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withahappyrefrain · 2 months ago

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Unraveled- Bob Floyd

Summary: Bob Floyd likes to think he can keep it cool. Then along comes a sundress.

Warnings: friends to lovers, smut, so much pining, language,

Bob Floyd didn't like to brag, but he considered himself pretty dang smart and sensible.

He knew the ins and outs of every jet he has flown. Hell, he could break it apart and put it back together again within a few hours, if that. He was able to quickly assess a situation, weigh the pros and cons, and come to a sound decision. It’s why he was the top WSO for the mission in Miramar.

So why has a piece of fabric thrown him for such a loop?

All Bob was trying to do was be polite. You had mentioned taking an Uber to the Hard Deck tonight and Bob knew the polite thing to do was to offer a ride. After all, he wasn't going to drink. You would save money. It's what any good friend would do. It had absolutely nothing to do with the crush he had been harboring since your first debriefing.

He was just trying to be courteous. The gentleman his Mama worked hard in raising. Getting to spend time with you, without the other members of your shared squadron around or loud music, wasn't even near the forefront of his mind when he made the offer. Bob was just trying to be a good friend. A good friend who just wanted to help. A good friend who was forcing himself to look at you through a platonic lens, not a romantic one.

Bob liked to think he was doing pretty well at that.

That is, until a dress came along and unraveled him.

Perhaps you said hello when you opened the door. You probably did, considering how polite you were. But all Bob could focus on was the way the fabric of your dress hugged your curves.

And what little fabric there was. He had seen you in civilian clothes before. But never anything like this. His mind absolutely went blank when you hugged him and he could feel how much of your bare skin was exposed. Due to the halter style of the straps, nearly your whole upper back was now perfectly visible.

“Um you-you look um nice,” Bob barely got out. He was too busy trying to burn the feeling of your soft skin into his brain. You were warm, like a walking ray of sunshine.

“Thanks! I got it yesterday and I figured with the weather being so nice, today was the perfect day to wear it!” you said, giving a little twirl. Bob tried to focus on the pattern of dress; how the green brought out your eyes.

But all he could focus on was the curves of your body, now being highlighted. The way the halter style made your breasts swell and the lack of a bra very apparent. How the fabric stopped at the top of your thighs when you spun, giving Bob a peek of what he often thought about late at night.

This was bad.

“I take it you came early to watch an episode of Love Island before we leave?” You asked as he stumbled walked in.

The truth was, Bob wasn’t a fan of reality TV. But he watched because it gave the two of you a chance to talk to one another. Just as friends, nothing more. When watching the silly show, you two could make jokes, talk about things other than work.

“Yeah! Ready to watch hot people make poor decisions again,” Bob said with a nervous laugh. The joke failed to put him at ease. If anything, it reminded him that he was about to spend at least forty minutes with you and that did not include the drive to the Hard Deck.

“You’re using my tagline!” your smile lit up your whole face. Bob was certain it could light up the whole turmac. All he could do was nod, his heart fluttering when you grabbed his hand, leading him into the living room.

"I have some kettle corn in the microwave for you! I also made cherry seltzer water!" Bob could feel heat rush to his face. You always remembered the little details that no one else seemed to pick up on; that he loved salt but had an even bigger sweet tooth. How in an attempt to cut back on soda, he switched to sparkling water. His favorite flavor was cherry because it reminded him of cherry coke.

"Did you see the video I sent you?" You gently squeezed Bob's hand as you two sat down.

"Y-yeah. You're absolutely right, having three otters would be my dream." Ever since learning about Bob's favorite animal, you had sent him every otter-related video you came across while scrolling the internet. You even got him a pair of Otter socks for his birthday. It was the fact you paid attention to seemingly minor details that made Bob fall head over heels for you.

But alas, you were a coworker. The problem at hand wasn't whether it was allowed, ‘incest’ (as Jake unfortunately called it) happened all the time in the Navy. After all, there were only so many things you could do on a ship before switching to people. No, it was the potential issues that came with dating. Rejection being the main one. Bob had no trouble believing you and he could be professional should you two date and it not work out. That happened all the time. What worried him was rejection. Having to go to work everyday and put on a facade, that things were fine. When deep down, he knew he'd be heartbroken. And even worse, he'd no longer have your friendship.

So Bob settled, as he often did when it came to love. He took comfort knowing he'd still have you, albeit as a friend instead of a partner. That should be more than enough. For the last few months, he had convinced himself that it was enough.

But God was it difficult when you bent over right to grab the remote.

The hemline of your dress inched upwards, showing off the backs of your upper thighs and-

he could see the swell of your ass. He could see the flash of red lace. Your skin looked so soft and supple and you were so close he could just reach out and-

Oh God he was hard. Oh no.

This was bad. Worse than that time he popped an erection during sex ed in middle school. There, he at least had a jacket and a desk to cover it.

But here? He was a full grown adult and San Diego’s seventy degree weather didn't give him any additional layers. Bob looked around, desperate for something, anything, to hide his cock that was currently straining against his jeans.

Thank fuck for your love of decorative pillows.

He grabbed the closest one, shaped and designed like a pomegranate. You were so excited the day you picked it up from some Facebook Marketplace deal. He had driven you, partly out of wanting to spend time with you, partly because he wanted to ensure you were safe. It was adorable and definitely shouldn’t be used for nefarious purposes, such as hiding a boner. This was wrong, so fucking wrong.

Bob was trying to think of anything and everything that would kill this boner. But his spot on the couch aligned perfectly with the entranceway of the kitchen, where you currently were, rummaging around to fix Bob a drink.

What ever happened to doors? Why were people so opposed to doors? Doors were lovely. You could close doors. Every time he tried to think of something, you were right in his line of view, turning every thought into something more devious.

His family? His family would love you. If you two got married you could make your own family.

Work? You worked with him, in that damn flight suit that clung to your every curve. No one else could make that god forsaken green fabric look good.

School? God, you were so smart. The top of your class. And witty, always ready with a clever, underhanded comeback. It’s how you two originally bonded, both having muttered something about Jake under your breath.

Bob Floyd was screwed. Thoroughly.

He tried to comfort himself with the fact that soon you two would be watching people in their early twenties making the dumbest decisions over dating. If anything were to be a boner killer, that had to be it. He just needed to make it through then.

“Bob?” Your lithe voice broke him out of his thoughts. Not that it was much of a reprieve, with the way you were standing at the kitchen entranceway with a glass of sparkling water in each hand, “You good?”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m great!” He said with an all too eager nod, desperate to convince you this was truly the case. Fuck, you were so beautiful. And you were showing so much skin. He had seen you on the beach before, adorned in athletic shorts and a sports bra. But this was different.

The dress was far too nice for the Hard Deck. No, you deserved to be taken to a nice restaurant, one with a lovely outdoor patio. The image of you sitting on a lovely chair with a glass of wine in your hand came easily to Bob. It was also the perfect dress for a picnic, particularly at the nearby park, specifically in that little secluded area. God, the idea of you laying down on a red and white checkered blanket, the hem of your dress pushed up your thighs as he leaned over you, ready to take you-

Bob leaned forward, clutching the pillow as he tried to will himself the strength to get it together.

“Bob? Are-are you okay?” You quickly placed the drinks down on the coffee table, rushing over to kneel in front of him on the couch.

Oh what a sight that was, you looking up at him with big eyes, full of concern. Your hands were on his biceps, and Bob knew if he looked down he would have the perfect view of your breasts.

It was so hot and also the very last thing Bob fucking needed.

“I’m good. Stomach doesn’t agree with what we had for lunch, that’s all.” Lying was never good, his mother instilled that in him at an early age. But in this scenario, Bob was certain the truth was much worse.

“I’ll go get you a ginger ale!” Bob opened his mouth to protest, though no words came out due to seeing not only the tops of your thighs, but a flash of your ass as you spun around to go back into the kitchen.

For a few seconds, the supple, plump flesh was so close to him. Practically within arm’s reach.

Maybe he should just leave while you were in the kitchen.

But that would be rude. Not only rude, but it would raise your suspicions if they weren’t high already. Plus, he had already promised you a ride to the Hard Deck. He couldn’t just leave you hanging, not after you brought a dress for the occasion. He may be in dire need of a cold shower, but the last thing Bob Floyd was going to do was hurt you. He squeezed the pillow, knuckles turning white as he tried to find strength. For once, he couldn’t wait to start an episode of Love Island. Hell, he would even take an episode of The Bachelor at this point.

“Here ya go,” You sat down on the couch next to him, glass of ginger ale in hand. You even remembered how much ice he preferred in his cold beverages. You were perfect.

“Thanks,” Bob slowly took one hand off the pillow, the other still holding onto it for dear life.

“You uh, like that pillow?” You chuckled, though your nerves still shined through.

“Huh? Oh yeah,” Bob looked down, ensuring his big problem was still covered, “It uh, helps my stomach!”

You raised an eyebrow, though you didn’t further question it. Instead, much to Bob’s delight, you reached for the remote, clicking through until you finally landed on the desired episode. With a shaking hand, Bob gulped down the ginger ale, promptly placing it on the coffee table so he could have both hands on the pillow.

The room was silent, saved for the ridiculous conversations happening on the TV screen. Normally you and Bob would be shoulder to shoulder, laughing as you both narrated your opinions on the contestants. But today Bob was rigid, his fingers still clutching to the pillow on his lap. He hadn’t even touched the bowl of popcorn.

"Do you like my dress?" It took everything in Bob not to groan at your question. The last thing he needed was a reason to look at you. But how could he deny himself such a chance? So he put on his best smile as he turned to face you.

"Uh yeah it's lovely. I'm sure everyone will love it-"

"I got it for you.” Your voice was soft as you hit the pause button on your remote, eyes remaining on the screen.

The words hit Bob like a freight train.

"What? Why would you-"

You shrugged, fingers toying with the short hem of your dress, "I thought maybe, if you saw me in something different, something that wasn't my flight suit or a tee shirt, that maybe you would finally notice me?”

You finally looked him in the eyes, “Maybe you'd finally notice that I've been trying to flirt with you for the last few months?"

Bob opened his mouth just to promptly close it. He thought back to the last few months, now analyzing every seemingly ordinary interaction he had with you.

The way you insisted on sitting next to each other during lunch. As well as during briefings. And when you went to the Hard Deck. Whenever a guy tried to flirt with you there, you turned them down, focusing your attention back on him, continuing your conversation about his latest D&D campaign or a Lego set you had found that reminded you of him. The way you always touched his arm, your hand lingering on his skin as you bore your eyes into his. How you always texted him. How you baked a cake for his birthday. The little trinkets you’d bring him.

Oh god, he was a fucking idiot.

The tension in the room was thick. You, sitting restlessly as you waited for Bob to acknowledge what you had said. Bob, processing your words and what they meant.

“How long?” Bob asked, his voice soft yet firm.

You chuckled as you shook your head, “Honestly? First day. We hadn’t even spoken yet. I saw you walk in and you just were….not only handsome but also looked so kind? Then you offered me a spare pencil, made that comment about Jake’s driving and I….was a goner.”

“I saw you talking to Halo before the briefing room was open,” He confessed, “She said something that made you laugh and it….it was the prettiest sight I had ever seen.”

“We’ve wasted a lot of time, huh?” You both stared ahead at the TV, still too fearful to face each other.

Bob dryly chuckled, “Yeah….a lot of time. Months, if we’re being more exact.”

The two of you remained in silence, your words sinking in. Neither sure what should be said, if anything should be said. Until finally, you spoke up.

“Bob? What’s underneath the pillow?”

His hips shifted, involuntary, “What?” For a moment, he forgot about the darn pillow and the erection he was covering with it.

The cluelessness in his voice brought a giggle, “The pillow? Why are you using it to cover your lap?”

Bob sighed, “Can I at least kiss you first?”

You nodded, moving to close the gap between you and Bob. Pillow be damned, his hands cupped your jawline, giving you a sweet smile before leaning in, closing the gap between your lips and his.

Bob Floyd’s lips were soft, no doubt due to the sweet mint chapstick you'd watch him apply countless of times. You didn't want to admit how often you'd wondered about the taste, what his hands would feel like on your body. God, they were huge. His thumbs rested comfortably on your jawline, but you could feel his other fingers spanning your neck, down to your collarbone.

The first kiss was gentle, practically modest. Your lips were only apart for several seconds, if that, before connecting again.

You easily found his shoulders, grasping them for purchase. The gap between your bodies was too much, Bob wanted to be as close as possible. So his hands trailed down your body, skimming along until they found the back of your thighs. Using his strength, he moved your body, situating you onto his lap.

A high pitched gasp fell from your lips upon feeling the bulge that was straining against his jeans. Good god, he was thick. You had heard whispers, chalking it up to typical locker room talk.

Nope, those rumors were one hundred percent true.

“I’m sorry,” Bob groaned, hands exploring your soft curves. Worst of all, he sounded earnest, only making you want to touch him more.

“I-I wore this on purpose ah-after all,” you confessed, finding it difficult to speak as he pressed open mouthed kisses along your exposed chest.

Right. You wore this on purpose. To entice him. To see if perhaps he felt the same burning desire. Once realization hit him again, Bob’s hands moved along your back, just stopping above your ass.

Wait, he was about to touch your ass.

“We-we shouldn’t,” Bob mumbled, retracting his hands from your body. You stilled, a crestfallen look painting your face.

“We shouldn’t?” Repeating the words felt like driving a knife through your heart. Had regret finally emerged, beating the rush of adrenaline? Was he going to regret this, ask that you two never speak about it ever again, pretend it never happened?

“I…” Bob sighed, “I need to take you on a date first.”

Bless his heart.

Sighing, you relaxed your body into his, resting your head in the crook of his neck, “You’re too sweet, y’know that?”

Bob chuckled, “That's supposed to be my line.”

His hands gave your hips a loving squeeze, causing you to nestle further into him, until your bodies were nearly molded as one. Your lips searched for his, trailing up his neck, his jawline, along the side of his button nose until finally reaching his soft lips. Bob shifted in his seat, causing you to do the same. As a result, you could feel his erection, despite the layers of clothes.

“Good lord Bobby, you've just been walking around with all that?” Bob groaned, but not due to your words. No, it was because you had started moving your hips in circles, his erection now pressed against your covered core.

“I’m- I’m trying to be a gentleman.” Bob couldn't even look at you. He didn't want to stop. He should stop. Maybe you two could skip the Hard Deck and go out to dinner. Then he could take you home and not feel as guilty.

“You can be a gentleman later,” by throwing your arms over his shoulder you finally had access to his neck. His skin was so soft, so delicate. How could you not sink your teeth into his neck?

Normally you'd have better self control than this. But you were ovulating and had six months of sexual frustrations and wet dreams-

“You had dreams about me?” Uh-oh. That wasn't meant to be said out loud. Granted, maybe it was for the best to get everything out in the open.

Timidly nodding, you explained, “Yeah. The days I didn't sit next to you were because….I had a dream about ya the night before.”

A band had snapped within Bob, no doubt due to the numerous times you didn't sit next to him during briefings.

Within seconds, you found yourself on your back against the couch, the bespectacled WSO hovering over you. There was a fire flickering in his blue eyes as he remained laser focused on your face.

“After this, you're putting this dress back on and I'm taking ya out to dinner, is that clear?” his voice was gruff and deep, similar to when he did a hundred pushes that one day (that you definitely didn't think about while masturbating).

Chest heaving, dress pushed up to your upper thighs, lips kiss bitten, God, you looked like an angel to Bob. He remembered learning about angels in church growing up. How pious they were, that seeing them was a sign of comfort, that they would guide one to safety, to a holy life.

There was nothing holy about what he wanted to do to you.

His mouth was hot, searing kisses along your skin. Your back arched into him, desperate for me. But he always seemed to pull away before you could get enough. Would you? Ever get enough of Bob Floyd?

Finding an answer would have to wait, for now you wanted to relish in the feeling of Bob’s hands kneading your breasts. It was obvious you weren't wearing a bra, a fact Bob ob had spent forty minutes trying not to think about. He still felt a smidge of guilt, as though the newly drawn line between friends and more hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Was he even supposed to be doing this?

“You can keep going. I want you to.” You sensed his hesitation. In all the time you knew Bob, he had never taken someone home for a one night stand. He wasn’t like that. He needed time to build a connection, to feel comfortable enough to be himself. That’s why he loved spending time with you. With you, there was no need to put up a front, no need to be fearful of judgement.

“And then afterwards, we can order some Thai food and continue watching the episode, if you want. Or we can just do that now,” your hands cradled his jaw, gently forcing him to look at you. He found a sweet, reassuring smile, similar to the one that made him smitten six months ago.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” Bob could be blunt, and often was when it came to his colleague’s shenanigans. But with his own feelings? He always chose his words carefully.

Hence why his admission took you some time to process. Bob could see it on your face; first your eyes widened, lips slightly parting as if driven by the need to respond immediately. But then your lips closed, your brain quickly gaining back self control.

“I’m falling in love with you too Robby.” You were the only one who could call him that. It was that familiarity, that intimacy, that gave him the courage to move his hands to your hemline up to your hips, revealing the thin, lacy red fabric underneath.

You were breathtaking. Always were. But this? This solidified things for Bob. You two had made a step forward in your relationship. Many things would still be the same. But there were now new things to experience. Simply another layer of intimacy had been added.

His long fingers skimmed over the fabric of your panties, every touch sending a spark of electricity along your spine. Every stroke caused a small gasp to fall from your lips, music to Bob’s ears. Lowering himself, Bob decorated your hips with opened mouth kisses. Finally, gaining enough courage, his fingers pushed your panties to the side.

Fuck, you were wet.

If there was any hesitation left in Bob, it died upon seeing how visibly aroused you were. He had done that. No one else. Lowering himself even more, he was now at eye level with your wet cunt. This wasn’t some vivid wet dream.

When his touch licked a broad stripe up your slit, a broken moan fell from your lips, echoing off the walls. It was the prettiest sound Bob had heard. He wanted to hear it again. All the time.

With more confidence, Bob begins lapping up your arousal, determined to taste every inch of you. His fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you closer. Looking down, you see his glasses are now crooked, though you highly doubt Bob cares, given how his eyes are half closed in pleasure.

Wait, was he grinding against the couch?

The discovery caused your thighs to clamp over Bob’s ears, your hips thrusting upwards to get more of his talented tongue. Bob wasn't reserved around you, never had been. But this was a new side to him that you had wondered if it ever existed. Animalistic. Devouring. Loud.

His groans vibrate against your core, only heightening the pleasure. Slowly, his right hand goes from your hips to your core, mouth moving to your clit as the long digits trace your opening.

“Oh my God, please,” you all but beg, not quite ready to admit how often you thought about his fingers and how they would feel inside of you.

Always thinking about your comfort, Bob started off with just one finger. You tried to fuck yourself with it, your own fingers gripping the soft strands of his hair for better leverage. The thought of making you beg crossed Bob’s mind. Would you like that? Would you be open to that? There were so many new topics to discuss, so many new boundaries to explore now.

You happily welcomed the stretch of two, three fingers. Bob found the little moans you let out to be quite adorable. He could feel his cock throb against his jeans, but pleasing you took priority.

“C’mon honey. Wanna feel you come on my fingers.” His voice was low, husky even.

“C-can you be inside me? Like your…your cock?” A broken groan fell from Bob’s lips at the very thought of being inside of you.

“I don't….I don't think I'll last long,” he admitted sheepishly. Hell, he could probably come just from eating you out. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it sounded pretty good- bringing himself to the height of pleasure just from ravishing you.

“I don't think I will either,” you giggled, “But we’ll….we have lots of other times to go slow.”

Bob helped you sit up on the couch. “You wanna go to the bedroom?” He asked, thinking about how this could be more comfortable for you.

Instead, you shook your head, hands moving to his jeans, hastily undoing the buttons.

Now it was your turn to explore, to discover. There was a dark trail of hair that went past the waistband of his jeans. He wore boxer briefs. And Bob Floyd had the prettiest cock.

His face turned bright red at the compliment, “Oh it's…I mean it's like fine, but it's not-”

“Take the damn compliment Robert,” you all but scolded, eliciting a laugh from him, your favorite. The high pitch, near giggle one. The one that made your heart flutter.

Feeling at ease, you moved so that you were hovering over Bob’s lap. Your fingers moved to the base of his cock, making you realize you would have to ease yourself into it.

“I gotcha,” his hands found your hips, slowly easing you down. His sapphire eyes never left your face, searching for any sign of discomfort. He went slow, waiting until you made it vocally known you were ready for more.

By the time you reached the base of Bob’s cock, you were a mess. You wanted him to move, to fuck you within an inch of your life. But he was also so big. The stretch was nothing you had experienced before.

“Hey, we can take our time, okay? I know it's, that it's a lot,” he assured you, as though he could sense your internal conflict. His lips found yours, and in that kiss you found comfort. Bob grounded you, always had, whether it was up in the air or right here on your couch.

How much time had passed, who was to say? You could recall both your phones vibrating a few times, no doubt messages from the rest of your squad. Those messages could wait.

“I think I'm ready,” you whispered against Bob’s lips. He needed, digging his fingers into your hips to gain a better grip. With his help, you lifted yourself no more than a couple of inches off his cock, returning to the base.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” Bob moaned. You just made Bob Floyd curse. Something not even a bird strike could do. That four letter word gave you the confidence to lift your hips up on your own accord, returning swiftly. Slowly, just an inch or two, which became several inches. Up and down motions turned to swiveling your hips in a circular rhythm. What was once a quiet living room, saved for a few small gasps and the static from the TV, had now become a symphony of melodic pants and groans.

Bob could tell you were close. Your pussy was tightening around his cock more and more, your fingers dug into his broad shoulders, as if trying to anchor yourself. You practically whined at the sight of Bob taking two fingers into his mouth, wetting them with his tongue. He lowered them to where your bodies connected.

Upon first contact with your clit, your head dropped to the crook of his neck, unabashedly moaning his name, hips moving in a now frantic motion.

“That's it, I gotcha.” Fuck, we he going to talk you through it? Was Bob Floyd a talker? Ironic, considering at work he was known as a man of few words.

“Feels s’good, being inside ya.” Fuck, he was a talker. You were doomed, “Wanna, wanna make us cum. Bet ya gonna feel even better when ya soak- fuck- soak my cock.”

Your brain was hazy. Was this real? If it was a vivid wet dream, you never wanted to wake up. Was it wrong to hope that you were in a medically induced coma, so that if this was indeed a dream, you wouldn’t have to wake up so soon? Surely, your friends and family would understand upon meeting Bob.

Then he pointedly thrusted his hips upwards, reminding you that no, this wasn’t a dream. No, you wouldn’t wake up feeling frustrated and unable to look him in the eye. After this, you two could go out to eat, on a real date. Not some hey let’s get dinner that feels like a date in everything except in name. You could also order delivery and cuddle up on the couch. Maybe you could even shower with him beforehand, and see his bare body, find out what was truly hiding underneath that flight suit. Oh, he was deceptively strong, you always knew that. But to see it, to feel the hard planes of his muscles? Oh, that would be quite the joy to experience.

“Sweet girl,” you clenched at that nickname, you wanted him to continue calling you that for eternity, “Let go. Know ya want it.”

“I-I do,” you all but whined. Bob found the noise cute. What other sounds did you make? What would you sound like if he kept fucking you after you came? What about if he ate you out for hours? Or teased you until you were teetering on the edge?

There were so many questions, so many areas to explore. But for now, Bob was satisfied with experiencing how tightly you clenched his cock, how you practically sang his name as you came. Your release triggered his, pulling your hips down until they were flushed against his. His lips smashed against yours, swallowing your moans.

Then there was silence. No words spoken. Only the sounds of panting, you both clearly trying to catch your breath, and kisses exchanged, ones that neither of you could resist giving.

Realization hits you like a freight train. “I’m on birth control.”

Bob’s eyes widened, “Oh thank God.” He was usually so good about asking, about pulling out. But you….you made his brain feel like cotton.

“You saying you don’t want to have kids with me?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek to let him know you were only saying it in jest.

“Not yet.” You sat up to find he had an earnest smile on his face, cheeks rosy and eyes shining in adornment.

Bob Floyd was going to be the death of you.

So you brushed several strands of sandy brown hair off of his forehead, replacing them with a kiss, "Gotta get me a ring first."

Luckily, you were going to be the death of Bob Floyd.

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circe69 · 3 days ago

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"had to get it in, couldn't wait around!" - s.r. x reader

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ who is it? simon "ghost" riley x you

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ what is it? enemies always fuck better, right? you hate him, or so you thought...

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ cws: unprotected p in v, angry simon turned soft, huge d!ck, knife play kinda? ass play, heavy make out. word count: 2.4k

"what the fuck was that about?"

you stomped into an empty, abandoned conference room and stood at the end of a long table, with one masked man sitting at the other end. your arms crossed themselves across your chest, and you popped a hip out to the side as you waited for his answer.

simon motherfucking riley was your arch nemesis. someone you didn't trust, never agreed with, and certainly never wanted to work with. but the world isn't fair. it keeps spinning even when you despise someone, and captain price couldn't care less about your feelings towards simon when it came to the thousands of lives you were saving every mission.

usually, if you're in a group, you don't dare speak to simon this way. you only nod your head at his commands and walk away, hoping that he's receiving the millions of telepathic "fuck you's" you put out somewhere into the universe. but now, you're alone, and there is no better time than the present to tell your lieutenant off.

"if you need to blow some steam, i suggest going for a few boxing rounds w' soap. he's always looking for-" he paused whatever ministrations he was writing on a file and looked up at you slowly, "an easy opponent."

you huff and smirk out of pure anger as you briskly round the table, making your way over to him. "I'm not here to fucking play around, lieutenant, I'm here to let you know I'm pissed because you gave everybody else an assignment overseas next month except for me." you paused and let his eyes meet yours as your strong volume turned into a whisper. "I've worked just as hard, if not fucking harder than the rest of these task force fuckers, and we both know I'd be a good shot out there."

when it comes to you giving your superior a piece of your mind, simon usually submits completely. he never fires back, to everyone else's surprise, and he always allows you to use him, so to speak, to yell at him and get everything out of your system before entering the world again.

but not today.

simon slowly stood up from his chair, keeping eye contact with you as he expanded to almost double your size in every factor possible.

the seconds felt like years as his eyes bore down into yours. your heart rate was doubling every time one of you blinked, and you had to tense every single muscle in your body just to remain stagnant in position. the silence was deafening, and as the seconds passed, you remembered everything you've seen this man do, every corpse he's thrown to the side like a piece of garbage in his way, every knife rusted and wasted because it's been buried deep in the jaw of his enemies, and the eyes that have seen all of this from the first person perspective, are staring right into your-

SLAM.

simons hand comes down onto the wooden table with the force of 10 men, it sounds like, and you couldn't do anything but jump. you flinch. you fucking flinch and it feels like you're waving a white flag.

His gloved fingers reach out to your chin and tug you by the jaw, forcing your face inches away from his, "I have fuckin' had it with your attitude. you can act like a bitch all you fucking want to price, to gaz, and I sure as fuck don't care about how you treat soap. but to me," he squeezes your chin to reinstate your obedience before drifting his hand to rest on your neck, "to me, you either respect me or don't say shit at all. so get used to swallowing your words around here from now on, cause there won't be anywhere else for them to fucking go but down your own throat."

coincidentally, you do swallow. hard and slow, and simons eyes watch and feel your neck bobbing as you begin to shake just slightly under his pressure. as he squeezes, a small squeak releases itself from your lips and you mentally kick yourself for it, knowing that's just what he wants. because once you let yourself go to the stormy waters that is simon riley, you'll never be the same again. he'll make sure of it.

"you say yes sir." his low voice whispered into the empty room, your face somewhere even closer than before, every minute that passes you move an inch. you still can't open your mouth, you're suffering from shell shock and there's no mercy to be found in the eyes of your shooter.

simon pulls out a blade from his thigh holster and presses it to your side, "say. it. now." he yells even louder. you feel the sharp sting of the metal start to break through the cotton of your shirt and tease your skin. a tear breaks free from your eyes, and you are completely gone. you're done for. absolutely dead in every sense but the physical.

"yes sir." you whisper, finally freeing yourself from some kind of paralysis. you feel the blade crash onto the table, as well as the sweet release of your neck from his hand. an extra wave of oxygen that you didn't know you were missing flowed though you in small gasps.

simon said nothing as he walked straight past you, out of the door, slamming it behind him. he left you, his knife, and a part of your soul, there in that room.

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

it had been a few days since simon had blown any ounce of relationship between the two of you into ash and dust, and you can't tell if the looks simon gives you now are filled with rage or just empty. empty meanings, empty promises, because he just doesn't care. but ever since he's made it clear with you that he is not to be messed with, you've unfortunately want him more.

simon riley is a fucking apex predator, and in the past, you've just been standing there, petting him, taunting him, and expecting nothing to happen. well now, you not only expect it, you fucking want it. you dream about all the things he could do to you. but all the things he hasn't said just prove that he couldn't care less.

that night, the only news channel your small tv offers called for rain, a lot of it, mixed with thunderstorms and lightning. as you dry your hair off with a towel, you walk to your window and look outside. your stomach churns at the sight of the angry clouds heading your way. you absolutely despise thunderstorms, and you prefer for a long night because there is no way you would be getting any sleep.

"fuck." you whisper to yourself as it starts to drizzle.

you try to ignore it as you kick off your slippers and get under your soft covers, pulling your duvet all the way up to your ears to try to mute the sound. it was now raining harder, and occasional sparks of electricity lit up your room from the sky, so you tossed and turn all night until you finally fell asleep.

it wasn't until hours later that a large boom of thunder shook you awake. you sat up immediately in a panic, gasping for air and looking around you as if you were expecting anything, something to explain the sound. tears started rolling down your face not only in fear, but in frustration also. you were so upset and so tired. you needed something, someone. just to tell you it was going to be okay. you slipped out of bed with a shaky hand clutching a necklace around your neck as you opened the door of your room and walked out.

the cold air of the hallway caused your skin to raise up into goosebumps and your nipples to pebble through your thin tank top, and even as you crossed your arms over yourself, it wasn't enough.

you headed straight for a door right down the hall. one with a name on the wood that you never thought you would go to in need in a million years. but you didn't know what to do.

your small knuckles rapped on the door, right underneath a nameplate.

simon "ghost" riley

you hear heavy footsteps and several locks unfastening before the door swings open.

a maskless man appears, with no shirt, and a large hand rubbing the side of his face. he was no doubt asleep before this. his eyes squinted as he leaned against the doorframe, trying to adjust to the light. your jaw hung slightly agape at the sight of him, so human. so disgustingly human who's done such non-humane things.

his eyes swept over your face as he noticed the tear stained cheeks, reddened from lack of sleep and continued down your body, down your full teardrop breasts, across your bare stomach, your sweatpants that hung loosely off your hips, and no words were spoken as he grabbed you by both forearms and drug you inside his room.

you gasped as he moved you backwards towards his bed, his much larger and comfier bed, and you no longer had any reason to stop him as he drug you under the covers with him. you couldn't believe him as he snuck in close to you, silently, as if it were normal.

it wasn’t until you felt an arm come up to rest upon your hip, and the floodgates opened. you couldn’t stop tears from rolling down your eyes. you were so confused, so scared, so fucking tired. small whimpers and gasps of breath continued.

“shhh.” came from simon’s mouth as he pulled you closer and softly squeezed your hip.

“you hate me” you whispered back, sobbing louder.

“hm-mm, no.”

“yes, you fucking hate me and you’ve just pulled me into your bed,” you start whining louder as your hands reach up to cover your face.

simon’s eyes slowly opened to look into yours before swatting your ass ,”quit crying n' go to sleep.”

you only responded with smaller, shorter intakes of breath and sniffles.

“y’hear me?” he patted your ass where he had slapped it before.

you nodded and whispered, “yes sir.”

a growl tore threw simon’s mouth as he looked up at the bedroom ceiling before throwing his forearm over his eyes, “fuckin’ hell.”

this time it’s you who reaches out, as you place a small palm on his bicep. he flinches at the touch before sighing,

“c’mere puppy.”

you slowly crawl on top of simon, placing both hands on his arms before allowing your head to fall between his neck and shoulder. a warmth slithered through you as you relaxed into him, and as his hand slowly caressed and squeezed the fat of your ass, the warmth exceeded just below your navel.

you made the mistake of squirming, and he noticed.

he clicked his tongue against his teeth while pulling you closer, “stay still.”

“i-i’m trying to get comfortable-"

"well stop." he interrupted, "just relax."

the wind outside howled, as simon's breath and yours intertwined through the space between you. and just like the storms outside, simon was the most unexpected thing to ever exist. he was trying hard to not scare you off, to be gentle, even though every thing in him contradicts that. but you know better. you know that he is gentle somewhere behind that mask.

you squirmed again, "simon I just don't know what to do." you leaned up to look at him. and there it was, the look that he only gave you, the small and desperate iris' just begging for some kind of affection. even without much light, you could still see him grasping at the frays for you. seconds of intense eye contact went by for simon broke the silence,

"just kiss m'then."

you gasped, sitting back a centimeter, but then nodded. and leaned into his touch. into him.

the kiss was soft and delicate, your lips and his just barely overlapping as you took in his woodsy smell, pine and maple, but that was all it took to pull a groan from simon.

more, more, is all he thought as he grabbed you by the hips and prodded his tongue against your lips. you smiled at the action, and without hesitation, opened up for him completely.

it was nothing but violent, raw, and urgent, the way simon kissed you. you moaned into his mouth as he smacked the fat of your ass, "all it took," he mumbled, "all it took was a little tongue for you to shut the fuck up."

you whined at the loss of contact as simon struggled to pull your pants down, but it disintegrated as he swiped a finger between your thighs, "fuck." simon whispered at the wetness pooling from your sex. "how many times have I yelled at you and gotten you wet?" he said, as he flipped you both around so you were now in your back, head smushing the soft pillow.

you groaned as he discarded his sweatpants and boxers, leaving his cock to spring out against his stomach. "how many times, baby?" he asked again, "you think about me hurting you when you play with this pretty pussy?" his index reached out to circle your clit a few times.

you couldn't help it, your body was betraying you in real time as your walls fluttered around nothing. "yes, yes I think about it, I think about you all the time simon." your babbles spilled out of you like water, and simon was lapping it up.

he chuckled, "don't even n'to prep you, you're a fuckin' faucet, sweetheart." his lengthy cock, with precut oozing out of the tip, was begging to be inside you, begging to fill you up. as he grabbed his length and positioned himself to your weeping hole, he looked you in the eyes, "y'want this?"

your eyes met his and for a second, you felt some sort of fire igniting deep within you, why was he even asking? why did it feel like the monster he is was softening for you?

you grabbed his hip and thrusted yourself, notching the tip of him inside your walls. "yes, I fucking want this, simon."

he chuckled as he watched him disappear inside you, inch by inch, every fucking centimeter felt like a year lived without you. he needed to make up for it, because the one woman that he couldn't stand just happened to be the woman he couldn't live without.

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f1ora1f1owerswrites · 22 days ago

Text

the way he loves you

Summary: The Dagger Squad starts to notice the subtle ways Jake Seresin shows his love for you, from quiet moments at home to stolen glances at the Hard Deck. As each of them pieces it together, they realize Jake isn’t just Hangman—he’s yours.

Warnings: use of Y/N, she/her, fluff.

Word count: 1121 (oops i got a bit carried away)

A/N: someone reposted my last “curious gazes” and requested one with all the daggers, and i’ve been thinking about it ever since. i finally got time to write it so i hope you enjoy, i’ve been loving these!!

***

Jake “Hangman” Seresin had a reputation for being bold and larger than life. To most, nothing more than a cocky, overconfident pilot, the kind of guy who never seemed to take life too seriously. But when the Daggers met you, they began to see a side of Jake they’d never expected—a side that made them realize there was far more to him than they ever realized.

And it happened in little moments, each one chipping away at the image of Hangman and revealing Jake.

***

Phoenix

Natasha had always been sharp. She could read people easily, and Jake was no exception. She’d noticed the changes in him before anyone else: how he wasn’t as quick to boast, how he lingered on his phone more often, smiling at something no one else could see.

Still, it wasn’t until that night at the Hard Deck that she put the pieces together.

Jake walked in with you by his side, and Natasha immediately noticed the way he looked at you. It wasn’t the casual charm he used on everyone else—it was softer, almost reverent.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” Jake said, his voice filled with a kind of pride that made Natasha blink in surprise.

You smiled and waved, introducing yourself as Jake’s girlfriend, though you didn’t need to. Natasha had already figured it out.

She watched as Jake stayed close to you all night, not in his usual attention-seeking way, but quietly, as if he couldn’t bear to let you out of his sight. When you laughed, he leaned in just a little closer. When you spoke, he listened like your words were the most important thing in the world.

Later, as Jake brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek and a soft smile, Natasha smirked and leaned over to Bob. “He’s gone.”

Bob

Bob Floyd noticed it in the details, in the quiet moments that others might overlook.

When Jake and you invited the squad over for dinner, Bob didn’t know what to expect. He’d never pictured Jake as the hosting type, but as he stepped into your cozy home, he could tell this was different.

“Make yourself at home,” you said warmly, handing Bob a glass of sweet tea.

Jake was in the kitchen, wearing an apron—an apron, of all things—as he stirred something on the stove. Bob couldn’t hide his surprise.

“You’re domesticated, Seresin,” Rooster teased, leaning against the counter.

Jake smirked without looking up. “Happy wife, happy life,” he said easily, earning a laugh from you.

“Not your wife yet,” you teased.

“Yet,” Jake said, glancing at you with a grin and tossing you a wink that made Bob’s chest ache with secondhand fondness.

Bob noticed the way you moved around each other, wordlessly passing utensils and dishes, finishing each other’s sentences. There was a quiet rhythm to it, a kind of unspoken understanding that came from deep love and trust.

When dessert came out, Jake set the plate in front of you first, brushing a kiss to your temple. Bob caught the way you smiled, the way Jake’s hand lingered on yours for just a moment longer than necessary.

Bob glanced at Phoenix, who raised her eyebrows knowingly. “That’s love,” she whispered, and Bob couldn’t agree more.

Rooster

Bradley Bradshaw noticed it during a pool game at the Hard Deck.

Jake had always been competitive, but tonight, he wasn’t playing to win against the squad—he was playing to impress you.

Every shot he made, he’d glance over at you, his grin widening when you clapped or cheered. But it wasn’t just the showmanship that caught Bradley’s attention. It was the way Jake handed you the pool cue, guiding you through your shots with a patience Bradley hadn’t thought him capable of.

“Am I doing this right?” you asked, laughing as you tried to line up your shot.

“You’re perfect,” Jake said softly, his voice so low that only you and Bradley heard.

Bradley rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips. “You’re whipped, Seresin.”

“And happy about it,” Jake shot back, winking.

Bradley couldn’t argue with that.

Payback & Fanboy

Fanboy and Payback noticed it on the beach.

It was a rare day off, and the squad had decided to hit the sand for some football and relaxation. You’d tagged along, sitting under an umbrella with a book in hand while the others played.

Jake kept sneaking glances at you between plays, his grin growing every time you looked up and smiled.

When the game ended, Jake jogged over to you, dropping to his knees in the sand beside your chair. “Having fun?” he asked, brushing sand off his hands.

You smiled, closing your book. “Always, when I’m with you.”

Mickey nudged Reuben, jerking his chin toward the two of you. “Look at him. That’s not the Hangman we know.”

“Nope,” Reuben said with a grin. “That’s Jake. Big difference.”

Coyote

Javy had known from the beginning.

He’d been there when Jake first mentioned you, his voice tinged with something Javy hadn’t heard before: vulnerability. He’d watched as Jake navigated the early days of your relationship, unsure of himself in a way that was both endearing and rare.

At a barbecue one weekend, Javy pulled Jake aside, nodding toward you as you chatted with Phoenix and Bob.

“She’s good for you, man,” Javy said.

Jake nodded, his gaze fixed on you. “Yeah. She is.”

“You ever gonna tell her how whipped you are?” Javy teased.

Jake smirked. “She already knows, no need to say it.”

The Moment They All Realized

The squad’s collective realization came during another gathering at your house.

It was late, and the group was sprawled across the living room, laughing and swapping stories. You were in the kitchen, tidying up, when Jake disappeared without a word.

A few minutes later, he returned with a dish towel over his shoulder, carefully carrying a handful of freshly washed glasses.

“Need a hand, sweetheart?” he asked, walking straight to you.

The room went silent as the squad watched him press a kiss to your temple before helping you dry the dishes.

Phoenix broke the silence first. “Holy shit. He’s a househusband.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Jake looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “Jealous?”

“Absolutely,” Natasha said, grinning.

As the laughter died down, Javy raised his beer. “To Y/N,” he said.

You looked up, surprised. “To me?”

Javy nodded. “Yeah. You turned Hangman into Jake. And we love you for it.”

The squad cheered, and as Jake’s hand found yours, you squeezed it, your heart full.

Because while Jake might not have always been the loudest about his love, the people who mattered most could see it clear as day.

#florawrites #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader

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covenofagatha · 17 days ago

Note

g!p Agatha that cockwarms reader while cuddling on the couch watching TV then gets desperate, gets a pillow under reader's ass to elevate her hips and breed her good to make sure it sticks

Ohhhh

Yes. Just yes. I decided to write a short little thing about this because fuck what a delicious image and I need a break from studying

Touchdowns and teasing

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: g!p Agatha, breeding kink, cockwarming, sex, mommy kink, american football

The moment you slide down onto Agatha's cock and feel her stretch you out, you know that you're not going to last long.

The two of you are watching a football game, her favorite team against yours, and it's tied going into the fourth quarter. The two of you had been talking smack all day and making bets, and it came to a culmination during a commercial break just a few minutes ago when Agatha suggested that you cockwarm her during the last part and then whoever's team won would get to be on top.

She groans beneath you as your walls squeeze her length and you think she might not make it the quarter either.

You shift, trying to adjust and find a spot that doesn't make you want to cum right away, and Agatha whimpers.

"You're not supposed to move," she says through gritted teeth, arms wrapping around your waist tightly, laying a palm on the bulge she's making in your stomach. She presses slightly and you take a sharp breath.

It's so hard to stay still because she's filling you so deliciously, but also because you can feel her pulsing inside you and you want her to move more than anything else.

Her team scores and she jumps with excitement, and it involuntarily thrusts her cock deeper inside you and you moan and clench down around her even more.

"Fuck," Agatha curses, immediately freezing, and her cock twitches. Eventually, she relaxes and you try to focus on the TV, but all you can think about is how good she feels inside you.

But you're not the only one affected — Agatha's breathing has quickened and her nails are digging into your hips, her cock throbbing inside your wet cunt every so often.

Your team throws an interception and you swear, accidentally lurching forward to throw your arms up incredulously at the screen. Agatha lets out a strangled gasp, hands roughly tightening their hold on you, and her cock seems to swell.

"I can't believe he didn't catch that!" you exclaim, almost forgetting the state that you're in and Agatha breathlessly chuckles.

She tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and presses a kiss to your head. "Not looking too good for you," she hums smugly and you roll your eyes.

Agatha and you are both very competitive, and even worse losers.

So if you're not going to win this bet, you're going to at least win something.

You clench your walls tightly around her, eliciting an explicit groan from her, and she bucks up into you uncontrollably.

"Honey," she warns, voice thick and dangerous, and you know she'd wipe the smirk off your face if she could see it.

Slowly starting to rock back and forth ever so slightly, you take immense pleasure in the sounds that start to fall out of her mouth. And then you turn it up a notch. "Mommy, please, I need you," you whine and Agatha jerks up again.

"Stop," she hisses, her cock throbbing again, and you know you've almost got her.

You rise slowly and she lets you — dragging your pussy lips against her cock and she groans when she sees herself glistening with your wetness. "Mommy — fuck, I need you, I need you to breed me," you rasp, making your voice sound as desperate as possible because you know that's the surest way to get her to break.

Agatha growls in your ear and you know that you won.

She pushes you forward, her cock slipping out of you, before she grabs your waist and flips you over onto your back and you get your first look at her since you started the challenge.

Her face is pink, vein prominent in her forehead, and her cock is so messy. You swallow hard in anticipation and she studies you while you watch her cock bob up and down, leaking everywhere.

And then she grabs the couch pillow from behind her and shoves it under your hips and shoves your legs even wider than they were before leaning over and sheathing her cock back inside you.

Both of you groan and she sets a quick pace.

"Gonna breed you, baby, mommy's gonna breed you," she grunts and all you can do is moan, your eyes rolling back in your head, as she fills you perfectly, the elevated angle of your hips allowing her to get even deeper inside you.

You babble something incoherently and your head falls back against the couch, pleasure making your mind spin, and Agatha’s rhythm begins faltering quickly as your walls convulse around her.

Agatha’s thrusts become short and fast snaps of her hips, driving her cock as far as it reaches into you. “Gonna breed you so good,” she prattles, voice tight and hot, and she leans down to lick a stripe up your neck. You turn your head so she can get better access and she nips at your throat. “Mommy’s gonna fill you up, gonna make sure it sticks.”

You gasp and roll your hips up to meet her cock and you’re not sure she’s ever been this deep inside you. Her hands grab onto your wrists and pin them up above your head against the couch and she’s right on top of you so you can watch her face contort with how good it feels, just like you’re sure yours is.

Pleasure is fraying your veins and there are no thoughts left in your head. “Please, mommy, need you to cum inside me,” you beg and she lets out an unrestrained moan, furiously nodding her head.

“Fuck, your cunt feels so good around me,” she croaks and sinks her teeth into her bottom lip as she watches you. She’s throbbing and pulsing and you know she’s not going to last much longer.

Neither are you. “Mommy, I’m so close,” you cry. Agatha is panting above you, a glazed over look in her eyes, and you can’t help but clench at the sight.

Her breath is pained and sharp and her hips stutter. “Yeah, yes, fuck, mommy’s gonna cum, mama’s gonna cum inside you,” she groans and you swear loudly before pleasure completely overtakes you.

It’s not even five seconds later that she has her orgasm, stiffening on top of you with a high-pitched keen, before shallowly rutting into you while you feel her cum get pumped into your cunt and paint your walls warm and white. It almost makes you cum again and you continue to ride it out.

Agatha collapses on top of you, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your lips and face while you feel her cock begin to soften inside you. She loves to do this after sex — just keep her cum inside you for as long as she can before she pulls out.

Cockwarming after she fucks you often goes a lot better than doing it before.

“Oh, would you look at that?” Agatha muses, glancing up at the TV. You crane your head to look and see that her team is now up by ten points with three minutes left to go. She gives you a soft, little thrust, her cock twitching and slowly beginning to harden again.

“Mommy,” you gasp, still sensitive. You can feel her cum starting to leak out of you around her cock.

She smirks and kisses you again, snaking a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, making your hips jump. “Shh, baby. Remember, we had a bet. I’m just going to stay right here until the game is over. And then you’re going to take everything I give you, isn’t that right?”

All you can do is nod and clench around her.

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7 @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights

#asks #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #agatha all along #agatha harkness fanfic

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merakidoll · 6 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝟏 | Sylus and Gojo

synopsis : just two rivals who’s common interest is the ditzy barista

warnings : chubby bimbo reader! reader is implied to have braids ( so what does that mean? ) rivals sylus and gojo! penetration, zoom sex! masterbation ( m ) allusion to gojo getting his bussy plowed but no description! lots of pet names! lowkey a little of subby gojo! this is really more so sylus focused

gojo and sylus who were one another’s rival - but with rivals comes a common thing they both long for, and for the two ceo’s it was the pretty airhead barista who made their dark roast perfectly! the two bright haired men found the sweet thing so .. delicate; that even when she simply mix up a dark roast with a pumpkin spice - neither have the heart to tell her.“is it good mister sylus?” sylus gave a curt nod, lips tight as he took a deep gulp of the warm, very sugary- very cinnamony substance. “just how i like it princess, you’re so good to me” his eyes shimmered as he noticed gojo walk in. him too occupied with a phone call to notice his presence.

“hey baby, how bout you make another one of there for mister gojo. know he’d love it! on me, but shh it’ll be our little secret.” sylus put his long slender finger to his lips in a shush motion. he could have came in his pants the way your big eyes shined; just so eager to please. he slyly moved to a corner watching you hand gojo the cup, his demeanor getting giddy at how you gave him a free coffee. “for me precious?” sylus held in his chuckle watching gojo take a sip, his adam’s apple bobbing as he held in a cough.

“do you like it?” you said hopeful. ��it’s my favorite! and mister sylus really enjoyed it too!” at the sound of his name gojo’s eyes immediately shifted to where the other man stood, eyes lowering while he licked his lips looking back at you. “did mister sylus put you up to this sweet thing?”

“n-no ..” you shifted on both feet, biting into your gloss lips nervously. “good girls don’t lie do they precious?” your mouth opened, agape like a fish trying to respond. but luckily sylus stepped in. “comon gojo, leave my girl alone. it’s all a harmless prank” he smirked at his enemy, before walking away leaving you two to stand in silence. it was now a tuesday. both gojo and sylus having a scheduled meeting at 12pm sharpe. the zoom call started quickly, gojo joining only to see the other man already logged on.

there he was, the camera having the perfect view of sylus fucking into you cunt. you moand loudly, the camera in your face, braids wrapped around sylus’s hand as he pounded into you, pelvis meeting your ass. “tell’em baby. tell gojo how daddy’s makin you feel” gojo’s cock pressed hard against his slacks, his jaw clenched that he has lost this. “yes precious tell me. tell me how good it feels being a bad girl.” your eyes opened, low and red, pretty lash damp from how hard your pussy was being pounded. “s-so good n f-feels s’good mister gojooooo!” your small hand moved back trying to push some of the ceo out of you, but he only took hold of it, pushing you more against the desk.

“good ass pussy” sylus threw his head back, stilling himself into your tight cunt as he came stuffing you with his seeds. “s’full” he heard you mumble, spit dripping from your mouth as his cum mixed with yours fell out of your hole, and onto his floor. sylus knew he wasn’t done with you. gojo did too, sylus starting his movements back- but slower. he stared at gojo in the camera as he gave you slow thrust; mushroom tip touching every piece inside of you. “you miss it go?” he titled his head letting go of your hair, and grabbing your neck pushing your back to be against his chest.

“tell me. tell her. tell her how you used to be in this exact position” sylus’s unoccupied hand moved down your body. pinched your nipples, to moving down and rubbing your clit. “it feels good baby?” sylus’s question was for you both. you moaning into his neck with a fuzzy brain, orgasms right there. and to gojo who squeezed his long cock, abs flexing while his balls jerked in his pants. “cum.” on command you and gojo mad a mess in unison. your cream making a ring around sylus who’s cock jerked shooting more of his cum inside of you.

gojo’s got all over his computer, a small smudge being made to his camera lens at how hard he’d just came. he breathed in and out fastly watching sylus whisper sweet nothing into your ears, soft kisses to your cheek as he moved his cock to stuff the cum that came out of you back in. without even glancing at gojo he spoke. “meet us at my house. i missed you too baby boy.” then the zoom was over.

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khywren · 9 months ago

Text

Denouement

pairing: Astarion/f!reader rating: 18+ MDNI word count: 3.1k tags/warnings: smut, emotional sex, piv sex, fingering, soft spawn Astarion

summary: Bergamot and rosemary ensnare your senses, and your eyes flutter closed. Here in his arms, you are safe. Home. “I think I'm ready to try again,” Astarion says after a moment, pulling you close. “Just you. Just us.” ────────── In which Astarion is ready to explore intimacy with you once again.

a/n: based on this little drabble from the other week! the title is derived from a literary device where all the threads of a story finally come together - the a-ha moment, if you will. i thought it was rather fitting for this piece, given the circumstances. :)

AO3 ┊ masterlist

It's well past sundown when you join Astarion in your shared bedroom. You find him in his usual spot, needle and thread in hand as he busies himself with a bit of embroidery. Deft fingers weave the needle through the fabric, defining the outline of what looks to be the petals of a rose. Lost in his work, he seems not to notice your arrival.

You've already dressed for bed. The sleeves of his old camp shirt nearly fall past your fingertips, and although the garment doesn't quite swallow you, it's still loose enough to be comfortable in the lingering summer heat.

Astarion had made plenty of sarcastic remarks when you had insisted on keeping it, teasing you about being overly sentimental. Perhaps there was some truth to that, but the first time he had laid eyes on you when you came to bed wearing little else but that same shirt, laces loose enough to expose the tantalizing swell of your breasts beneath the fabric, it had been all the vindication you needed.

You wear it now out of habit more than anything, ensuring that you remain enveloped in his scent even during those rare times his arms aren't wrapped snugly around you in the middle of the night.

As you pad quietly across the floorboards, Astarion looks up, gaze sweeping across the room before finally settling on you. He's looking at you like he did that first time, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and you catch his throat bob as he swallows thickly.

His eyes never leave you, even as he sets his work aside on the nightstand. It's hard to know what he's thinking, and for a moment you almost wish you still had your tadpoles so you could peer into his mind.

Hand outstretched, he beckons you to him.

Few things about Astarion surprise you anymore, but there's something different about the way he laces your fingers between his own and tugs you down into his lap, something possessive that catalyzes a shiver of excitement within you. Gooseflesh blooms in its wake, and you settle comfortably on top of his thighs.

His fingers caress your jaw and glide through the soft hair at the nape of your neck, guiding your lips down to meet his own. The kiss is insistent but soft, a gentle tug on your roots prompting you to open your mouth for him. Astarion eagerly slips his tongue inside, humming contentedly into your mouth as he kisses you breathless.

When he remembers that you need to breathe, he reluctantly lets you pull away. He's waiting for the moment you let him have you once more, his impatience evident in the way he furrows his brow and slots his mouth back over yours when he feels you've taken long enough.

You laugh against the press of his lips.

“Astarion, what's gotten into you?”

He silences your protests with another barrage of kisses, tearing his mouth away from yours only to pepper more of them across the curve of your jaw as he traces a searing path towards your ear. You're fond of the way his fangs graze your skin, the gentle nips he gives you as he turns his attention to your earlobe.

Your breath hitches, your body becoming pliant in his arms as he clamps his free hand around your waist. Caged within your ribs, your heart drums its staccato beat.

“I've been thinking,” he murmurs against your ear between kisses, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That sounds awfully dangerous.” Your hands find their way into his shirt, bunching tightly in the fabric. It's the only thing anchoring you, the mischievous little inflection in his tone yet another spark that threatens to kindle a roaring inferno of desire within you.

When he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are the fire that finally sets you alight, blazing red embers that simmer with need. You feel warm, almost deliriously so, as the heat that had been pooling low in your stomach begins to ebb throughout the rest of your body.

“Oh,” he drawls, grinning through his fangs. “You've no idea, darling.”

You match his smirk, earning first a quiet gasp and then a satisfied sigh when you surge forward to kiss him once more. The grip he has on you tightens, fingertips digging into the plush part of your thighs as his hand slips beneath your shirt.

“Should I be concerned?” you tease.

“It’s nothing quite that scandalous, I'm afraid,” he remarks with a click of his tongue, breath almost warm as it fans across your lips.

Head cocked to the side, you sit back on your calves and study his face. He's been acting strange, but you can find nothing in his expression that might explain his behavior.

Astarion seems to sense your unanswered question when he says, “What? I'm quite serious, darling.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes incredulously.

“Then what do you call all of this?”

Astarion's lips are cool as he presses them against the column of your throat, enjoying the warmth of your skin and the feeling of your blood pulsing just beneath the surface. He groans quietly, and you feel the way the noise rumbles in his throat.

“Consider it a thought experiment.”

You aren't quite certain what he means by that, but when both of his hands settle firmly on the curve of your waist and he lifts his head to rest his brow against yours, your mind is immediately swept clear of all coherent thought.

Bergamot and rosemary ensnare your senses, and your eyes flutter closed. Here in his arms, you are safe. Home.

“I think I'm ready to try again,” Astarion says after a moment, pulling you close. “Just you. Just us.”

You remember the drow twins. Astarion had seemed so eager then, too, but it had all been too much, too soon. Later that same evening, he had buried his face into the crook of your arm to conceal his disappointment, and you had soothed him with a gentle hand through his hair, reassuring him that everything was fine.

That had been the last time either of you had been intimate with each other. You knew what he had needed was time, and you had more than enough to spare.

His body is responsive enough, that much you can concede. You can feel it in the way he tenses beneath you, and the hardening ridge of his cock beneath his trousers.

And yet…

You take his face in your hands, thumbs resting on the apples of his cheeks. Tipping his chin upwards, you search his eyes, but he does not balk under your scrutiny. You find them clear and bright. Present. The flicker of lamplight catches the myriad shades of red, reflecting brilliantly as an affectionate smile slowly spreads across his face. He lays a single hand over one of yours, squeezing gently.

“Okay,” you breathe, pressing a tender kiss to his brow. “Okay.”

The words have only just left your mouth before Astarion’s hand is on your back, supporting your weight as he flips the both of you over and eases you back onto the mattress beneath him. An errant wave of your hand extinguishes the lantern beside the bed, leaving the pair of you swathed in silvery moonlight.

In his haste to remove his shirt, Astarion gets caught somewhere in the tangle of his sleeves, and you giggle as he tosses it away with a huff of embarrassment.

You anticipate some sort of sarcastic quip from him, but his mouth is too busy lavishing you with open-mouthed kisses, anywhere and everywhere your skin is exposed to him. His hands, too, are ever-eager, bracingly cold against your bare stomach as he hikes your borrowed shirt up and over your shoulders.

You sit up just enough for him to remove it, tossed aside as haphazardly as his own. The moment his hands are free, he resumes his exploration of your body, fingers mapping out every inch of you as they glide over your torso and the expanse of your thighs. Every time he reaches somewhere particularly sensitive, you feel him grin against you, mentally cataloging the information for future use. Every soft sigh, every wanton moan, all of them are music to his ears, a symphony for him alone.

“Stunning,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, drawing a low moan from your lips as he palms your bare breast. “You are simply… gods. ”

Astarion pinches your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the taut bud between them. You whimper and writhe beneath him, breaths shallow as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your hands fumble for purchase in his hair, fingers threading through his soft curls and dragging his face close enough to kiss him again.

He captures every wanton noise you make for him as he kneads and teases your breasts, enjoying the ease with which a single swipe of his thumb stiffens your nipples into pert little peaks.

“Astarion…” you whine, high-pitched and needy. You meet his eyes again, vision hazy through half-closed lids. “I…”

“Shh,” he hushes you, coaxing your thighs open with the knee he slides between your legs. “I know. Patience, love.”

Astarion rewards you with the hand that trails over your stomach, purposely featherlight as he builds the anticipation growing within your core. You know what he means to do, and the thought alone has your heart hammering wildly.

You help him kick off your underwear after he tugs them down your thighs, exposing your aching center. You are slick with desire for him, quite certain you might just unravel completely the instant he touches you.

His fingertips dance over the inside of your thigh, trailing up, up, up. You throw your arms around his neck, breath caught in your throat.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, yes…”

Your body sings in ecstasy as Astarion's fingers drag a torturously slow path along your center, gathering the arousal that's pooled between your slick folds. The sensation is enough that your back bows off the mattress at the same time you dig your nails into his shoulders, throat raw as you cry out for him.

Astarion watches you with all the reverence of a devout worshiper, transfixed by the way you respond so beautifully to his touch.

“Is this what you wanted, sweet girl?” he asks, tracing his fingers in lazy circles around your oversensitive clit. Your hips buck against him of their own accord, pushing you even further into the open palm of his hand.

“Yes,” you say again, the only word your addled mind can grasp. “Yes, that feels – ohhhh… ”

Your voice breaks into a choked sob when Astarion presses two fingers against your entrance, slowly working you open as they slide inside your tight, wet heat. Your walls flutter around him, pulsing as he pumps his fingers in and out of you at a slow, delicious pace.

“Astarion, please…” you whimper, “make me come.”

Astarion uses his free hand to sweep an errant lock of hair from your face, tucking it affectionately behind your ear. His fingers linger on your face, tenderly tipping your chin up before he captures your lips in a brief yet passionate kiss.

“I will, my love,” he promises. “All in good time.” His expression shifts, not quite stern, but his face loses some of its softness when he asks, “Do you want my fingers or my cock?”

Astarion's face fits so nicely in your hands as you reach up to cradle it in your palms, and he has nowhere to look but into your eyes, a tempest of lust, love, and longing.

“Your cock,” you tell him. “I want to come on your cock.”

Something akin to pride flits across his face, a smile of pure satisfaction curling the edges of his mouth as Astarion reaches to unlace his trousers. They disappear with his underwear over the edge of the bed, his cock springing free as a relieved sigh slips past his lips.

“Thank the gods,” he groans, sliding a hand through his hair to tame his unkempt curls and sweep them back. “I can be patient when the need arises, but even I have my limits.”

You laugh and part your legs wide to accommodate him as he settles between them, one hand working his cock as he readies himself for you.

Even in the dim light, his eyes seem to glimmer like inset gems, his gaze trained on your face as he takes in the sight of you beneath him.

Astarion splays a hand on your waist to steady himself, guiding his cock between your legs. He slicks himself with your arousal, rocking his hips against you in slow, rhythmic motions.

He isn't even inside you yet, but he already has you whimpering, the friction igniting every nerve ending in your body.

Your eyes trail down the length of your stomach, unable to keep yourself from staring as he thrusts lazily against you. The blunt head of his cock grinds against your clit, sending wave after wave of arousal pulsing through you.

“Eyes on me, darling,” Astarion says.

You obey without thinking. By the time your gaze finds his, your face is flushed, mouth open as your breaths come in ragged little pants.

An easy smile spreads over his face, and the hand on your waist moves to gently cup your cheek.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

There is nothing but adoration in his voice, and you laugh softly when you tell him, “Yes, plenty of times. But never like this.”

“You are,” he reiterates, smoothing the pad of his thumb over your skin.

“Especially like this. My beautiful girl.”

Your cheeks burn, but Astarion doesn't give you enough time to feel self-conscious for very long before he begins to push inside you, slowly burying himself inside your waiting warmth with a few shallow thrusts. Your body molds to his completely, and it's as if the two of you were made for one another.

He feels so good inside you – so perfect, so complete. He can feel it too, almost lost within the mounting pleasure that knits his brows together and compels his mouth to fall slack.

Astarion doesn't move at first, content enough to simply be , eyes crinkling with the smile on his face as you take his hands in your own, interlacing your fingers.

There are no words to convey his thoughts properly, so he chooses instead to show you the only way he can. He pulls almost completely out of you, agonizingly slow as he drags his cock along your walls.

When you give him what he wants, a low, breathy moan, he rolls his hips forward again, pushing himself deep inside. He sets a slow, purposeful pace, bottoming out with every languid thrust as your hips meet flush. It's amazing how even like this, he can build the tension inside you, every one of his movements perfectly calculated to bring you both incredible pleasure.

You can tell he's holding back, that he wants to lose himself in you completely. But you know that it's about so much more. It's about listening to the persistent beating of your heart, the way your hands feel as he holds them between your bodies and gazes into your eyes.

It’s about finally reclaiming the pieces of himself he once thought lost for good, a thousand nameless faces that did nothing but take and take and take until there was nothing left for him to give.

And you – you asked for nothing, letting him set whatever boundaries he needed.

It would be impossible for him to do anything but love you. And he does. More than anything, he adores you.

You use your grip on his hands to tug him closer to you, arms slipping around his back as he presses his chest to yours. Astarion’s thrusts gradually become less controlled, hips rolling into you with growing need as he savors the feel of you beneath him – so warm, so alive, so…

“Mine,” he affirms, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Mine, mine, mine.”

His arms bracket either side of your head, one hand cradling the base of your skull as he holds you close, like so much flotsam set adrift in the roiling ocean.

“Yes, Astarion,” you tell him. “Always, always…”

Astarion moves to adjust his position between your legs, angling himself just so that every snap of his hips thrusts his cock against that sensitive spot inside you. You cry out his name, little crescent moons adorning his back everywhere you've dug your fingers into his skin.

“I – I’m going to – Astarion –”

“Yes, my love,” he groans into your ear, lifting his head just enough to see the way your face contorts with pleasure each time he thrusts himself inside you. “Come for me, let me feel you come undone.”

His hand is between your thighs once more, expertly circling your clit with the pad of his index finger. Your toes curl into the mattress, pupils blown as you find yourself swept up in the intensity of his crimson eyes.

One, two, three thrusts more is all it takes before you shatter, back arched as you cry out for him. Your walls pulse around his cock as you tumble headfirst into euphoria, clinging to him desperately as he fucks you through it, elevating the intensity of your orgasm.

Only then does Astarion let himself go, grunting as he pistons into you, unable to deny himself this simple pleasure any longer. You feel the moment he reaches his own peak, spilling himself inside you with a stuttering groan as he clumsily kisses you over and over again.

He doesn't pull out immediately, selfishly indulging in your body’s warmth. You are a tangle of limbs as he finally falls to the mattress beside you, immediately pulling your body back against him with the arm he wraps firmly around you.

Astarion gazes up at you, mouthing your name so softly, as if he's afraid it might break under the weight of his devotion.

“I love you.”

He says it again and again, his heart aching as you gather him in your arms and press a kiss against his mouth.

“I love you too,” you murmur against his lips, sighing as you feel the wide grin that spreads over his face.

You drift off with his head pillowed on your chest, comforted by the drumming of your heart and the hand you entangle with his own. By the time you wake, he's still nestled up against you, blissfully unaware of how beautiful he is as he slumbers peacefully in your embrace.

You smile fondly at him, content to let him rest for as long as he likes. Truth be told, there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

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