tucked in between the soft white cushions inside the box. 

The reality of the situation hits you like a ton of bricks. Steve had a whole life before he met you. A life with someone beautiful, someone he didn’t fall out of love with, someone who didn’t break his heart, someone who, if things were different he’d still be with.

If you moved next door in that reality, you’d just be someone he’d maybe wave to from time to time, not paying any mind to the thirty year old girl already suffering through a midlife crisis next door. The girl who moved to the city with no friends and no plan. The college drop out. The opposite of the well put together woman that belonged hanging off his chest like that, with a ring on her finger that could pay off your credit card debt and then some.

How can you compete with a ghost? The nagging feeling that you’ll always be second best already stings and he hasn’t even picked you yet.

You try to blink away the tears that threaten to spill out, feeling stupid for being this upset over what started off as a silly crush, it really shouldn’t hurt this much. The cedar that comforted you feels like it's suffocating now. Like he’s here. The thought of bringing the watering can down doesn’t even cross your mind when you leave it on the dresser to make your escape.

The breath that comes out through trembling lips is shaky, still, you're proud of the fact that you haven’t cried yet. 

Tough girl. 

When you open the front door, it's windier than when you first got here, the sun starting its disappearing act for the moon. It makes the summer storm match the one brewing inside of you. You shove your feet into your shoes before pulling the door shut behind you. You lock the key back into the box, before grabbing your umbrella. Your vision goes blurry but you don’t give into it, telling yourself it’s stupid to be so upset. The buzz of your phone in your back pocket is what stops you from taking the first step off his porch. 

Steve

Found a spot with some service on our hike, just wanted to check in. Hope you got into the house okay. Bandit says he misses you.

The dam that you’d worked so hard to build breaks, tears falling down your face like the rain falling from the sky. You sniffle, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand before you reply to him for what you tell yourself is the last time. It’ll hurt less like this, it’s better for both of you this way. At least that’s what you try to tell yourself before you hit send.

Plants are watered 👍

beta’d by: @superblysubpar

dividers by @newlips

chapter seven

[walidgoldpreppy]

Anthony become Tonygold

Anthony wakes early that morning, roused from his sleep by a dull excitement he can’t suppress. The sound of a delivery truck outside reminds him of the reason for his unusual haste; his new clothes have arrived. After quickly getting ready, he rushes to the front door, where several large packages are waiting for him, neatly stacked.

The mere sight of these packages fills him with a mixture of satisfaction and haste. He begins to unpack them one by one, with almost ceremonial care. Each piece he discovers is a promise of transformation, one step closer to the sartorial perfection he now aspires to.

The first package contains several suits, all neatly stored in protective covers. The heavy, thin fabric slips through his fingers as he begins to hang them on his clothes rail.

He chooses to try on the navy plaid suit first.  He puts on the pants, which fall perfectly on his hips, without needing any alterations. The fabric is both light and structured, adapting to each movement with an almost unsettling precision. Then, he puts on the jacket, fitted, with slightly reinforced shoulders, giving him an even more confident posture. He looks at himself in the mirror, observing the fine white lines of the checks that accentuate the natural elegance of the suit. He knows that this two-piece will become one of his favorites for work days.

Moving on to the shirts, Anthony chooses a sky blue with. The cotton is soft on his skin, and he takes the time to button it slowly, appreciating the contrast between the blue of the shirt and the navy of the suit. He then adjusts his tie, a sober solid blue piece, which he tightens around his neck with an impeccable knot. The ensemble is both simple and refined, a perfect balance.

He's not done exploring yet. He moves on to the Golden Ralph Lauren sleeveless sweater, which he puts on over a white shirt. The color combination is vibrant, and the sweater gives him a superior but still neat look, perfect for more casual days at the office.

To complete it, he tries on one last accessory: a Golden bow tie. He hesitates for a moment, aware that this color stacks up enormously on his outfit but he Loves the Gold one. Tying it around his neck and adjusting it carefully, he likes this touch of shine. It adds an almost royal dimension to his ensemble. He knows he'll wear it on days when he has to impose a marked presence, where his simple appearance will have to capture attention.

Then, he tries on another suit, this time the slightly satiny grey three piece suit. The material is sublime, as he approaches the mirror, he admires the shine that gives a sensuality to the suit.  He pairs it with a grey shirt for a classic look, but chooses a Golden tie to add a touch of power. By adding a black leather belt with a Gold buckle, he feels invincible, as if this outfit will accompany him on a day where he can only succeed.

Anthony then heads to the shoes, where three pairs are waiting for him, brilliantly lined up. He chooses to try on the black brogs and Golden sheer socks. The leather is soft but strong, and the elegant cut elongates the line of his legs. He walks around his room for a moment, enjoying the sound of his footsteps, each gesture calculated, almost choreographed. He is certain that this will be his choice for today!

After reviewing a good part of his new wardrobe, Anthony contemplates the result in the mirror. Every detail is perfect: the suit, the shoes, the tie, the accessories.  He feels that every piece of clothing he wears is an extension of this new person he is becoming, a man of rigor, style, and discipline.

Finally, he runs his fingers through his hair, carefully smoothing it with a lot of gel, as if to perfect this picture he has painted of himself. He is ready for a new day, but this time, with an even more assertive confidence.

Anthony smiles, heading towards his bedroom door, his bag carefully packed with a few changes of clothes. Today, he will be impeccable, and he knows that this will only be the beginning of a long road to excellence.

Anthony, satisfied with his fittings, takes one last look at the pile of empty boxes that litter the floor of his room. As he prepares to put everything away, his gaze falls on a package that he has not yet opened. The box is slightly larger and, to his surprise, his name is written in Gold letters on the top. Intrigued, he opens it slowly, almost as if he knows that this package is different.

Inside, a set lies, folded neatly; a Gold jersey, accompanied by Gold shorts, a Gold jockstrap, Gold long socks and even Gold cleats. The clothes shine under the light, sending back hypnotic sparkles that instantly captivate his gaze. Without thinking, almost instinctively, Anthony decides to try on this strange kit.

He starts by putting on the Gold long socks.  As soon as they wrap around his calves, a strange warmth rises along his legs, as if his body reacts immediately to the contact of the fabric. His muscles seem to contract slightly, and he feels a slight pulsation under his skin.

Then, he puts on the Golden jock strap, and the effect is even more intense. A wave of pleasure runs through his spine, while his thighs tense, each muscle taking on a more defined shape. He looks down for a moment, surprised to see the firmness that is outlined under this simple garment. His penis swells, becoming hard and definitely bigger and thicker.

When he puts on the Golden shorts, the sensation becomes almost unbearable, as if every fiber of his being resonates with the precious fabric. His mind begins to fog up, logical thoughts slowly dissolve, replaced by a soothing emptiness. He knows he should be scared, but all he feels is a deep obedience, a desire to continue.

He then puts on the Golden jersey.  As soon as the fabric brushes his skin, a violent wave of heat explodes through his body. His shoulders broaden, his pecs swell, and his arms become more massive. He looks at himself in the mirror and watches, helpless and fascinated, the transformation that takes place. His muscles develop before his eyes, each fiber weaving denser, more powerful. His abs, once discreet, suddenly become defined, visible under the shiny fabric.

His breathing quickens, and with each breath, he feels his body grow in strength and stature. His mind begins to slowly fade. He is no longer Anthony, the man who worked in an office. He becomes something else. Someone else.

A member of Team Gold.

Without thinking, Anthony grabs the Golden cleats and puts them on. As soon as his feet touch the ground, a final wave of change invades him.  His eyes, once deep brown, begin to sparkle with a Golden glow. He straightens, his muscles tense, his jaw clenched. He feels powerful, implacable, as if he could conquer the world.

His mind is now filled with new thoughts, new rules. He is now devoted to the team. The goals are clear: to spread the transformation, to bring other men to join the ranks, to wear the Gold, to serve. He no longer remembers the doubts or resistances he had before.

All that matters now is the Gold team.

Anthony looks at himself one last time in the mirror, with his new eyes shining. He is no longer just a man, he is a soldier of Team Gold.

Anthony stands in front of the mirror, his massive, muscular body gleaming in his new Gold uniform. The hypnotic shimmer of the fabric seems to reflect a new identity, a new purpose. He is no longer who he used to be, but he still struggles to put this total transformation into words.

His phone vibrates on the nightstand. With an almost mechanical gesture, he picks it up and sees a message from *WalterGold* flashing on the screen.

"Welcome, TonyGold. It's time to bring the golden light to others."

The name hits Anthony like a punch to the stomach. *TonyGold.* The name resonates in his mind like a no-brainer. This is no longer Anthony, the quiet office worker. He is *TonyGold*, a dedicated player for Team Gold, ready to enforce the rules, to transform those around him.

The phone vibrates again. A call this time. It's Walter.

Anthony picks up, his fingers trembling with an excitement he only half understands. A calm and authoritative voice echoes through the device.

"*TonyGold*, you received your kit, I can feel it. How do you feel?" "Powerful", he answers without thinking, his voice deeper, more assured.

"Perfect. Your transformation is almost complete. Now, you know what you have to do."

Tony lets out a monumental load in his Gold jock strap, to signify his total submission to the Golden team. He catches his breath.

Anthony remains silent, attentive to Walter's every word.

"The team needs new players. At the office, some of your colleagues have immense potential. They don't know it yet, but they are destined to wear Gold, just like you."

"I understand." *Tony murmurs, his mind already visualizing every man in the office in a Gold jersey. 

"I will send you a hypnotic file, as planned. Your role will be to distribute it discreetly. They will have no choice. Their minds, like yours, will be captivated by the gold. And soon, they will be part of the team."

A shiver runs down TonyGold's spine at the thought of bringing his colleagues to the same Golden obedience that consumes him. His Golden eyes shine with a new light as Walter continues:

"Never forget, TonyGold, you are one of us now. The gold is in you. Every day you live, every action you take must be for the team."

"For the team." Tony repeats, his thoughts completely in sync with Walter's.

The call ends, but Walter's words still echo in his head. He knows what he must do. His Gold uniform is never leaving him, not even mentally.  TonyGold is ready to bring Gold to others, to transform those around him.

He looks at himself one last time in the mirror. His Golden eyes sparkle with unwavering devotion. He is TonyGold, and he is here to serve.

(End of part 6)

Part 5