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callsignthirsty · 1 year

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#17 "When I get home I expect you to be undressed and waiting on all fours for me." With Cyclone 🫣

@deadratio — come get your man Also, big thanks to @purelyfiction who helped me a whole helluva lot with this. You're the best ❤️

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x F!Reader Word Count: 1830 Warnings: Masturbation, dirty talk, phone sex (kinda-sorta-almost), daddy Minors DNI

Smut Prompt #17

There's something about coming home to an empty home that makes you just… well. As your keys find their home on the hall tree, you fail to place the feeling that falls over your home like a shadow each time Beau leaves. Even the armchair in the living room — your usual perch, book in hand as the wall clock ticks in the background — feels wrong now as the quiet lingering and longing settle deep into your bones.

"Yearning," you mumble as epiphany strikes. You've given up on your book, having only gotten a couple of pages in before realizing that you'd absorbed none of the words.

He's been away at conferences since you'd gotten together, but this is the first time a conference has been delayed — curse the weather in upstate New York. As it is, the conference began the very day it was supposed to end, and now as the sun continues to blaze a trail through the sky, there's no time to pop open a bottle of red. You help yourself to a heavy-handed pour and check the time in New York.

7:48 PM.

It isn't even 5:00 PM on the west coast, and Beau's undoubtedly seated around some dinner table making polite conversation with some admiral or another.

Beau would've been home by that time had your time zones been the same. Khakis creased from a day of desk work, skin tacky from roasting in his office with nothing but the admin building's ancient AC unit to combat the San Diego sun. He'd slide into his spot behind you while you finished dinner. Press a kiss into the curve of your neck as his arms wrap around you, biceps testing the limits of the cotton twill as the lingering scent of his body wash lights up something in the fuzzy reaches of your hindbrain, and he towers over you. Cradles you to his chest. Praises your efforts for the day and beckons in the night.

It's hardly night now, though, as you, your glass, and your pinot finds your way to the bedroom. A sigh escapes your lips when you see how empty the bed is. It's not that you're surprised. You knew it would be empty. But it's one thing knowing and another seeing.

You feel like a new woman after one incredibly indulgent bath and three glasses of wine. Not a less lonely one, but certainly different.

You don't bother dressing as you return to your shared bedroom and make a home for the remaining pinot on your bedside table atop a coaster. A smile tugs at your lips as your fingers brush the coaster. You couldn't have given two shits about condensation rings on your furniture before Beau, but Beau had opinions. It was one of the many ticks that had you smitten with the vice admiral.

Stretched out on the duvet, you sigh again in defeat, boredom, and yearning. The wine and the bath have made everything warm, but you aren't ready to go to sleep yet, so instead, you stare at your phone's lock screen. Your finger traces over his cheek, and the phone's screen warps. You click the screen off and back on until Beau smiles back at you. This photo is a closely-guarded favorite. A side of your Beau that no one else gets to see immortalized in 4K. The Beau who stirs beside you in the early hours of the morning and rouses you with whisper-soft kisses across your shoulders. Some mornings, those kisses move in one of two ways.

Lashes flutter closed with an alcohol-fueled whine. You'd give the world to feel the mattress dip beneath Beau's weight beside you. His steady breathing at your side as he slips into one of his deep sleep sessions. To trace mindless patterns across his arms until he woke with a shiver. Until he'd gather you to his chest and roll on top of you, voice raspy as he asks if his princess needs attention.

She does, you think to yourself, blinking back to your lock screen and Beau's smiling face. It takes fumbling hands long seconds to unlock your phone and tap on Beau's contact. The phone rings, and you can see him in your mind's eye. Dressed in his service blues, a political smile, Warlock at his side.

A second ring. Your tongue feels heavy as you try to think of what you'll say past the 'baby, I miss you' that runs on a loop through your mind. Would you ask him to step outside and entertain you for a while?

"You've reached the voicemail box of Rear Admiral Beau Simpson. I am currently unavailable. Please leave your name and number, and I will return your call as soon as feasible. Thanks."

Beep.

Your lips move before your brain can catch up. "I think you know my name, Admiral," your voice sounds like velvet brushed backward to your own ears. "It sounded so pretty coming off your lips when you were unavailable with me before you left." You bite at your bottom lip even as it curls into a grin. This is different from where you thought the night would take you, but the wine appears to have both you and Beau's voicemail along for the ride. "I wish you were here with me," you confess as your fingers trace the folds of the duvet. "Beside me. Inside me."

Your cheeks heat, suddenly hot between your thighs. "Fuck," you whine, "I'm so empty, Beau." Your legs fall apart of their own accord as you roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling and trying to conjure images of his handsome face. The spark that lights his eyes when he has you exactly where he wants you. Wanton. On your back. Calloused hands inspecting every inch of your body as if he expects there to be a test later. His tongue leaving cold trails across your skin. How perfectly he melds with you, stretching you wide. The little grunts that sneak out as he husks your name into the curve of your neck.

Oh, if only he were here. But he isn't, so it's your hand that drifts to your splayed legs, your fingers that gather and spread the slickness that accumulates at just the thought of him. "God, Daddy," you gasp, "wish you could feel how wet I am. See how much I've missed you." The last word trails off on a moan, lost as two of your fingers slowly enter your aching cunt. It's nowhere near the satisfying burn of his fingers. There's simply no comparison. Another whimper falls from your lips as you try to satisfy your burning desire. "Can you hear it, daddy? How wet your baby is?" you ask as you drive your fingers back in with a wet squelch that you hope the phone picks up.

"It's not the same," you gasp, brows drawn in disappointment. "My fingers are too small." A third finger joins the two already pumping in and out of you, and your breath hitches. "They don't feel the same. Don't feel as good." Your head tips back, mind recalling pleasured snippets of past encounters, touches that continue to burn you even though he's an entire country away. Your legs tense, shaking at the recollection of endless nights, his cock splitting you apart, your own voice echoing, calling his name in the pleasured silence of memory until a quiet, desperate "Beau" slips past your lips and onto the recording.

'Look at what a good girl you're being for Daddy.' You can practically hear him, and the imagined praise has your back arching, fingers curling. 'Aww, Princess, you feel so good on Daddy's cock.'

The air in the room is thick, hard to gulp down as your fingers continue to work at your core even as a cramp builds in your wrist. Sound leaves you freely, your mind and body too loose from the wine to be self-conscious as you writhe and whimper. "Daddy," another lewd cry.

You have no idea how long you've been like this. Ear pressed to the phone as you chase your high. You don't dare pull away for fear that you'll break the spell that's fallen over you, and the ball in your stomach is so tight. "But you're not here," you say, and a breathless laugh almost leaves you at the absurdity of the situation. "Guess I'll just have to take care of myself tonight." You wet your lips with a flick of your tongue. "Sweet dreams, Daddy."

The phone slips from your hand as the call ends, and your attention narrows until you're solely focused on the pleasure zinging through your veins. Each movement of your fingers is strategically matched with a hand-picked memory from the vault in the bank of your mind. Your palm rolls over your clit, knowing that your fingers won't be able to reach the spot within you that Beau can — the one deep within you that makes your stomach flip, jaw fall slack, and eyes roll back. The way his cock pushes deep with each thrust, hips crashing into yours as if he can't stand to be anywhere but buried to the hilt in your heat.

Your legs twitch to circle his hips, desperate for it. For him. This doesn't compare. Not in the slightest. But it does the job.

A hiss and a silent cry escape into the early evening, splotches of white obscuring your vision. It's nothing compared to the heights Beau will take you to when he gets home, but the pleasure rolls through your veins all the same and makes your lids heavy.

It's sometime later that your phone buzzes from its place on the ground, and you scramble to pick it up. But it's only a promotional text.

It's 10:07 PM in New York.

If previous conferences are anything to go by, Beau's night is still going strong. And you had called him in the middle of it to desperately plead for him to come home and take care of you. Begged. Whined.

Wine.

The pinot sits where you left it on the nightstand, the glass empty but enough of a nightcap left in the bottle to carry you back to dreams of brawny arms wrapped around your waist and hot breath puffed against the back of your neck as you press your nose into Beau's pillow and breathe him in.

When sunlight spills across the bed to wake you the next morning, you find yourself refreshed. In your pre-caffeine haze, you go about your morning routine before you return to bed with a piping cup of coffee and the book you'd abandoned the night previous.

Your phone buzzes on the bedside table with several notifications. Among them is a photo of an updated ticket from ALB to SAN. But that's not all.

Daddy: When I get home, I expect you to be undressed and waiting on all fours for me.

#thirsty answers #thirsty's smut prompt list #beau cyclone simpson x reader #beau cyclone simpson x f!reader #female reader #cyclone x reader #top gun smut #top gun smut prompt #user: deadratio #user: purelyfiction #no beta we die like goose #i'm running on fumes posting this #we'll all be reading this for the first time in the morning

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