#fem insert

[rhettrosunsets]

Porch Swings And Promises - Rhett Abbott X Fem! Reader

Pairing: Rhett Abbott X Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff, Slight Angst

Summary: A warm summer evening in Wabang and a porch swing leads Rhett to having a realization while he holds his four year old daughter.

Masterlist

Word count: 622

Warnings: No use of Y/N, no description of reader, Rhett doubting himself as a parent, mentions of your daughter being a surprise, mentions of Rhett's own upbringing.

Notes: Kind of want to make this a little series with reader and Rhett's backstory, how they met, when they found out they where having their daughter, their wedding, etc if anyone would be interested in that. 🤔

The porch swing creaked softly under Rhett’s weight as he gently rocked back and forth, 

The Wyoming sunset painted a hue of soft oranges and pinks across the sky on the clear summer evening. And on his chest bundled in her softest unicorn pajama set and her hair still partly damp from her bath laid your four year old daughter, her tiny hand curled into his worn flannel shirt.

He had one arm wrapped around her back, the other cradling the back of her head like he did when she was still just a new-born.

"You gettin’ sleepy, Sunshine?" he murmured against her temple. She made a soft humming noise instead of answering him, just nestling closer to him, her cheek pressed right over his heart. Something she’s done from the minute he held her for the first time.

Rhett exhaled softly, one hand moving in gentle soothing strokes down her tiny back. His fingers were calloused from years of ranch work and rodeo rides but they were always gentle when it came to you and her.

“You know” he said softly looking up, almost more like he was talking to the sky rather than to her “I was real’ scared when I found out I was gonna be your dad. You were quite a shock to your momma and I.”

The wind blew softly, just enough to create a light breeze causing your daughter to curl even closer to Rhett's chest. While inside your home, the floor creaked as you moved through the kitchen, letting them have their moment together seeing the soft sight through the window as you sipped your tea with a soft knowing smile, quickly taking a photo with your phone.

“I didn’t really grow up knowin’ how to be soft,” he whispered, tightening his hold on her just a little “I didn’t know how to show love the right way and I didn’t think I’d ever be good at this. Your momma had to tell me over and over that she was confident I could do this, and it took me a long while to truly believe her..”

Your daughter blinked up at him with sleepy widened eyes, small and confused as she responds. “You are good at it, Daddy.” Rhett’s heart melted a bit at her sleepy reply as he kissed her forehead, before resting his chin atop her small head “You think so, Princess?”

She nodded firmly, her face determined despite her prior tiredness. “You make me pancakes with smiley faces and you sing the princess songs with me and mommy on movie nights. And, and you always check my closet for monsters, which makes you super brave.”

He let out a breathless chuckle, the kind that made his shoulders shake. “I’m glad you think so Princess.”

She snuggled closer and looked up at him with her eyes that she got from you, before muttering a soft “You’re the best daddy ever"

And well that, that undid him completely. It wasn't in a loud way, and not through tears either, but in the way he went quiet as he blinked up at the darkening sky as if trying to send up a prayer of gratitude for how grateful he was for you and your daughter. She was asleep before the stars came out, her little hand still fisted in the plaid fabric over his heart.

And Rhett sat there more in love with his tiny daughter and you than he’d ever thought possible. He promised himself that he’d do better than what he had, you two deserved the world and he’d try to give it to you. He promised that he’d love you two gently, and in the ways that his girls always deserved, Forever.

[deathofacupid]

can't you talk to them?

summary: you misunderstand peter's powers. he's not pleased.

does everyone have a life except me?

he groaned and threw his head, slightly dizzy from the spinning. he got up and glanced out the window. it was really nice outside, patrolling wouldn't hurt. peter got into his "spidey suit," y/n had insisted on calling it that, despite the fact it took the coolness away. he pushed open the window gently, and hopped out, shooting a web to the nearest building he could see. peter swung from there, hollering in joy.

spidermaning could be stressful at times, but these moments made swinging around in clad spandex worth it. he did a couple flips and tricks, making sure to impress the public before landing on a building to take a breath. he grinned up at the sky and took off his mask, hands on his knees trying to get his heart rate back to normal.

peter's phone rang in his back pocket, and he pulled it out, checking the caller. he subconsciously smiled, seeing as it was his beautiful girlfriend. giddy, he answered.

"hey, y/n!"

"peter! peter! oh my god!" there was panic in her voice, and he felt the hairs on this neck rise. something was wrong, he knew it, given there was a tingling feeling at the back of his head.

"what's wrong? y/n—"

"hurry! i can't— i don't—" the scream she lets out makes peter's blood freeze. before he can get even another word in, the line goes dead.

"y/n? y/n!"

he clumsily stuffs his phone in the pocket and takes off the building. peter can't lose her. she's all he has. the yell echos in his head, urging him to go faster. an even worse thought enters his mind. what if he's too late? what if—

no, no. she's okay.

how will he get in? peter left the key back at home, along with literally everything else but his phone.

the window!

he lands on the side of the building, opening the bedroom window- not so gently. he's trying to hurry, but that's just making it harder. finally, the bug gets it open and jumps in.

"i'm here! i'm here! who i have to punch?!" peter looks around for her, before spotting her huddled in the corner of her bedroom, broom in hand. she's wearing one of his old shirts and... no pants? at least none that he can see.

no, no, bad spider, not now.

he rushes over to her, taking y/n's figure into his arms.

"are you okay? are you bleeding? hurt? broken bones? who's there?"

wordlessly, y/n gestures her broom to a spot in front of her, eyes wide. he frantically scans the surface, confused as to why he can't see anything there. peter holds her tighter.

"i don't— w-who's there?"

"look!" she hisses.

"i am!"

"look harder!"

"but— oh. wait, what? are you— is that a spider you're talking about?"

she nods frantically, poking him with the end of the broom. "go!" y/n yells, waving her hands around wildly.

"where?"

"go kill it!"

"i- no, i'm not gonna kill it. it's not even doing anything! you know, you scared the shit outta me, i was so scar—"

"well, tell it to leave!"

"...i'm sorry, tell it?"

"you're a spider! can't you talk to them?"

"...what?"

y/n shooed him. "you can't talk to it?"

"no. what? w-were you under the impression that i could talk to spiders for the last two years?"

"that was supposed to be one of the pros of dating you!"

"..."

he sighed and walked over to it, taking the arachnid into his hand. peter turned back around with a shit-eating grin in his face.

"babe..." she warned.

"look, darling! not even a little scary." he held in front of her face, and y/n held her breath.

"i'm gonna fucking break up with you, don't get any closer to me with that- that mini you in your hand!"

he snickered and moved closer.

"pete— peter benjamin parker, i swear to god that i will get a restraining order against you if you don't get the fuck away from me right now. what would aunt may say about that?"

peter sighed, and took a step back. he moved by the window and let it out, closing it afterwards.

she put the broom away, and went back to whatever the hell she was doing.

"no thank you?"

"oh, trust me, i was gonna give you more than a thank you, given you hadn't pulled that little stunt!"

swiftly, he pinned her again the wall, "like what?"

"now you won't find out."

"really?" before he could say anything more, she pressed her lips to his. "how's that for a thank you?"

"i think i'll take it."

[samisverycool]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. yandere prince adores his personal maid.

he doesn't even bother hiding his favouritism. the contrast in tone when he talks to you vs anyone else is huge.

"oh, you think that suit looks better than this suit? of course, my sweet! whatever you say ♡."

"my sweet, i'd hate to be a bother, but could you run some errands for me? i know, i'm horrible!"

he'd coo and coddle you, as if you were a favoured child. trailing his silky soft fingers across your cheeks when you pleased him, though it wasn't very hard since he is absolutely enamored with you. then, some random servant would walk in, and it was like a switch was flipped.

"can't you see i'm busy? go away!"

"you're utterly useless! you know i can have your head on a silver platter, right?"

it was slightly off-putting.. you remembered the first time you were introduced as his personal maid, his eyes having lit up like a christmas tree. you didn't really know why he liked you so much, but it's better than being threatened with death for serving his tea in the wrong cup. you do try your best to appeal to all of his 'demands' (which are just suggestions at this point), because you have to remember your place.

which is by his side. forever.

"you'd never leave me, would you, my sweet?"

"never, my prince."

"good."

[wisteria-bae]

“Reader has black hair and blue eyes-“

THEN ITS NOT AN X READER!!???

Edit below cut

Hey guys, so when I made this post, I was extremely frustrated and annoyed. Now that I’m way more mellowed out and had the chance to read a lot of reactions and responses, let me act my age and actually clarify some things.

First, I want to apologize to those who were deeply upset by my post. My post overall was towards those who claim they don’t write for a specific audience, and yet put specific descriptions in their work. There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with adding certain details to your reader, such as gender or body type. The issue comes in when you don’t properly title and tag it as so, or completely ignore it altogether.

If you see my post as an eye opener and want to change up your work, then you have every right to do so, but please do not think that this is an attack or jive directed at you. It’s just that some of us readers want exactly as promised. That’s like blindfolding someone, telling them that you’re gonna feed them an apple, and then making them bite into a banana - peel and all.

I know some writers have said that they want to be more inclusive in response to my criticism. If that is what you truly want, then by all means, but I cannot stress enough: write what YOU want to write. Do not feel as though you’re being pressured to change what you put out; it’s just a means of how you categorize it.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, respond, and engage with my original post. I truly appreciate the perspectives shared, they’ve helped me see things more clearly and refine my thoughts.

[hanasnx]

ᯓ★ “ I WANNA FUCK WITH THE LIGHTS ON ” — clark kent.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: this movie isn’t out yet but i can’t wait that long to take advantage of my superman kick and fuck this man. unfortunately i don’t know much about his characterization other than the trailer content. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ explicit sexual content ノ size difference ノ dick riding ノ objectification ノ p in v ノ praise ノ clark has huge dick syndrome.

“Just… take it slow.” CLARK KENT encourages, but it’s said more so for himself than you. A large, flattened palm emphasizes his instruction, gesturing for you to relax without grabbing you to take over your actions. You stop, his eyes flickering to meet yours questioningly, until he takes a shot in the dark. “Please.” It’s delightfully endearing, and it loosens you up a little.

“It’s not that, Clark, I’m just—you’re just so… you know,” Big. You try to hint at it without blurting it out. Hovering over his lap too long, a tremor builds in your thighs, and you bite down onto your lip as you let it pass through you in a shudder.

His expression adjusts as the realization dawns on him, “Ah,” he exclaims thoughtfully, and he tests the waters, bringing his hands to your body to rest in comfortable places. Your waist seems appropriate, and your fingers fiddle with the muscle in his shoulders as you keep chewing your lip. “Do you want me to take over?” the question is punctuated with a shift of his hips, arranging himself in a better position to begin, but even the marginal movement has you whining with need. It alerts him, tensing up instantly as he freezes while your pretty face twists in pleasured agony. You’re still wrapped around his reddened tip, and it’s a burning kind of stretch that makes you wish you could just shove him in all the way—at the cost of ripping you in half.

Through your heavy lids and thick eyelashes, you manage to meet his gaze with darkened pupils that don’t want to cooperate. You hum a pitiful “uh-huh” while you nod your head, signaling to him that he’s right. His thumbs on your torso stroke at your skin comfortingly, big hands clamped around you as he raises you. The lip of his head catches on the rim of your pussy, and you suck in a breath as an emptiness replaces what used to be filled.

“We’re gonna take it nice and easy,” Clark talks you through it, but even his exhale hitches when cold air hits his slit. Carefully, he lowers you back on, feeding his dick back into your silken walls before taking it away again—all to introduce your hole to his size little by little. The method chips away at your tightness, and you try to follow his movements with yours even if you’re weak in the knees. “Wanna look at me, duchess? Let me see your eyes?” He tilts his head, his curls falling over his forehead as he chases your gaze. You do your best to peel your eyes open one-by-one, granting him his wish as you pant through your open mouth taking his cock one agonizing inch at a time. The sight of you barely holding on when he’s not even halfway in, stretches a smile onto his face, and if you were more coherent, you’d say it’s one of pride as well as endearment.

One hand cautiously releases your side, while the other takes your weight entirely, bobbing you up and down as if you were no heavier than a fleshlight. His other slides between you two to seek out your pretty bud, resting his thick fingers on your thigh while his thumb comes to stroke at that clit. The new sensation slicks you up as quickly as it occurred, and you gasp at how elevated it all feels from a simple action like that. “That’s what you were missing. Right, baby? It’s hard to loosen up without it. You’re so tight…” You know he didn’t say it like it’s a compliment, but it makes your insides jump anyway. Your muscle contracts and suddenly he can fit a lot more in. “Does that feel good?” he asks, his thumb leisurely circling your bud as your pussy drools around him.

Desperately, you nod your head with a couple of “mm-hmm’s!” that lead him to speed up—introducing you to more of his length as he picks up the pace on petting your clit. Your hands abandon gripping his shoulders for stability and instead overlay his. Yours are dwarfed by him, but he takes your guidance, absorbing how you’re putting pressure on his knuckles and replicating it against your poor pearl, getting puffy from the stimulation and the lack of getting railed. It all lights a fire under your ass, and your body moves for you, bouncing in place to try and force more of his cock into you. You can’t overpower the Superman, but he does let you take it all down to the hilt—his strength making a sex toy out of you.

[splishfish]

Thinking about…

cw: Dubcon, nasty things, public things, piss kink...etc etc,,

Pt.1

~~~

Nasty!Toji Finds himself humoring his newly found piss kink, begging asking you to piss in his mouth and let your golden sap trickle down his throat. At first, you decline, you were still so embarrassed from when he so shamelessly licked your pussy clean of your piss a few nights prior! How could he even want something like that? But when Nasty!Toji falls to his knees, fisting his cock desperately and begging for you to fill his mouth with your ‘heavenly piss’, how were you supposed to decline him?

So when Nasty!Toji finally has you sitting on his face that night, his mouth latched onto your pussy and sucking hard, you couldn’t help the mewls and gasp of pleasure as you finally let your bladder go, filling his welcoming mouth with your honeyed piss.

You don’t really remember much from there, since he spent the next few hours slurping at your pussy and fucking you dumb, but you do remember the sticky ropes of cum that he let out when he first swallowed your piss <3

Nasty!Toji Makes you breakfast the next morning, having felt bad after fucking your pussy raw last night. He makes you eggs and pancakes, fluffy and sweet with a little extra something he fisted out of himself that same morning.

Nasty!Toji Who ‘accidentally’ sends pictures and recordings of your sloppy sex to his dear friend Shiu, each one focusing on your cum filled pussy or your fucked out face. He follows them up with ‘oops, didn’t mean to send that’ and then another two or three videos of you sucking his cock with your makeup smeared and his hand pulling your hair back.

Shiu only responds with ‘You’re disgusting’ and then a picture of the load he spilled in his hand.

Nasty!Toji Who can’t keep his hands off you even in public. He takes you out for dinner at this cute little shop downtown, only to end up fucking you in the alley right next to it before he can even make it inside the diner. Oh, but once he fills your sticky pussy full of his spunk, he makes you pull your panties up and sit your pretty ass down in a corner booth where he can finger his cum back into you while you eat<3

Nasty!Toji Who calls for a Taxi to take you both home, cause he’s too lazy to walk a block back to your place, and he doesn’t want your pretty feet to hurt in those heels you're wearing. Ah, but when you plop yourself down on the leather seat and blush at the ‘slurp’ noise your cunt makes when it hits the seat…how was he supposed to resist you?

Nasty!Toji Slides two hundred bucks to the Taxi driver before ripping your panties off and shoving his already leaky cock back into your pussy, pounding you into the back seat of the taxi and ignoring your cute pleas for him to wait until you get home…but with the way you fondle your tits and occasionally glance at the taxi driver, whos now fisting his own chubby cock, he knows by the way you cream on his cock that you don’t want him to stop.

It’s a few days later that Nasty!Toji realizes that you finally relented and stopped berating yourself, your ego and self esteem notably higher than before after all the sick and nasty things he’s been doing to you. He can’t help but puff out his chest in pride, kissing you stupid and pampering you all night with kisses and massages. After all, you deserve it after having to deal with his pervy actions for the past few weeks.

~~~

A/N: can we thank my amazing friend fairy for giving me some ideas for this one?!

[reiyaus]

fem reader intended

husband nanami who quit working overtime because he hated seeing you stay up so late- dozing off on the dining table, a warm plate of food waiting for him at 11:37 on a tuesday night.

husband nanami who carries you to bed, making sure you were warm before focusing on getting unready himself. putting your health before his, like always.

husband nanami who make sures to eat the food you’ve prepared for him, appetite or not, because putting your cooking to waste would make him feel even more guilty (if possible).

husband nanami who likes waking up and catching you in the kitchen, dancing to the music while preparing his lunch. sometimes he even sees you taking small samples of his food before stopping yourself from eating the whole thing.

husband nanami who goes to work with his bento inside his bag, staring at it his whole shift and counting the hours until he gets to read what you’ve written him for the day.

husband nanami who stores all your letters inside the first drawer of his desk, rereading them as if they’re motivational quotes on a coffee cup whenever his coworkers and boss start testing his remaining bits of patience.

husband nanami who leaves the office building the moment his shift is over and heads straight to your favorite café, ordering every single one of your favorite pastries- not minding how the number keeps increasing with every beep.

husband nanami who surprises you, freshly out the shower, with a huge bag full of bread you’ve been craving the whole week.

husband nanami who helps you with your post-shower routine while ocassionally feeding you, laughing at how your eyes never left the bag the moment he came home.

husband nanami who makes sure you actually get to sleep before 10 pm, leaving no excuses as he carries you to the bed again, but this time you’re laughing and gripping onto his shoulders.

husband nanami who traps you in his hold, lulling you to sleep as he apologizes for all the times he made you stay up late- sleeping uncomfortably on the table.

husband nanami who gets to sleep another night with your face as the last thing he sees.

and husband nanami who wakes up another morning, with your skin being the first thing he feels.

[jeankirschteinsimp]

You and your husband Nanami Kento went to the beach today. The sun was shining and it was overall a beautiful atmosphere. You sat infront of Kento and stared at him.

„What are staring at, hun?“, he said when he turned his head to you with a light smirk.

You then proceeded to crawl over to him and say „ i love your freckles, ken.“

„Oh yeah?“, he told you while a light blush creeped upon his cheeks.

„I wanna kiss all of them“ you claimed as you slowly kissed all of his freckles. One under his right eye, on his nose tip and one at the corner of his left lip. When you pulled back from giving Nanami Kento little pecks - he suddenly grabbed you by the throat and kissed you passionately.

You pulled back breathing heavily and told him „ i didn’t knew you had freckles on your lips, ken.“

„Well i wasn’t quite sure but you can check again y/n“ he quickly replied while smashing his soft lips on yours again.

[scftangl]

Me, getting distracted for a moment in just in smut and now I don't know what position they are in:

[nereidprinc3ss]

bambi

in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!

You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there. 

How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that. 

So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for. 

He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”

You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips. 

“Fuck—I said slow.”

You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”

“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”

“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more. 

Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it. 

“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling. 

It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching. 

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”

By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”

You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air. 

“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”

Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.

“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”

Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact. 

“Please can I go faster?”

Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out. 

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for. 

Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—

“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”

“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”

“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon. 

“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion. 

Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it. 

“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”

“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm. 

“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him. 

“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline. 

So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”

“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits. 

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles. 

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”

“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”

And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time. 

Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest. 

“I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment. 

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”

“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”

“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”

“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”

“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble. 

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling. 

“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees. 

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind. 

The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him. 

Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway. 

“Was that on purpose?”

“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact. 

Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair. 

“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs. 

He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”

The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.

And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.

Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long. 

The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind. 

In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved. 

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed. 

You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles. 

“Shaky?”

“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly. 

“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”

“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”

When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”

[c-monthecob]

"Y/n threw her long blonde hair into a messy bun"

[rhettrosunsets]

Hospital Bed's And Confessions - Porch Swing And Promises Series| Girl Dad!Rhett Abbott X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Rhett Abbott X Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff! So much fluff!

Summary: Rhett has been terrified of what type of dad he's going to be since the moment you told him you were pregnant, but when the nurse hands him your daughter for the first time, he has a realization that begins to heal him.

Masterlist

Porch Swings And Promises Masterlist

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: No use of Y/N, no description of reader, Pregnancy, Rhett doubting himself as a parent, Hospitals, Birth, mentions of Rhett's own upbringing, mentions of Rhetts doubts about being a good husband.

“Rhett Abbott! You aren’t going to break her. I promise you, she’s a lot stronger than she looks, Baby.” You told Rhett softly, your eyes full of love as you spoke to him, trying to calm down his never ending nerves.

Rhett had never been at just good at standing still. It was something you had always teased him for. He was never able to stand in one place for long, always needing to do something, walk around, be productive.

He'd been pacing the hospital room for the last twelve hours you'd been in labor, so worried about you and worried about his daughter. But he felt cemented to the floor the second the nurse turned around and placed the tiny, squirming bundle that was his daughter into his arms.

He’d thought about this moment since the moment you had told him you were pregnant. He'd worried about it enough that he felt he had aged five years alone within the last nine months. He had dreamed about this moment. He'd dream about what your combined futures would look like from now on.

Truthfully, he wanted to run from it and also run towards it at the same time. Nothing had made sense to him after you had told him all those months ago, he felt like the world's biggest contradiction for the emotions he was dealing with on a daily basis.

He’d lay awake on sleepless nights when you couldn’t seem to get comfortable and would cry into his shoulder about how tired you were and how your body ached, while one hand would rest over your growing belly. He’d whisper all his hopes and fears to you, the future, what you wanted from it, what type of parents you were going to be.

He remembered promising you on a particularly bad night when you sobbed into his arms for hours due to your aching back and nausea that you just couldn’t seem to curb, that he’d build you that wrap-around style porch you’ve always wanted and dreamed about since he first met you. He told you he'd put a porch swing out there so your little family could sit out there and watch the sunrises and sunsets, something you've always wanted.

But nothing, absolutely nothing could've prepared him for this moment right here. She was so small, almost her entire body being able to fit in one of his hands, as she was wrapped in a plush white blanket with small yellow ducks on it, making her seem more like a babydoll than his daughter. Her little face was red and scrunched up from crying, but as soon as he held her close and near to him, she settled into his chest and her little body went still as she stopped her frantic squirming. And just like that, he knew the rest of his life would forever be changed by the little bundle he was holding in his arms.

His knees nearly gave out, as his throat tightened, while his heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest. But she was finally here, all the months of crying, the months of planning, the months of you two building your perfect house. The hours of labor done to create her nursery. The hours he spent holding you and comforting you while you felt anything but yourself.

She was finally here, and she was the perfect mixture of both of you. When he looked down at her, his thumb coming up to trace her tiny face, it hit him hard. “I don’t deserve you or your Momma” he whispered in such a soft tone, like he was petrified he was going to startle her. He didn’t mean it in the way people say when they’re overwhelmed with emotions and just blurt something out, no, he meant it like a truth he carried in his bones for years since he met you that day in the coffee shop and fell in love with you.

He’d spent so many years believing he’d screw this part of life up. Telling himself that he’d never be a good dad because he didn’t know how too, because he didn’t have a good example himself. He didn’t believe he was cut out to be someone’s example of what a man and father should look like, he always said that he was too rough around the edges, that he’d be too quick to run at the first sign of a problem, that he'd just end up hurting you in the long-run.

But now, here he was, standing with you in the quiet hospital room, holding his daughter, his little girl. The word echoed over and over again in his head as he shifted her slightly, one hand cradling the back of her head, supporting her as he peered down and looked at her tiny form in his hands.

“Hi, Sunshine” he said, his voice a bit rough, as his eyes welled up with tears. “I’m your Daddy, babygirl” he watched as her little mouth opened in a sleepy yawn, while her small fingers curled into tiny fists resting against his chest.

“I didn' know I could love someone I just met, this much” he muttered quietly before sitting down slowly on the edge of the hospital couch, still staring at the small bundle in his arms.

He could see you resting nearby, exhausted but watching, and it broke in him again, because you looked at him like he was enough, like he could do this and like he’d be good enough, and what broke him the most, like you trusted him to be good enough.

He hadn’t known a love like this existed, it wasn’t like the love he had for you. That type of love already had its own place carved into his chest, and has had a spot there since the moment he met you. A big you shaped hole that he's had since he moment he first saw you. That love was steady, strong, warm, gentle and quiet. It felt like you wrapped around him, you telling him everything would be okay even when you didn't know if it would be, the moments of you two running off laughing like little kids, the moments where you’d pull him into the rain just to watch him smile as you danced around, the moments when you looked at him like he was your everything.

But this, this love was something else entirely. This love felt like terror and admiration. He felt the most instinctual kind of protection that made him feel like he’d throw himself in front of a train if it meant your daughter would never know a day of being hurt. This was something so pure and intense, that it frankly scared the hell out of him.

She blinked slowly peering up at him, her dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks. She had your nose, and your eyes. He knew that she had him wrapped around his finger entirely, just like you do, and she wasn’t even an hour old.

“I ain’t perfect, Sunshine. And m'gonna mess up, probably a lot.” He said as he swallowed hard. “But m'gonna try, every single day and gonna try my damndest to make sure you never go a day without knowin’ that you’re loved. You’re not gonna grow up wonderin’ if you’re good enough. I promise you that babygirl. You and u’re momma are the two most important things in my life. ”

 Her little face scrunched up before relaxing as he rocked her gently, his heart pounding as he kept whispering to her “I’m gonna teach you how to ride if you ever wanna learn, and m’gonna teach you how to change a tire. And I’m probably going to cry the first time you put on those little boots your momma and I got you and they actually fit.”

He leaned his head down until his forehead rested lightly against hers. “I’m scared outta my mind here, Sunshine. And I feel so out of my depth.” he whispered, his eyes stinging as he managed to choke out a soft “But I’ve never wanted to be good at anything more in my life than I wanna be good at being your Daddy, and being a good husband to your momma.”

She gurgled softly in her sleep, and he laughed quietly while the tears in his eyes finally fell. Your hand reached out, gently touching his arm. You were smiling, obviously exhausted, but smiling like Rhett has given you the world, and he turned toward you, looking at you like the rest of the world had disappeared besides you and your daughter. “She already adores you” you hummed out exhaustedly “She’s gonna be a daddy’s girl, I can just tell.” 

Rhett looked down again at the tiny human in his arms, the tiny little girl that the two of you made. “I love you two more than I thought was ever possible.” He kissed her forehead, as he looked at you, the tears streaming down his cheeks. And In that moment, Rhett Abbott, the rodeo cowboy, the deemed troublemaker, the youngest son of a rough family who had more to deal with than anyone knew? Well, right now in this hospital room he wasn’t any of those things, he was just a husband, and a Dad.

And he’d never been prouder of anything in his life than his two girls.

Taglist: @darkwhisperswolf

[cloudedcreams]

[nsfw] thinking of an obsessive! ex with a darling who lets him hit one more time.

he presses a kiss against your lips, pushing his tongue inside as his hands wrap themselves around your waist. you can hear his muffled groans spilling into your lips as he passionately grinds himself against you, and when he pulls back the both of you are breathless, and it takes him only a moment before he lunges forward to place marks against your neck.

“y-your pussy’s fucking… perfect…” he trails off, desire leaking from his tone as he thrusts himself into you. though he can barely stop himself from seeing ecstasy he’s managing the strength to try and look you in the eyes, to scan your face over as he moans and to let the sight arouse him further.

“t-tell me that you love me. i-i wanna hear you say it, nghh, call out my fucking name and l-let me hear you lie to me.” he’s begging. his voice is shaking and he can barely force his words out but you can make out tears in his eyes as he pleads, both desperate and shameless.

and you don’t love him. you can barely find it in yourself to lie to him, to push his delusions and to think about later. to lie to him would only entangle yourself further in his mind, but it’s all he wants you to do.

he slows down, his cock throbbing inside you as he does. and he leans in towards you, his lips shaking as he presses them against your ear, to place a kiss upon them and whisper.

“i-i won’t go any faster if you don’t tell me, baby. lie to me. e-even if it’s not true, even though you hate me. lie to me because you know it feels good.” he’s saying.

he wants you to tell him you missed him, to tell him you’re glad you remembered the little things, to tell him you’re so fucking glad he’s still obsessed with you, because he knows that you’ll plague his thoughts until he dies.

[bananastarlo]

Warning: NSFW!

Thinking about nerdy yandere who is more than willing to help you study for your next exam. You invite him over since you think he’ll be easy to take advantage of. After all, his shy demeanor and nerdy interests don’t faze you at all.

What you don’t expect is how easily his patience snaps.

“Please, try to at least follow what I’m saying — are you even listening?”

Now he’s inside of you, trying to at least get you to do something right.

“That’s wrong,” he grunts, slowing his pace and abandoning your pussy as you whimper and tremble in need. “Come on, baby, just like I taught you.”

You grind yourself against him, mind foggy from how many times he’s denied your orgasm when you didn’t know the answer to his stupid questions.

As you stutter out the answer he’s waiting for, he captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, shoving his tongue into your throat and igniting a burning ache in your tummy, the pool of arousal beneath you only growing.

And without warning, you feel his throbbing dick pumping back into you, filling you up perfectly as he begins to mercilessly pound into you. His sweaty body slaps against your own, combined with his loud moans, filling the room with the lewdest and most erotic sounds you’ve ever heard in your life.

“Tell me what you need. Tell me you need me, that you won’t ever need another man because I can make you feel so good. Ugh, f-fuck!”

His voice cracks as his eyes roll back, forehead glistening with sweat. He feels your cunt clench around him as you come undone under him, body shivering, waiting for him to cum too.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, feeling his own orgasm approaching at the sight of you completely disheveled.

You’re already overstimulated by the time he thrusts deep inside of you for the last time.

You can’t think straight anymore, but he makes sure to push his thick, heavy load inside you. When he finally pulls out and you’re still dripping, he drops to his knees in front of you, licking and cleaning up the mess you two made. You gasp. Looking down, seeing him like this, gazing up at you with that hunger in his eyes, makes you mewl in feverish delight.

“Look at you… being so obedient after all. You liked that, hm?”

All you can do is lazily nod, earning a cocky grin.

“Next time I visit,” he breathes against your skin, “you better have all the answers ready — so I can make you feel even better, yeah?”

[fromdove]

you find him in your apartment. again. window cracked. boots still on. jacket slung over the back of your chair like it belongs there.

he’s sitting on your couch like he owns it, flipping through a half-read paperback he definitely didn’t bring. probably something you left lying around — some crime thriller he’s already tearing apart in his head.

“make yourself at home,” you say, dropping your keys.

he doesn’t look up. “already did. your lock’s still crap, by the way.”

“you say that every time you break in.”

“because it’s still true.” he finally glances at you, eyes tired but sharp. “what if i was someone else?”

“then you’d be bleeding on the floor right now.”

his mouth twitches. “cute.”

you toe off your shoes, drop your bag, move toward the kitchen. “what do you want, jason?”

“wow. straight to the point. no hi jay, how was patrol? want something to drink? here, take my couch and trample my boundaries some more?”

“you don’t drink anything that isn’t ninety percent caffeine or eighty proof.”

“true,” he says, stretching his legs out. “still rude.”

you eye him from the kitchen. his holsters are off, but the rest of the suit’s still there — the compression shirt, scuffed boots, scraped knuckles. he’s vibrating under the surface like he hasn’t slept in two days and isn’t planning to.

“you get hit again?” you ask, softer.

he lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “nothing important.”

“so yes.”

“do you want a play-by-play? i can act it out, real dramatic. throw myself against a wall. bleed on your furniture.”

“you already bled on my rug last month.”

“and it really tied the room together.”

you exhale through your nose. grab a glass of water, bring it over. he takes it without comment, drinks half in one go.

“why are you here, jason?”

this time, he doesn’t have a joke ready. his fingers tap the side of the glass, jaw tight.

“quiet,” he mutters. “it’s quiet here.”

you sit beside him. not close. not far.

“you ever gonna just ask to stay?” you ask.

“don’t need to.” he leans his head back, eyes closed now. “you always let me.”

“that’s not the same thing.”

“yeah,” he says, voice rough. “i know.”

the silence stretches. his foot nudges yours, casual, like he didn’t mean to. like he did.

“you gonna yell at me if i fall asleep here?”

“depends.”

“on what?”

“if you do that thing where you mutter weird half-words and twitch like you’re being electrocuted.”

he opens one eye. “that’s called trauma. look it up.”

“ever heard of therapy?”

“yeah. didn’t vibe with being psychoanalyzed by someone who’s never been shot in the face. weird, right?”

you huff a laugh. he shifts a little closer, not quite touching.

“you still smell like gunpowder,” you say.

“better than blood.”

“barely.”

he doesn’t look at you right away. just stares ahead like he’s watching something you can’t see. then, like it costs him, he says,

“couldn’t sleep.”

that’s all he gives you. not can I crash here? not I don’t want to be alone. just that.

but with jason, that’s enough.

you don’t ask. you just nod toward the blanket on the armrest.

“you want that, or are you gonna steal mine like last time?”

“wasn’t stealing. it was strategic heat distribution.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“you say that a lot,” he murmurs, already leaning back into the cushions.

and still — he doesn’t leave.

not for hours.

[goofygubegubler]

𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑶𝒏𝒆?

Inexperienced doesn’t mean incapable—especially when you’re bent over and begging him to go deeper.

wc: 2k | F!Reader (Established Relationship) | cw: explicit sexual content, rough sex, mild dominance/submission dynamics, inexperienced but eager Spencer, praise kink, slight hair pulling, deep penetration, overstimulation, mild dirty talk

A/N: I’m obsessed with the big useless dick trope from @esote-rika, so here’s my take—featuring a big, useless dick and a loving, overthinking, but oh-so-giving doctor. (not proof read)

Spencer had been so inexperienced when you first got together—hesitant, unsure. Just two partners before you, neither of them pushing him beyond what he knew. He was sweet, generous, and completely devoted to your pleasure, but he was stuck in his patterns. The same three positions, over and over. Missionary, him on top, or you on top—maybe a leg up if he was feeling particularly bold. It wasn’t bad. Far from it. His big, beautiful cock, thick and flushed at the tip, always left you satisfied. But satisfaction wasn’t enough anymore. You wanted something deeper. Something rougher. Something primal.

You kept thinking about last week—when Spencer had lost himself for just a second. The way his fingers wrapped around your throat as you came, his hips snapping into you harder than usual. The look in his eyes after, that flicker of something raw and untamed before he shoved it back down, had haunted you. Left you craving more.

And yet, here you were again, pinned beneath him in missionary, Spencer sweating above you, his breath ragged as he buried himself inside you with careful precision. His movements were deliberate, controlled—too controlled. You could feel the effort, the sheer determination to make you feel good, but somewhere in his need to perfect, to please, he was missing something vital. His strokes were measured and rhythmic, but they lacked the wild, desperate edge you ached for. His eyes were shut tight, damp curls sticking to his forehead, lost in his own head instead of here with you. You loved him—God, you did—but you needed more.

"Sp- Spencer," you gasped, hands trembling as they found his face, fingers pressing into the sharp angles of his jaw, guiding his gaze to yours. He nearly stopped, concern flashing in his dark, lust-blown eyes, but you shook your head quickly, tightening your grip just enough to keep him there.

"No, no, keep going," you urged, your voice a smooth plea, even as pleasure curled hot and tight in your belly, stealing your breath. Your thumb brushed over his bottom lip, feeling the heat of his breath, the slight tremble in his jaw as he obeyed. A soft, unbidden whimper slipped from him, the sound vibrating against your touch, sending a molten shiver straight through you.

His rhythm faltered, just slightly, when you spoke again. "Spencer, can we try something new?"

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his features as he leaned down to press his lips to your shoulder, his grip on your waist tightening like he was afraid to let go. He hesitated—that hesitation so inherently him, always second-guessing, always calculating.

But not tonight.

You didn’t give him the chance to overthink. In a swift movement, you rolled out from under him, flipping the balance of power in an instant. "Come on, genius," you teased, your smirk slow, dripping with something dangerously enticing. "You’re always reading. I know you’ve done your research."

His pupils blew wide, and for a moment, he hovered between intrigue and disbelief, his jaw tensing like he was fighting himself. Then, something shifted. Acceptance. Surrender. The sharp edge of arousal overtaking logic.

He swallowed hard, raking a hand through his hair before his fingers flexed at his sides. "You know," he started, voice lower, rougher, "research suggests this position promotes optimal G-spot stimulation and deeper penetration." A pause, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smirk. "And judging by your reaction, I’d hypothesize you already knew that."

You let out a breathy laugh, eyes fluttering as his hands found your hips, gripping, exploring. "You think too much, Doctor."

"I can’t help it," he admitted, his voice thinner now, like he was barely holding himself together. "It’s kind of my thing."

"Then let’s see if I can make you stop thinking for a while."

His breath hitched, eyes darkening as you crawled onto your hands and knees in front of him, arching your back just enough. Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the curve of your spine, the way your hips tilted up for him. He stared, visibly collecting himself, and then, in the way only he could, he gave a response that had your stomach tightening.

"Statistically speaking, rear-entry positions allow for deeper penetration and increased stimulation of the anterior vaginal wall, particularly the A-spot and the upper third of the clitoris," he murmured, his voice low, almost clinical, but edged with something rough. "They also offer better angles for prostate stimulation—not that that applies here, but still interesting."

You bit your lip, tilting your head to glance back at him, eyes dark with mischief. "Spencer," you purred, voice low and teasing, "I didn’t ask for a dissertation. Get behind me."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself. But any hesitation he had was gone, burned away by the heat simmering between you. His hands found your hips, fingers pressing into your skin, firm and reverent, like he was grounding himself in the feel of you.

“God, you’re unreal,” he murmured, almost like he was speaking to himself, as he lined himself up. The air between you turned electric, thick with anticipation. For a few long, breathless seconds, there was nothing but the sound of both of you breathing, the weight of what was about to happen settling deep in your bones.

Then, finally, he pushed in—slow, deliberate, filling you inch by inch. His hands tightened on your hips as a ragged groan tore from his throat.

The stretch had you gasping, your fingers curling into the sheets as pleasure spiked sharp and hot through your veins. Behind you, Spencer let out a broken, needy sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine, pooling heat low in your belly.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his fingers flexing against your skin. “The angle really does make a difference.”

A breathless laugh slipped past your lips, dissolving into a moan when he gave an experimental thrust, adjusting his stance behind you. Whatever hesitation he had left melted away, replaced by something deeper, something raw. He found a rhythm—strong, precise, every snap of his hips hitting just right. It shouldn’t have surprised you—of course Spencer would be good at this, just like he was good at everything—but still, you couldn’t help the way your body responded to him, arching into every movement like you’d been waiting for this all along.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his fingers skimming up your spine, sending a delicious shiver rippling through you. “I don’t know why we haven’t done this sooner.”

You couldn’t even answer, too lost in the sensation of him, the way he fit inside you like he was made for it. Instead, you pushed back to meet his thrusts, earning a sharp inhale from him, his grip on your hips tightening.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, voice rough and desperate. “You like this, don’t you?”

A strangled moan was the only answer you could give, pleasure burning so hot it left you breathless. Your fingers curled tighter into the sheets, knuckles white, your entire body trembling with every deep, measured thrust he gave. He wasn’t holding back anymore—wasn’t hesitant. He had surrendered to the need coiling tight inside him, his usual restraint shattered by the slick heat of you wrapped around him.

“Yes,” you finally gasped, your voice breaking on the word.

That single syllable sent a shudder through him, a deep groan tearing from his chest. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you back onto him harder, deeper, as if he wanted to lose himself completely in you. The drag of him inside you was unbearable in the best way, his pace relentless but still precise, like he was cataloging every reaction, every sharp inhale, every flutter of your walls around him—storing it all away in that brilliant mind of his, ready to use it against you later.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he groaned, voice thick with awe and something almost reverent. “God, you’re so—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, his rhythm faltering for just a second before he caught himself, the slap of skin on skin filling the air.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to glimpse him—Spencer, his hair damp and curling at the edges, jaw clenched so tight he looked like he was fighting to hold on, his hands gripping you like he was terrified of letting go. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze locked on where your bodies met, completely transfixed.

“You feel so good,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, like it was a confession. “Too good—I don’t… I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

His honesty sent another wave of arousal crashing through you, a desperate whimper slipping from your lips as your body clenched around him involuntarily. The reaction dragged a ragged sound from him, his hips snapping into you harder, his control slipping with every thrust.

“I want you to come first,” he managed, the words punctuated by sharp, deliberate movements that had your entire body winding tighter and tighter.

“You’re— you’re getting close,” you panted, the pleasure building too fast, too intense, your thighs shaking with the effort of holding yourself up.

Spencer’s hand slid from your hip, tracing up your spine before tangling into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. The sudden shift, the subtle display of dominance, had your stomach coiling impossibly tighter.

“Then let me take you there,” he murmured, his free hand slipping between your thighs, fingers finding the swollen bundle of nerves already throbbing from the friction. His touch was precise, practiced, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles that had your entire body jolting with pleasure. “Let me feel you fall apart around me.”

It was too much. The fullness of him, the pressure, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way he was whispering praise into your skin like you were something to be worshipped—it sent you spiraling over the edge in a dizzying, overwhelming rush. Your body clenched down around him as the orgasm crashed through you, your vision going completely white, your mouth opening in a silent, wrecked moan.

Spencer groaned, the feeling of you tightening around him pushing him to the brink. His movements grew erratic, his grip tightening as he buried himself deep, his breath stuttering in your ear.

“Fuck—” The word was half a sob, his body tensing behind you as he reached his own release, his hips jerking against you in a few final, desperate thrusts before he stilled, forehead pressing against your shoulder as he panted, utterly spent.

The heat of him filled you, thick and warm, spreading deep, making you shudder in the aftermath. The sensation was almost too much—his release inside you, each subtle twitch of him prolonging your own pleasure, making your walls flutter around him involuntarily. He let out a broken groan, his fingers pressing hard into your waist like he was trying to ground himself, trying to feel every second of it, unwilling to let the moment slip away too soon.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing between you, the weight of his body still pressed against yours, the aftershocks still rippling through both of you, making you keen softly when he shifted just slightly inside you.

Then, finally, Spencer let out a breathless laugh, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder blade. "So, I guess that was a successful experiment."

You snorted, shoving weakly at his shoulder, though he barely budged. His smirk was lazy, smug, just a little bit cocky. "What? You were the one who encouraged me to apply my research."

Rolling your eyes, you stretched out beneath him, still catching your breath. "Never thought I’d see the day Spencer Reid goes hard."

He grinned against your skin, pressing another indulgent kiss to your jaw. "What can I say? The data was conclusive."