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mercvry-glow · 13 days ago

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all that gleams (18+)

parings. jack abbot x nurse!reader

summary. everyone seems to be hitting on you tonight, and your husband doesn't seem to appreciate all of the attention you're getting.

warnings. this is 18+ so mdni, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough/jealousy sex, half plot/half porn, sex in the work place, hospital setting, age gap (jack late 40s, reader late 20s to early 30s), reader gets hit on by men who are not jack, non-consensual touching (patient grabs reader), reader has hair, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. where the fuck do I even begin? uhhhh- so many people asked for a sequel to all that glitters and I never thought I'd actually do it but here we are! I absolutely live for their dynamic, and they're softcore rich which is truly the dream. I'm actually really proud of this, especially bc this is my second time writing any form of smut! as always any and all feedback is appreciated and please enjoy!

wc. 4700+

all that glitters

There wasn’t a person in your life who hadn’t told you getting married so young was a mistake. A newly minted nurse with a shiny new degree, a big diamond ring, and a big house in the nicest part of town—people loved to talk. And they did, especially behind your back.

“Too fast,” they said

“Too young.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”

But they didn’t know Jack.

He’d been your constant through it all. Through the twelve-hour shifts, the night terrors you both had but didn’t always talk about, the tangled mess of silky bed sheets and plain coffee mornings. He never missed a beat, not with you. He always made sure the front door was locked, that you didn’t forget to eat, that you never had to face a bad day completely alone.

Jack Abbot was your storm and shelter all at once.

Still, some days it felt like you were speaking two different languages. You’d grown up with champagne brunches, sorority sisters, and an Ivy League education on Daddy’s dime. Jack grew up fast though—boots on the ground, blood on his hands, and scars no one could see unless he let them.

His world had edges, and darkness only he could understand.

Yours had comfy throw pillows and a walk-in closet.

Falling for each other had been a whirlwind, but staying in love… that took work.

Especially now.

Lately, every conversation felt like walking on eggshells. He was short with you. Distant. And maybe you were a little more sensitive than usual—he always said you felt deeply, cared too much. Maybe you did miss the way he used to look at you, touch you, talk to you like you were the only person in the room.

Now? Now he was somewhere else—lost in his head, behind some wall you couldn’t climb no matter how hard you tried.

And you still tried.

You showed up to work, same time as him, hair curled, and lip gloss on as usual. Your scrubs were still fitted just right, your badge reel sparkled, and your sneakers matched your pastel compression socks of the day. You were tired, overworked, and emotionally frayed—but damn it, you still tried, for yourself, for him, and most certainly for your patients .

He didn’t even say “Hi,” when you checked in.

Just a curt nod, eyes already scanning a trauma sheet.

Fine. You had a job to do anyway.

The ER was chaotic, as usual. You floated between rooms, upbeat as always, soft-voiced with your patients, making the new interns laugh with your sparkly pens and habit of humming softly under your breath.

That’s when he showed up.

Leo, tall, handsome in a sun-kissed, ex-lifeguard in the Baywatch kind of way, and new. The latest temp nurse from another hospital, and definitely not shy.

“You always this put-together at 7 p.m.?” he said, grinning as he helped you restock the IV cart.

You glanced up from your clipboard, smiling just enough. “Only when there’s new employees to impress.”

He laughed, nudging your elbow. “Well, consider me thoroughly impressed.”

Across the hall, you didn’t see Jack. But he was seeing everything.

You caught a flash of movement in your peripheral vision—him, leaning against the med station, pretending to read a chart. The way his jaw clenched was less than subtle. So was the way he suddenly had something urgent to discuss with Dr. Reese, right behind where you were standing.

You didn’t react. Just went back to scanning meds, asking Leo if he needed help finding anything on his first night. You were being polite. Friendly. Maybe a little intentionally oblivious—but only because it felt good to be noticed by anyone today.

Jack didn’t say a word.

But every time you turned around, he was there. Close. Watching.

He didn’t like it. You could feel it.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt something that wasn’t just disappointment.

You felt giddy.

You weren’t trying to make him jealous.

But if he was suddenly remembering the woman he married? The one who lit up a room? The one who still wore t-shirts to bed and nothing else, even when he acted like he didn’t care?

Good.

Let him remember.

The next few hours passed in a blur of motion and monitors—IVs, trauma alerts, vitals to chart and families to console. You stayed busy, focused, but not so focused you didn’t notice the way Jack kept drifting into your orbit.

Not close enough to talk.

Just… there.

Lingering near the nurse’s station when you laughed at something Leo said. Answering the trauma bay calls himself when you usually did first. A silent presence, watching without watching, always just a little too close not to be intentional.

There had been so much to do between learning about coworkers drama, taking care of patients, and dealing with incoming traumas that you’d been on your feet for almost seven hours straight before getting any sort of break.

Still not having found the right time to touch the overnight oats in your lunchbox.

Typical.

You finally ducked into the break room around 2:30 a.m., practically vibrating from a bit too much caffeine and sheer stubbornness. Your sneakers squeaked on the tile as you opened your lunch tote, pulling out your jar with a satisfied “Aha”. You gave it a little shake and popped the lid, the faint scent of almond butter and cinnamon curling into the air.

Leo was already in there, lounging in the corner with a Coke Zero and half a sandwich he didn’t seem particularly interested in eating.

“That looks suspiciously healthy,” he said, eyeing your jar like it confused him.

You grinned. “It’s delicious. Cinnamon, chia seeds, oat milk, with a little bit of honey and almond butter. You should try it sometime—maybe it will lower your blood pressure.”

Leo let out a low whistle. “Oof. She’s cute and judgmental.”

You wiggled your spoon at him. “I’m not judgmental. I’m just stating a fact,”

“Same difference,”

You laughed, shaking your head as you settled on the couch. Your big water tumbler clinked softly on the table as you set it down. Leo glanced at it.

“Okay, real talk. How many cups do you own?”

“Oh at least ten,” you said proudly. “And yes, they all match my scrubs and socks.”

He chuckled. “Of course they do.”

You were in the middle of telling him about your latest homemade electrolyte concoction—something with sea salt, lemon, and maple syrup—when the door creaked open.

Jack stepped inside, silent as ever. No one noticed at first, but you felt him before you saw him. That familiar pull.

You looked up and smiled, just a little.

He didn’t smile back.

He walked to the cabinet, pulled out a pod of instant coffee, and started making the world’s saddest cup of caffeine.

“You good?” you asked, casually, spoon still dangling from your mouth.

Jack shrugged. “Fine.”

Leo gave him a nod. “Rough night, man?”

“Same as every night,” Jack said coolly.

There was a pause.

You went back to your oats.

Leo leaned over slightly, stage-whispering, “Is it true you color-code your vitamins?”

You lit up. “Oh my god, yes! You have to! It’s so satisfying.”

Jack let out a breath—not quite a sigh. Not quite anything.

Just something.

Leo turned to him. “She’s kind of a fairy, huh? Healthy, pretty, and scary organized.”

Jack didn’t answer. Just stirred his coffee with the kind of force that made the spoon clink too loudly against the mug.

“I mean, who even makes time for meal prep on night shift?” Leo kept going, still playful, still oblivious. “She comes in glowing while I’m running on vending machine Pop-Tarts and anxiety.”

You grinned again. “You say that like Pop-Tarts are bad.”

Jack finally looked up. Right at you.

“I liked you better when you were sneaking granola bars from my locker.”

Your breath caught a little—not because it was mean. But because it sounded like a memory.

You raised a brow. “You never let me finish the boxes.”

Jack’s gaze didn’t move.

“Maybe I liked the distraction.”

The room went quiet again.

Leo cleared his throat and stood. “Okay, I’m gonna grab another Coke. You two want anything?”

“No,” Jack said, a little too quickly.

You shook your head. “I’m good, thanks.”

When Leo left, the silence stretched.

You scooped another spoonful of oats, pretending not to feel the weight of Jack’s stare.

“You didn’t answer my text,” he said finally.

You blinked. “Which one?”

“The one about locking the side door this morning.”

“Oh.” You smiled faintly. “Sorry, I was halfway through meal prepping for us and my mom called... You know how she gets.”

Jack nodded, jaw tight. “You’re supposed to text me back.”

You raised a brow again, but this time softer. “Jack. It was about a door.”

“It was about you being safe.”

That landed somewhere in your chest.

You didn’t say anything for a second. Just set your spoon down and leaned back into the couch.

“I was fine,” you said gently. “I promise.”

Jack didn’t reply. But he reached for your cup, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip (not using the straw) like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You stared. “That has lemon in it.”

He grimaced. “Tastes like a scented candle.”

You laughed.

He didn’t.

But the corners of his mouth twitched—just a little.

He set your water with a quiet thud, the lid clicking into place like it was holding something back for him, too.

You tilted your head, watching him in that way you always did when you were trying to read what was going on behind those stormy, hazel eyes. “You're drinking lemon water,” you said, voice lilting. “Should I be worried?”

Jack didn’t look at you. “I was thirsty.”

You smiled. “And yet the entire fridge full of bottled water didn’t do it for you?”

He shrugged.

“Grumpy,” you said under your breath, just loud enough.

His eyes finally flicked to yours. “I’m not grumpy.”

“You kind of are.”

“I’m tired.”

“You always say that when you’re being grumpy.”

Jack gave you a slow look—flat, dry, and just a little amused. “You finished?”

“Not even close,” you said sweetly, your elbow propped on the arm of the couch. “You’re cranky, you’re overcaffeinated, and you get weirdly possessive whenever someone’s nice to me.”

That got his attention.

“I’m not possessive,” he said.

You smirked. “Jack, you nearly snapped Leo’s neck when he said I had good handwriting.”

“That’s not what he said, and you know that.”

You blinked, then laughed. “Okay, fine. ‘Prettiest charting I’ve ever seen,’ and he winked. So what?”

Jack’s jaw tightened—just slightly.

You stood, stretching your arms overhead in a way that made your scrub top ride up just a little. His eyes tracked the motion like muscle memory.

You stepped closer, toes nearly brushing his boots. “I like that you care about this,” you said, softer now. “It’s kind of hot, actually.”

He looked at you—really looked at you—for the first time all night.

“You drive me crazy, kid.” he muttered.

You beamed. “So you are jealous.”

Jack sighed through his nose, the tension melting from his shoulders like an exhale he’d been holding in too long. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering a second too long.

“I know you’re mine,” he said quietly. “I just… sometimes I forget the rest of the world doesn’t always know it.”

Your chest tightened. Not in a painful way. In a finally, you’re here with me again kind of way.

You reached for his hand and squeezed. “Well, they do. But if you ever forget again, I’ll tattoo your name on my ass”

That earned you a snort—low and surprised.

“I’m serious,” you teased, squeezing his fingers. “Right across my cheeks. Property of Jack Abbot. Think it’d go with my Bikinis when I start tanning again?”

His lips twitched. “You’re insane.”

“Mm. And you’re stuck with me.”

“I know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, as he dipped down for a soft kiss, “Wouldn’t change it.”

And there it was.

The part of him no one else got to see—the softness under all that armor he put up. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing in this chaotic, blood-slicked hospital worth holding onto.

Before you could say anything else, the overhead crackled to life:

“Trauma en route. ETA four minutes. MVA, two patients. GSW secondary.”

Jack’s head lifted, all instinct now. You were already moving toward the door when his hand caught yours.

He didn’t pull, didn’t squeeze—just held.

“Be careful,” he said.

You leaned in again, kissing his cheek, quick and certain. “Always.”

Then the moment passed, and the hallway swallowed you both—he leading, you following, hearts synced in the rhythm of the ER. But his hand brushed yours again as you walked.

The trauma had come in hard and fast—twisted metal, broken glass, and enough blood to soak through your shoes. Jack had been in the thick of it, barking orders, steady hands moving like muscle memory while you worked across from him, suctioning, suturing, stabilizing. For a while, there was no room for anything else. No talking. No teasing. Just the two of you, back in sync, locked in the rhythm you knew so well. It was easy to forget the cracks when the adrenaline kicked in.

But by 4:15 a.m., the ER had slowed to a lull.

The kind that was never quiet, but at least breathable.

You’d just finished helping a resident clean up trauma one when they wheeled in another patient—mid-40s, minor head lac, walking wounded and very, very drunk.

You smiled politely, grabbing a suture kit.

“Alright, sir. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Can you sit still for me?”

He gave you a once-over that made your skin crawl. “Sure thing, sweetheart. For you, I’ll be real good.”

You kept it professional. “Thank you.”

But the longer you worked, the bolder he got.

“You married?” he slurred.

You didn’t answer.

“Bet your husband’s not half as pretty as you.”

You offered a tight smile. “Try to stay still. This part stings a little.”

He didn’t even flinch. “You ever date older guys? I got a boat, you know.”

You glanced around the bay, but the resident was long gone, charting somewhere out of earshot.

“I’m flattered, really, but I already have a boat,” you said lightly, finishing the last stitch. “And you’re gonna feel real silly about this in the morning.”

He grinned, crooked and gross. “Not if you give me your number.”

And then he reached out—his hands brushing your hips in a way that was not accidental.

You stepped back instantly, heart thudding.

“That’s enough sir,” you said sharply, your voice still steady, still calm—but colder now. “I’m going to step out for a minute, since I’ve finished. Someone else will check on you soon.”

You didn’t wait for a reply.

You slipped into the furthest supply closet you could easily find and leaned against the shelves, chest rising and falling like you’d just run a sprint. Your hands were shaking—more with anger than fear—but still. It clung to your skin.

The door creaked open a minute later.

“Hey.”

Jack.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, gaze scanning your face. “One of the other nurses said he got grabby.”

You looked up at him, throat tight. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t answer that right away. Just moved closer and touched your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he needed to ground himself.

“You sure?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded. “Just… gross. Not the first, won’t be the last.”

His jaw flexed. “It shouldn’t be happening at all.”

You leaned into his hand. “It’s okay. I handled it.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

You looked up at him. “Jack—”

He stepped closer, and suddenly his body was pressed against yours, warm and solid and steady. His hands found your waist, rough fingers curling around your hips.

“I should be the only one touching you,” he said, voice low.

“We’ll get written up…”

“I don’t care.”

But Jack wasn’t hearing logic right now. He was standing there like he could still smell every guy you had met tonight on you, like the air hadn’t cleared yet.

“Hey.” You placed your hands on his chest, grounding him. “We don’t have to do this here…”

His hands squeezed your waist. “You’re mine.”

“I know.”

“You don’t flirt like that with anyone else, right?”

You blinked, caught off-guard. “Flirt like what?”

“Like you did with that prick.”

You frowned a abit. “I was being nice. He asked if I wanted something from the vending machine- he asked you too and you looked at him like he offered me lingerie.”

Jack didn’t budge. His grip didn’t loosen.

You tried again. Softer this time.

“I steal your clothes. I come home to you. I wear the ring you bought me, and I’m your wife. I chose you.”

His eyes searched yours—tired, and heavy, with a mix of something else.

You rose on your toes, placing your lips to the corner of his mouth. “I’m yours, Jack.”

And then his arms were around you fully, pulling you in like he needed to feel your heartbeat to believe it. Your heart thudded in your chest, a beat behind your breath. You looked at him, eyes narrowed, lips parted.

You didn’t hear him lock the door.

You felt it.

That soft, decisive click behind you—like a promise.

“Did you just lock the door?”

Jack’s answer was a look—slow, hot, and so heavy it pinned you in place. He stepped with the kind of precision that said this wasn’t spontaneous. No, he’d decided the second he saw you walk into the closet room, cheeks flushed, lip gloss smudged, tensions high.

The second all these guys started paying attention to you tonight.

Jack hadn’t liked that.

He tried to be quiet about it, like always. Quiet the way a storm is—only right before it breaks.

He stopped just barely inches from you, hand coming up to trace a line along your jaw. His fingers were thick, rough, warm, familiar. His touch didn’t ask permission. It remembered.

“You keep smiling like that,” he said low, his voice a gravel-coated whisper, “and I’ll have to fuck the memory of it out of you.”

Your breath caught—somewhere between outrage and arousal. “Jack—”

But you didn’t get the rest out.

He kissed you.

Not sweet. Not careful.

Claiming.

His hands tangled in your hair, dragging you into him like it was instinct, like your mouth had always belonged to his. You melted into him, your body curving against his like you were built for this—built for him. His hips pressed forward, pinning you to the wall of the storage closet, and your head thudded back softly against the cool plaster as his lips slid down to your throat, sucking, biting just enough to make you gasp.

“Locked the door for a reason,” he murmured, tongue flicking against the skin where your pulse fluttered. “Tired of pretending I didn’t want you every second we’re here.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping his shirt like lifelines. “You’re sooo jealous.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, dark eyes devouring. “Damn right I’m jealous.”

His hand slid under your scrub top, skimming up your ribs, palm flat, hot and possessive. “You’re mine—I can’t fucking stand it when they look at you like you’re not.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” you whispered, breathless, lips grazing his.

His answer was a growl.

Jack spun you, quick and controlled, pressing you front-first against the shelves. Supplies rattled, somewhere above you—gloves, gauze, sterile wraps—but it was the sound of his breath at your neck that made your knees threaten to buckle.

His hands roamed—under your shirt to your tits, over the waistband of your scrub pants, every inch of bare skin he found earning a new kind of heat.

“You wanna be flirted with?” he whispered, voice dragging down your spine. “Fine. But I get to remind you who makes you cum”

You gasped as his mouth met the base of your neck, teeth grazing, tongue following. “Jack…”

“You knew,” he said again, almost reverent now.

And god help you, you did.

Because you’d walked in here to take a second, needing this—needing him. Not just his hands or his mouth or the way he made you come apart so effortlessly, but this claiming. This reminder. That under all the stress, the silence, the long nights and missed moments—the fire still burned. Hot. Unrelenting.

His fingers slipped lower, teasing the waist of your scrub pants, and you pressed back against him without thinking, needing more, needing everything.

“You’re mine,” he murmured again, lips brushing your shoulder, low and slow. “Say it.”

You turned your head just enough to whisper, “I’m yours, Jack. Always.”

And that was all it took.

He kept you facing the shelves, a hand coming down to your hips to steady you as he continued to feel you up with the other. “Yeah? You gonna be my good girl, sweetheart?”

The whimper you let out was pathetic. A low pitched sound that came from the back of your throat, as Jack started to flood your senses. He gave your ass a quick, hard, smack. Hand going back to rub over the spot, as it snapped you out of your daze. “I asked you a question, baby.”

You nodded, desperately. Already whoozy from the assault on your sense that your husband brought on. “Mhm! Jack-”

He shushed you, gently pushing down your scrub pants, “Gotta make this quick and quiet, or they’ll all know what a bad girl you’ve been.”

Reaching back, you straightend up leaning into his burning touch, wanting him closer than he already was. You could feel how hard he was beneath his cargos, half chubbed as he ground his hips into your panty-clad ass.

You would’ve felt embarressed if this hadn’t felt so right.

Clothes barely off, lazily grinding against your husband in a closet like you’re back in some college frat house at UPenn.

Jack doesn’t waste anymore time though, hastily shoving your panties down, rough fingers making quick work of finding your swollen clit. The tight circles he does against you, make you feel dizzy��legs already beginning to shake, as if you haven’t been working for ten hours already.

Your moans are muffled by your arm as you lean further into the shelves, but press your hips back toward Jack. Your resolve slowly slipping, as he dips a finger in your wet heat.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” he groans out softly, continuing as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

Then he just pulls away.

Not entirely, still so close that you’ve basically become one. It’s enough for you to whine at the loss of contact, pushing back into him hoping he’ll start again.

“Why’d you stop?” Jack can practically hear the pout in your voice. The breathy little lilt of displeasure showing in your tone.

“Sorry, baby. We only have time for one thing, and I’d much rather make you cum on my cock.” He kisses the back of your neck, gentle and loving as ever as he reaches down to free himself from his scrub pants.

He’s aching, he’s so hard.

He takes a few deep breaths before haphazrdly stroking himself. Fisting his cock in his meaty hand, already slick after playing with your wet little cunt.

Jack wasn’t going to make love to you.

He was going to fuck you like you needed it.

Lining himself up, Jack pushed in with a solid thrust of his sturdy hips. You just about collapsed into the shelves, already feeling so full of Jack as he started a steady rhythm. It was overwhelming, one of his hands tight against your hips as he used it to guide you into his thrusts, the other snaked over your mouth to muffle your breathy moans because the hallway was just beyond the locked closet door.

“Shit- you’re so fucking tight, baby.” you cleched against him as he drove himself further into you, trying to angle himself to hit the spot that would have you seeing stars in no time.

Your walls hugged him tight, leaving him a mess as he watched himself slip in and out of you in a trance like state.

“Fuck Jack-” you start mewling, hips pushing and grinding to meet his thrusts. “Ah- ah, you’re so deep.”

He mumbles something incoherent against your shoulder, both of his hands moving to your hips and ass to get more leverage to fuck you nice and hard.

You can tell you’re making a mess of yourself, panties clearly ruined with how you’re leaking down your thighs and his cock. Each thrust is a new shockwave of pleasure you don’t expect, but Jack doesn’t let up and you don’t want him to.

“Too m-much,” his cock throbs, hard and heavy inside you as he stills for just a second.

“Yeah? It’s too much for you, Sweetheart?” It’s almost mocking as he draws it out into longer deeper strokes—the ones that make it hard to breathe, the air escaping your lungs faster than you can take the chance to gasp for air.

“You’re just so big,” you whimper out, trying to keep yourself from collapsing back against him as your legs start to feel like jello.

Jack gives you a light scoff, “Good thing you’re being a good girl, and takin’ me so well, huh?” He keeps the pace steady, if not a bit quicker. Switching up the tempo to keep you on your toes and eager for him.

“Mhm!” You can feel your orgasm building, that all too familiar pressure in your lower tummy bubbling over. “Fuck- fuck I’m gonna cum-”

It’s like a switch flips in his brain, kicking him into high gear as he spins you around to face him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close as he lifts one of your legs around his waist.

“Yeah, pretty girl? You gonna cum for me?” He asks you through a sloppy kiss, one that smears what’s left of your lip gloss.

You feel like you’re about to implode, too tense and too loose all at once. Your hands find purchase on his clothed chest and the curls at the base of his neck, as he continues his loving assault on your body and senses. Jack is everywhere, and you’d never want it to be different.

He watches as you finally let go, shivering your way through your orgasm as you cum on his thick cock. Your breath catches as he kisses you slowly, working his cock in and out of your gushing pussy still chasing his own release.

“Fuck- you ruin me baby,” He groans into your kiss swollen lips, giving you a few more sloppy thrusts before burying himself as deep as possible. His own breathing shallow as he spills his load deep into your cunt, right where it belongs.

Blinking slowly, you return to your body. Jack looks down at you, capturing your lips in one last sweet kiss as he gently pulls out of you. Your body shudders at the now empty feeling, “You with me, Baby?”

His thumbs stroke your cheeks, gentle and loving as you just stare at him a little dazed. You manage a soft hum, and he begins the process of putting you back together for the public.

You cringed a bit as he helped you pull the pants of your scrubs back up, at least they were dark… right? You’d change into your backups as soon as you found the courge to leave the storage room. Then there was your hair which Jack lovingly braided as quickly as he could, before fixing himself the best he could

“Everyone’s totally gonna know… Ugh…” you leaned your head against his chest, sighing at the thought of John or Ellis questioning where you two were for the past 15 minutes.

“You look fine, besides who cares?” He questioned, “Do you know how many times I’ve heard the same story from other departments,”

“Yeah but this is us,” you gave him a deadpan expression, as he reached behind you so that he could grab your stethoscope and badge reel from one of the many shelves behind you.

He gave you a nonchalant shrug, and one last kiss on the forehead. “You ready to go get ‘em tiger?”

“You’re so dead whe we get home, it’s not even funny Jack Abbot!”

“We still have about two more hours, so I think I’m safe, Princess.”

mercvry-glow 2025

#the pitt #the pitt max #the pitt hbo #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #jack abbott #jack abbott x reader #jack abbott x you #dr. jack abbot #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x you #dr. jack abbott #dr. jack abbott x reader #dr. jack abbott x you #shawn hatosy #❥ - Jack Abbot

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aperrywilliams · 4 months ago

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A Bit Rougher (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: You and Spencer have been in a relationship for a little bit more than four months now, and the team doesn't know. One day, the BAU girls ask you by your mystery partner they know you have - even if they don't know who it is - and bring up a topic you are not so sure to share with Spencer yet: your kinky side in sex. What happens when the same Spencer puts a test on you on that matter?

Word Count: 6.5k (I'm not sorry)

Warnings: SMUT/18+/MDNI. Where do I start? Reader sleeps with Spencer (obviously). Talks about sex life. Mentions of tantric sex and rough sex. Mentions of some kinks like choking, spanking, and dom-sub dynamics. Clothes get ripped, Spencer calling you 'my girl' (oh God), masturbation (f receiving), fingering, kind of choking, dirty talk. Spencer does his best as a dom (soft!dom because it can't be any other way), penetrative sex, spanking, begging, more dirty talk, creampie (it really doesn't exist another word for this?), and aftercare. Spencer is the best boyfriend in the world. If I forgot something, please let me know.

A/N: This one was a request. I can't find the original message, and I don't know if the person who asked wanted their name here (I can quickly add it if they want to).

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The moment rays of sunlight peek through the curtain and hit my face, I turn to my back to avoid them, not ready to fully start the day yet.

Still half awake, half sleepy, I can feel a pair of hazel looking at me. I peek one eye open, and I see Spencer smiling at me.

"Good morning, beautiful," he rasps. And I don't know why such simple words have me blushing like a schoolgirl. Beaming, I return the greeting.

"Morning, handsome."

I get my reply with a lingering kiss on my lips, which I fully savored until a sudden thought came to me.

"What time is it? We need to get up."

Spencer, with his calm voice, shakes his head.

"It's a bit early yet. We have time. Also, you have some clothes here, so you don't need to go to your apartment before driving to work."

Smart me for bringing clothes to his apartment. It's an obvious decision, though, considering I have spent more nights here in the past weeks than in my place.

A devilish smirk makes an appearance on my face.

"So, we do have time, don't we?"

"Yes, sweetheart. We do," Spencer mumbles, scooting closer and peppering kisses on my face and then down to my collarbone.

Oh boy, this is what I call a good way to start the day.

How much time can you fool a bunch of the best profilers in the country, hiding your relationship with one of your coworkers? Spencer and I keep the count. The mark is set now in four months and two weeks.

It's not that we are embarrassed by what we have or anything close to that. It's just that things started so casually and naturally, and they're running so smoothly, so we want to keep it to ourselves as long as we can.

And by now? It's working.

We have also been careful about it. On our first nights together, we woke up early and went home for a shower and a change of clothes. After some weeks, we started to pack extra in our go-bag. Now, we have at least a change of clothes in each other's places. The second rule is never to get to work at the same time or on the same transportation. Spencer usually takes the metro even if I can drive and make time in the parking lot. Just one day, we did it, and we were so worked up in our making out session that we almost got caught by Morgan, who parked two cars away from mine.

Naturally, any form of PDA at work is completely off-limits. That's the toughest rule to follow. After all, we spend more time at the office and on the road than we do at home, so avoiding any kind of touch is definitely a challenge.

Despite all that, I can't help but feel happier every day as I fall deeper for Spencer. I often feel like a schoolgirl with a crush, constantly distracted by thoughts of him. Clearly, my behavior hasn't gone unnoticed, at least not by the three girls cornering me right now in the BAU kitchen.

"So, are you going to deny you're having fun these days?" Emily teases me while JJ and Penelope giggle in agreement.

"Where did that come from?" I say, intentionally diverting my gaze to the mug I'm filling with coffee.

"It's just basic observation, my dear," Penelope chimes in.

"Basic observation? I honestly don't follow you guys at all," I reply, feeling a bit overwhelmed by this unexpected Tuesday morning interrogation. This time, JJ steps forward with her evidence laid out right before me.

"We have all noticed the changes in you over the past few months—the giddy smile that lights up your face when you read a text on your phone, the new pep in your step, and how you hurry home every time we finish a case. Do I need to say more?"

"Busted!" Garcia points a mocking finger at me. I roll my eyes in fake annoyance. After all, they are completely right.

"Okay, okay. Yeah. I'm seeing a guy. Happy?" I confess, and Garcia squeals.

"Yay! We need to know everything about him."

Oh. That's dangerous territory.

JJ notices my discomfort and tries to ease it a bit.

"Penelope, I'm sure we'll know more with time. Right?" JJ looks at me, and I nod appreciatively.

"Okay. But the basics. Is the guy good?" Emily asks. A silly smile appears on my face.

"Of course he is. He's caring, fun, always attentive-" I'm about to start a rant about how my mystery man is perfect. But Emily's snort stops me at mid-sentence.

"What?"

"Emily is asking if he is good in bed!" Penelope clarifies, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Oh, Lord. What have I got into?

"Are you really expecting me to tell you about my sex life?"

The three girls nod in unison with no shame. Well, I guess I got my answer.

"Like if you haven't done it before. And for what it is worth, we all have said something about it more than once. That's why we created girls's night in the first place," Emily points eloquently, as always.

Touchè. They are right. I have said more than I would like to admit about my sex life. But now it's not that simple. We are talking about Spencer, even if they don't know it yet.

"Then? Is he good or not?"

I contemplate my answer not because I don't know what to say but not revealing more than necessary.

"I don't think good is enough to describe sex with him. The first time we slept together was amazing. The whole night was if you know what I mean. Since then, we have taken our time, savoring the moment, giving, and receiving a new part of ourselves when we do it. So, yes, sex with him is more than good."

"But it could be better," Garcia interjects, and I look at her baffled.

"How's so? Didn't I just say the sex is great?"

The three women nod in agreement, but I think I'm missing something here.

"Don't take it the wrong way, my lovely. We are really happy you are having fun and enjoying yourself," Garcia says, patting my shoulder. "But it sounds pretty vanilla to me. And it's not bad! Not at all!"

I frown, and Emily rolls her eyes, continuing Garcia's idea.

"What Penelope tries to bring here is what we talked back then about your last partner. Remember? The one who liked tantric sex?"

Oh. Yeah. I remember that one. It's not one of my finest choices, if I have to be honest. But it wasn't the guy's fault.

"Yeah. What about him?"

"You forgot how you complained about him being basically a statue? That you wanted it rough, and the guy never got the memo?" Penelope fills in, arching an eyebrow. My cheeks are flush crimson right now.

"I can't believe we are talking about this in the office kitchen," I mumble, embarrassed. "But that was different."

Emily scoffs. "What? Did you change your kinks now? What happened with the choking, the spanking, the begging, and all those things?"

"Emily Prentiss, can you please shut up? This conversation is too much for a morning in the office," I complain, shaking my head to try to cool my red face.

"Okay, okay. I'll stop. But if you are still into it - and I'm sure you are - maybe it's a good idea to share it with your partner. Healthy sex life and all that, so it doesn't happen what it did with the tantric guy."

"Well, thank you all for your concern. But I think I'm good. Now, can we please drop the subject?"

Luckily for me, the girls listened and changed the topic. By the time we leave the kitchen, I feel less embarrassed and ready to continue my paperwork.

But the conversation kept popping into my head from time to time during the day. My sexual preferences haven't changed 180 degrees, that's true, but with Spencer, it's different. I wouldn't want to bring something like that up if it's going to make him uncomfortable. Our relationship is still fresh, and I'm happy with our current sex life.

And talking about Spencer, I haven't seen him the whole morning. By the time lunchtime arrives, he doesn't come back to his desk, so I go with the girls and Morgan.

When we come back from lunch, I finally see him at his desk, concentrating on a pile of files. A smile creeps in my face. He looks so damn good with the crocked tie, messy hair, and shirt sleeves rolled up his forearms. This man has ruined me just sitting there. I'm doomed.

"Hey," I call his attention, and he turns his head to look up at me.

"Hi," he returns a smile.

"I haven't seen you around in hours. Are you okay?"

A frown appears on his face, but he brushes it off quickly.

"Me? Oh, yeah. Fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's just Hotch that had me checking and analyzing a pile of boxes with folders from old cases in the store office. That's all."

It makes sense. Spencer's fast reading is a blessing and a curse, and obviously, people tend to use it often in the office.

"I'm sorry, sure it wasn't a very entertaining task."

A shy smile creeps on his lips, and I have to use all my self-control not to pounce on him right now and pepper his face with kisses.

"It's okay. I'm already done, anyway. How has been your morning?"

"Oh. Mostly paperwork. As everyone. But I think I'll be done soon, too." Before continuing, I check my surroundings to ensure nobody else is listening. "Maybe we can go home early?" I suggest seductively.

The flush in Spencer's cheeks is endearing. It's like the ones I sported this morning when the girls were interrogating me. And they want me to tell this boy about my kinks? No way. I won't do that if it means he won't feel comfortable with me again.

"We could. But I'm afraid plans will have to wait," Spencer says as his gaze shifts from me to Garcia and the quick tip-tap of her heels, heading to the conference room.

Fuck. A new case.

Don't get me wrong. I love my job. But being stuck in the middle of the desert, looking for an unsub that seems to be a ghost? And I say 'ghost' literally because we are looking for a guy who is dead for the town records. No, this is not my idea of a 'normal work day.'

It's frustrating, and not only for the lack of progress. The heat here is like hell. The AC barely works, and everyone's mood is bitchy.

We are not making any progress by now, so Hotch sends us to the hotel for the night. Once in my room, I text Spencer, not with an explicit purpose but to talk to him for a while. But he doesn't answer my texts. Is he sleeping by now? Considering he's a night owl, I found it very rare. But maybe he's drained like everyone else, so I let it slide.

In the morning, after my shower, I'm checking my phone, and I don't have any messages. Has Spencer received my texts?

I don't want to sound paranoid, but it's like something is going on. At the precinct, I barely get a hello from Spencer. Okay. Maybe it's the stress. I don't give it too much thought, either. Not when we have work to do.

And boy, we have been working hard on this one. Some clues give us hope, but we're far from catching the unsub.

In the little spare time we have between interrogations and visiting dumping sites, I try to share moments with Spencer, but it definitely seems like he doesn't want to be alone with me in the same room, even if he doesn't say it or shows signs of annoyance or animosity towards me.

I can't tell why he is so distant, but it's starting to worry me. Did I do something? And it's killing me because the more I think about it, the more I miss him. A kiss, a hug, anything from him would ease the ache I'm starting to feel.

It doesn't help that he has been choosing to wear the sexiest clothes he has in his go-bag. Those tight grey pants that accentuate his ass, those button-ups with sleeves rolled up.

We have been here for six days, and I think I'm going crazy. I have been trying to be subtle and professional. But I swear that if one more day goes by without being able to feel Spencer's touch, I don't know what I'll be able to do.

It seems heaven has listened to me because we finally managed to catch the unsub, and we're on the jet on our way home. But I'm nervous. I didn't even want to sit next to Spencer like I usually do. I don't know why. What if he wants to break up with me, and I'm just dragging things out?

What the hell am I talking about? I don't believe I'm thinking clearly here. But this week has been so odd that I don't know what to think.

Maybe when we land, I can finally talk to Spencer and put an end to my overthinking. With that in mind, I doze off for the rest of the trip.

Once the jet is down, I'm starting to gather my things when I hear Spencer rushing out, saying goodbye to everyone.

Disappointed and frustrated, I leave the tarmac.

Maybe a full night of sleep in my bed isn't a bad plan after all.

But be that as it may, fuck you, Spencer Reid.

As if all that had happened wasn't enough, when I got to the parking lot, my car fucking didn't start. I knew I had to get it checked before.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

That delayed my arrival home for another 45 minutes.

Now, disappointed, frustrated, and with no car, I slam the door shut. The apartment is pitch black, and I have no energy to flick the lights on, so I drag myself to the bedroom. When I open the door, a yelp escapes my mouth when I see a silhouette of a man sitting in the chair I have in one corner.

I'm about to reach for my gun when the bedside lamp flicks on, and the scare turns to confusion when I see Spencer sitting there.

"What the fuck!"

"Hi," he says as if he hadn't almost scared me to death two seconds ago.

"Spencer! What are you doing here?" My voice sounds harsher than I intended, but Spencer brushes it off quickly.

"Waiting for you," he says matter-of-factly.

I'm officially confused. We were together an hour ago? He left without saying anything.

"I don't understand. The way you left the jet in such a hurry, I thought I was the last person you wanted to be with."

My words come out resentful, but I can't help it. Spencer's eyes soften. I averted his gaze as I dropped my go-bag, unholst my gun to set it on the safe, and sat at the end of the bed to remove my boots.

"Hey, don't say that. Of course, I want to be with you," Spencer says, standing from the seat and kneeling to help me remove my boots.

"I'm sorry, but it didn't show that way. You avoided me all week!"

Great, now I sound like I'm making a tantrum.

From his place where he knelt on the floor, his eyes met mine, and I don't know why suddenly I felt a shudder running down my spine.

"Sweetheart, you know we were working, weren't we?"

That condescending tone escaping Spencer's lips? It is something unexpected. But why does it make me kind of nervous? It's a type of nervousness that gives me butterflies in my stomach.

"I know! But- but then in the jet. And you left."

Why am I babbling? Since when did Spencer have looked at me with those piercing eyes?

He stands and offers me a hand to help me to do the same.

"Is my girl upset?" He asks when we are both upright.

'My girl'? That's new. Spencer always calls me by my name, a short version of it, or beautiful, or sweetheart. But thinking about it, 'my girl' doesn't sound bad at all.

"No! I'm not-"

"Oh yes, you are. Look, I wanted to prepare a surprise for you tonight, so I left in a hurry. I was thinking about a bubble bath, dinner, wine, and a movie. I even had the table done with candles ready to lit," he says nonchalantly, and I feel silly for thinking the worst scenarios all week.

"Oh," is the only thing escaping my lips.

"But now, thinking about it, maybe you don't deserve it. Not if you're questioning me like this," Spencer shakes his head in fake - I hope - disappointment.

Okay. Stop right there. What the hell is going on here? Why is Spencer talking like that? About me as 'not deserving' something? What's next? That I'm a naughty girl? - Uhm, I wonder how it could be hearing those words from his lips.-

"What? Why I-"

"Come here," he requests as now he is the one who sits at the edge of the bed and pats the spot in his lap. It doesn't sound too commanding, but sure as hell, I don't need anything more to comply. I need to know where this is heading.

As I'm at Spencer's reach, he pulls me by my wrist to land on his lap while his other hand cradles my face.

"Tell me, uh? Why are you upset?"

His voice drips like honey, and I start to feel hot here.

"I- I don't know. I just missed you, I guess."

"You guess?" He arches a questioning eyebrow.

"Yes. I mean, I do know. I have missed you," I confess, defeated. Oh yeah, now I'm the needy one.

"It helps if I say I have missed you, too?" he says, caressing my cheek tenderly with his knuckles. "I have seen you tense all week; that's why I thought I could do something special for you tonight."

I close my eyes, and for the first time tonight, I let myself enjoy Spencer's embrace.

I exhale a heavy breath as I get lost in his arms.

When I open my eyes, Spencer's are fixed on mine. But his look is not as sweet or reverent as it usually is when we are like this. No, this one is dark and raw. His pupils are fully dilated, and I feel like the breath leaves my lungs.

"Spencer-" I barely mumble.

"I know," he whispers, moving one hand to cradle my neck and bring my lips to his.

Oh God, what I have been craving for days is finally happening, and I can't stress enough how happy I am.

The kiss starts slow and sensual. But not far from that, it gets needy and messy, charged with all the pent-up emotions from the past days. If I had any doubt about Spencer's distance in the last week, this kiss quickly eased my anxiety.

My fingers go to undo the buttons of his button-up, but Spencer stops me with one of his hands, grabbing both of my wrists.

Why didn't I notice before how big and strong his hands are compared to mine? I mean, I always admired his long and deftly fingers, but this? Wow. It's new territory.

"But I want to touch you," I pout when he keeps hold of my wrists in his hand. The cocky bastard raises an eyebrow, contemplating my request.

"You will have to be patient this time and earn it, darling," he says casually, and as my eyes go wide, my jaw goes slack. These words have never come out of Spencer's mouth before. But why am I suddenly starting to feel hotter and more worked up? I blame it on sex abstinence.

"Please, I have missed you so much," I insist, trying to escape his grip to get what I want: undress him. But he doesn't budge, tsking his tongue.

"I already told you. You need to earn it. To my knowledge, only good girls get what they want, and I don't think I'm wrong, do I?"

Jesus Christ! I had never heard Spencer say 'good girl' before, and I'm sure now I'll be addicted to hearing it every chance I get.

"Spencer, please. I'll do anything. I promise. I want to be a good girl. I want to be your good girl."

Spencer's smirk tells me he likes my response, and I'm not at any ounce ashamed of sounding desperate.

He maneuvers me so that I am now on my back on the mattress. I watch his every move intently, and I get lost in his gaze, which screams lust and desire.

He kneels between my spread legs, staring at me intently as his hands move to the edges of my blouse. Just when I think he's going to work on unbuttoning it, he grabs it and rips it open.

A yelp escapes my lips at the raw sound and the view of buttons flying. Spencer doesn't seem fazed by his display of caveman style. And me? I won't mind if he rips all my clothes right now. His hands go to caress my breasts over the fabric of my bra. And then pull it down to free the skin. The cool air quickly stiffens my nipples.

Spencer leans down to suck one of them, twirling the other one with his fingers. A moan escapes my lips at the pleasure his touch is giving me.

"You like that, uh?" he mumbles, still with his mouth sucking and lapping.

"Yes!" I say, as my hands fly to his hair so I can ground myself in something.

After giving enough attention to both of my nipples, he helps me to get rid of the fabric of the ruined blouse and my bra. Now his mouth is sucking a hickey under my jaw, and I feel like I can faint of how aroused I am. One of his hands goes south and stills at the button of my work pants. His breath is hot in my ear.

"I'm going to take care of you. If I do something you don't like, just say it, okay?"

That's a sliver of the Spencer I know, and I can't even think of something this man can do to me that I wouldn't like.

"Okay," I manage to blurt when his fingers work on my pants, leaving me clad only in my panties in a matter of seconds.

Under his intense gaze, I feel exposed, but I also feel safe. There is no place where I would rather be right now.

"You're gorgeous. You know that?" Spencer says, trailing feather touches on my skin aflame with desire. "You don't know what you do to me, do you? I barely can control myself," he continues his praises, thumbs toying with the waistband of my panties.

I'm about to combust.

"Spencer, please."

"What is it, my girl?" he asks, kissing my neck as his fingers slide down my legs, removing the soaked fabric that used to cover my most intimate part.

"I - I need more."

"Are you already desperate for me?"

I can feel how his fingers trace soft patterns in the skin between my thighs, explicitly avoiding the spot where I need him the most.

"Yes! I am. I - I can't-"

I don't even care if I sound coherent at this point. I'm already so turned on and desperate that I can't be bothered by my lack of speech. Spencer still doesn't budge, though.

"I know you want to beg. And I know you can do better than that."

Oh God. I don't know how Spencer's words manage to make me more aroused, but they do.

"I need you," I croak, eyes pleading him to take me. I can feel his fingers ghosting my throbbing clit.

"I need you, sir. Please. You can use me whatever you want, but please, touch me!"

What the fuck? I just called Spencer' sir' and offered my body explicitly to him to use. And the bastard doesn't even flinch? Who is this guy in full control, and who am I acting like a pathetic submissive?

I don't have the answers, but honestly, I don't care. Did he want me to beg? If this isn't begging, I don't know what it is.

"I know you do, baby. Do you think I didn't notice how needy you have been all week? How have you tried to get my attention all these days?" Spencer's voice drops almost two octaves as his finger finally starts rubbing circles on my clit.

Just feeling his touch makes me whimper pathetically.

His lips ghost in my ear, and I can feel his breath heating the spot before his teeth nibble my earlobe.

A mewl leaves my mouth, and if I wasn't soaked before - which I was - now I'm dripping.

"Tell me, this is what you wanted?" His voice is commanding but feels like honey leaking on my body.

"Yes! Please, don't stop."

His movements are deliberate and precise, and when he buries a finger into my core, I can feel the coil in the pit of my lower belly beginning to form. My moans increase in number and volume.

"So needy, my sweet girl. Like that? That's how you want me to touch you?" Spencer coo as he watches me tremble under his touch, adding a new finger to fuck me.

His ministrations continue, but his free hand moves slowly from my cheek down to my neck, caressing the exposed skin with his thumb.

"Or maybe you want me to touch you like this?"

A mewl escapes my lips when he poses his open palm over my throat, not squeezing but seizing how much of my neck he would be able to cover with his huge hand.

"Yes! Please, do it. Please Spencer," I babble, feeling my orgasm closer and closer. And he complies. Applying the minimal pressure in my throat is enough to highlight all of my senses. That, plus the way his ring and middle finger pound in and out of me and his thumb toy with my clit at the same time, sends me to the edge.

"Spencer!" I scream as my climax washes over me.

I don't remember having an orgasm like this in a long time. My vision blurs and I feel like I'm floating on a cloud of pleasure that I don't want to come down from. I can hear Spencer's encouraging words in the distance as he helps me ride my orgasm.

"That's it, my girl. You did so good for me. See how good I can make you feel?"

With hooded eyes, I see Spencer sucking clean the fingers that were fucking me seconds ago.

"You taste amazing. I'll never get tired of it," Spencer says, with a satisfied grin on his face.

Still dizzy, I gesture for him to come closer. When he does, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him in for the most passionate kiss my current post-orgasmic state will allow. I can taste myself on his tongue, and it is like my sex drive reminds me I want more. I need more.

"Please, fuck me," I mumble between kisses, and I can feel the smirk forming on his lips.

"I just did that," he states when we part from the kiss. "Are you being ungrateful?" Is he joking? I hope he does, but I won't take the chance of not having his dick in me tonight.

"No, baby. I'm thankful for the way you have touched me tonight, but I want you to feel good, too."

Spencer looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Is that so? Are you willing to do what I want to make me feel good? It's not only for your benefict?"

"Yes! Whatever you want. I'm yours. Take me the way you want to do it. Whatever you want to give me."

I don't know at what moment I became this kind of submissive, but if I have to beg again to have Spencer inside me, I will do it without complaining. And considering he's still fully clothed, I don't know what kind of plan he has right now.

"On your elbows and knees."

It's simple, and the moment the words leave his mouth, I move quickly to obey.

Unfortunately, from this position, I can't see Spencer, but I can hear him undressing. When I listen to him undoing his belt buckle, I have to do everything in my power not to rub my thighs together in search of some friction. And Spencer notices.

"I can bet you're dripping again. Don't you?"

The anticipation is killing me. When I feel the mattress dip with Spencer's weight, I can't stop the mewl that leaves my lips. It doesn't help when he presses his body to mine, and I can feel his hard cock pressing my ass.

"Can you feel what you do to me? I want to fuck you so bad. I want to ruin this pussy." Spencer's voice is husky and low, almost predatory, and I can't wait to feel him.

While we've used dirty talk before, I think this is the first time I can feel it coming naturally from Spencer. I'm usually the one with the filthy mouth.

When I feel his tip teasing my entrance, I instinctively push my ass back, gaining a laugh from Spencer.

"Be patient, once inside there is no coming back." Before I can say anything in reply, I feel him push his cock between my folds, and the stretching is painfully delicious.

"Oh, fuck!" I yelp as I hear Spencer hissing when he bottoms it out. He is still there, grabbing my hips to keep me from moving.

"So warm. So tight. Made for me," he mumbles, leaning to kiss my shoulder blades.

"Just for you, it was made for you," I agree, in a new state of pleasure and urging him to move. Spencer pulls back almost completely, only to thrust hard again, setting a slow but deep pace.

"That's my girl, taking everything I give her. You wanted this, didn't you? I know you do. Fuck! So good for me."

Another thing I'm not used to is Spencer being a talker during sex. I mean, yeah, he's very vocal, moaning, whining, cursing, and so am I, but his words are now taking me there faster than I expected.

"Spencer, yes! Don't stop, please!"

"I won't, baby, I won't. Not when this pussy tighen me like this."

His pace quickens, and in the room, you can only hear the sinful sounds of skin hitting skin, our moans, and the dirty words escaping Spencer's mouth.

"Spencer, please, harder," I beg to him. I don't know why, but I want to go to my limit, and I trust Spencer. I need it. He's quick to deliver, and with every thrust, I'm entering into a new space of ecstasy.

He is pounding me harder, and my broken moans are testimony to the brutal pace he leads. I can feel him hitting in all the right places.

"Like that?" He asks, panting in my ear.

"Y-yes."

"I can't hear you, darling," the bastard demands, not faltering his thrusts.

"Yes! Fuck, yes! Like that! Oh, fuck-"

My voice cracks when I feel a sharp smack in my ass.

And I can't stress enough how good it feels and how it helps the ball forming in my lower belly to grow.

"What a sight. You should see how my fingers are red imprinted on your skin," Spencer says, amazed with his doing, not ever slowing his thrusts, and I can feel closer to a new earth-shattering orgasm.

"We need to even the score, right baby?" I can't even catch what he's talking about when I feel a new smack in my other ass-cheek. And then I lose it. I'm teetering to my end, and I need Spencer to fall with me.

"Spencer, I'm so close. Please, I need-"

"Are you going to come? That's what you're trying to tell me?"

"Yes! I need to cum, please-"

"I'm right there with you, my girl. Come on, cum on my cock. Show me how you fall apart because of me."

And I did. My orgasm crashes me like a freight train, screaming Spencer's name once and again until my throat goes dry. He keeps his pace, chasing his own end, and after three deep thrusts, he stills, and I feel him spilling inside of me, grunting as he does so. The feeling almost makes me cum again.

We stay in that position for a few moments, him inside me and trying to catch our breath. I feel like I'm out of this world, savoring the post-orgasmic euphoria of the best sex of my life.

Spencer pulls out, and I hiss at the loss of him. Carefully, he helps me turn over and lie down to rest my back on the mattress. I close my eyes, regulating my breathing, content and completely satisfied.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asks me, but I'm still lost in the haze of pleasure. I can barely acknowledge the moment he goes to the bathroom to bring a warm cloth to clean me up.

"Uh? Yeah. Amazing." My words escape before I can process them, but I'm not lying. And I can feel the tons of endorphins running in my brain right now.

"Are you sure?" Spencer checks again. And because I'm more alert now, I can see his worried eyes.

A tired smile forms on my lips as I turn to the side and bring a hand to his cheek.

This man just has fucked me senseless, and now he sees me with those panicked eyes as if he had broken me. And maybe he did, but in the best way possible.

"I'm fine, Spencer. I'm more than fine, actually. That was something else," I confess, caressing his jaw. He lets out a breath of relief, and his cheeks turn a shade of pink.

"So you liked it?"

"Liked it? Did you just forget how I was screaming your name just minutes ago?" A satisfied chuckle escapes Spencer's lips. "But I need to know something," I prompt, propping myself on one elbow to have a better view of Spencer's face.

"What is it?"

"Where did this idea come from? It's not like you woke up one day and said, 'Next time, I'm going to choke her and spank her,' right?"

"Well, yeah. It wasn't that kind of spontaneous idea, even though I have thought about it before," Spencer looks at me sheepishly.

"Yeah? Well, then?"

"I heard you. Talking with the girls the other day at the BAU's kitchen." I narrow my eyes, trying to pinpoint the exact moment, and when recognition washes over me, my entire face flushes.

"Oh, God."

"I know I did wrong. It wasn't a conversation for me to hear, but you were talking about your mystery man, and I - I don't know, curiosity got the best of me."

Spencer looks apologetic, and I feel kind of embarrassed right now. It's funny for two people that minutes ago were fucking like there is no tomorrow.

"Don't apologize. It's my fault for spilling those kind of things in the office kitchen." Wait a minute. "From what part you heard?" Spencer purses his lips in thought.

"The part when you admitted seeing someone."

"So you heard when I said I was happy with our sex life, right?" He nods. "Why did you feel compelled to try something different, then? I'm not complaining at all, but I don't want you to feel obligated to do something because of me."

Spencer shakes his head. "I don't feel obligated. I wanted to. But can I ask why you didn't tell me what you liked before?"

That's a valid question, and I don't want to make him feel like I don't trust him because it is not like that.

"It's just- I mean, I love what we have. And I'm falling for you even more each day. I don't want to lose that, and I thought maybe I would have made you uncomfortable saying those things. I didn't want that."

Spencer's eyes glisten with warm understanding. How could I have doubted that he would comprehend? One of his hands goes to push back a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"I love what we have, too. And you won't lose this or me if you share those things with me. I know I'm not the best example of a sharing person, but I'm learning to do that with you. And I want you to be happy and satisfied in this relationship."

"I really am. Seriously!" I quickly reply. God forbid Spencer from thinking I'm not happy and satisfied because it's far from the truth.

"And I'm happy to hear that. But there is no harm in experiencing new things, right?" He says, caressing my cheek.

"You really mean it?" Spencer nods and chuckles.

"It's not an altruistic offer, you know? I pretty much enjoyed what we did tonight." Only remembering what we did minutes ago brings a wide grin to my face.

"Sure you did. Okay. We can keep trying things. One condition, though."

"Name it," Spencer states, opening his arm for me to scoot closer to his side, which I happily do.

"I want you to choose the next kink to explore," I request, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction.

With narrowed eyes, Spencer is contemplating his answer. After a few seconds, his lips turn into a mischievous smirk, and he looks back at me.

"Have you heard about temperature play?" he asks, and I immediately bit my lower lip in excitement.

What can I say? This man is full of surprises, and I'm the lucky one who will experience all of them. I can't wait.

------------------

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid smut #a bit rougher #amanda perry williams #aperrywilliams #spencer reid fanfics #spencer reid fluff

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eraserbread · 9 days ago

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what abt postpartum reader x nanami who is insecure abt their sex abilities (?) after giving birth 🤔 like not feeling the same

you waited that six weeks like an obedient angel.

and, it was actually pretty fucking easy.

there's something about giving every second of your day and night to a crying newborn that pushes sex far, far back in your mind. right now, you're worried about nipple balm, diaper rash, milk temperatures, and the way kento's arms look when he's cradling his girl.

they're adorable, right now. kento's lying on the couch, book perched in his hands as his infant daughter rests on his chest. she's clingy to the bone, refusing to settle unless she's being touched by you or ken. at the end of the day, he knows you're exhausted with it, it's why he lets little rin snooze on his homey chest, memorizing the beat of his heart.

you gave birth six weeks ago to the day, and kento's been so enamored he hasn't even noticed. but, you have. you had a notification set in your phone for this day.

so when it's time to feed, burp, and rock rin to sleep, you're right on time, leaning down to scoop her from his chest.

"bedtime already?" kento hums, holding his book with one hand.

"getting close. i'm six weeks out, now. wanted to get her down pretty quickly."

he hums again, flipping his page and settling back. it's obvious he hasn't been keeping track. not that you could blame him, his postpartum hormones aren't totally out of whack like yours are.

you close your hands under rin's arms, watching her little face screw up in disturbance -- scrunching like a napkin. you coo, holding her tight to your chest so the maneuver is easier.

"oh, there's my girl," you whisper, letting your lips linger over her delicate head. kento sits up with a grunt, placing his book open-faced on the end of the couch.

“do you need anything from me before i lie down for the night?” he asks gently, in tune with his fatherly and husbandly duties more so now than ever before.

“yes.” you stop when you turn around, bouncing your daughter in your grip so she stays content. “take off all your clothes. wait for me right there.”

“it’s okay, just focus.” kento’s purring in your ear, two fingers crooked between your thighs.

sprawled out on the couch, back pressed to the cushion, completely naked, kento hovers over you. he treats you like a present needing to be unwrapped -- taking his time as he reintroduces his thick fingers to your overly-sensitive cunt.

and, though you can feel him in your bones, crying in pleasure, your body betrays you -- betrays him.

you're drier than a desert right now.

"i'm trying," you're begging for something -- anything. more kento, more focus, more need. your mind is flooded and overloaded. shame forms a sickly pit in the base of your stomach. "it feels good, just keep going."

kento's never doubted himself when it came to your sexual chemistry. he could usually just purr your name or shed his clothes, and you're dripping needy rivers between your legs. there was no force, no confusion.

right now, ken feels like he's forcing it.

"we don't have to do it tonight if you aren't feeling it."

"--no!" your eyes fly open, hands reaching to dig into his shoulder. you don't want him staring down at you anymore, you want him pressed to you. that way, he couldn't see the sad tears starting to pool in your vision. "no, I want it now. i can do it... let me- I can get wet for you again, baby. let me... i know I can."

you're babbling, saying anything to make this situation easier to swallow.

"i want you so bad, i swear-

"shh, i know." he's being so sweet, so gentle as his hand caresses the bulk of your thigh. you can feel just how painfully hard he is against you -- leaving a slick snail trail wherever his pretty cock passes over. "don't get yourself worked up -- here."

kento's repositioning himself, sitting tall and proud on his knees between your legs. his rippling torso shines in the dull lights, familiar gaze worried and loving.

he props your leg over his hip, leaning down to spit politely between your legs. the warm wetness pools at your labia, drawing down between your slit before two fingers are pushing it inside of you.

this time, with the wetness, it feels... familiar. good.

but, then he goes to press inside of you. you're confident, he's breathless.

and the baby monitor lights up; tiny infant cries scrambling through the receiver.

on a swivel, both of your heads turn to assess rin's circumstance in the black and white. she's kicking -- fussing as if it were her job. you're sighing, kento knows to get up and hand you back your clothes.

"there's always next time."

If you weren't so overwhelmed, embarrassed, and ashamed, perhaps you would agree. this time, you snatch your pants from his hand and seethe,

"shut up."

kento doesn't take it personally.

#good idea anon #i know u all love the angst #though this isn't rlly angsty #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #eraserasks #.nanami <3 #.the wife guy!! <3 #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #nanami kento x you #nanami kento smut #kento nanami x reader

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vanteguccir · 6 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTOO MUCH * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Matt and Nick say some hurtful things to Chris during a fight, bringing his insecurities to life and causing him to turn to his anchor, Y/N.

FEATURING��Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　insecurities, fighting, crying, anxiety attack.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The noise in the living room had escalated from playful teasing in front of the camera to sharp, biting words. Chris stood behind the kitchen table, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he glared at Matt and Nick, who were both looking at him from the other side of the table with expressions caught between frustration and exasperation.

"Do you ever think before you act, Chris?" Matt's voice was, surprisingly, raised, an edge of impatience in his tone. "We can’t get through one day without you doing something childish and making a scene, or worse, making our videos look like shit because of it!"

Chris’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond immediately, his eyes darting between his brothers, trying to make sense of how things had gotten so out of hand.

"I wasn’t trying to do anything." He muttered finally, his voice barely above a whisper laced with hurt. "I was just... being myself."

"Yeah, exactly." Nick jumped in, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "And that’s the problem. You’re always yelling and doing the most, Chris. It’s just... exhausting, okay?"

Chris clenched his fists, jaw tight as he glared at Nick, feeling himself crumbling a bit because sure, he’s too much. Sure, he speaks too loud and had opinions about everything and wasn’t afraid to share them, even if they were about the silliest things. Sure, he feels cornered and childish and immature and annoying, and most of what they're saying is probably true, but hearing his own brothers say it out loud... it pains his heart.

"You know, that’s actually rich coming from you." He shot back, his voice carrying a frustration he couldn’t hold back, trying to disguise his pain with anger. "You’re always the first to say that people watch us because we’re different, because even though we look the same, we're still different. But all you ever do is complain that I’m not just like you or Matt!”

Nick’s expression shifted, taken aback by Chris’s words. But Nick wasn’t one to back down, his voice snapping back almost before Chris had finished speaking.

"That’s not what I’m saying at all!" He fired, eyes narrowing. "Is it so insane to want you to stop yelling and acting like a literal child in every video? We’re trying to be professional, Chris! People like us, yeah, but they won’t if you keep acting like-"

Chris dragged a hand over his face, pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead, trying to shut out Nick’s words, trying to drown out the overwhelming feeling of being misunderstood.

"... and we can’t keep dealing with it, Chris. Grow the fuck up."

The youngest felt his chest tighten even more. His greatest insecurity - one that clawed at his chest every night when he couldn’t sleep, when the silence around him became deafening - was now on full display, brutally brought to life by the people he trusted most.

The internet was relentless in labeling him as "the weird one", the "annoying triplet", just because he was loud and talked too much, just because he was unapologetically himself. He’d laugh it off, of course, joke about it even because it was easier to pretend it didn’t bother him. But deep down, those words haunted him, scraping at the edges of his self-worth, making him wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t enough.

And now, hearing Matt and Nick throw those same words at him... he felt hollow. Like all the air had been knocked from his lungs. They knew. They knew how those comments got to him, how hard he tried to ignore it, to rise above the criticism.

"Fine." He said bitterly, hating how his voice trembled slightly as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "I’ll get out of your way, then."

He pushed his weight off of the table, preparing himself to get out of there, but as Chris stormed away, Nick's frustration boiled over, and he turned to Matt, his voice sharp and incredulous.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He hissed, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

But Chris kept walking, his shoulders tense as he made his way to the stairs, refusing to let himself look back. His brothers’ voices felt like static at this point, blending into the background as he forced himself to keep going.

Behind him, Matt muttered under his breath, an edge of impatience creeping in.

"Why is he being so dramatic?" He called, exasperation evident in his tone. "Chris, just come back, man! Let’s finish this video."

But Chris didn’t even slow down. Each word felt like salt in a wound he was struggling to ignore, a constant reminder that he wasn’t on the same level as them, that they were all looking at him like he was the problem.

Maybe he was.

As he went down the stairs, his mind was racing, every emotion simmering just below the surface.

His hands trembled slightly as he reached his bedroom door, a mix of anger, shame, and sadness twisting in his chest, his breath hitching as he struggled to keep it together. He wanted to scream, to push all the hurt away.

Finally, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Y/N - curled up on his bed with notebooks spread around her and laptop balanced on her knees - looked up instantly, a huge smile spreading across her face as she noticed him, her expression so genuinely happy to see him that it made his heart ache even more.

"Hi, honey! How was filming?" She greeted brightly, unaware of the turmoil written across his face.

But her smile faltered quickly as she took in his red-rimmed eyes, the way his face seemed almost haunted, his body tense and trembling as he stood frozen in the doorway. She blinked, worry flashing across her features.

"Chris? Hey, what happened?" The girl whispered, and her words were like a lifeline, breaking the dam he’d tried so hard to keep in place.

She was quick in put her work together, placing her notebooks and laptop gently onto the floor beside her, leaving it all opened for her to come back to it later, her arms instinctively opening up to him.

"Come here, baby."

Without another thought, Chris crossed the room and collapsed into her open arms, sinking onto the bed as if the weight of the world had become too much for him to bear alone.

His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his face burrowing into her shoulder as if he could somehow hide from everything that had been clawing at him. His legs slid between her thighs, his body curling into hers, every part of him drawn in close, seeking refuge in the only place that felt safe.

Y/N didn’t say anything at first. She could feel the way his shoulders shook, the silent sobs racking through him as he tried to hold back, his breath catching painfully against her neck. She held him even tighter, her hands slipping up to cradle the back of his head, her fingers threading gently through his fluff hair as she pressed soft, reassuring kisses to his forehead, his temple, anywhere she could reach.

"Shh... It’s okay, sweetheart." She murmured softly, pressing her lips to his line of hair. "I'm here. You're safe. Just breathe, Chris. Just breathe, baby."

But Chris felt anything but safe in his own skin. Shame and hurt twisted inside him, tightening like a vice around his chest. He tried to fold himself even smaller, curling tighter into her, trying to somehow look smaller for a 5'8 grown man, pressing his body as close to hers as he could.

He wanted to disappear, to melt into her embrace, and let the world live freely without his presence. The words Matt and Nick had thrown at him - the very same words he read online, the labels he was used to brushing off - felt so true, so much a part of him that he couldn’t deny them.

Childish. Annoying. Immature.

He hated himself in that moment, hated how much he cared, hated how the words dug under his skin, making him feel unworthy, unloved.

"Am I... am I really that annoying?" He whispered, his voice cracking and sounding more horse than it should. "Do you... Do you think I’m too much, too?"

Y/N’s heart twisted painfully as she heard his words, the broken way he spoke them. She frowned deeply, pulling back just enough to look down at him, her hand cupping his wet cheek as she met his gaze, her thumb brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down his face.

"Oh, sweetheart..." She shook her head gently, her voice laced with disbelief and fierce love. "No. No, Chris, of course not. You’re not annoying. You’re not too much. You’re everything I could ever want. You’re perfect exactly the way you are."

He clenched his fists, gripping onto Y/N’s hoodie - or better, his own blue hoodie -, his knuckles white with the force of it as he tried to agree with her, but her words didn’t seem to reach him. His brow furrowed, his eyes filling with fresh tears as he choked out.

"They said... They said I’m always yelling, being loud, making a scene... like I’m always... embarrassing them." His voice caught on the last words, his breath hitching as he fought to keep from breaking down completely.

Y/N held him tighter, her hand moving to the bottom of his white shirt, traveling inside of it only to rub soothing circles along his naked back as she spoke in a soft, steady tone, hoping her words would anchor him.

"Chris, they love you. They’re just... they don’t understand how much their words hurt sometimes. But that doesn’t mean you’re a burden or that you’re too much. You bring so much joy and energy to everything. That’s part of who you are, and it’s one of the things I love most about you."

He shook his head slightly, his breathing coming faster as anxiety started to build again, overtaking him.

"I... I just don’t get it. One minute, they’re saying people watch us because we’re different... and then they tell me I should be more like them. I don’t... I don’t know how to be that. I tried so hard to be like them, you have to believe me, but I don’t know how to change who I am-"

Y/N felt the depth of his frustration in the desperate way that he begged, wanting - no, needing - her to believe him. She cupped his face gently, urging him to look at her.

"You don’t have to change, Chris. Not for anyone. You’re enough just as you are, baby. And you’re not a burden. Not to me, not to anyone who really sees you and loves you for who you are."

He nodded slowly, finally trying to take a deep breath, only to feel like his nose was closed and his throat was being chocked by invisible hands. He closed his eyes forcefully, biting his bottom lip in concentration as he tried to breathe in a gulp of air that never seemed to be enough. Chris could feel his heart tightening, his chest struggling in the quick movements of going up and down too many times in a second.

"Can't- I... Please-" He tried, tightening his hands around her hoodie, panicking with the anxiety attack that seemed to come so suddenly.

"Hey, hey, Chris. Sweetheart, you’re okay." Y/N whispered softly, her voice a calming presence against the storm inside him. She shifted slightly, one hand now resting on his chest with a firm press as she guided him through deep breaths, her own voice slow and steady. "Come on, just breathe with me, okay? In... and out... Nice and slow. I’m right here with you."

Following her lead, Chris pressed his eyes tighter in a way that made him see stars behind his eyelids, focusing on the rhythm of her voice, the rise and fall of her own breathing against his fists. With each exhale, he felt a bit of the tension release, his chest loosening as he tried to match her calming breaths.

Gradually, his racing heart began to slow, the adrenaline draining from his body, leaving him feeling heavy, exhausted.

Y/N smiled softly, brushing her fingers through his hair as she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"There you go. That’s it... Well done, my strong boy. Now, just relax. I’ve got you."

As his breathing evened out, Chris opened his eyes slowly, his blurred gaze meeting hers with a vulnerability that tore at her heart.

"You don’t have to carry all of this alone, Chris. I’m always here for you, no matter what. You’re safe with me, okay? I love you... so much." She leaned down, pressing another kiss to his forehead as she held him close, her voice soft.

The gentle reassurance, the quiet love in her words wrapped around him like a blanket, pulling him further into her warmth. His eyelids grew heavier, the tiredness finally catching up with him as he let himself surrender to the comfort of her arms, a quiet whine escaping his throat.

"I know, honey. Sleep." Y/N whispered, a tender smile on her lips as she cradled him closer, holding him like a mother would hold her kid, her hands tracing soothing patterns along his back. "You can rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up."

As she continued to whisper soft reassurances, her fingers running gently through his hair, Chris’s breathing finally evened out, his body relaxing completely in her arms. His head rested on the curve of her neck, his arms still wrapped around her waist as he drifted off, his pain and worries slipping away in the safety of her embrace.

Y/N leaned down, pressing one last, lingering kiss to his hair before laying her cheek against his head, her arms wrapped securely around his body as she watched over him.

"I love you, sweet boy."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A couple of hours had passed, the sunsetting casting a soft, warm light over Chris’s room, where he and Y/N lay wrapped together on the bed. Chris’s face was nestled against her shoulder, his breathing steady and calm now, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers.

Outside the room, Matt and Nick exchanged a glance. They’d been standing in the hallway for nearly five minutes, trying to muster the courage to knock. Their earlier argument with Chris had weighed heavily on both of them, guilt twisting in their stomachs as they replayed every hurtful word that had left their mouths.

Finally, Matt raised his fist and knocked softly on Chris’s door, the faint sound echoing in the silence. When there was no answer, he hesitated, glancing at Nick before slowly pushing the door open.

They both froze at the sight before them. Chris and Y/N were curled up together on the bed, Chris’s face still damp from tears as he lay against her, completely relaxed in her arms. Y/N had one arm around his shoulders, her fingers resting in his hair, while her other hand was hiding inside his shirt, holding his back, cradling him protectively. They looked peaceful.

Matt’s heart clenched at the sight, guilt intensifying as he took in Chris’s tear-streaked face. He glanced over at Nick, who was staring down at his feet, clearly feeling the same crushing remorse.

"Let's go. We can come back later." Matt muttered, pulling Nick towards himself before starting to back out of the room, thinking it might be best to give Chris a bit more time.

But just as they were about to close the door, Chris stirred, shifting slightly in Y/N’s arms. He nuzzled his head on her shoulder, his face just inches from the gentle slope of her neck where he could still catch the faint, familiar scent of her perfume mingling with the natural warmth of her skin.

He moved slightly, careful not to wake her, though his movement caused her to pull him in closer, her fingers instinctively brushing over his back. The feeling of her hand tracing small, soothing circles over his shoulder as if it was a muscle memory grounded him further, coaxing a soft sigh from him as he nuzzled deeper into her embrace, pressing a gentle, barely-there kiss to her neck.

When his sleepy eyes finally traveled around the room while gently stretching his legs between hers, he finally caught Matt and Nick's figures standing in the doorway.

His face fell the instant he realized they were there, his peaceful expression replaced by a guarded, distant look. Carefully, he eased himself up, making sure not to wake Y/N as he pulled himself away from her arms.

"Came for round two?" He looked at Matt and Nick, his sleepy voice laced with bitterness as he asked.

Nick swallowed, words catching in his throat as he struggled to find the right thing to say. What an irony. He opened his mouth but only managed to mumble, stumbling over his words as he tried to get them out.

Finally, Nick took a small step closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Chris, I... we came to say... We just..." His pearly teeth caged his bottom lip momentarily, taking a deep breath. "We love that you’re different."

Chris stared at him, incredulous, eyebrows raised as he scoffed softly.

"Different? That’s what you’re leading with?" His eyes narrowed, hurt simmering just beneath the surface. "So now I’m the ‘different’ one? Funny, ‘cause that didn’t seem to be a good thing a few hours ago."

Nick faltered, his face flushing as he realized his words weren’t coming out the way he intended. He tried again, tripping over his explanation.

"No, no, I... I didn’t mean it like that. I just-"

Chris took a deep, shaky breath, his gaze lowered as he avoided Nick and Matt's eyes, interrupting Nick.

"Look, I want to apologize, alright?" He started, his voice barely more than a murmur, thick with emotion. "I know it was all my fault and that I’m a lot to handle. I get it. I can be too loud, too... everything, really. And I know I’m not like you guys. I’ve tried so hard to be, but it’s just... not me." His words hung heavy in the room, his fingers twisting anxiously in his lap. "I feel like sometimes I just ruin things because I don’t know how to turn it off. You two seem to have this balance, you know when to joke and when to be serious, and I’m over here just... always pushing things too far."

He exhaled deeply, finally lifting his eyes to meet his brothers', the weight of insecurity and years of self-doubt written all over his face.

"I’m sorry if it feels like you have to put up with me. I’ve tried to be more like you, but it’s never enough. And sometimes... it just feels like who I am isn’t what anyone wants." His voice cracked at the last words, his vulnerability laid bare, and he quickly looked away, bracing himself for whatever they would say.

Nick and Matt shared a look, each seeing the guilt mirrored in the other’s eyes as Chris’s words sank in, cutting through them like a blade.

Matt felt his chest tighten, a pang of regret settling heavily in his stomach, making it hard to breathe. How could he have let Chris - his little brother, the boy who was always loving him no matter what - believe, even for a second, that he wasn’t wanted exactly as he was?

His legs moved on instinct, carrying him back into the room before he even registered it, straight to Chris, who looked so small and hurt, slumped at the edge of the bed. Kneeling down, Matt reached out, placing a steadying hand on Chris’s knee, his fingers gently pressing into his brother’s skin as if trying to ground him.

"Chris, you’re our little brother. I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re too much for us." He swallowed, his voice wavering as he continued, willing Chris to see and feel every word. "I love you, man. We love you for who you are. You don’t need to change a thing. It’s your energy, your spark that makes everything better. You have this way of bringing life into everything, and that’s something I wouldn’t change for anything." He looked into Chris’s eyes, his own gaze filled with a raw honesty. "We need you to be you, Chris. No one else."

Nick’s heart clenched as he watched, his own guilt building with every second. Gaining control over the hurt and regret flooding him, he crossed the room in long strides, dropping down beside Matt. He looked up at Chris, his throat tight with emotion, the sight of his little brother so closed-off, so wounded, cutting deep. He was supposed to protect him, not hurt him.

"Yeah... you being another person? That’s not what we want at all. We’ve never wanted you to be anyone else. You’re perfect the way you are, Chris." Nick’s voice shook, filled with a determination to make Chris understand the truth, to undo every careless word he and Matt had thrown his way earlier. "I'm so, so sorry that we said all of those things and made you think so bad about yourself."

Chris’s defenses wavered, his resolve crumbling as he glanced between his brothers. Their sincerity seeped through, but doubt still clouded his gaze. He let out a heavy sigh, loosening his grip on his hoodie just a bit.

"You promise?" His voice was barely a whisper, fragile and laced with uncertainty, his fingers twisting anxiously into the fabric of his sleeve.

Without hesitation, Nick reached forward, taking Chris’s hands in his own, intertwining their fingers and squeezing firmly.

"We promise. We love how wild you are, how you’re always the one bringing the energy. You’re louder, sure, but that’s not something bad, it's exactly what makes you, you. You’re the happiest out of the three of us, Chris, and we wouldn’t change that for anything." He gave Chris’s hand another reassuring squeeze, feeling the smallest hint of relief when he saw the younger brother begin to relax, if only slightly.

Matt nodded, adding gently.

"And hey, I don’t think we need to be professional or act in a type of way for our videos to be good. The viewers love us for who we are... the mix of chaos and calm. That’s what makes us, us. It’s why they stick around."

Chris took a shaky breath, letting their words settle over him, feeling the weight of them begin to ease some of the pain. Slowly, he nodded, his fingers curling back around Nick’s reassuring grip.

"Okay."

Matt leaned forward, placing a hand on Chris’s shoulder.

"We’ll do better, alright? We’re brothers. We’re gonna mess up, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have each other’s backs. Always."

Chris exhaled deeply, finally letting the tension melt away as he leaned into their touch, the comfort of his brothers grounding him in a way only they could. Straightening himself, he managed a small, tired smile, his heart feeling a bit lighter.

"Yeah... always."

"Well, I’m really glad you guys are okay again." Y/N’s soft voice broke the silence, bringing all three heads up in surprise.

She moved with a quiet strength as she sat up and brushed her hand tenderly through Chris’s hair, watching his face light up as he realized she’d been awake all along.

"But just so we’re clear... if either of you hurt my baby like that again, you’re going to have to answer to me." She turned her gaze to Nick and Matt, a playful but fierce glint in her eyes.

"Y/N..." Chris dragged the last letter of her name in a whining tone, feeling flustered with how she called him 'her baby' in front of his brothers - even though they were more than accustomed with it.

Nick’s eyes widened jokingly with her threat, a chuckle escaping him. He lifted his hands in mock surrender, glancing at Matt as if to say, 'Well, we better watch out'. Matt nodded, eyes a bit sheepish, scratching the back of his neck.

"Alright, alright, no more ganging up on Chris. You have our word, Y/N."

Content with their promises, Y/N turned her attention back to Chris, opening her arms and pulling him into her embrace once more. He let out a soft sigh, sinking into her warmth, his head nestled against her shoulder. Her arms wrapped around him protectively, fingers tracing soothing circles along his back as she whispered.

"I told you they didn't mean it." He closed his eyes, letting her words wash over him, the last bits of hurt melting away.

Nick and Matt watched the two of them, a fondness softening their expressions.

"You know." She murmured, pulling Chris's head away from her chest and looking at him with a mischievous grin. "You’re pretty lucky to have all of us wrapped around your finger."

Chris laughed, a real laugh this time, the sound full of relief and love.

"Yeah, I know. I just... I guess I forget sometimes."

"Well." Nick started, squeezing Chris’s shoulder with a grin. "We’re not going anywhere. So next time, just remind us if we’re being idiots, alright?"

Chris nodded, glancing gratefully at each of them, feeling more grounded and cherished than he had in a long time.

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abbotjack · 13 days ago

Text

˚. ྀིྀི୧❤︎୨ ྀིྀི.˚ We know Jack writes letters.

They're the kind Robby can’t read all the way through without stepping outside to gather himself. The kind that cut clean and simple, because Jack doesn’t waste words—he means them.

So when he falls in love, of course he writes.

He works nights. You work days. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal—just a few missed dinners, a couple uneven weekends. But two years in, it’s become a rhythm neither of you like but both of you have learned how to survive. You brush your teeth while he’s lacing up his boots. He lets the microwave run too long reheating the dinner you left him. The sheets are always warm, but it’s rare you’re both in them at the same time.

You see him in fragments.

A half-empty beer left by the sink. His stethoscope on the kitchen chair. The smell of soap and hospital antiseptic lingering in the bathroom when you step out of the shower. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you catch him in the doorway before you head out and he gets home—eyes heavy, jaw dark with stubble, scrubs wrinkled. He kisses your forehead like he’s apologizing for the hours he missed.

But then there are the letters.

Tucked in the pocket of your coat. Folded into your planner between work notes and receipts. Once, wedged between the pages of the book you keep meaning to finish, like he knew you’d open it eventually.

They’re never long—just a paragraph or two, scribbled on the back of supply sheets or crumpled chart printouts, whatever scrap he could grab between calls. The handwriting is always the same: rushed, uneven, slanted like he was writing too fast to second-guess himself. He never rewrites them. Never polishes a word. And at the bottom, always that quiet little “—J,” like he’s hesitant to leave too much of himself behind.

“Didn’t sleep today. Kept thinking about the way you were breathing last night, arm over your face like you were shielding yourself from something. I should’ve held you. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“No letter tonight. Just wanted to leave a note saying I need to be near you. Wake me when you get in. Please.”

“You said something in the mirror yesterday—something about looking tired. I didn’t say anything then, but: You are beautiful. Even when you forget. Especially then.”

“There’s a receipt in your car from our favorite place. You went without me. I’m not mad. Just—next time, bring back fries. Or lie better.”

“You leave your rings on the counter and every time I see them, I think, ‘she came home.’ I don’t think you know how much that matters to me.”

“The plant you named after me is dying. Water it. Or don’t. I get it. But if it survives, I’ll take it as a sign you still love me.”

“You left the light on. Again. Which should annoy me. It doesn’t. The apartment feels like you were just here. Sometimes that’s all I need.”

“Tried to be quiet when I left. Still knocked over the shampoo bottle. Sorry. You flinched but didn’t wake up. I whispered goodbye anyway. It felt wrong not to.”

“You made the grocery list and wrote ‘Jack’s weird yogurt’ like I don’t have a brand. You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

"Tonight was rough. Lost one. Didn’t want to bring it home with me, but I needed to tell you I love you anyway."

“You were talking in your sleep again. Said something about stealing a goat. If I come home and there’s a goat in the yard, I’m not asking questions. I’ll just name it.”

“You asked me last night if I’d still love you if I was a worm. I said no. You hit me with a pillow. I’ve revised my answer.”

“You bought four new throw pillows. We now have eleven pillows on a three-seat couch. I have nowhere to sit. I love you anyway.”

“You said you felt off today. Didn’t tell me what that meant. Just curled up under the blanket and didn’t talk much. I stayed quiet too. I just wanted you to know I noticed.”

“You made the bed this morning. I know you were late. You didn’t do it for you. You did it for me. I love you.”

You keep them all. Pressed flat in a shoebox under your bed, like tiny pieces of him that can’t fade with time. Some of them still smell like antiseptic and worn leather and faint traces of his cologne. Sometimes you reread them when the loneliness sneaks in, when the hours between seeing him stretch too long.

And the thing is—he never asks if you read them. He doesn’t bring them up. It’s not about the response. It’s not even about being heard.

It’s about leaving something behind.

A thread. A trace. A heartbeat in your drawer when he can’t be in your bed.

Because Jack Abbot may not say I love you in the hallway or across a crowded kitchen—but he’ll write it. Every damn time.

And he knows you’ll find it when you need it most.

#the way i might make the letters a series #they were fun to write #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot #dr abbot #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #shawn hatosy #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt #the pitt x reader

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wendichester · 21 days ago

Note

I'm baaaacckkkk =D If there is a cap on request please let me know I just love your writing style and how you work them.

Ok so here's what I'm thinking. Reader and Dean are newer in their relationship, but when they're on hunts she always insists on getting her own room. Dean is confused and asks her and she admits that she has been told that she talks in her sleep/moves too much/is awful to sleep with and she doesn't want to put Dean through that. Maybe a little trial run too if you're up to it.

Thank you I always look forward to your fics!!

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡ sleeping beauty,

summary. you're hard to sleep with, but dean doesn't really care. as long as you're tucked right by his side, he'll sleep soundly.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 697

notes. thank you so much for requesting and for supporting me ehe. the cap is 1000 requests 🤭🩷

Dean’s been noticing it for a while now.

Every time you two land at a motel after a hunt, you insist on getting your own room. You always say it's for the best, especially after a long day, and that you’re “fine on your own.” But he’s no fool. Something’s off about it, and the fact that you always look at him with that little worried frown when he brings it up… well, it’s starting to bug him.

So tonight, after an especially grueling hunt, he’s decided he’s finally going to get to the bottom of it.

He’s not really sure why it’s been bothering him so much, but when you say you’ll “take the bed in the next room” again, he can’t hold back any longer.

“Why do you always do that?” Dean’s voice is quieter than he intends, leaning against the motel room door as you fumble with your bag.

You freeze for a second, before turning around with a smile that’s a little too forced. “Do what?”

Dean cocks his head, crossing his arms. “Get your own room. You know you don’t have to do that, right?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I just… I’m not good to sleep with, okay?”

His brow furrows in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

You shift on your feet, biting your lip. “I—uh, I talk in my sleep. Move around a lot. I mean, it’s kind of awful.”

Dean blinks, taking in your words, but doesn’t move. “You’re kidding, right? You’re fine. We’ve slept together on the road before…”

You cut him off, voice soft. “No, no. Not like that.”

Dean feels a pang of guilt twist in his gut. He hadn’t realized it was bothering you that much. He takes a slow step toward you, his voice quieter, more gentle. “Is that what you think? That it’s annoying to be around you?”

You look away, unable to meet his eyes. “Yeah. People’ve told me I’m terrible to sleep next to. I don’t want to put you through that.”

Dean’s heart tugs at the vulnerability in your voice. He steps even closer, closing the distance between you. “I don’t care if you talk in your sleep, sweetheart. I don’t care if you move all night. I want to be with you.”

You blink up at him, surprise and disbelief flickering across your face. “Really?”

Dean smiles, soft but certain, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course. You think that’s gonna stop me from being near you?” He takes your hands in his, squeezing them gently. “I just want you with me, [Y/N].”

There’s a quiet beat between you, then you look at him, nervous but hopeful. “So, uh, maybe we could... do a trial run?”

Dean’s eyes sparkle with amusement, his lips curling up into a slow grin. “You wanna test it out?”

You nod, cheeks pink as you shift from foot to foot. “Yeah. You know… see how bad it really is. If it’s that awful, I’ll go to the next room.”

Dean chuckles, that warm, familiar chuckle that always makes you feel at ease. “Alright, alright. We’ll see how it goes.”

Later that night, you find yourself curled up in Dean’s bed, wrapped in his arms, your head resting on his chest.

He’s quiet for a moment, just breathing, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back. You start to drift off, the exhaustion of the hunt finally catching up with you.

But then you feel it.

Your legs shift under the covers, a little too restless. You mumble something under your breath, the sleepiness creeping in.

Dean chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “See? Told you I didn’t care.”

You shift again, murmuring a few more unintelligible words, your hand brushing across his stomach.

Dean tightens his hold on you, a protective warmth flooding through him. You’re safe here. And so is he.

“Don’t worry about a thing, [Y/N],” he whispers, voice soft and steady. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You sigh, finally settling, your body relaxing into him.

And Dean smiles in the dark, knowing he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx #.req

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roosterforme · 2 months ago

Text

In the Navy Now | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: When Bradley and Jake catch their wives in the midst of a lie, Bradley wonders what made you think you couldn't be honest with him. He soon realizes you have a trick up your sleeve, one that makes his work day a lot more exciting.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, adult language, math as foreplay

Length: 3900 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time but it can be read on its own! Check out my masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

"You know what really sucks?" Bradley mused as he sat at a table for two in the cafeteria on base.

"What's that?" Jake asked in response, digging his fork into a bowl of pasta.

Bradley looked around the room at everyone else and sighed. "You and I are forced to socialize all the time now, because our wives are best friends."

He saw Jake on Saturday, and also last night at the bar, and again every damn day at work.

Jake shrugged as he took a bite of his lunch. "It's not that bad."

"Speak for yourself. I literally can't understand what Jessica sees in you."

As soon as he heard Jake's laugh, Bradley knew what was coming. "You're literally the last person who should be making comments like that. Your wife is so hot, it's absolutely unbelievable she is with you willingly. She had ten years to come to her senses."

Bradley smiled as he thought about you. "She missed me."

Jake was shaking his head. "She must have been with some seriously ugly guys or something in those ten years."

Bradley was laughing now as he said, "I'm telling you, she missed me as much as I missed her."

"Riiiight. I'm about to text her and ask for verification on that one."

Bradley poked at his salad and murmured, "Don't even bother. She's in some sort of math seminar with Dean Walters all day. Told me not to try reaching her unless it's an emergency."

"Are you sure?" Jake asked, giving him a funny look. "Jess said she had a department meeting with the dean today. For the science department."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "Yeah, of course I'm sure. I even packed her an extra snack. Unlike you, I actually listen to my wife when she talks. I'm sure you're wrong."

But Jake was already digging in the pocket of his flight suit for his phone, and when he unlocked it and slid it across the table, Bradley picked it up. He skimmed a text that Jessica sent just a few hours ago.

I love you! Don't forget, I'll be unreachable most of the day. Physics meeting with Dean Walters.

Bradley frowned. If this was true, then you lied to him. You never lied to him. He tried his best to let you know that you never had to do that. But now he remembered that you even went so far as to tell him you didn't need a ride home from campus today, and that actually seemed suspicious, too.

"Why do they want us to think they're busy all day?"

"It doesn't really make any sense," Jake said as he set his fork down. "Damn. Jess knows she can talk to me about anything."

"Yeah," Bradley grunted, "I don't like this shit." The uneasy feeling seemed to spread through his entire body as he stood. "We need to get going. Special class today, remember?"

"Fuck," Jake muttered under his breath, clearly as excited about the guest lecturer as Bradley was. Sitting in the classroom for a few hours was usually always tedious compared to flying, but the lectures that Cyclone had been adding to their schedules randomly over the past few months were worse than the most boring class Bradley ever took at the University of Virginia.

"Let's get this over with," he said, dropping his tray off and fighting the urge to text you just to see what you'd have to say. Now he was going to have to figure out a way to call you out about lying later. But it was still puzzling him as to why you and Jessica would both tell the same exact lie. What was the point of that? If you didn't want Bradley to bother you at work, that was all you needed to say. But it wasn't like he was annoying like Jake was; he could understand Jessica needing a break from her husband, but did you need one too?

He was still trying to figure out if there was something going wrong with his marriage when he walked into the classroom. Cyclone was standing at the front, hands on his hips, glaring at Bradley and Jake as they walked inside with two minutes to spare. The only seats left were both up in the front row, and Bradley groaned as he dropped down into one of them. The last guest speaker they had spit the entire time he talked, and the one before that spoke at full volume like she was teaching a room full of hundreds of people rather than the twenty four that were gathered.

"I regret not getting here early," Jake murmured, and Bradley nodded as he shifted in his seat and messed with the cuffs of the sleeves of his flight suit. He was really hung up on what you could possibly be doing today, and he knew that he wasn't going to be able to pay attention to this lecture topic at all. And that's when he noticed what was written on the white board behind Cyclone.

THE PHYSICS OF PROPULSION AND MATHEMATICAL FORMULATIONS IN SINGLE SEAT F/A-18 JETS

He groaned, because even the word mathematical made him think about you. This was about to be a long afternoon. Then Admiral Simpson cleared his throat, and Bradley forced his attention to the man in front of him.

"Welcome. Today's lecture topic is of the utmost importance regarding updates that will be made to your aircrafts this year. We will take a look at jet propulsion and the calculations specific to your F/A-18s before the new NATOPS is even released. We have two guest speakers who are professors from San Diego State University's math and physics departments, and they have graciously agreed to spend some time on this topic with us."

"No way," Bradley whispered, convinced it had to be you. He swiveled around in his seat so fast, he thought he might have broken it as he hung over the arm into the aisle when the classroom door opened. He could hear her high heels on the floor before he realized he was looking at Jessica enter the room, but then his heart skipped around in his chest just like the first time he saw you over ten years ago at his fraternity house. You looked fucking hot as sin, strolling in behind Jake's wife with a folder in your hand and a smirk on your red lips. Your eyes found his immediately as he sat there gaping at you while you made your way to the front of the room, but other than a little nod in his direction, you gave him nothing.

"Holy shit," Jake hissed next to him as Bradley nodded in agreement, his eyes glued on your body as he heard Cyclone introduce you and Dr. Jessica Reed by name. You gave the room at large a little wave, but your eyes flicked him, and Bradley let out the breath he had apparently been holding as he relaxed into his seat. So this must have been why you tried to make it seem like you were extremely busy today. Maybe you and Jessica didn't want him and Jake to catch on to the fact that you'd be presenting their class.

As Jessica started talking, he took in every inch of your appearance. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, and you were doing it very well. Bradley was proficient at calculus, having attended many of your college level math lectures. Sometimes he surprised you, but sometimes you knew ahead of time that he planned on being there. It didn't hurt that the lectures he attended usually ended with sex or a blowjob for him. Somehow math had turned into a form of foreplay for the two of you, and Bradley couldn't get enough. You'd praise him when he was able to solve a difficult problem, and the rewards were always sexy.

He was used to seeing you like this when he visited San Diego State University, but getting to witness your brilliance on the Naval base was already so exciting. Right now, he was already having a difficult time sitting still as he grew hard at the sound of your voice.

"The calculations related to your Super Hornets are so precise, we'll just take a look at a handful of examples to give you an idea of what we mean," you said, opening up your folder on the table as Bradley ran his sweaty palms on his flight suit. You were only a few feet away from him. He could smell your shampoo. He could count the little silver buttons on the side of your skirt. He had to bite his lip as you turned toward the white board and uncapped a marker as you said, "Please, let me know if I'm going too fast."

He could pick your writing out easily, but there was something about the way you always chose the letter B for your variables when he was watching. Your smooth penmanship started to fill the board as you talked your way through the problem, but Bradley could barely take his eyes off your ass. He turned around briefly to make sure nobody else had the same idea he did, but it was hard to tell. The younger guys looked a lot more enthusiastic than they usually did, and he might have to pound some sense into them later. Didn't they know you were his fucking wife?

But maybe they didn't. You kept your name the same when you got married. So did Jessica for that matter. Now Bradley sat a little taller in his seat as he realized he was married to one of the two extremely hot PhDs who all the other men in the room were drooling over.

"Does that make sense?" you asked, turning back to face them with a satisfied look on your face. "Dr. Reed can take over explaining the actual physics of the aircraft propulsion, and then I'll jump back in with the next calculation."

Bradley smiled at you while Jessica started talking again, and he could tell you were trying not to look at him as your lips curled into a grin. God, you were just fucking perfect. Smart and silly and sexy. And the two of you had so much history together, he could practically read the thoughts on your face.

"Did they dress like this on purpose?" Jake croaked softly.

"I know mine did," Bradley whispered. Your little tweed skirt and loafers screamed east coast academic. It looked as good on you as his tie dye shirt always did. It was just as sexy as lingerie. It was almost pornographic to him at this point. But today you had them paired with a blazer and a bodysuit. A bodysuit. He loved those things with the little snaps that held them closed as they hugged your curves. He was almost certain you'd skipped a bra. He couldn't wait to find out for sure.

Jessica was still talking about jet propulsion. Bradley would ask you to explain it to him later if it was actually important. Right now, you were slowly buttoning and then unbuttoning your blazer over and over again while you alternated between consulting your notes and stealing glances at Bradley. He was too warm as he watched your fingers work, and your eyes caught his as he leaned forward in his seat.

"Hey, Sugar," he mouthed, and your gaze dropped back to your folder as you bit your lip and smiled. He was ready to go home. Take you to bed. Or maybe get a private lecture in your home office. Or maybe drive all the way to the college and visit one of the library study rooms. You made everything so exciting, he wanted all of it.

When Jessica handed the lecture back over to you, Bradley squirmed in his seat as you wrote another calculation on the board. Jake was really no better in the seat next to him, and he realized the two of them must look like idiots at the moment. But you were making a subtle math joke that he understood, and when you glanced over your shoulder, your engagement ring sparkled under the fluorescent light.

"Now this is how the updates will actually make your aircrafts more fuel efficient," you said as you easily worked through a calculation that looked so complicated, Isaac Newton wouldn't have been able to solve it. Bradley's cock was still half hard, and he wasn't exactly sure how he was going to be able to stand up after this. But then you really threw him for a loop when you casually added the equation from your tattoo into the middle of the mess of mathematics on the white board. Now the only thing he could think about was your tits. Or rather, him running his lips along your math titty tattoo.

Bradley wasn't going to be able to sit still for much longer, but you turned around and asked, "Does anyone have any questions?"

He had to sit there and listen to several of the other guys ask you the most idiotic questions just so they could have your attention. Then Bradley raised his hand and waited until you pointed at him and said, "Lieutenant Bradshaw?" with an amused look on your face. "You have a question?"

"Yeah," he said, voice raspy. "I do, professor. If the variable B is directly related to propulsion, then how is that going to affect my thrust?"

He kept a straight face while you fought to do the same. You cleared your throat, took a step in his direction, and said, "You're going to need to have some additional thrust, Lieutenant."

Bradley nodded and gave you a thoughtful look. "Hmmm, that's what I thought. And it looks like a very complicated calculation."

You stood there in front of everyone in your little tweed skirt and the diamond ring he gave you and said, "If you'd like a more thorough explanation, I wouldn't mind spending a few minutes with you afterwards, Lieutenant."

As he leaned back in his seat, he told you, "I look forward to it."

So Bradley listened to Jessica while you occasionally interjected, and he kept his eyes on your face as his excitement started to build even more. When the afternoon lecture was finally over, he and Jake both stayed in their seats while Cyclone shook hands with the two of you.

"How long do you think they've been planning this?" Jake whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Not sure," Bradley replied as you collected your notes into your folder. "But I intend to find out." He was impressed as hell that you managed to pull this off without him noticing, but his skin was tingling with need. He desperately wanted to get his hands on you after you worked him up with all of the intellectual teasing.

As soon as Cyclone dismissed everyone, Jake was on his feet, dragging Jessica out of the classroom, but Bradley didn't move an inch in his seat. His cock was hard, and you were running your hand along your tweed covered hip as you smiled at him. But then he had to endure one of the younger aviators who was new to Top Gun trying to chat you up when he should have just left the classroom with the others. When you turned to face him instead, annoyance washed through Bradley's veins.

"Uh, hi, uh I actually studied mathematics at the Naval Academy, and I graduated three years ago, and uh, I was just wondering if you would want to get a drink with me sometime and talk more about, um, some of the topics you covered about propulsion and thrust-"

"Fuck off, man," Bradley barked. "She's wearing goddamn wedding rings. And she's not interested."

Your hand slipped over your lips as you laughed silently while the younger man looked at Bradley in shock. "Oh. Right. Okay," he muttered before hightailing it from the now nearly empty classroom.

"That wasn't very nice," you said, fighting against a smile. "He seemed really sweet. I was going to let him shoot his shot."

Bradley stood with a soft groan, his erection pressing against the zipper of his flight suit. "I was promised a private tutorial session, Dr. Sugar. I'm not about to let a twenty-something year old take up any of my time."

Without hesitation, you walked over to him and started to slowly unzip his flight suit. "Hate to break it to you, Beer Boy, but you were a twenty-something year old when I fell in love with you."

You ran your fingers along his undershirt, and Bradley glanced at the open classroom door as he whispered, "I hope you know you're not leaving this room until you're full of my cum."

"Lieutenant Bradshaw!" you gasped, eyes wide and surprised. But your hand was dipping lower to his abs, and he could tell you were as turned on as he was. "This is a tutoring session!"

Bradley wrapped his hand around your wrist and gently led you toward the door which he immediately closed. "I want to know how the hell you managed to pull this off. I had no idea you and Jessica were going to be teaching a class for the Navy."

"We've been working on our lesson plan for weeks," you said with a smirk as Bradley placed both of your palms on the door and flipped the light switch off. In the dimly lit room, you whispered, "We wanted it to be a surprise."

Bradley stood behind you, facing the door and kissed your neck above your unbuttoned blazer. "And here I thought you lied to me about your plans because you needed a break from me."

You moaned softly as his nose traced the shell of your ear. "Oh, please. It's not like you're annoying like Jake. I don't need a break from you, Beer Boy."

"Hmm, then what do you need from me?" he asked softly, letting one hand slide up your bodysuit while he confirmed that you were not wearing a bra. Your nipples were tight peaks as he stroked them through the fabric with one big hand, and you bumped your ass back against his erection.

"I need you to tell me what you know about thrust, Lieutenant," you stated in your teacher voice which made him grind against you.

"I know you like it when I give you a little thrust," he grunted, guiding your tweed skirt up your thighs as you gasped.

"Is this a good idea?" you asked, still pressing your body back against his. "Should we wait until we get home?"

"Can't," he growled, yanking your skirt up over your ass and wrapping his hands around your hips as he looked down at the perfect view. "You got me too worked up. You know what your lectures do to me. And this time it was on my home turf."

Your hands were still planted on the door as you glanced at him over your shoulder. "Almost like I'm in the Navy now. Lieutenant Sugar? Should I get a uniform?"

"Oh, fuck. You know I couldn't handle that. Besides, I'm really partial to your tweed." He was running his knuckles down your rear end as he whispered, "Please, let me fuck you. I'll be quick, Baby."

His fingers were already at the snaps on your bodysuit that hid your pussy from his touch when you said, "Do it."

With a flick of his wrist, the snaps sprung free, and he ran his finger along your slit. Your back arched as he carefully pulled his cock free from his unzipped flight suit and underwear, and then he was guiding you to your tiptoes as he slipped himself inside you.

Bradley wrapped one hand around your waist and braced the door closed with the other as he buried himself deep inside you. Your soft gasp sounded beautiful as he sucked on your neck and gave you a few deep strokes. When he started to go faster, your fingers curled against the door as you whined his name, and he asked, "How's my thrust?"

Your head tipped back against his shoulder as you whispered, "You're just about there. Maybe a little harder."

Always wanting to be your top student, he did exactly as you told him and picked up the pace, letting himself slam against your ass. Your tight pussy felt so fucking good, and normally he'd draw this out as long as possible, but not today. He let your grip on him take over all of his senses, and soon he was grunting next to your ear, lips parted as he fucked you up against the door in a classroom at Top Gun.

"This is filthy as hell," he muttered, jerking his hips in an uneven rhythm. "Fucking my perfect wife on base. During work hours."

"Beer Boy," you gasped when he slammed deep and held himself there. He did it again, loving the sound of his body meeting yours so intimately. A third time, and the pull along his spine as you moaned was too much. You had complete control over him.

Bradley gave it to you hard until he was panting. He let himself come as you turned and looked back at him, licking those sinful lips. "Jesus, fuck, holy shit," he groaned before kissing your lips softly as he gave you a few more thrusts before pulling himself free.

He was still a little hard as he tucked himself back into his flight suit and zipped it up again. When he went to fix your bodysuit, he ended up with his fingers coated in your arousal mixed with his cum as he did the snaps once again.

"Good as new," he murmured as you tugged your skirt down and turned to face him. He kissed you again before he said, "We should get out of here."

You nodded and collected your folder before pulling the door open and strolling casually out into the hallway like you didn't have his sticky cum rubbing against your inner thighs. "Now that you're all squared away with your thrust variable," you told him as he licked his fingers clean, enjoying the way the two of you tasted together, "you'll be even faster, Lieutenant."

Bradley snickered as you and he rounded the corner. "I hope you mean in the air. Quickies aren't really my thing, unless we're in a library study room or apparently an empty Naval classroom."

"There you are, professor." Cyclone was trying to flag you down, and Bradley watched you stumble as you headed off in his direction. He wasn't even sure if Admiral Simpson knew you and he were married, but the other man looked overjoyed as he said, "I've already been getting wonderful feedback about you and Dr. Reed, and I'm hoping you'll both agree to come back next month for another lecture on a different topic."

Bradley groaned and just kept walking. He would wait for you in the parking lot where he'd have a moment to himself to collect his thoughts. More sexy tweed and his hot wife in the classroom? Another lecture topic? Hours of mathematical foreplay that nobody else seemed to pick up on? Quickies were about to become his thing.

------------------------------

I missed Beer Boy and Sugar SO MUCH! She's such a queen, she literally just has to exist to make him lose his mind. But she knows what she did here. She knows. Thanks for reading!

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@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@furiousladyking

@godsfavoritebabe

@bethabear12

@halo-mystic

@sherlockstrangewolf

@theamuz

@khaylin27

@glenpowellluver

793 notes · View notes