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sytoran · 6 months

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Could I request a Natasha x reader where R and Nat are driving home from a party but their car breaks down so they call someone to come help them fix it and while they’re waiting they fuck outside on the back of the car…strap on pls

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟏𝟎 — 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐄𝐗

kinktober day 010 | milf!natasha x fem!mechanic!reader

natasha's had a completely shit day, and the last straw is when her car breaks down on the way home. the unbelievably sexy mechanic who shows up to fix her car makes it an unforgettable night.

note. i might've changed the plot so R is the mechanic. trust me on that decision.

cont. strap-on use, daddy kink, horniness, hot mechanic stuff

word count. 3435 (yall are getting fed)

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In her weathered thirties, Natasha had retired as an Avenger and chose a life that had always been nothing more than a distant dream.

By adopting two beautiful children and becoming a mother, it was almost like she was flipping off the Red Room for what they had done to her. It was an act of justice, a long sought-after victory, throwing away her past but embracing the lessons it had taught her.

However, despite how much the future she carved for herself had changed, one thing hadn’t — and that was the people who had been by her side throughout her journey to normalcy.

Kate, that human embodiment of a golden retriever, was all about ‘bringing the Avengers together, old and new’, and ‘forging stronger bonds in the pursuit of justice’. Hence came the monthly parties that involved the wealth of Bishop Security, too much alcohol, and one too many bad decisions.

For Natasha, the party had spun out of control like a series of unfortunate events: From the raspberry martini Thor had spilled on her, to the ripped dress from a stupid dare from Rocket to climb the fence, and the incredibly awkward seven minutes in heaven with Bruce.

Right now, the ex-Avenger wanted nothing more than to dive under the warm blankets and close her eyes and shut the world out. Go home to her two bundles of joy. Be engulfed in the warmth of comfort and release. Maybe even let Liho sleep on the bed for once.

She needs to get back home a little faster. Natasha accelerates.

Her eyes are on the road, gripping the steering wheel with a steely frown. The road is dark, the lamps are flickering. There’s a thought lingering in the back of her mind, like an itch that simply wouldn’t go away.

It was embarrassing to admit, but Natasha had done far worse: She was unarguably sexually frustrated. After saving the universe and transitioning into a life of motherhood, she hardly had any time to alleviate her stress in that kind of way.

Today was one of those days, then, where she would once again have to retreat into the confines of her shower and spend a little longer than she should. Or perhaps, dive under the sheets and reach into her bedside table for that plastic purple toy.

Natasha steps on the pedal a little harder. She accelerates again – the engine splutters.

"Fuck, shit, don't do this to me now," she growls, angrily slapping her steering wheel while a frown creases her eyebrows.

It only takes the car three more streetlamps to absolutely die out on her, coming to a screeching halt, in the dead of the night, in the middle of nowhere. Comically, the sound of something fusing inside her engine follows right after.

Natasha lets the groan of frustration fall freely, forehead hitting the centre of the steering wheel. The resounding sound of the car honking echoes in the emptiness of the place, like a mockery of Natasha’s misfortune.

She climbs out of the car reluctantly, slowly lifting the bonnet open and staring blankly at the mechanical parts before her.

Natasha was a woman of many capabilities, those of which included being able to assassinate three grown men with a pencil, speak fifteen languages fluently, raise two kids with an attitude more stubborn than hers, save the fucking world, in fact, but fixing cars was not one of them.

Gradually, the car parts in the engine began to look more and more like ancient hieroglyphs that Natasha would spend a lifetime trying to decipher.

She pulls out her cell phone to call someone for assistance, before realizing that basically all of her friends were likely piss-drunk at that stupid party, and would never pick up. (Okay, she also didn’t have a social life other than her ex-comrades in battle, but could you really blame Natasha?)

As the redhead closed her eyes, irritation danced in the darkness of her vision, flickering in specks of white and then burning red. Natasha resigns to her doomed fate.

Calling up the roadside assistance services would mean spending an insanely long amount of time waiting, then having her car towed to the auto-repair shop, henceforth allowing the mechanics there to actually fix up her car, and by the time she retreated into the warmth of her bedroom at home it would very much be far past midnight.

Pulling out her phone with a stately reluctance, Natasha searches up the nearest available mechanic services, dials in the designated number, and begins her wait for comfort and satisfaction.

***

If Natasha previously had any qualms or complaints about waiting for roadside assistance, her mouth was now sealed shut with lock and key. In fact, she would much rather let the mechanic that just arrived assist her in several other ways.

“Sorry for the wait, Ma’am, we were almost about to close shop,” you say, climbing out of the pickup truck then jumping down.

You flick your hair out of your eyes and send a bright smile to your last client of the day, seemingly oblivious to the effect you had on the woman. “I’m Y/N, happy to be at your service.”

Now, Natasha certainly had her own suspicions that she wasn’t entirely straight, but those queries had been confirmed within a good five seconds.

It was too cliche to be real, almost. Natasha swallows as her eyes rake over your tight-fitting white tank top that showed off the most stunning bodily anatomy she had ever seen, each muscle carved from a meticulous sculptor, dirtied cargo pants hanging loose to reveal the band of a pair of black boxers.

“Ma’am?” you repeat, lifting up a heavy toolbox with one hand, failing to notice that Natasha’s gaze is glued on to the flexed muscles of your right arm.

“O-oh,” the ex-Avenger mumbles in embarrassment – Oh, Yelena would cackle to see her like this – “Sorry, what was your question?”

You only tilt your head and give her a polite smile. “I was asking what seems to be the issue with your car.”

Natasha nods vigorously, then walks stiffly towards her car. Her clammy hands struggle to lift the bonnet for a moment, and in a second you’re next to her, single-handedly lifting the cover with a thoughtful smile.

Natasha feels the heat rush to her cheeks and she looks away quickly. She was acting like a lovesick high school girl, for God’s sakes. Get it together, she chides.

When she looks back up again, you have a wrench in hand, twirling it around. Natasha has her eyes glued to your tattoos and the way your fingers spin the tool.

“I’ll loosen this up a bit, see what we’re dealing with.” You say, fastening the wrench into place. Natasha barely has time to nod her acknowledgement before her breath gets stolen from her again.

The muscle of your forearm ripples like a satisfying wave when you jerk the wrench, and Natasha’s breath gets stolen away by the wind. She watches as your fingers expertly wrap around the tool, your other hand gripping the front of the car, and your next effort has Natasha getting wetter in places she shouldn’t.

“I think this part needs to be oiled,” you say, your even voice hauling Natasha out of her erotic fantasy. You look at your client curiously, innocently gesturing towards the toolbox next to her feet. “Would you be an angel and hand me the oiler?”

Angel.

Natasha’s heart races as she bends down to pick up your toolbox. (Okay, she definitely bends down a little too far, but she feels your eyes glued onto her ass, and she considers that a victory.) When she hands you the toolbox, your fingertips graze over her hand, and Natasha’s breath hitches a little too obviously.

By some holy deity’s work, you don’t comment or react to her squeak of surprise, and instead begin oiling up the engine of the car. Natasha flushes a dark red. Your grasp had been calloused, because of course it would be, experienced with handling cars and being rough—

The electricity that had run through her veins from that second of contact was comparable to Thor’s Mjolnir.

You have a little mishap when pouring the oil, the tube sliding in your grasp, and the car oil squirts from the nozzle and onto your front. You chuckle awkwardly, embarrassment tinging the tips of your ears.

Natasha thinks it’s the sweetest sound she’s ever heard, heart fluttering at your awkwardness. Once again, her libido catches up to her, and then Natasha’s eyeing your slick fingers (imagining it was a different type of slick), and the way your dampened shirt clung to your taut muscles.

Maybe you were doing it on purpose, too, facing Natasha as you lift up the hem of your shirt to squeeze out the oil. Her eyes feast on the hint of bare skin she can see, a defined V-line making itself known.

“You don’t mind me working like this, I suppose?” you ask, a grin on your face. “I may look filthy, but I promise I’m excellent with my hands.”

“Show me, then,” Natasha replies loftily, almost second-nature with how the one-sided smirk creeps on to her face. Her skill of seduction was something that was ingrained into her bloodstream.

When you lay down onto the under-car roller and shift underneath the car to begin fixing it up, Natasha’s gaze darkens several hues and she lets her eyes roam over your body again.

She couldn’t tear her eyes off if she tried. She wanted to rake her nails over your taut muscles, watch them flex and ripple under her touch, hook her fingers in the belt-loop of your pants and tug it down—

—to see the unmistakable bulge on a strap-on in your boxers. Natasha licks her lips, zeroing in on the tantalizing sight. It looked big, even while hidden under the confines of your pants. She would take you so good, down her throat or up her cunt, until either of you orgasmed.

Natasha gets lost in her thoughts, nearly drooling as she watched you work. Your tank top moved with every thrust of your arm into unscrewing a certain mechanical part, and the grease slid down the veins of your hands.

The redhead has to sink her teeth into her bottom lip when you spread your legs for a more comfortable position, to stop herself from moaning out load.

Natasha’s got it down bad, eyes once again on your bulge. Her panties are soaked, already, lewd thoughts flitting through her mind with every passing minute that you’re under there.

On the other hand, you were fighting a very different battle.

You weren’t stupid, no, not on any accounts. (Except for dating that one girlfriend who’d lit your auto-repair shop on fire when you broke up with her. But we don’t talk about past mistakes.) Right now, the woman you were attending to was none other than Natasha Romanoff.

Yes, the woman who had saved the universe. The woman who’d inspired you to say ‘fuck everyone else’ and chase your dreams. The woman on TV you’d spent more than a few nights thinking of, your hand in places you’d rather not specify.

More than that, you were quite sure that this woman, in a ripped dress that fucked your mind in ways it shouldn’t, wanted you to fuck her instead.

It was an uphill battle, your rationality versus your pathetic pretty-girl-want-to-fuck instinct. As you lay under Natasha’s car, working on the mechanical parts up there and getting grease all over your hands, you contemplated the reasons why logic was important.

Number One: Natasha Romanoff was an Avenger. If you pushed yourself onto her, she could very much knock you out before you could say ‘sorry’. As much as you prided yourself on your physique and brute force, you weren’t about to take on an ex-widow in a fight.

You look down for one second, as said woman steps a little closer to you, and you have to swallow to bite back an embarrassing sound. One of her hands was resting on your knee while you worked, and it took every cell of your existence not to start spasming under her touch.

Number Two: It was a violation of workplace guidelines. As much as the pay was shitty, you wouldn’t want to lose your job. You still had rent to pay, and you couldn’t keep hiding from your stick-in-the-ass landlord.

“Oh, that looks dirty,” Natasha comments, tone sultry as her hand creeps up higher on your leg. Your breath catches in your throat, grease staining your white shirt while your eyes quite nearly glaze over.

I can show you dirty, your brain unhelpfully supplies, and you shake your head in a futile attempt to clear your head.

Natasha, undetered, leans forward, chest grazing over your torso, the soft flesh of her breasts against your abdomen making your head spin.

Fuck, you just wanted to rip off her pretty dress and— Number Three: You were in public. Having sexual intercourse with your client right here and right now would likely end in a police report for vouyerism. Dingy apartment be gone, for you would be sleeping in a jail cell.

“M’kay, I’m done,” you announce, slapping the underside of the car as a sign of accomplishment. You purposefully slide out from under the car in one swift motion, allowing Natasha’s hand to graze over your muscled thigh.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight that greeted you when you looked up, though.

There Natasha Romanoff leant over your body, one hand inches away from the bulge in your pants, the other tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She was leaning forward, exposing a cleavage that hung right above your torso, dark eyes surveying you.

Fuck, dark couldn’t even begin to describe it. Natasha’s gaze was like an icy blast and molten lava all at the same time: Her pupils were severely dilated, a spark dancing within it. The deep colours of her eyes were like a kaleidoscope, pulling you in, entrapping you in a haze of lust.

It was entirely wanton, arousing, filthy. Her ruby-red lips curved into a vulture-like smirk, gaze trailing downwards to your body. Everywhere her eyes rested on lit a path of hellfire. Those sinful hands crept on to your bulge, splaying over your false cock as you exhale shakily.

Number Four: Natasha Romanoff was looking at you like you were a full banquet service, all five courses, free of charge, complimentary champagne included.

And honestly, was there really anything more important than that?

“Thanks for your help,” Natasha murmmurs, physically climbing onto you as you laid on the under-car roller. “Let me repay that kindness.”

You let out a strangled groan as Natasha pushes herself down onto you and kisses you, her hands sliding under your shirt to scrape at your abdomen.

Oh, finally.

“Fuck,” you gasp against her eager lips, hands flying to palm at her ass as you deepen the kiss. Your brain hasn’t quite caught up to yet, the only you were registering being the sweet mouth you were exploring and the intoxicating flowery scent of Natasha’s perfume.

Your hand cinches around Natasha’s neck like a vice-grip, your tongue invading the confines of her mouth, the rocking motions of your meeting mouths drawing long gasps and whines from Natasha.

Her hands, on the contrary, are relentless: From the sides of your face to your washboard abdomen, sharp nails marking you as if you’re hers.

Having relinquished your power for long enough, you grab handfuls of Natasha’s ass and lift her up; You get up, too, a mess of entangled limbs as you throw her over your shoulder, kicking away the roller and moving to the bed of your pickup truck.

Natasha’s left dripping at your display of effortless strength. You hoist the two of you up onto the pickup truck, paradoxically carefully laying her down, and you stall for a moment.

“We’re so gonna get caught,” Natasha whispers with a stupid grin on her face.

She looks up at you with a breathtaking smile, twilight reflecting off her eyes, dancing in the atmosphere that surrounded the two of you.

The pair of you were completely exposed to the midnight air, in the middle of nowhere, but if anyone were to drive past it would be blatantly obvious what was happening.

You smirk, tugging her dress off with an assured confidence. “Maybe,” you reason, thumbing at one of Natasha’s nipples so she arches off the surface with a breathy gasp. “Or maybe not,” you continue, a big hand sliding under Natasha’s lithe body to undo the clasp of her bra and toss it somewhere.

“Y/N!” Natasha squeaks, as your greedy hands massage the mounds of her breasts. “Did you throw my bra onto the road?”

You hum your approval cheekily, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses from the swell of her breasts and down to her soiled. “Yes, angel. I’ll pick it up later, bring it home with me to jerk off–”

“Oh my god—”

“Yeah, and I’ll— oh fuck, angel, your panties are fucking soaked. Not so innocent, hm?” You question with a dark smile, two fingers running over the outside of her undergarment, arousal sticking to your fingers.

You watch as the older woman before you flushes from head to toe. Strings of slick cling to your thick fingers, and you suck on them as Natasha moans lewdly.

“I’ll let you taste it later, don’t worry,” you add helpfully, shucking down your own pants and boxers. The strap-on springs out, and Natasha’s drooly lips open to push out a shaky breath of arousal.

“Daddy,” Natasha says, instinctually, at the sight of your gloried muscles and the ivory strap that hung between your legs like it was made to do so.

Your grip on Natasha’s hips bruise, the term nothing new to you but so entirely different when it came from Natasha fucking Romanoff. The sense of pride that washed over you was nothing compared to the carnal desire to fill her up and make her scream your name.

“Oh God!” Natasha wails out, fingernails digging into your forearms as you slide the head of your cock inside her. It wasn’t the longest, but it was girthy, and Natasha’s hole was stretched out as you pushed slowly.

“Not God,” you pant into Natasha’s ear, slapping her ass as she cries out loud. “Daddy, hm?”

“Yes!” Natasha moans, legs wrapping around your huge muscled back as you begin to thrust. Her hands try to interlock behind your back for support, but your shoulderblades are so wide that she can’t even fully wrap her hands around it, and that fact leaves her even hornier than before.

You’ve got Natahsa pinned to the ground under your body, pounding so hard that the whole truck shakes. The grease from your clothes goes all over, slick and sweat coating the two of you, pleasured cries and low grunts emanating from the pickup truck.

The squelching sounds of her pussy are absolutely filthy, as you pound into her spongy spot like your life depended on it.

“There, please!” Natasha wails, helplessly clinging on to your back as you bring her to a ferocious orgasm. Her legs kick under you, hook around the side of the truck as you jackhammer your hips into her pussy.

“Almost there already, angel?” You ask heatedly, mouth working on marking up her tits. One of your hands had both of Natasha’s wrist above her head, and the other was on her hips for support as you thrusted into her.

Your response comes in an earth-shattering orgasm.

“Daddy!” Natasha moans out, filthy and drenched with desire. Her pleasured cry is so loud that it scares a flock of birds out of a nearby tree, and you flinch violently at the sudden sound of nature’s rustling leaves, like you forgot you were in public.

Natasha breaks out into a laugh at the absurdity of the situation, then moans again when another wave of orgasmic pleasure washes over her. That causes you to join in on the laughter, your cock jostling inside Natasha. She whines again, and you pepper kisses over Natasha’s sweaty forehead with nothing short of amused affection.

And that’s how the two of you end up entangled on the back of your pickup truck like lovesick fools, a mesh of sweaty and slick bodies, sounds of pleasure and laughter scaring away any other creature that might disrupt Natasha’s sought-after comfort and satisfaction.

requests are NOT open... i just received this request all the way back in february, and so here it is haha..... im sorry to that one anon 😭 reblog to save a life xx

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wandascrush · 29 days

Text

Let the light in

Summary: The Avengers are separated after being hunted down and forced to live life on the low, causing a painful break up with the love of your life. What happens when she finds you again? Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

A/N: Based off of this request

Warnings: Angst, violence, loneliness, blood, breakup, team separated, depression, kissing, comfort

Song: Let the light in- Lana Del Rey

The team sat around the dark living room, the familiar voice of one of New York's most famous news anchors echoing in through the air, “Good evening New Yorkers, today we open our headline with some shocking news: Former Stark enterprise building, located on the upper east side, exploded earlier today by a missile attack on the Avengers. Sources say Tony Stark was currently using it to house new plans for an updated Avengers training arena and larger compound. Two architects, three investors, and one security manager was injured. Two of the victims later succumbed to their injuries after the explosion. Reports confirming the source of the violence are still unknown, however the Avengers were believed to have been inside the building at the time- hence the attack. The founding members of the Avengers Initiative such as Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Thor Odinson, Y/N L/N, and Clint Barton have yet to speak out. This marks the second targeted attack on our world’s heroes in nearly a month since the Maximoff twins incident in Barbados, where Pietro Maximoff was nearly assassinated. It raises the question for us all: Are our heroes being hunted?”

The screen went black, bye bye news lady. The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. “What’re we gonna do Tony?” You got no answer.

“Cap?”

For the first time in the decade you’d known the team, (except for the Maximoffs & Peter) you saw uncertainty in all of their eyes. Tony threw his classic sunglasses on the couch, squeezing the middle of his nose in a useless attempt to massage an oncoming headache away, “Fury… thought it’d be wise if we split up for awhile-,” he was quickly shut up with protests from the group.

“It’s too dangerous. This isn't easy for me, but we're facing a threat that's beyond anything we've encountered before. I've crunched the numbers, run simulations – the Avengers need to disband temporarily. We scatter, go off the grid, and regroup when the dust settles.”

“This is bullshit, Tony. You know it is. This is exactly what they want-”

“Tasha,” your gentle touch on her back always softened her heart, but not today. She didn’t even look at you.

“It’s not the end, Nat. It’s like a strategic retreat. We're ensuring we'll live to fight another day. For once, I’m with Stark on this. We play it safe, keep low profiles, and spread out,” Steve sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and taking a hard look at everyone, “we’re family, we keep each other safe. And this is how we do it.”

As much as the idea made your stomach churn, he was right. He always was. This was your family. Every holiday, happy memory, laugh and cry and battle and bruise was all with them. This team is how you met the love of your life. You loved each other, and if this is what needed to happen, then you’d do it.

But that didn’t sit well with your girlfriend.

“No, end of story. We’re not separating.”

“You know I don’t think it’s just you’re choice, Natasha. I mean we have to decide this together,” your fingers lightly brushed the edge of the bed, nervously playing with the soft sheets you had just bought.

“Exactly, and I. Said. No.” She was acting like a stubborn toddler that didn’t want to eat her veggies, crossing her arms and raising her voice an octave.

It was then when you saw something different in her eyes, those beautiful green orbs that held so much sadness and joy at the same time. But today they were cloudy, like a storm was brewing in her mind. You gently slipped off of the bed and stood in front of her, pressing your forehead to hers, “You know it’s going to be okay, right?” soft palms caressed the side of her cheek, immediately feeling her sigh into your touch. “It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.” You wish your words were true.

Two months later the Avengers were spreading out all across the U.S., saying choked up goodbyes and packing your things. It was agreed upon that there’d be a team meeting once a month, every month, for the next year until you could figure out who the threat was, and how to eliminate them. You thought San Francisco sounded nice, fresh, and a little more peaceful than the hustle and bustle of New York. And it was, for a time. You got a haircut, dyed your gorgeous h/c locks to a rich h/c shade. You bought a sweet little home with a bay window over looking the Golden Gate Bridge, started building an in home gym and library, and kept an extremely low profile. You finished file work and other Avengers paperwork at home, with a high security grade laptop. Natasha on the other hand, refused to dye her hair, or keep a low profile. She didn’t want to admit that she was depressed, but it was glaringly oblivious. Being thrown out of her comforting routine put a wrench in Natasha’s life that not even you, her beautiful girl, could fix. All day she would do her paperwork, workout, and just keep to herself. It was like you weren’t even girlfriends anymore. Finally, in the fifth month of living “undercover,” she finally agreed to go on a low key date with you to a small, cozy bar on the outskirts of the city. You got dressed up for the first time in what felt like forever, did your makeup real pretty, and even did braids on Natasha’s silky hair. She looked happy, finally. Adorning a brown leather jacket, dark blue jeans, and a low cut green top- her classic silver arrow necklace sitting pretty on her chest- your girlfriend looked like her old self again...absolutely perfect.

“You look gorgeous, baby,” swift arms swept you into a gentle kiss, smirking against your lips and pulling you close to her waist.

You thought that night would be perfect, but by 11 pm you two were home and icing her bloody knuckles, static tv voices echoing in the background. You felt hot tears rising to the surface, but you never let them fall. It’s not like you were just mad or angry or disappointed…no this was something more. You were embarrassed. Embarrassed by Natasha. You thought you’d never say that sentence, but then there you were, apologizing to the bartender for your girlfriend's rowdy behavior, and throwing $20 to the guy she completely knocked out before nearly carrying her out of the bar and into a cab. Within the next two weeks she packed her bags, and your home was changing once again, now empty.

8 months later

The team said that you’d only be separated for a year, or less, but you were coming up on a year pretty soon and none of you were any closer to figuring out who the threat is. But you, you moved on, strived forward, and kept going. Your breakup with Nat had been one of the most painful moments of your life, but you didn’t let it stop you. These days you hardly cried over her at all, never even thought of the old days. Well, except for last Tuesday, when you saw one of her old sweaters and lied in bed for the rest of the day, or on Thursday when you heard her favorite song and- well, never mind that. You were at the top of your fucking game.

Ms. Romanoff, on the other hand, had moved out of San Francisco completely and settled in Washington D.C. from the last you heard. She attended the monthly zooms, same as you, but you two never addressed one another. Natasha pushed all of the heartbreak she harbored deep, deep down until she would lie down for bed and reach out next to her…but you were never there.

#natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #avengers x reader #avengers fic

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acciotherapists · 3 months

Text

A Spilled Drink

Summary: After a mission gone wrong Y/n believes Loki hates her. Does he really hate her? Or does he simply hate to love her?

Warnings: Smutty smut smut, barely a plot, 18+, minors DNI

Loki x fem!reader

A/N: I started writing this around Christmas time, hence the mistletoe reference lol

“You look like you could use this,” Nat says as she hands me a glass.

“What is it?”

“A drink, cectpa. I think you could use it.”

I nodded and downed the liquid, wincing as it burned my throat. She smirked at me and I rolled my eyes. “Straight Vodka?”

“I’m Russian,” she chuckles before signaling the bartender. “Another.”

The bartender placed another drink in front of us as Nat spoke. “So what exactly happened with you and Loki?”

I scoffed. “He’s an arrogant asshole.”

“Well, that much we knew but what happened.”

“He got hurt after a mission and he’s hated me ever since.”

“He hurts you because he got hurt?” she scoffed.

“I don’t know, Nat… it’s the only thing that makes sense. He must blame me for his injuries.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “He needs to get over himself. What happened on that mission was not your fault.”

A glass is placed on the counter next to us as the bartender nods. “I’ll have another one coming up in just a moment, Mr. Laufeyson.”

Loki nodded before turning his gaze to me. “Y/l/n,” he greeted.

“Laufeyson,” I replied.

Before I could say anything more I heard Wanda giggling next to Natasha and I turned to her. “What’ve you done now?”

She looked up and I dreaded what was to come for I had a slight inkling as to what she had done. I looked up and my eyes met a mistletoe hanging above our heads. The red berries were glowing as the green vines moved as if they’d just been placed above our heads.

“What is this, witch?” Loki hissed, glaring daggers at Wanda.

“You know, Loki,” Wanda replied, chuckling as she sipped her drink. “Kiss her!”

I rolled my eyes.

“Honestly, Maximoff, of all the jokes you could've pulled today… this little act of trickery is poor even for you.”

I could see his cheeks flushing a hint of pink as he maintained his cold demeanor.

“Oh, come on, Laufeyson! Get in the Christmas spirit! Just kiss her!” Nat exclaimed.

“I will not!”

I rolled my eyes. “I will not be forced to kiss him!”

I saw Wanda wiggle her fingers ever so slightly and Loki’s drink poured over my dress.

“Loki!” I hissed before turning to Wanda. “Wanda!”

She raised her hands innocently. “What? I did nothing!”

“Apologies, Agent Y/l/n!” Loki exclaimed. He conjured a cloth and began dabbing my shoulders. “It’s all over your dress… I’m truly very sorry, love.”

I furrowed my brows at the sudden change in his demeanor.

“Please, allow me to escort you back to your room so you can get out of that dress. I-I’m truly sorry about this, Y/n.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” I brushed him off. “You don’t need to-.”

“She’d love that!” Wanda interrupted, pushing me closer to Loki. I glared at her but she simply smiled in return.

“But before you go…” Once again she gestured to the mistletoe above our heads. I rolled my eyes, preparing to walk away, but Loki had other plans. He grabbed my face and pulled me flush against his chest, pressing his lips to mine. His kiss was rough and his hands were merciless as they moved down my body, grabbing every bit of exposed flesh they could.

“Holy hell, Laufeyson,” I whispered breathlessly as we pulled away from the kiss. He said nothing and simply held out his hand before leading me to my room… at least I thought that’s where he was leading me but once we turned left instead of right I realized that’s not what was happening.

“Where are you taking me?”

“We’re just taking a little detour,” he assured me as we reached his room. “You can leave anytime you want,” he promised as he shut the door behind us and pressed my body against it.

“What are you doing?” I hissed.

“I promised I would help you get out of this dress… I intend to make good on my word. As soon as I saw you soaking wet in this dress I couldn't resist.

I scoffed. “That’s how you solve all your problems, isn’t it? By fucking your way out of them.”

He chuckled darkly. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it… late at night when you’re alone with nothing but your hand.” His fingers slowly moved down my side, reaching under my dress. “You can’t tell me your fingers haven’t slipped beneath your skirts to soothe that delicious little ache between your legs, hm?” He pressed his thumb to my clothed clit. “Tell me you haven’t imagined my hands down there… my tongue… my cock.”

“Fuck, Loki.”

His cock twitched in his trousers. “That’s it, darling. Moan my name.”

He pulled my panties to the side, slipping his finger through my folds. I was struggling to control my moans as they threatened to slip from my lips.

“None of that,” he hissed, smacking my ass with his other hand. “Let me hear you.”

I moaned and he chuckled darkly at the sound. “Such lovely little noises you make, darling.” He circled my clit with his thumb and I could feel my orgasm approaching as I gripped his shoulders.

“That’s it, little one,” he murmured into my ear, pressing his lips along my neck. He slipped his fingers inside my entrance, still circling my clit. “Norns, you feel perfect… can’t imagine how good you’re going to feel around my cock.”

I moaned loudly, clenching around his fingers and he chuckled. “There’s my good girl.” I could feel him smirking against my skin before he nibbled the skin of my ear. “Let go, darling. I’ve got you.” His other hand snaked around my waist. “I won’t let you fall. Just let go for me.”

My orgasm ripped through me and I moaned loudly as he continued circling my clit, helping me ride out the high. As I slowly came down he kissed me hard, murmuring against my lips. “You’re perfect.” He lifted me off the ground, gently tossing me on the bed. With a wave of his hand our clothes were gone and he climbed over me, grasping his cock in his hand, before searching my eyes. “May I?”

“Please, Loki,” I moaned, reaching out for him.

“Are you on the pill?” he asked. “Or would you prefer I use a condom?”

I shook my head. “I’m on the pill.” I grabbed his cock, stroking it. “Please.”

He smiled and I removed my hand, sliding it up his chest as he slipped his cock into my entrance, bracing himself above me. HIs eyes closed in pleasure, groaning as he slipped inside me.

“Fuck, darling… better than I ever could’ve imagined.”

I gripped his hips, slowly pushing him against me, begging him to move. He pressed his lips to mine and slowly began setting a steady pace, circling his hips. I moaned into his mouth and I could feel him smiling more each time I moaned for him. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured against my lips. “I can feel you getting close. He moved his hand to my clit, rubbing it harshly. “Cum for me, baby.” His hips started moving faster. “Cum,” he growled. “Cum now.”

My back arched as I came, moaning his name loudly. With a final thrust of his hips, he came inside me, pressing his hips hard against mine as he groaned in pleasure. His thumb was still rubbing my clit as I slowly came down from my high. As I settled back into the bed, breathing heavily, he removed his hand, kissing along my jaw.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, slowly pulling out of me. He conjured a cloth and carefully wiped my thighs. When he finished the cloth disappeared and he settled next to me but I knew I couldn’t stay.

I was preparing to redress and leave his chambers when I felt his arm wrap around my waist as his lips pressed to my shoulders. “Where are you going, little love?”

“Back to my room,” I answered.

“Why?”

“Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what most women you bring back do after you’ve fucked them?”

He scoffed. “You are not like most women I bring back here to fuck, darling… you are superior by far… and you mean far more to me than some common whore.”

I sighed, finally turning to face him. “Then do you act as if you hate me? Ever since our last mission together you’ve avoided me like the plague.”

“I can assure you, my darling… I would not let a plague anywhere near my cock. It is far too valuable an asset to be struck down by a plague.”

I rolled my eyes. “Good talk, Loki,” I said before standing up.

“No, wait!” He abruptly stood and moved in front of me, blocking my path. “I’m sorry, darling. You’re right… I was avoiding you but not for the reasons you think… When I was injured on the last mission… you saw a side of me no one ever has… you saw me vulnerable and I swore to never let anyone see me that way but… but you saw… and you didn’t run away… you didn’t try to use it against me. You… you actually seemed to care… and that scared me more than anything.”

“The thought of me caring for you scared you more than anything?”

He nodded. “I’ve never had that apart from my mother and Thor… it’s not something I thought I could ever get used to.”

“You could… if you wanted to,” I murmured, unable to meet his eyes, but he was having none of that. He lifted my chin, his eyes locking with mine.

“You mean it?”

I nodded.

“So you would… be mine… if I asked?”

Another nod.

“Then… w-would you… be mine?”

I nodded once again and crashed my lips to his, sealing that promise.

**********************************************

#loki x reader #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki x y/n #lokixreader #loki friggason #loki of asgard #marvel #marvel mcu #avengers #loki smut #loki x female reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x reader smut #marvel smut #smutty #smutty smut smut

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lesbon4t · 11 months

Text

very good

pairing : natasha romanoff x reader

warnings : rlly heavy praise kink, spanking, punishments, degrading, lil pain kink, mommy kink, strap-on usage, mention of blood, thigh riding, choking, lil bit of hair pulling, marking, dumbification, edging.

summary : you miss one of your russian lessons and your girlfriend is mad about it (3778 words)

MINORS DNI !! THIS IS A FIC FOR MATURE AUDIENCES AND I AM VERY UNCOMFORTABLE WITH MINORS READING MY FICS !! ANY BLOG WITHOUT THEIR AGE STATED OR WITHOUT 18+ IN THEIR BIO WILL IMMEDIATELY BE BLOCKED !!

not proof read

A mixture of pleasure and pain hit you once again, you let out a yelp as another tear ran down your cheek. "Shhhh, it's alright baby, almost there," Natasha assured you. You were currently on your stomach over her thigh, you had missed one of your russian lessons hence breaking the rules put in place between you and Nat.

You held in a breath when you no longer felt her hand in contact with your stinging skin and braced for the next blow. Her hand came down harder than the previous one and the sound of it echoed through out the room. You bit your bottom lip so hard to stop yourself from screaming that it drew blood and your hands gripped onto Nat's thigh even tighter, your fingernails sank into her skin and you were sure it would leave her with marks.

You felt her hand once again soothing over the area she just spanked you, her thumb going in circles and you fell into her touch. "Very good," she said under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear, "I knew you could do it, you're such a good girl for me aren't you ?"

Her hand on your hip that held you in place moved to your scalp, she massaged it comfortingly and pulled it lightly from time to time just the way she knew you liked it, you let out a whimper and Nat chuckles, "Always so responsive..." her hand leaves your scalp, moving back to its secure place on your hips and you're already missing the way it felt in your hair.

"Just three more and we can do whatever you want for the rest of the night baby." She assured you and you let out a whine. She frowned and pinched your sore skin harshly, you jerk due to how unexpected it was but Nat’s hand around your waist kept you in place, " You know you have to finish your punishment, You broke a rule and that's on you angel." she reprimands you, "We wouldn't be here if you had went to your russian lessons like a good girl would we ?"

You nodded and felt your face turn red because she was right, if you had went to your russian lesson who knows what the both of you could be doing right now ? Instead you were over Nat’s knee getting your ass spanked till it was black and blue. You highly doubted you'd be able to walk or sit properly tomorrow. She pinched you again but lightly this time, "Words love, we've talked about this." she reminded you. "Yes," you muttered softly, you knew what she wanted you to say.

You could practically feel Nat’s eyes burning into you, she rubbed circles on your thigh and smirked, "Yes who ?" she asked. Your cheeks turned red, and the silence in the room became loud "C'mon, I know you know the answer pretty girl, go on. It's okay, it's just us." she encouraged you. "Yes mommy.", the words flew out of your mouth quickly and quietly, you buried your head into her thigh, mildly embarrassed, yet aroused. Nat smiled, it always took you some encouragement to call her that but god was it worth it at the end because she loved that title coming out of your mouth. "Good..." she praised, "Good fuckin' girl."

"Baby, I know I said that you need to finish your punishment but you've just been so good for me," her body dips and suddenly her lips are next to your ear, they brush against the shell of your ear lightly and it sent a shiver down your spine. Nat always seemed to have some sort of effect on you, every movement she made towards you had your stomach filled with butterflies and goosebumps raise on your skin. Her hand made its way up your body and her fingers ghosted where you needed her the most.

You wanted to whine but the urge to be good for her was stronger. "Been listening to me," she listed it out and her middle finger teases your core, "Been doing what i told you to do..." she muttered and her finger moves a strip up your heat, collecting your wetness. Nat brings her fingers up and smirks, "So fuckin' wet for me and I haven't even touched you properly yet, such a filthy little girl." she pops her middle finger into her mouth and stares you dead in the eye whilst doing so, she groans at your taste and you can feel yourself getting even wetter.

When she pulls her fingers out of her mouth she smiles, "Been taking your punishment so well." Nat taps your ass twice and you push yourself off her thigh to stand up, this was a familiar command from her, one of which she always used to show her authority around you. She loved having different subtle ways to show her possessiveness over you, she didn't like it to be shown too publicly but she loved it when it was subtle yet obvious enough for people to notice.

When you stood up a slight pain shot up your legs and you wince. Nat notices and she smirks, you hold onto her shoulder to properly stand and when you did she stood up too, her figure towering over yours. Her hand rose to caress your cheek, "Been such a good fuckin' girl for your mommy, haven't you ?" she asked, and you nod, "Yes mommy, always." When you used the title without hesitation, Nat smiled, "I think you deserve a reward pretty girl." She bends down slightly and her lips collide with yours, there was never a fight between the both of you when it got to taking control, Nat always got it and you were happy with that.

Her tongue swipes your bottom lip and you give her access to slip her tongue in, you can feel her grin against your lips. Her hand moves from your cheek to your chin, making your head tilt upwards, deepening the kiss whilst her spare hand travels down your body to grab your ass, smacking it . You moan into the kiss, the pleasure mixed with the pain just made you wetter. When the both of you ran out of air your lips parted, Nat started kissing your jawline and then she muttered "On the bed for me love, I want to see you on your back, I'll be right back," and pressed one more lingering kiss onto your lips before leaving the room.

You quickly made your way to the bed, removing your bra from your chest, that being the only piece of clothing that was still on you. You lay down on your back just like she told you to and you could feel your wetness dripping onto the sheets, the urge to relieve yourself of the knot in your stomach came quick. Your hands grabbed the sheets, gripping onto them tightly holding onto the little amount of self control you had, you were so close to getting a reward you weren't going to ruin it for yourself now. If any time was a good time for Nat to come back it would be now, you didn't know just how long more you could take it.

Just like she could read your mind, Nat came right back into the room, your head looked up and towards the door to see her. She was still fully clothed, her shirt and jewelry and everything stayed, but her pants now had a noticeable bulge and you knew she was packing. Something about the way she was fully clothed whilst you were completely naked had you squeezing your thighs together. Nat almost groaned when she caught sight of you, looking so pretty and ready for her, but instead her pupils dilated and the mood changed drastically, a smirk hanging on her lips.

She walked towards where you were on the bed and her fingers touched your legs lightly. She walked towards where your head was slowly and so did her fingers, moving up your body teasingly. You took in a shaky breath and whimpered at her touch. Nat hummed in approval before bending down to catch you at eye level, "You're so pretty baby, you've been waiting so patiently for me haven't you?" she asked. You looked at her with eyes that were at the brink of tears, your needs getting to you, "Need you so bad, please." you said softly.

Nat looked at you with fake pity, "Oh love... I'm so sorry I took so long, left you here all needy for me, squirming on the bed like the filthy little girl you are." she says in a sultry way, "I'm so sorry I didn't take care of my girl." she taunted , and she started crawling onto the bed slowly until she was on top of you. Her knee was slotted in between your thighs, pressing against your core whilst her arms were on the sides of your body, trapping you below her.

You gasped when you felt her knee come into contact with your pussy. Needing any form of friction right now, you started to move your hips involuntarily, rubbing yourself all over her thigh. Nat took notice of it quickly, her arms moving to your hips to hold them in place. "But I can take care of my girl now, can't I ?" she asked with a frown, "Or do you want to do it yourself ?"

You shake your head, "No natty, no, please, no. I'll be good, I'll be so good for you, I promise, please. " you begged, you needed her, wanted her so bad. But all she did was cock her head to the side and stare at you with disappointment, "I'm not convinced." she said simply, and just as you were about to protest she continued, "But you can prove to me that you'll be good." You quickly lit with hope again, you were willing to do whatever she asked you to do.

Nat pushes herself up from the bed so she's no longer towering over you and moves to sit herself on the side of the bed. She turns to your confused self and makes a come here motion with her index finger. You get up from the bed and kneel next to where she is on the bed. "Stand up." she demanded and you quickly get off the bed to stand in front of her. Nat looks you up and down and admires your figure, biting her bottom lip, you felt like that look alone could make you cum. She then pats her thigh signalling for you to sit on it and so you did, your bare pussy atop her clothed thigh.

"Ride it." she said, and your brain paused for a second, you needed to hear what she said again. "W-What ?", you muttered. Nat rolled her eyes, "You know I don't like repeating myself baby, I said ride it." she repeated. Your face turned red and blood rushed up your cheeks. Nat almost chuckled at the sight of you, so confused, you looked adorable. Her hands made its way to your sides just above your hip, her thumb rubbed circles, "Why so shy ?" she taunted you, "You were so happy humping on mommy's knee earlier." Nat bounced her leg and your clit bumped against her flexed thigh, you let out a pornographic moan, "Or did my baby turn dumb ?" she asked, "Either you do what I tell you to do, or you're not gonna cum tonight."

You look at her with wide eyes and she raises an eyebrow, challenging you to disobey her. So you put your hands on her shoulder and start to move your hips against her thigh, your slick covering her pants, and she smirks, somehow, she always got her way with you. You try to contain the moans that threatened to spill out of your mouth, this was already embarrassing enough, getting yourself off of Nat’s thigh was humiliating.

But she grabbed your chin and turned your head so you were staring into her eyes, "Let those pretty moans out love, let me hear how good you're doing for me." Nat encouraged you and so you did as she said, moans and whimpers coming out of your mouth whilst your hips moved against the wet patch you've created on her pants.

The friction between her pants and your clit was a little painful and a little rough you had to admit but it felt so good so you moved your hips even faster, the knot in your stomach twisted even tighter, and you started to chase your high. The wet sounds you were making against her thigh echoed throughout the room, "Such filthy sounds you're making," Nat commented and her eyes were filled with a new light, "I'm starting to think you like doing this baby, not a punishment anymore is it ?"

Your hips were beginning to slow and she knew you were tired so she placed her hands on your hips guiding you against her thigh. The moans you let out increased and you could feel your release approaching, "P-please." you stuttered, "so close" you choked out, unable to say more words, too engrossed in your own pleasure. "Hold it." Nat said firmly. You threw your head back, trying your best to hold it, and Nat placed wet kisses along your neck. You squeezed your eyes shut, just as you knew you were about to come she held your hips in place, the stimulation you were getting got cut off.

You tried to move your hips, trying to gain any kind of friction, anything to make you cum, but Nat held your hips in place firmly, she chuckled at the sight of you, she loved playing with you. For once, you hated how she knew your body so well. Frustrated tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes and she caressed your cheek with one of her hands, "It's okay baby, you've done so good for me," she cooed, "Promise you, when mommy helps you it's gonna be so much better than what you would've gotten if I had allowed you to cum." and you nod, trying to do anything that would speed up the process to let you gain the satisfaction you desperately needed.

Nat stood up and carried you off her thigh, she placed you on the bed gently, "On your hands and knees pretty girl." she ordered and so you weakly got into the position she ordered you into. Whilst you got into the position, Nat took off her shirt and her full round breasts came into view.

You looked at them with your mouth agape and you heard her chuckle, "Looking at something ?" she asked. She then proceeded to take off her pants, the silicon strap on sprang out of her pants, and you gasped when you realised it was her favourite. The purple strap had a realistic feel, artificial veins were carved onto it, it was large, thick and long. She loved being able to fill you up completely and that was exactly what this strap did.

She turned back to the bed and climbed back into it, she placed herself right in front of your ass. Nat placed her hand on your waist which now had bruises and took the strap into her other hand. She teased your entrance, moving the strap up and down your slit, your wetness covered the tip, "Please mommy, please, just fuck me." you begged her, unable to take anymore teasing. "You can beg better than that." Nat shrugged, she thrusted her hips slightly and the tip of the strap entered you.

You whimper at the sensation just wishing for her to enter you fully. "Please mommy, please fuck me, I need you so bad, I'm so desperate for you, just need you to fuck me, please, I need you inside of me" you whine and Nat smiled, "Good fuckin' girl."

Then she thrust her hips fully, she didn't give you any warning. You let out a throaty yell at the unexpected action and your hands gripped the sheets tightly, you could feel the tip of the strap deep inside of you, Nat's pelvis against your stinging ass. "You're so wet I just slipped right in baby, didn't even need you to suck my cock." Nat said, both of her hands now on your waist. "You ready for me, sweetheart?" she asked, giving you time to adjust to the toy. You nodded frantically, "Yes please." you mumbled, and she smiled, "Such a polite little girl aren't you ?" Her upper body dipped to press a kiss to your cheek then she got right back up.

She started thrusting into you slowly, then building up the pace faster and faster. Each time her hips met yours, you could feel the tip of the strap hit your g-spot. You thanked the gods you finally had Nat’s full length right where you needed her, you felt so full but you still needed more, as if she could read your mind she pulled out the strap completely. Before you could ask her what she was doing, she slammed her hips right back against yours and you screamed. That movement alone could have made you cum.

"Gonna fuck you so good baby, you deserve this after waiting all day don't ya ?" she asked and you couldn't answer, your eyes rolled to the back of your head whilst Nat repeated that action of slamming into you again and again, "Gonna ruin you for everyone else, gonna make you feel me for days." Nat’s words drove you wild, the pleasure she gave you almost felt overstimulating. "Fuck..." she groaned as she drove into you at a brutal pace, each time her hips met your sore ass, it was a reminder of what she did to you earlier and a reminder that you were hers.

You wanted to respond to the filthy things she said but you couldn't, instead small murmurs of gibberish and untellable words came out, "What did you say ? Is mommy making you feel so good that you're going dumb ?" she asked, and it was true, only she could make you feel so good that your mind went dead and the words spilling out of your mouth became gibberish.

Nat’s hand reached for your neck and she pulled you up so you were on your knees, your back against her chest as she pounded into you. Her hand applied pressure against your neck, making whatever you were trying to say before unable to even come out of your throat. She attached her mouth to your neck, sucking on it and making sure that purple marks would appear on you tomorrow. "You look so pretty like this for me love, covered in my marks, me pounding into you, and all of you, completely at my mercy." She groaned as she thrusted into you even faster.

Her other hand on your waist now moved to the front, her middle finger and index finger found your clit and started circling around it, making you cry out a guttural scream, your back arched and you couldn't fathom how one woman could make you feel this way. "You wanna cum for me, sweet girl ?" Nat asked in such a sweet tone, it contrasted the way she was thrusting into you like there was no tomorrow.

You nodded and the only sound you could muster out of yourself was a small whimper and Nat immediately understood, "Cum all over my cock love, no need to hold it in," she whispered into your ear, "Been doing so good for me, go on baby." And the moment she finished what she said, your orgasm washed over you with a such a strong force, you never had one this good before. Nat continued pounding into you but with not as much force as she used before, slowly bringing you down from your high.

She carried you off the strap and layed you down on the bed, "You did so good for me I'm so proud of you love." she praised you, and she said a million different other things but your mind was too fuzzy to fully comprehend anything she said. All you knew was that you were thankful for her and every little thing she said.

Nat got off the bed and took the strap off of her before crawling back onto the bed. She pressed loving kisses up your body till she reached your face and she kissed you lightly on the lips. With you between her arms, she asked you, "You okay ?" and you nodded sleepily. "You wanna take a shower ?" she asked, and you shook your head, "Alright baby, we'll just stay here then, I'll give you a bath tomorrow, get all the rest you need right now, I know I did a number on you."

She pressed a kiss to your nose before lying down next to you. Her arms wrapped around your body and your legs tangled together between the sheets. You turned your body so you were facing her, you could feel each others breath on your skin and Nat said softly, "I love you," she kissed you lovingly all over your face, you giggled at the ticklish sensation before moving yourself so you were in a slightly more comfortable position.

Your head rested atop Nat's chest whilst her head rested on yours, her hands soothed your body comfortingly. She pressed a kiss to the top of your head every once in awhile with a small mumble of "I love you so much." and "You're the love of my life." You closed your eyes and almost immediately fell to sleep wrapped around Nat’s comforting frame.

She moved your hair to the side so she could kiss you again on your forehead and smiled at how pretty you looked as you slept. Slowly, Nat also closed her eyes and she fell asleep to the sound of your breath and her arms around your body.

a/n : hope y’all enjoyed this, it was super fun to write and my second fic on here :D likes, replies and reposts are appreciated mwahhhh 🫂🫂

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tropes-and-tales · 6 months

Text

Lieutenant Steal-Your-Girl

Day 8: Cuckolding (Bob Floyd x F!Reader; Jake Seresin x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Light angst (relationship woes); open relationships; cuckolding, but not really, I think I did this one wrong but got too deep to turn back; Jake is a bad boyfriend; smut (Oral, F!receiving; PiV, unprotected); 18+ only.

Word Count: 5536

AN: This was requested for Kinktober by an anon!

AN2: This might not be for everyone. People feel A Certain Way about open relationships, and this is very much a Reddit revenge version of that. Cuckolding? Maybe if you squint. I dunno. It got away from me and my original intention for this. Also, if you're a Jake fan, this won't be for you. Read at your own peril.

The sentence makes Bob Floyd short-circuit. A question, in English, uttered by Jake with his smarmy grin, but it’s so incongruous, Bob’s mind cannot grasp it.

“You wanna fuck my girl, Baby on Board?”

Bob sputters at the question. He feels his cheeks heat up as blood floods his face in a furious blush. He wonders if it’s a joke, a put-on by the other pilots. He glances around—to the piano where Rooster is perched, to the bar where Nat and Javi wait patiently for a fresh pitcher—and finds himself without backup. It’s just him and Bagman by the pool tables.

Bob can’t help but glance out the windows of the Hard Deck to see where you’re sitting.

Where you’re waiting patiently for Jake to rejoin you. Where you often sit alone while Jake flirts with the local girls. Where the other members of the Dagger Squad often sit with you, an apology of sorts, a paltry way of making up for your boyfriend’s inattention. Where Bob, more than any other Dagger, often sits with you, distracts you from your wayward boyfriend, makes you laugh with his corny jokes.

You explain to him one night how you and Jake are trying an open thing, an open relationship, a way of spicing up your long-term thing—but Bob hears the misery in your voice, and he sees the hurt look in your eyes when you see your boyfriend openly flirting with his next conquest—

Jake snapping his fingers brings Bob back to focus. He opens his mouth, manages to answer Jake (“of course not, she’s your girl, Bagman”), but it’s the flimsiest of lies. Bob knows it. Jake knows it.

Bob has wanted you from the moment he clapped his eyes on you.

-----

Another night, another moment where Bob finds himself alone with Jake.

The same question posed to him. “You wanna fuck my girl, Bob?”

This time, Jake doesn’t let Bob sputter out a lie. The man shakes his head, offers a rueful grin, then claps Bob on the back hard enough to nearly jolt him off his stool.

“It isn’t an accusation,” Jake clarifies. “It’s a question. An offer. You interested?”

Another lie when he stammers out, “no, I wouldn’t…I mean, I don’t think—”

Jake cuts him off with another hard clap on the back. “Let’s take a walk, huh? Me and you. We’ll talk.”

-----

That’s the night Bob learns that his understanding of kinks is incomplete. He always thought of kinks as things like role-playing or handcuffs or outrageous lingerie. He never knew of cuckolding beyond, perhaps, a vague memory of reading the word in high school when they read Shakespeare in English class.

That’s the night Bob learns that beyond opening up your relationship, Jake has a thing for cuckolding. It’s only theoretical; you haven’t slept with anyone but Jake, but Jake has taken full advantage of the open relationship and has had many lovers beyond you.

And Jake finds the idea of you with another man intoxicating. However, when he’s broached the subject with you, urged you to go out and find yourself a one-night stand, you’ve balked.

Hence, the need for Bob.

“She is comfortable with you,” Jake explains, and it sounds so commonplace, so everyday that he’s offering his girlfriend up as a potential one-night stand for his fellow Dagger. “And I know you like her.”

Bob ends up declining. Of course he likes you. He’s wanted you for as long as he’s known you. He lies awake at night, plagued by insomnia that has its origin in you. Evenings cheering you up at the Hard Deck haunt him—your sad eyes that always track Jake around the bar, but the way you laugh at Bob’s jokes, the way you chat with him earnestly about books and movies, about hiking trails you want to conquer, places you want to travel to. You’re Bob’s dream girl but you’re taken, whether your relationship is open or not.

Bob declines Jake’s offer. Besides, it feels too close to a business deal, edging too close to something akin to sex work, albeit without money changing hands. Jake and his smarmy grin feels too close to being a pimp. Just two men making a deal about a woman without her input.

So Bob declines, but when you make a similar offer weeks later, that’s something else entirely.

-----

It happens at the Hard Deck. You’re outside nursing a drink, separating yourself from where Jake chats up a local woman. Bob sits beside you, and he tells you a story from when he was stationed in Pensacola, but you’re not really listening.

You cut him off halfway through his story, turn to face him. Your eyes, usually so sad, have a fire in them he’s never seen before, and it pulls his up short, strikes him mute.

“Do you want to go out with me sometime?” you ask, and if Bob stammered his way through Jake’s offer, he doesn’t hesitate a single second when you ask.

“Yes,” he replies. “Absolutely.”

-----

Bob has no idea what the rules are. Jake made it sound like a tawdry hook-up, a late-night meeting with sex and nothing else.

You? You ask him if he wants to go out with you, and Bob interprets that as a date night. He gets your number, texts you throughout the week, and makes plans.

A proper date night. Bob can’t tell if Jake knows or not. He’s unclear if there’s a don’t-ask, don’t-tell policy in place, despite how open Jake seems to be with his own dalliances. Bob keeps it hush-hush, and late Saturday afternoon, Bob finds himself at your apartment.

-----

Years later, Bob will be able to admit to himself: this isn’t just a date for him.

It’s an audition. It’s a job interview. It’s Lieutenant Robert Floyd doing his damnedest to show you that he’s a better bet than Jake.

Bob sees how unhappy you are with Jake, how miserable you are to be in an open relationship you didn’t want. It’s Bob trying to show you that Jake isn’t the only man in the world; that there are other proverbial fish in the proverbial sea, and that maybe another man (Bob, specifically) would cherish you, would love you, would never offer you up to other men. Cuckolding isn’t Bob’s kink at all, so he misinterprets Jake’s insistence as guilt. Jake must feel guilty, Bob reasons, and offering you up feels like a twisted version of atonement—a chance for you to explore other men.

It occurs to Bob that Jake chose him because he doesn’t feel threatened. Bob Floyd—quiet Bob with his terrible, Navy-issued glasses, with his quiet voice and lack of braggadocio—is no threat to the handsome, cocky pilot.

Years later, it will only demonstrate: Jake Seresin doesn’t know Bob Floyd at all, but more to the point—Jake Seresin doesn’t really know you.

*****

As far as first dates go, Bob knocks it out of the park.

Not that you have a lot of experience. You’ve only ever had one first date—all the way back in sophomore year of high school—when Jake took you out to Sonic and then felt you up in the cab of his truck.

You try not to compare Adult Bob against Adolescent Jake. It wouldn’t be fair.

It doesn’t stop you from comparing Adult Bob to Adult Jake, and the differences are stunning.

Bob greets you at your door with a bouquet of flowers, cheerful daises that nod their fat little heads as you invite him in to put them in water. Bob does his usual Bob-stammer, a faint pink tinge to his cheeks as he tells you how beautiful you look.

When was the last time Jake got you flowers? When was the last time Jake complimented your looks?

You often feel invisible with your boyfriend, and it’s always been that way. Star running back Jake, hometown hero, dating the perfectly average, perfectly middle-of-the-road girl. Jake with his good looks, his perfect smile, his perfect tan, his perfect muscles…and you.

Jake’s idea of a date night is typically the Hard Deck, and since the two of you have opened up your relationship, date night has ceded to hunting for new prospects. You dread it every time; you sit outside and listen to the ceaseless roll of the waves, and you wait with a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach to see if you’ll go home alone or if your boyfriend will turn up at last call, disappointed to have struck out, disappointed to go home to boring old you.

You are desperately unhappy. Your emotions veer wildly. You swing between extremes: manic periods where you work out, get your hair styled, where you scrub and polish and pluck yourself as near to perfect as you can get. Depressive periods where you can barely summon the strength to shower, ground down by the thought of your boyfriend fucking other women.

You know you should end it. When Jake sat you down all those months ago, your stomach had fluttered with butterflies. This is it, you thought. He’s going to ask me to marry him. You’d waited so long, patient and unswerving in your devotion. Through college and flight school, bouncing around in his wake as his assignments and deployments dictated.

Instead, Jake told you he was bored. That he read up on it, and he thought opening the relationship would be good for him. For you, too.

“As long as we always come home to each other, I don’t see it as a bad thing,” he had told you, and you—always invisible, always trailing behind him like a lost puppy—had hated yourself when you nodded in agreement.

-----

Bob takes you first to an independent bookstore, a tucked-away little gem, and you realize immediately that he isn’t playing fair. When you tell him so, shaking your forefinger with a mock-frown, he only gives you his soft Bob Floyd smile.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he claims, and he holds his palms up in surrender. “We just have a little time to kill before our reservations.”

Bad enough he’s brought you here. The two of you talk books all the time, and it’s a thoughtful date idea. But what makes it worse is when he sidles up to you as you read the book jacket of a new release and says, low near your ear, “get whatever you want. My treat.”

It’s the moment the bottom falls out for you. It’s like you’ve been wading around in the shallow end of the pool, and Bob’s sweet date paired with Bob’s surprisingly low, grumbling voice near your ear is your foot slipping into the deep end. You find yourself treading water. You find yourself fighting off the panicky urge to flail.

-----

Dinner is at a restaurant overlooking the ocean, and you wonder if Bob timed it so that you’d be there during sunset.

You suspect he did. You’re starting to suspect that this isn’t just some prelude to fucking, the crude reality of this open relationship you and Jake are doing, the cuckolding fetish that Jake seems to have. Bob could have just invited you over to his place, but he’s planned such a lovely first date.

You are out of your depth, but when the panic starts to grip you, you only look across the table to see Bob: his bright blue eyes, his gentle smile, the tips of his ears pink underneath the soft wave of his hair. You look at him and it feels natural, and the panic ebbs away but it’s replaced by something else.

Doubt. This date with Bob is a crack in the foundation of your relationship with Jake. A tiny little trickle of doubt slips through.

Why does this feel so easy, you think as you pick at your meal. Why does this feel so easy but everything with Jake feels so fraught?

It feels easy because Bob talks to you, not at you. He’s endlessly curious about you: your history, your likes, your dislikes. What your job is like, what your childhood was like. Where you see yourself in five years, in ten, in twenty? Do you like the country or the city? The ocean or the mountains? Do you like dogs or cats or both? What’s your favorite book, what’s the last movie you saw?

Jakes doesn’t ask you those questions, and you half-convince yourself that it’s because you’ve been together for so long. Jake knows everything there is to know about you.

But you know that’s not true. Bob pays for dinner, then takes your hand in his. He walks you to a nearby gelato place for dessert, and it’s nearly perfect. This second first date with Bob Floyd while your boyfriend is out doing god know what (or who).

It’s nearly perfect but not entirely because you admit to yourself that Jake doesn’t know everything about you at all. He’s never asked what you’re reading, who your favorite author is, and it hits you suddenly that Bob—who you’ve known for a handful of months, if that—might know parts of you better than your boyfriend.

At Bob’s truck, he puts the key in the ignition but doesn’t turn it yet. He turns to face you, and his face is a furious red. He’s blushing, you realize. Something is making him blush.

“Take you home?” he asks, and his voice has a strange tension in it that you’ve never heard before. You think of this date, all the effort he put into it to make it perfect. You think of all the times he’s kept you company at the Hard Deck, how sometimes he sits in front of you, makes his body block your line of sight so you can’t see Jake leaning in on some girl who is prettier than you, more adventuresome than you—

“No.” You shake your head, then smile at Bob. You don’t care about Jake and his stupid cuckolding kink; you’ve been on a low-simmer of growing desire ever since the bookshop when Bob leaned in and growled in your ear. You want Bob for Bob’s own sake.

“Take me to your place,” you say.

*****

It’s a dangerous thing, how Jake never once crosses Bob’s mind once he gets you to his apartment. Bob forgets the reality of this situation: that you’re taken, that this is a one-time thing, that it’s actually feeding into Jake’s kink, not yours or Bob’s.

Bob forgets all of that. He’s only focused on you: lovely, perfect you. The best date he’s ever been on, and Bob feels like a million bucks at how surprised you’d been with each part of it. The way your face lit up at the flowers, at his compliments. The squeal of surprise at the book store, the shy way you only chose one book for him to buy you—he would have bought you the whole store if you’d asked. The content sigh each time you looked at the sun setting over the ocean, and how natural it felt to hold your hand as he walked you back to his truck.

Bob doesn’t think of Jake until afterwards, and it’s dangerous because Bob instead thinks about second dates, third dates. He forgets that you’re spoken for, and instead he spins out an entire future where he meets your family and you meet his, where he cleans off a shelf in his bathroom for you, where the two of you move in together…

Who could blame him, though? Once he gets you inside his apartment, he turns to ask if you want a drink, but you’re right there, standing so close to him that he can see the little amber flecks in your eyes and the question is only halfway out of his mouth when you kiss him.

Of course Bob doesn’t think of Jake. He’s wanted you since he first saw you, and here you finally are: your hands on him, holding him steady as you press your lips to his, as you bump against his glasses and knock them askew, then break the kiss to gently reach up and set them right again.

“Sorry,” you mumble, and Bob doesn’t link your sudden reticence—you avoid his eyeline—to Jake. He doesn’t make the connection between your bashful expression and how you’ve only ever kissed Jake, slept with Jake, and how monumental this all must feel.

“Don’t apologize.” Bob cups his hands on your bare shoulders, pulls you in for a hug. “Nothin’ to be sorry for.”

“I’m not very good at this.” It comes out muffled, your face pressed against his shoulder.

Bob has always guessed that your rocky relationship with Jake has shaken your confidence, but he doesn’t think of that now. He only feels you sigh against him, embarrassed, so he pushes you away gently, touches his forehead to yours.

“You’re fine,” he assures you. “You’re perfect.” Then he leans in, kisses you this time, and when his glasses get knocked off-kilter again, he just takes them off, folds them into his pocket, then leads you into his bedroom.

*****

You’ve spent a lot of time on the internet researching cuckolding as a kink, and you had settled on the belief that Jake was into it because he was turned on by the idea of another man using you.

Or maybe he just feels guilty that he’s the only one taking advantage of the open relationship.

Who can say? When you try to talk about it, Jake brushes you off, tells you not to worry about it too much, so you never are quite clear on what motivates the man you thought you’d marry one day.

But as far as being used goes, nothing about your dalliance with Bob says used: the man worships you. He kneels in front of your body like a penitent, and his hands are so gentle, his voice so soft as he asks permission every step of the way.

“Can I kiss you here?”

“Can I touch you here?”

Is this okay? Does this feel good? Tell me what you like. Tell me what you need. I’ll do anything. Let me make you feel good.

Is this what Jake wanted—a change from the usual? Because being with Bob feels like a revelation: you’ve never been loved like this. He kisses his way down your naked body, then reverses course until he’s between your legs, his broad shoulders holding your thighs open. His mouth on you, the shy little swipes of his tongue until he gets a taste of you—then he devours you like a starved man, completely unabashed at the groans leaving him, at the way he grinds into the bedding at how turned on he is to feast on you.

You open your mouth to tell him not to bother, that you’ve never come from oral alone, but then you feel how your body is responding, the answering arousal to Bob’s skilled tongue, and when he slides a finger inside you, you’re reminded of that too-deep feeling from earlier.

But instead of feeling panicky, you feel a sharp throb of arousal. You aren’t afraid of being in too deep now. You aren’t straining to return to shore.

You want to be swept out to sea, and you want Bob to be the one to do it. When your orgasm approaches, you reach down and tangle your fingers in Bob’s hair—it’s as soft as it looks, just as silky—and Bob looses a groan that vibrates up from your pussy to the very top of your head. He reaches up and holds your hand against his head, mumbles against you to use him, to grind against him, so you do. You lift your hips and press against his mouth, feel the bump of his nose against your clit, and you realize that you’re about to come from oral for the first time in your life and that it’s not your boyfriend who’s done it.

When you come against Bob’s mouth, every single thought of Jake is erased from your head, and you won’t think of him again afterwards.

*****

Bob takes a long beat to get control of himself. He was dangerously close to coming as he ate you out, and he waits for his own orgasm to fade into the background before he continues.

Instead, he props himself on one elbow and just watches you. If you looked beautiful before, you look even more so now: all of the tension is gone from your face, and blink up at him sleepily, dreamily. Your smile is lazy, and when you sigh, it’s nothing but content.

“Good?” he asks, grinning down at you.

You nod, just as lazy as your smile. “The best.” You purse your lips, pout up at him. “Kiss me?”

How can he resist? He leans down to kiss you, and you wrap your arm around his shoulders, pull him closer to you. Eating you out has relaxed you, banished whatever doubts you had from earlier, and you kiss him now with a passion he’s never experienced before: you part your lips, you slide your tongue into his mouth, you lick against him. You must taste yourself on him because you make the cutest damned whimper, and it goes straight to his dick, hearing how undone you are.

Then you do this cute little wriggling move underneath him, and Bob’s body moves independently of his brain: he slots himself between your thighs, slick from his earlier attention, and his erection bumps against your hip, your belly before you reach down and guide him to where you want him most.

Bob breaks the kiss long enough to mumble his question about protection, and it won’t occur to him until much later—what it means when you say you’re on birth control but also that you’re clean, that there’s no risk.

It won’t occur to Bob until later, what it means for you to say you’re clean. It won’t occur to him that you’re in a committed relationship, that your boyfriend has regular hookups but you remain STD-free since your last checkup.

It’ll hit Bob in the middle of his workday at Miramar, what you are telling him now: that your bedroom with Jake is dead and has been for a while, and that this moment with Bob is the first time you’ve had sex in months.

He’ll realize that later. Now, there’s only the feeling of your pussy—warm, wet, perfect—as he pushes into you. There’s only the sound of your sharp inhale, your whine as you tell him to go slow, to be gentle, but you don’t need to tell him that. He’d never hurt you, and he can feel how tight you are, so he goes slow. He works himself into you carefully, watches your face for any sign of pain.

He sees none. He goes so slowly that he only sees your expression go from worried to stunned: the lines in your brow smooth out and your lips part as you gaze up at him, a perfect oh of surprise.

When he’s fully seated in you, buried in the silky depths of your pussy, Bob stills—and he realizes that you are trembling underneath him.

“Honey,” he breathes out, the sweet nickname falling from his mouth without thought. “You okay? You want me to—”

“No.” You cut him off, gift him with a shaky smile. “Stay with me, okay? Just stay with me a minute.”

“’Course.” He leans down, bumps his nose against yours until your smile firms up, seems steadier. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Bob only moves enough to settle more of his weight on you, and then he takes the time to kiss you: he trails featherlight kisses across your face, your forehead, your flushed cheeks. He kisses the tip of your nose—it pulls a giggle from you, and the sound makes him smile. He kisses along your jaw. He dips his head near your ear, whispers how gorgeous you are, how good you feel, how he’d happily stay like this forever. He doesn’t miss the little shudder you give at his praise.

Bob doesn’t realize that he’s shifted your worldview entirely. Just this simple liaison—not even complete, and nothing extreme—has rearranged everything you thought you knew. You aren’t actively thinking of Jake at all—he’s been banished until afterwards—but you’re considering the balance of your entire erotic history against this single moment with Bob.

You’re realizing that sex can be so much more than just an act…and with Bob, a man you haven’t known that long.

You eventually stop trembling. Bob feels it when you relax; the tight clench of your cunt slackens a bit. He feels your hands on him, shy at first and then bolder as you run your warm palms over the planes of his back, along his shoulders and arms. As you thread your fingers through his hair, comb out the tangles there. As you rest your palm along the back of his head and lead his face back to yours.

“Thank you.” You whisper it, and your eyes are wide. Earnest. Bob isn’t sure what you’re thanking him for, so he just kisses you again.

“I’m ready,” you mumble against his searching lips.

“You sure?”

A nod, a purposeful roll of your hips that makes Bob see stars, makes the edges of his vision turn hazy with desire.

“Take me, Bob,” you tell him, and he’s never heard you so assured. “I’m yours.”

So he does. He takes you in small movements, focused on your pleasure. He is used to sitting in the backseat of a billion dollar plane, all those systems to keep track of, so focusing on you is an easy, wondrous thing: the expression on your face, the moans he manages to pull from you. The way your eyes flutter shut or roll back or fix on him like he’s responsible for setting the sun in the sky. The way your hands touch him or hold him, sometimes soft and stroking, sometimes clinging to him like he’s your life preserver. The way your cunt feels, slick and warm and gripping him, obscenely wet as he fucks into you harder, the sound of skin on skin, the heady scent of sex filling his room, and he hopes it lingers for days afterwards, he wants the moment to never end.

He focuses on your pleasure as it rises, crests around you: the way you tighten up, bear down harder on him until he loses some of his rhythm. He reaches a shaky hand down to touch you there, the slick, swollen place where he disappears into the confines of your body, and he rubs a tight circle against you. He begs you to come for him; he’s so close, he feels his balls tightening against his body, and he needs you to come for him first, needs to feel you before—

When you come, you say his name. You breathe it out, a hot pant against his ear, and Bob is grateful for it because it pushes him over the edge. He groans out your name too, chokes out a curse, and you come together—your pussy pulsing around him as he buries himself in you, comes inside you.

Marks you as his.

-----

Afterwards, Bob remembers Jake and feels a sting of conscience—but not enough to send you home. That had been integral to the cuckolding thing, Bob sending you home thoroughly fucked, to sleep beside Jake, for Jake to know you’d been with another man and to be turned on by it.

A mean little part of Bob wants to. He wants to send you home satisfied, his cum dripping out of you. Part of him sees the allure of it from his side; Jake doesn’t consider Bob a threat, so it’d hit the smug bastard hard to see you satisfied, happy from your dalliance with the back-seater.

But Bob doesn’t give a shit about Jake. Not when you’re sitting in his bed with the sheets wrapped around you, uncertain all of a sudden, and Bob kisses you on the forehead and tells you to stay.

“Just stay the night,” he says. “Please. I’d love for you to stay.”

He sees the doubt on your face. He knows you’re thinking of Jake, and Bob feels a flare of something—anger, protectiveness, whatever. It gives him the courage to speak up. He takes your hand in his, settles on the bed beside you.

“Honey, is this even what you wanted? I had a fun time with you, but would you have asked me out if Jake hadn’t wanted it?”

Your expression turns from uncertain to surprise in an instant. “No! I mean, I asked you out because I like you. And because I’m in an open thing. I thought…” You trail off, stare at him as you try to assemble your words. “Did you only agree to take me about because of Jake?”

Bob shakes his head. “No. I took you out because I wanted to. I brought you here because I want you.”

Your surprise turns to a shy smile. “Really?”

He squeezes your hand. “Really.”

Your smile fades away by degrees, and your eyes shine with unshed tears. “I never wanted any of this, you know. I…I wanted to get married, have kids, all that, but he…” You sigh, drop your head. “I don’t like the open relationship. It makes me feel like I’m not enough, you know?”

“Honey—”

“Like if I were better somehow, he wouldn’t have to go out and find other women—”

“Hey, no, don’t—”

“Like, what is wrong with me? Why aren’t I enough? Why—”

“Stop.” Bob places a finger over your mouth to silence you. He hates all this doubt, hates how little you think of yourself, so he stills your words. “You’re enough,” he tells you. “Hell, honey, you’re everything.”

You blink at him, surprised. The shimmering tears shake loose, start to course down your cheeks, and Bob pulls you to him, holds you as you cry. He wraps you in his arms as you sob against him, gasp out that you don’t know what to do, that you’ve felt lost for months now—

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” he murmurs against your head. “You just need a good night’s rest. That’s all you need to do tonight.”

Your tears taper off. You push away from him gently and swipe at where your tears have made his bare chest wet.

“Stop being so wise, Lieutenant,” you grumble, but there’s a teasing quality there that makes Bob smile. You sniffle and glance up at him, and he’s struck how beautiful you are even with swollen, teary eyes.

Maybe you’ve rearranged his world too.

No, there’s no maybe to it. You’ve definitely rearranged his world.

“Stay with me tonight,” he says, and he keeps his voice low and even, tries to keep the excitement out of it. He can sense that a sea-change is coming, and he doesn’t want to jinx it.

“Stay tonight,” he repeats. “Things are always clearer in the morning, I find.”

So you do. You nod at him, and you wave off his offers to get you clothes to sleep in. The two of you fall asleep in record time—the cure for Bob’s you-induced insomnia is you, both the cause and the cure, your warm, naked body curled up alongside him as he fades into sleep.

And you were right: Bob is wise. You’ll wake in the morning to an empty bed, a room full of sunlight, the lingering scent of sex. You’ll pad out into Bob’s kitchen and find the man putting the finishing touches on breakfast, and you’ll let him feed you before you let him fuck you again—this time on his kitchen counter, the room full of light so you can see the blatant love in his expression as he claims you again. And then a third time, together in the shower, a slow moment so full of feeling that you’ll cry when you come, and Bob will hold you, will choke back words as he comes too, and you’ll wonder later why those bitten-back words sound so much like I love you.

And then you’ll let Bob drive you home where Jake will be waiting for you. His smug smile will fall as you breeze past him, his cuckolding fantasy falling apart in front of him because he was the only one turned on by it, the only one turned on by opening your relationship. Jake will realize too late that he only opened the door for someone else to come and steal you away, and that the thief will be Robert Floyd, who taught you that love should never be such a fraught, painful thing, and that you may not be enough for Jake, but for the right man, you are everything.

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #top gun maverick #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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