#smart table lamp | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

incognit0slut · 6 months ago

Text

Champagne Kisses

A night involving champagne gives you the perfect excuse to end up naked after weeks of harmless flirting. Spencer thinks one night isn’t enough.

category: smut, fluff word count: around 8k content: softdom!spencer, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v (but no creampie he’s testing his pull-out game), alcohol consumption, food play (more like drink play), and i wanna say spit kink but they’re using champagne instead so does that count? a/n: merry 2025 please tell me you remember me or else i might actually cry

You’re doing it again.

You’ve been clawing at his face for the past hour, stealing fleeting glances and looking away just as quickly, because every time you do, you find the same thing.

Brown eyes. Chocolate, marbled in hazel with tiny golden speckles. Pinning you in place. Dismantling you layer by layer. And somewhere in the quiet heat behind them, in the barely-there twitch of his jaw, you’re pretty sure he’s already mapping out the fastest way to get you out of your clothes.

It’s nerve-racking. Smart Spencer you can handle, awkward Spencer you can charm. But flirtatious Spencer? Flirtatious Spencer is dangerous.

Even more so when you’re squashed between Penelope and Luke at the overcrowded booth of O'Keefe's, who are mid-argument over something you can’t even muster the energy to care. Not when long legs stretch in front of you, and strips of neon lights slice across the table in a glow that crosses his form, curving around handsome features that make him look far too inviting.

Because that’s what your mind keeps drifting to. Taking him back to your place, where the only thing glowing would be the dim light of your bedroom.

Or maybe the pale light from the hallway.

Perhaps the soft flicker of the lamp in your living room.

Either way, your mind is already drawing images of him doing whatever it is he’s picturing in his own head. The location doesn’t matter.

“Don’t you agree?”

Your gaze fall over him once more before you force yourself to look away, catching Penelope staring at you expectantly. “Agree to what?”

“That margaritas are objectively the most fun drink and clearly better than boring beer.”

This is the argument they’ve been debating for the last five minutes?

Luke scoffs from your left. He doesn’t look angry though, his expression is more amused than irritated, lips formed in a cheeky smirk. “I can tolerate margaritas if we’re on a beach. But beers are solid all year round, pop a cap and you're good to go."

“You’re such a guy."

“I'm telling you, you don't need fancy ingredients or a blender. No little umbrellas."

“Literally proving my point. Beer has no personality.”

“Are you saying I have no personality?”

Bright pink-framed glasses shift as Penelope tips her head. “If the shoe fits.”

You’re at the point where you’re no longer surprised by their arguments. Loud and pointless, is how you'd describe them. You suspect Luke does it to get a reaction, and normally you’d add fuel to the fire, because Penelope is a pretty fire-cracker when her nostrils flare in absolute indignation. But your attention is elsewhere tonight.

Knees brushing yours under the table. A small smile curled at the corner of his lips. Deep set of eyes dragging over your face, your neck, the spot between your collarbone and shoulder where the pulse of your heartbeat seems to echo louder each second.

You slide with your back against the chair, thighs clamping shut.

You feel him imprinted on you, heated gaze traveling beneath your skin. You wonder if he realizes what he’s doing, if he’s even aware of the effect all the time his eyes fall on you. Since the moment he walked in the room, since he took that seat directly across from you, and if you’re being completely honest, that glint in his eyes has been there probably for weeks now. The when of it all is a bit fuzzy.

Tonight feels adamantly different though, and you feel like you might just need a little extra something to quiet the nervous hum beneath your ribs.

But you’re not entirely sure whether it’s nerves or something far more indulgent that has your mind secretly leading you to a very unholy place. A place where you wonder if the rough, scruffy drag of his jaw feels the same below his navel.

You’re a hundred percent certain that it does.

“You know what’s a better drink?” your voice cracks, desperately needing that extra little something. “Champagne.”

Penelope’s head whips toward you. “Champagne? Here?”

You glance around the bar and raise a hand, trying to flag down the bartender.

The wood-paneled walls are covered with vintage beer advertisements, and the sticky floor is dotted with peanut shells from the complimentary bowls on every table. It’s the kind of place where the closest thing to champagne is probably prosecco poured into a plastic flute for a wedding after-party.

“What’s wrong with champagne? It’s a classic drink, great for celebration.” You order a bottle and four tall glasses before fixing her with a look. “It’s the New Year.”

She snorts. “We’re already halfway through January.”

“Penelope, we had to work on Christmas and New Year’s. We finally have this night to breathe, let me have this.”

There’s a beat of silence before she sighs dramatically. “Fine. But it still feels weird drinking champagne in a bar where the most sophisticated cocktail is a rum and coke.”

“Which is exactly why we’re elevating the night,” you reply, watching as the bartender sets the bottle down with (thank god) proper crystal flutes. You pour the first glass, the golden bubbles racing upward like tiny fireworks as you pass it to her.

Luke accepts the next glass without the same hesitation, but when you offer one to Spencer, the curly-haired man shakes his head.

“Right. I forgot you don’t really drink alcohol.”

The faintest smile tugs at his lips. “I don’t have anything against alcohol, just not in large amounts.” His gaze shifts to the bottle on the table. “I also happen not to like champagne.”

Penelope looks mildly offended. “Why not?”

“Because the carbonation overpowers the flavor. It’s hard to enjoy a drink when it’s constantly popping on your tongue.” You stifle a laugh before you can stop yourself. He looks at you. “What?”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” you reply with a grin. “Here, maybe this will change your mind.”

You pour him a glass and nudge it toward him. He simply looks from the glass to you.

“Come on,” you coax. “We’re celebrating the New Year.”

“Seventeen days late."

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

"Do not ruin the fun. We’re still celebrating, and you can’t toast with water. That’s practically begging for bad luck.”

He exhales sharply, lips twitching in what might be defeat or mild amusement, before reaching across the table. Everyone raises their glasses. The instant the bubbles hit his tongue, his nose scrunches in subtle distaste, and the sound of your laughter flies through the small space.

“It’s not that bad,” you insist.

“I still don’t understand the appeal.”

Champagne isn’t exactly your first choice either. You’ve always been more of a wine person. A good wine. A rich Burgundy that makes you close your eyes on the first sip to taste the faint of autumn in a glass. But champagne feels right for the occasion.

This taste blooms on your tongue, crisp and bright with hints of green apple and citrus and that faint yeasty richness at back of your throat. They dance across your palate, leaving a lingering sweetness through your veins that doesn’t soothe your nerves so much as ignite something beneath them, something warmer, deeper, curling into your bloodstream.

It makes you very bold.

Bold enough to hold his gaze without flinching. Bold enough to let your tongue flick across your lips. Bold enough to let your foot glide slowly up the length of his long, long leg.

You’ll have him taste his own medicine.

You, too, can play with fire.

“Maybe you’re drinking it wrong,” you hum, feeling him tense for the briefest, tiniest moment before he relaxes. “There’s another way to make champagne better.”

He grips the stem of his glass. “Something tells me you have a suggestion.”

“I do.”

He tilts his head. The din of conversation around you slowly fades into a muffled hum, the clinking of glasses and Penelope’s laughter barely registering as you notice the curve of his smile, the question lingering in his eyes.

Will you show me?

And that’s how you find yourself naked between his thighs two hours later.

It started innocently enough—or at least that’s the lie you fed yourself when you watched Penelope and Luke stumble their way to the dance floor, giggling as they poured yet another round of sparkling wine. But the champagne didn’t keep your attention for long. A few more stolen glances later, you found your hand wrapping around his arm, the other clutching a half-full bottle of champagne like some reckless lifeline.

It is reckless. Even you can’t deny that. You’ve always been cautious when it comes to bringing a man home. But this isn’t just anyone. This is Spencer. Someone who already knows too many pieces of you, someone who doesn’t need to be deciphered or explained.

And maybe that’s why you couldn’t stop yourself from dragging him out of the bar.

The ride in the stuffy cab felt like an eternity and a blink at the same time that the moment your apartment door clicked shut behind you, his mouth was already on yours. You barely had time to process how surprisingly good he tasted before your clothes started to disappear.

It’s a dizzying rush of hands and heat, and you’re now standing over him, knees brushing his as he sinks into your couch.

Yes, your couch. The soft, slate-blue one you’ve spent countless evenings curled up on, legs tucked under a blanket, flipping through books or half-watching shows you never finish. But now it cradles a completely different weight—the heavy heat of him radiating with tension-laced curiosity and a barely contained lust that seems to bleed right into the fabric.

“I can’t believe I’m kissing you,” he mutters dazedly, trailing his lips along your jaw with a hand resting on your naked back.

“I can’t believe you can unhook my bra that fast.”

He catches the sheer black fabric now hanging haphazardly over your lamp where he’d tossed it aside moments ago. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Should I be concerned about how much practice you’ve had?”

“Not really. I’m a fast learner.”

That, you believe. But you’re not entirely sure if it’s his innate skill or the way your body seems to respond to him so effortlessly that leaves your lungs feeling like they’ve forgotten how to work. Breathing is no longer instinctive now. It’s a function you have to remind yourself to do as his tongue dances along the curve of your breast, and by the time he takes the achingly hard tip into his mouth, your chest tightens.

You suck in a desperate need of oxygen while he sucks the last thread of composure from you.

“Sweet.”

“Huh?”

“You—” He pulls back just enough to let his teeth graze the delicate skin before soothing it with a slow drag of his tongue, “taste sweet.”

Your hand slides to the back of his neck with a sigh. “You’re exaggerating.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bodies don’t taste like anything, it’s skin.”

Spencer shakes his head as he cups the weight of your other breast with the same care you’ve come to expect from him. Taut nipple rolls under his thumb. “How do you explain this then?”

You don’t respond. Not with words, anyway. Your body speaks first as you arch into his touch, chasing the warmth of his hands before you can form any thoughts.

“How do you explain,” he continues, his lips trailing down the slope of your stomach, “why I can’t get enough of how sweet you taste?”

Your mind finally catches up, and the words settle over you like honey itself.

“You think so?”

“It’s not a thought, it’s a fact.” He presses a kiss to the soft skin just below your navel. “I don’t know how you can taste better than this.”

Your laugh is breathless, barely steady enough to be called one. “You’re laying it on thick now.”

“I’m just being honest.”

It’s cute how he says it with such conviction, like it’s the simplest truth in the world and not a line that’s turning your legs to liquid. Your knees threaten to buckle as you step away, reaching for the half-empty champagne bottle perched on the coffee table. The glass feels cool against your overheated skin as you twist the cork free.

“What are you doing?”

“Considering your words.” You hold up the bottle, the champagne fizzing invitingly at its neck. “What do you say we make this even sweeter?”

His eyes light up with interest. “Is this where you show me the right way to drink champagne?”

You nod and sink back between his thighs. “I know you’re not big on sharing food, but I think you’re gonna like this.”

“You do realize I’ll share anything with you.”

Your lips curl into a soft smile. You’ve already learned that kissing Spencer feels deliciously messy. It’s sloppy in the way passion tends to be when control is the last thing on either of your minds, with tongues and teeth colliding in an unpolished rhythm that’s as raw as it is consuming. Adding champagne to the equation doesn’t feel like much of a stretch.

You step forward at the same time his hands fall to your hips. “There’s a trick to drinking champagne.”

“I’m listening.”

The bottle’s rim grazes your lips as you take in his appearance. His shirt is wrinkled, hanging just a little more loosely around his chest with two buttons undone. He’s the very definition of disheveled that’s entirely your doing. He looks absolutely irresistible.

“You need to linger on the taste,” you start, your voice dipping into something softer as your eyes meet his again. “Be patient. Let it sit and overwhelm your senses before you swallow.”

“You mean marinate it in my mouth?”

A giggle burst out of you. “Exactly. The longer you let it linger, the more it softens, and the sweeter it gets.”

You tilt the bottle to your lips. The sweetness starts to bloom on your tongue, subtle at first, but then richer, fuller against the roof of your mouth. There's a flicker of recognition in his eyes when you pull him closer by the nape of his neck, the exact moment he realizes what you’re about to do.

Your lips meld seamlessly with his as the Champagne slips from your mouth.

His lashes flutter briefly. There’s a soft flush spreading across his pale cheeks, and you feel the faint hum of pleasure, vibrating against the delicate curve of his skin as a liquid thread drips down your chin.

And then you’re kissing him. Or he’s kissing you. It’s hard to tell who moved first, but it doesn’t matter. His lips part further, and you swear you can taste every nuance of the champagne in a way you've never experienced before. Sharp citrus, a whisper of honeyed sweetness, and beneath it all, something clean and cool that reminds you of first snowfalls.

His lips are swollen and wet and perfectly shiny when you finally pull back.

“What do you think?”

“I think we should drink champagne every day.”

Your hand drifts to the side of his neck with a smile, thumb brushing lightly against his pulse. “Even when we’re working?”

“Especially when we’re working,” he counters, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, tasting what’s left of you. His gaze flickers to the bottle in your hand. “Can I try it?”

You pass it to him, your eyes fixed on the way he tilts it to his mouth. You’re sure the bubbles in your system aren’t the reason your pulse races as he sets the bottle aside and rises to his feet. You’re also sure that no amount of champagne is responsible for the way your lips part eagerly when his hands cradle your cheeks.

There it is again—that sweetness. It hits you the moment his mouth captures yours, but it fully overwhelms you when he tilts his head and gently coaxes the champagne from his lips to yours.

You’re not surprised at how quickly he picks this up. It’s common knowledge that he’s a very diligent person, but it’s still a bit astonishing how he’s taken to playing with a drink he supposedly doesn’t even like. This is nothing like solving cases or flexing his impossibly sharp brain, nor the crosswords you’re used to seeing him hunched over at his desk at lunch.

This requires a different kind of finesse that involves his lips and tongue rather than a pen and paper.

It also seems like he might be enjoying this even more. He leans back just enough to let his tongue sweep across the seam of your lips, collecting the last trace of sweetness clinging to you.

A thumb swipes over the wet trail under chin. “I could get used to this.”

“Champagne or me?”

“Both.”

Satisfied with his answer, your fingers trail down to undo the last few buttons of his shirt. “Do you wanna try something else?”

He quirks an eyebrow as you push down the fabric down his shoulders. You don’t say anything all the while you start to unbuckle his belt, peeling every layer of his clothing until you’ve stripped him completely bare—and would you look at that? The faint trail of hair down his belly matches the scruff shadowing his jaw.

There’s a brief pause as your eyes travel down his body, lingering on his surprisingly impressive size, and a comment sits at the edge of your tongue. You decide to let your actions speak for you.

Your delicate fingers wrap around his delicious thickness. You swipe the first signs of precum glistening over his tip with your thumb, and a low sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest.

“Is this what you had in mind?”

He sounds like he’s in pain, and you shake your head with a playful smile curling at your lips. “Sit back on the couch.”

Spencer sinks into the cushion.

“This might get a little messy.”

His brow furrows slightly, and for a moment, he looks genuinely intrigued. What he doesn’t expect is the way you slowly pour the remaining liquid down your chest. His mouth parts in surprise, and then his gaze follows every single drop like it’s gravity itself pulling him in.

You’re mesmerizing. Always have been, actually. There is no doubt in Spencer’s mind that you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met in his life. Your mind is brilliant. Your heart is kind. But watching the champagne mix with the sheen of sweat on your skin, you’re something else entirely. You look lethal. A different kind of captivating.

He’s already pulling you by the waist, and you’re a mass of giggles as you twist out of his grip to set the bottle safely aside. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Can you blame me?”

Honestly, you can’t. If the roles were reversed, you’d probably look at him the same way.

When his hands finally find your hips again, there’s no point in pretending you don’t want to be caught. You bend your knees and shift on the couch. He helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap.

Desperate is a good enough word to depict for him because as soon as you're close enough, he’s tasting you all over again. His tongue drags slow over the curve of your shoulder, across the hollow of your throat, and down to the soft swell of your breasts. Goosebumps ripple across your skin with every pass, every flick of his tongue, his touch leaving a trail of heat that you swear you can feel seeping into your bones.

You don’t even realize when you start to move until you feel the slow, unintentional rock of your hips into him. His cock fits snugly between your folds that you start grinding as the words fall from your lips without much thought, “What do you think of sex without a condom?”

His pupils dilated, lips parting, but no sound comes out right away.

"Spence?"

His gaze flickers to where your wet bodies are pressed together. Damp moisture from his tip smeared erotically between puffy lips, clear liquid coating his hard length.

“I think… it’s very intimate."

“Too intimate?”

"No." His fingers trail along your skin before his thumb settles just under your breast, in the delicate curve where your rib meets, and finally looks at you. "Is that what you want?"

You're bobbing your head up and down.

“Then I'd really, really like that.”

You shift your weight on your knees. “So you trust me?"

"More than anyone."

“I trust you too,” you say, your voice dipping low as your fingers wrap around his cock, guiding him to your entrance. “Can I request something, though?"

"Anything."

You pause just long enough for your words to land. “I don’t want you to come inside me.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “That can be arranged.”

His answer makes your lips twitch, but as you start to sink down, your body seems to have other ideas. There’s a resistance you didn’t expect, a sudden tautness that refuses to give.

Your eyes widen in surprise.

Oh my.

“What’s wrong?”

When you first wrapped your hand around him and took in the full reality of his size, you’d been impressed. Now you wonder if maybe you underestimated just how much he has to offer.

You bite the insides of your cheeks and try again.

“It’s been a while,” you confess quietly. You can’t even recall the last time you were this intimate with someone that the hesitation feels foreign, like a hiccup in a moment you’ve been eagerly anticipating.

And you are eager. Maybe a little too much. It feels almost ironic, considering how much you’ve thought about this, how your imagination has filled in the blanks a hundred times over. Now that it’s real, your body seems to be having second thoughts your mind absolutely isn’t entertaining.

You shift your hips, determination flaring as you take a slow breath. Left, right, up, down. But then a sharp sting shoots through you. Your face quickly twists into a grimace.

"Hey,” he calls gently, thumbs brushing gentle circles against your hip. “We can stop. You don’t have to push yourself.”

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You want him to push past whatever invisible barrier your body is putting up. The idea of stopping now feels more unbearable than the sting itself.

Your lips press into a stubborn frown. “No,” you say firmly. “We are not stopping.”

"Are you sure?"

"Mhm. I think my body's just being weird. I'm sorry."

His brows knits together almost immediately. “I should be the one apologizing.”

Frustration suddenly wells up in your chest, and this time your teeth sinks into your lip, unsure whether it’s the tension in the muscles between your legs or the ache of wanting him that feels stronger.

And you want him. So fucking bad.

“You need to relax,” he soothes, running his hands up your waist, past your ribs, across your back.

“I am relaxed,” you huff.

“I don’t think you’re relaxed enough.”

Before you can respond, he carefully lifts you from his lap and settles you back onto the couch. The cushions dips under your weight, and you barely have time to process the change before he gracefully drops to the floor.

“Should we move to your bed?”

He grips one of your ankles, his thumb brushing along the soft curve of your bone before he leans down, pressing warm lips to the skin above it.

“After this,” you reply, glancing at the sticky champagne trail still glistening faintly on your skin. “Don’t want my sheets getting sticky.”

There’s a flicker of amusement on his handsome face. “After this?”

“Did you think we’d be stopping after one round?”

His laughter vibrates against your calf. “How many times are we talking then?”

“Until I can’t feel my legs.”

The smile he gives you is slow and warm. It curves one corner of his mouth first, almost shy, before spreading fully, lighting up his face in a way that steals the breath right from your lungs.

“You’d let me have my way with you all night?”

“I’d probably let you have me anytime you want.”

His grin is almost blinding that you can’t help but give him a pleased smile of your own.

“Let’s focus on tonight first.” He moves to your other the leg. Delicate bone and tendon brushes against his lips. “I need to get you ready for me. Would you let me do that?"

Words fail you as his mouth moves closer, and the heat of his breath against your skin makes your entire body tense in anticipation. He presses another open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"You're still tense."

Kiss. Kiss.

“Really need you to relax.”

You try, but then again, it's impossible when his lips are so close, yet still not where you need them the most.

His name slips in a desperate whisper.

"Hm?"

"Stop teasing."

His lips quirk in response, but he doesn't argue.

He dips his head and finally— finally! —drags his tongue along your achingly wet folds. Your eyes almost roll to the back of your head.

"Better?"

The question is entirely rhetorical.

You don’t bother answering. Words seem sparse when his actions are spelling out everything you need to know in bold, underlined strokes. His touch is distinctly different from the playful, champagne-dampened kisses he had gifted your skin.

Now he’s utterly focused. He’s researching, and it appears his diligence isn’t confined to his academic when the same focus he applies to his studies is translated so flawlessly into reading your body like a favorite book. One he’s intent on memorizing every line of, delighting in every pause and whisper between the chapters of your sighs.

It’s this thought that tickles the back of your mind when he slips a finger in. He’s always been about comprehensive understanding, and well, you’re all about empirical evidence. Right now is proof of a hypothesis you’re too pleased to confirm that Spencer Reid might just be a genius in more ways than one.

Especially in how his steady thrust of his finger syncs perfectly with the hot, wet pull of his mouth, scratching such a carnal itch that it resonates deep in your brain. You sigh in pleasure when he adds another finger, and he lifts his head then, lips shiny and pink from his ministration.

"Do you think you can take a third?"

Your heart gives a few extra thuds in your chest cavity. “Please, please.”

Look at you, reducing yourself into begging, but really, how could you resist? Who could withstand the intensity of his gaze, the way his voice dips low like velvet wrapping around your senses?

Your head tips back against the couch, a soft whimper lashing out as he adds that third finger. The stretch is almost overwhelming but oh so good.

"Does it hurt?"

You let out a loud exhale. "No."

"Tell me if it hurts."

"Feels good." Your legs fall apart even further. "Don't stop."

He smiles, and then he's doing things to your body that have you questioning how you're even still breathing. The wet, sticky slosh of your arousal fills the room, a sound so explicit it should mortify you. But then three knuckles press deeper, stroking against that rougher patch of nerves and all rational thought dissolves.

A sound you didn't even know you could make escapes your throat. You're gasping, moaning, a little bit squealing as his free hand slides up your plush thigh before finding your puffy clit. And dear god, you’re choking on the breath that lodges in your throat. You're so close it's almost unbearable. A hand shoots out, and you’re gripping his forearm with a desperation you can't even pretend to hide.

You need him inside you.

“I'm ready," you gasp harshly, your lips parting in quick, desperate puffs. "I'm ready. I’m ready.”

He has the audacity to shake his head.

"I'll decide when you're ready."

Your breath stutters even more.

Why does that sound so hot? Why does that simple, infuriatingly calm statement make your thighs clench, your pulse race, and a fresh wave of heat roll through your body?

Before you know it, he’s coaxing your orgasm from you with just the right pressure, and every movement feels like it’s designed to bring you right to the edge. You’re not surprised by how wet you are, you’ve been dripping for what feels like hours. But what does surprise you is just how much your body can take. The intensity that doesn’t wane, that keeps pushing you higher, drawing out gasp after gasp until hot syrup gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his fingers, down to the couch.

It’s endless, relentless, and you can’t even tell where one orgasm ends and the next begins. Your hand claw at his wrist.

“Spencer,” you whine, your voice breaking on the syllables. “Sensitive.”

He stops immediately, his fingers still inside you, his other hand slipping from your clit to rest on your thigh. “Too much?”

“A little,” you smile breathlessly. “C’mere.”

He crawls towards you as you lay on your back, relaxing your thighs.

His eyes trail over you, scanning your sweat-slicked skin, lingering on your perky breasts, moving down to where your legs are fallen apart, waiting for him. The sight is so overwhelmingly enticing that he finds himself wrapping a hand around his cock, muttering a low praise under his breath, “I don’t think I’ve told you how beautiful you are.”

Your eyes flick downward, and a spark of confidence—or maybe pure desperation—pushes your reply out without hesitation.

“Tell me again while you fuck me.”

You’re so blunt and shameless that a part of you might have blushed if you weren’t so far gone. Spencer doesn’t seem fazed, though. If anything, his eyes flash with a knowing sparkle that only deepens as he presses his bulbous head right at the shy of your entrance.

“I think I’m going to enjoy telling you,” he muses.

And Spencer is one to keep his promises.

He thinks you’re devastatingly pretty when he’s sinking into you. There’s a dazed look in your glossy eyes, and the sweetest sound coming from your lips as he stretches you in a way that leaves no part of you untouched.

He sings praises under his breath when the heavy weight of him finally settles deep inside your body. He patiently waits as your walls flutter around him, all the while his lips brushes the delicate curve of your collarbone, between low, broken whispers of how perfect you are.

Although perfection might not even capture the essence of what he sees in you at this moment. You’re a breathtaking array of contradictions. Powerful and vulnerable, fierce yet tender. You’re nothing short of divine as he gives another smooth, long thrust that pulls a sound from your lips that he knows will echo in his mind long after.

The heat of you surrounds him completely, and he swears he feels every pulse of your body welcoming him deeper. You’re slathering his entire cock with your slippery slick, and the dampness imprinting against his pelvis only seems to spur him on. He moves in steady, languid strokes, and your toes curl at the sensation burning in your belly.

He’s hitting you so good your ankles find themselves running down his back.

“Spence,” your voice is raspy and wet. “Fuck me harder.”

His quiet groan harmonizes with the rhythm of your heart. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t—”

You stop, and he looks through the mist of bliss you've shrouded him in. Your face twists, eyes going wide, lips parted to take in sharp breaths. He panics for a moment.

“You’re in pain,” he decides, reading the way your brows knit together, the way your breath stutters in your chest. It seems the most logical conclusion—until he realizes how wrong he is.

Because you’re writhing under his weight when he pushes in deeper, and your mouth trembles, not with discomfort, but with something devastatingly good.

“Oh,” he exhales. His smile is uncharacteristically smug. “It’s not pain, is it?”

You shake your head.

“You want it rough.”

It’s more of a statement than it is a question, but you’re nodding vigorously.

His restraint snaps like a frayed thread.

The next thrust is sharper, it pounds into you with enough force to shift your body slightly back against the cushions. Your lips mouth around another shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

Still. Not. Enough.

“Harder,” you slur against his tongue.

What’s a hot-blooded man to do when asked so sweetly? He answers in the only way he can.

A hand curls around the back of your knee to pull you open just enough for him to drive deeper. The angle makes you feel impossibly full, how the folds of your vulva hugs around his shaft greedily, letting him claim all the space you didn’t even know existed. You can even feel the wet drag of his cock against your swollen clit with each hard thrust, a sensation so piercing it rips a gasp from your throat and a plethora of groans wailing from the couch.

“Like this?”

The relentless thwack-thwack-thwack of skins colliding is making you delirious.

“Yes,” you cry out. “Fuck—Yes. Yes.”

Your vision blurs as you blink, and—god, you think you might actually cry. And honestly, with how full you feel, with how every nerve is sparking to life under his loud rhythm, it wouldn’t even surprise you.

Your lashes feel wet as you squeeze your eyes shut, but you force them back open, unwilling to miss the way he looks above you. Jaw tight, sweat beading at his temples, eyes locked on you like nothing else exists.

Nothing probably does, not when he moves with a rhythm that feels both gentle and crude, like he’s savoring every second so sweetly while simultaneously chasing the most carnal kind of pleasure known to mankind.

Pleasure that has you melting, pleasure that has your body fully acclimating to his size. And now you’re teetering on the edge of another intense orgasm that begins its ascent from the tips of your toes and fingertips, spiraling a tingling rush up through your legs and arms, gathering force at the pit of your stomach, and exploding into the point where you’re intimately connected.

It happens all at once.

You’re trembling.

You’re shattering.

You’re pathetically whining.

Euphoria floods every inch of your body until you’re drowning in it. A liquid fire in your veins. Your cunt clenches around him, so tight you swear you feel every ridge and vein of his cock as keeps pressing you into the couch. Again and again and again, until you’re nothing but an incoherent mess, your words blabbered in a breathless rush of pleasure-induced nonsense.

One heartbeat stretches into two, then the muscles in his arms flexes as his pace falters. He’s shaking now, his pelvis moving in hurried, shallow thrusts as though he’s chasing something he can’t quite reach before the heat of him presses into you one last time.

He abruptly pulls out, his cock visibly pulsing in his hand and strokes himself with a stuttering groan as thick, pearly ropes splutters across your stomach. His fingers dig deeper into the back of your thigh while he continues to paint your skin in messy streaks, and you watch in fascination the moment his head tilts back in pure, unfiltered pleasure.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him quite this beautiful.

His brows pinches in concentration for a few more seconds before his gaze slowly meets yours again, and a faint, blissful pink colors his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, looking a little out of breath. Devastatingly handsome and sweaty. Flustered in the best way.

You brush the damp hair sticking to his skin with a small, satisfied smile. “Are you kidding? That was extremely hot.”

His laughter fills every corner in the room. Then his hand drift down a comforting path down your thigh as he leans to capture the giggle tumbling from your lips with his own. It’s then you realize that kissing Spencer isn’t just enjoyable, it’s downright addictive.

You’re beginning to think he’s just as addicted to you too, because when he pulls away, it’s reluctant, his lips leaving yours with a faint, wet sound that lingers as sweetly as the kiss itself.

“Will you really let me have my way with you all night?” he asks gently, and you can’t help but wonder why he even feels the need to ask.

“Was I not obvious enough?”

You feel his smile before you see it. “Bedroom now?”

To tangle your naked limbs with his again sounds pretty close to heaven. Absolute, indulgent heaven, except for the distinct stickiness of champagne, sweat, and a cocktail of other body fluids clinging to your skin. The thought of sinking into cool clean sheets in this state makes your nose scrunch.

“We need to make a stop to the bathroom first,” you say, running a hand up his arm to squeeze his bicep. “Have you ever tried shower sex?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he admits truthfully.

You make a sound of disapproval.

“We definitely need to change that.”

Spencer realizes a lot of things can change in one night.

He also discovers how much he’s capable of learning in such a short period of time. Granted, he’s always been a quick study, but this is different. The hours between midnight and sunrise completely upend his understanding of things he’d only ever read about—sex, intimacy, the intricacies of how touch can feel as much like a language as words.

But beyond the newfound knowledge (and let’s face it, an entirely new appreciation for his muscles), there’s something else. Something that surprises him even more.

He likes waking up with another warm body beside him. More than likes it. There’s a strange kind of peace in the way your leg drapes over his, your hair a tousled mess against the pillow. Peace that makes him wonder if this, too, is something he could get used to.

Even if you’re hogging the blanket. He can feel the cool air on his back while you’re wrapped in most of the covers, leaving him to soak up whatever body heat he can steal by staying pressed against you. Not that he’s complaining. He’d happily stay like this for hours, but the sun is already creeping higher through your window, and your phone has been vibrating nonstop ever since he opened his eyes.

The sheets rustle as he shifts closer, mouth puffing warmly on your cheek with a breath of your name folding into your skin. You blink through heavy eyelids, and Spencer thinks you look adorable all wrapped up like a cocoon in the tangled linens.

“Hey," you croak, then clear your throat. “Morning.”

The soft rasp of your voice is even as endearing as the sight of you.

“I think we’ve already passed morning,” he says, slipping a hand under the covers, finding the goosebumps prickling on your upper arm.

“We slept in?”

“My guess is it’s almost noon.” There’s another buzz vibrating from the bedside table that stops him from pressing you against his chest. “Someone keeps calling you.”

He wonders if you can sense the slight annoyance in his voice. He wonders if he even has the right to be annoyed. It's Saturday. You clearly have plans—or at least someone thinks you do based on how persistent they've been.

If you catch the flicker of irritation in his voice, you don’t acknowledge it. You stretch lazily for your phone instead, and his attention is momentarily snagged by the way the sheet slips down your shoulder, revealing the constellation of freckles and moles he’s spent the entire night memorizing with his lips.

"Nobody’s calling.” Your thumb scrolls through the notifications. "Penelope just doesn't understand the concept of personal space when she texts."

Spencer feels the tightness in his shoulders ease, though he doesn't miss the way your eyes narrow into sleepy slits at the screen.

"Oh."

That one syllable is enough to set his mind buzzing.

"What?"

"Um."

It’s the subtle crack in your voice that hooks him. He’s never been good at sitting with unanswered questions, especially not when your expression shifts just enough to make him wonder what could possibly warrant that little noise.

He finally curls an arm around your waist, and the faint trace of your scent fills his lungs as he gently draws you back against his chest. A relentless stream of messages glares up at him over your shoulder.

Penelope [Sent 23:37]: Where are you?? Penelope [Sent 23:45]: Is reid with you? Penelope [Sent 00:05]: Did you leave? WITH HIM?? Penelope [Sent 00:17]: You did, didn't you? Penelope [Sent 00:33]: You can’t just vanish like this, you know I have questions!!!

Spencer barely registers the way his hand drifts down to rest against your stomach. He pulls you in unconsciously as his eyes scan over the flood of texts that started piling up this morning.

Penelope [Sent 09:19]: Good morning. Penelope [Sent 09:25]: Answer me. Penelope [Sent 10:24]: Seriously, are you alive? Penelope [Sent 10:39]: YOU OWE ME DETAILS. Penelope [Sent 10:48]: Last chance. Calling you in ten.

"I think she's onto us."

It’s not so much a matter of thought as it is a fact. Your words are less a theory and more a confirmation of reality, as undeniable as the relentless stream of texts lighting up your phone.

"What should I tell her?"

Spencer leans in closer. The soft scent of your shampoo drifts up, clean and faintly sweet, wrapping itself around him in a way that makes his chest ache, though he’s not sure why. He’s inhaling everything—your warmth, the curve of your shoulder brushing his chest, the way your voice carries an edge of hesitation that feels so out of place for someone like you.

And that’s what truly catches him off guard. Not the fact that Penelope is practically banging on a metaphorical door with her texts, but that you’re hesitating. You, who rarely second-guess yourself, now unsure about sharing the details of last night with one of closest people in your life.

Or maybe the surprise lies closer to home. How easily the words form in his own mind, bypassing the overthinking that usually rules him.

He has ten minutes to think before Penelope supposedly calls, but he doesn’t need ten minutes, or even ten seconds, because the answer is already there, so obvious it practically tumbles out of him.

"The truth," he hums against the crown of your hair. "You should tell her the truth."

You’re quiet for a while.

“Are you sure?"

For someone who invited him into your home, who let him press you into the couch cushions, spread you out on the cool tiles of the bathroom, and pull every sound he wanted from you on the soft give of your mattress—on your back, your front, even sideways—you seem awfully uncertain now. Very out of character.

So what’s changed this morning? Is it the stale morning breath he’s sure he hasn’t fixed yet? The mess of his curls sticking up in every direction from a night spent pressed into your pillows?

Or is it something much deeper that he hasn’t quite put his finger on?

The thought clings to him as his thumb brushes your stomach. "I’m sure," he says. "Are you?"

You hesitate for a beat too long, and that tiny pause lands heavy on his chest.

"This is going to change everything," you finally say, sounding somewhat like a warning.

He frowns. "Didn’t you want it to?"

"I did. I do." You pull in a breath that shakes on the way out. "Maybe we should discuss this before we say anything to anyone."

Your phone slips quietly onto the bed as you twist in his arms. Face to face.

"Do you like me?"

What kind of question is that?

"Did I seem not to like you last night?"

"No, Spencer, I need to hear it. Do you like me?"

He studies the delicate fold between your brows. He watches the quiver on your parted lips. And your eyes—watery and glossy and wide. Soft lashes framing the quiet expanse of irises that shimmer like glass.

He knows what you need. Spencer has spent most of his entire life reading people, pulling truths out of their silences and decoding what they can’t (or won’t) say. And even though he hates applying that skill to you, he knows this isn’t just about reassurance. You’re not only questioning what happened between you last night. You’re questioning what comes next.

The time glares from your phone over your shoulder: six minutes. That’s all he has to convince you that his feelings go far beyond fleeting lust or the heady haze of alcohol. Six minutes before Penelope inevitably interrupts.

But he’s not the greatest with words, is he?

Sure, he’s read more books than most people will touch in a lifetime. He can recite Edgar Allan Poe by heart and dissect layers of meaning in Dostoevsky’s prose like it’s second nature. But his own feelings don’t come wrapped in poetic declarations. That’s not who he is.

What he can do, though, is tell you the truth.

“You know how you told me I could have you anytime I want?”

A strand of hair brushes against your cheek as you nod.

“You’ve already had me from the very beginning.”

Your gaze softens, then you sigh sweetly, and he knows without a doubt that the truth is exactly what you need. “Before all the sex?”

“Before we even kissed.”

The distance between you slowly becomes nonexistent. You slot your knee between his thighs, a lick of smile curling at the corner of your lips.

“So… when I ran my foot up your leg?”

His lopsided smile is no different from yours. “No.”

“Last week when I wore your cardigan because the AC got too cold?”

“You looked really pretty in it, but no.”

“Last month?”

“Even before that.”

You click your tongue. “Give me a clue. A hint.”

But you don’t need clues. Clues are for puzzles, for cases that demand solving. This has never been a mystery. He’s known it for longer than he cares to admit, and he wonders if you’re asking because you genuinely don’t see it or because you just want to hear him say it.

Either way, he’ll happily say the truth as plainly as it exists in his mind.

“From the moment you joined the team.” You pause for just a heartbeat, and he reaches out to brush away the stray of hair slipping down into your eyes. “You probably didn't notice, but I couldn't stop staring at you.”

“You’re lying,” you accuse softly.

“I’m a terrible liar.”

He watches as you mull over his words. He knows you’re trying to decide whether to believe him, though he doesn’t think it’s really a question of if. You already know he’s telling the truth.

Your voice is awfully quiet that he has to perk his ears for it.

“What took you so long then?”

Because while he’s a terrible liar, he’s always been painfully good at keeping his heart to himself. Years of compartmentalizing, of burying emotions under layers of logic and detachment, have made it almost second nature. And maybe that’s why it took him so long.

That, and bad timing.

Countless abductions.

A never-ending chase after unsubs.

Death of a team mate.

And prison.

God, prison.

He wonders if these are valid reasons or just excuses. Had there ever been a perfect moment? Or had he let his fears and the chaotic nature of his job push his personal happiness to the sidelines too often?

The words knot in his throat, and in the end, all he can muster is an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

For waiting so long.

For not saying this sooner.

For only finding the courage to make a move under the guise of flirtation and champagne.

He’s selfish. He is. Because he's reaching for you based on his time, his terms, waiting until he was ready to fit you neatly into his schedule. But you simply shake your head. Because that's what you are, isn't it?

You’re selfless, and so profoundly lovely that you offered yourself to him last night without reservation. And now you’re even more radiant, wrapped in the soft light of vulnerability, tinged with doubt, yet always so giving. Pulling him closer to your chest with a hand on his back. Fingers splay across his skin, nails dragging idly along his spine.

“Don’t be,” you reply, feeling his body expand and deflate under your palm when he breathes. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

See? Selfless. The least he can do now is give you back the words you need to hear, the assurance you deserve to hear. Your foreheads press together, and he reverently lays his hand on your cheek, spreading lean fingers into your hair.

“If you must know, I do like you.”

But the word feels so inadequate for what he’s finally trying to tell you. Like doesn't even scratch the surface of how much space you take up in his mind.

"I more than like you,” he decides to add.

It doesn’t take long before you kiss him. Soft petals bloom warmly against his mouth, puffing humid breath he tastes on his tongue. A blissful moan he swallows greedily, lets it settle deep in his chest, his bones, his veins, filling every corner of him with the sweetest weight of you.

A flutter of lashes skims against his cheekbone when you tilt your head, pulling back by the barest inch. “You’ve made a huge mistake, by the way.”

The pad of his fingers presses gently on your scalp. “Why?”

“You’re never getting rid of me now.”

His thumb moves against your hairline as he takes in your words. For a moment, all he can do is absorb them, replay them, savor them. Then his eyes soften, the corners crinkling with genuine delight, and he lets out a soft huff of laughter that melts right into the narrow space between you.

He scoots impossibly closer, hoping your skin will somehow mold with his. Because after all the surprisingly creative positions he discovered with you last night, it’s the only conclusion he can come to: you fit into him. Perfectly. Soft curves finding their place against the lines of his frame, every piece of you adhering like glue to his skin.

Chest to chest, nose to nose, and lips so maddeningly close to yours that he can still taste the warmth of your breath, sweet and intoxicating in its nearness. It’s enough to drive him a little insane, though he’d argue he’s always been slightly off-center where you’re concerned.

His fingers twitch, ready to close that infinitesimal gap when the sharp buzz of your phone suddenly slices through the moment.

Six minutes.

That’s all the time the universe has granted him, and it’s woefully too short.

"Might need to block her number," you mutter under your breath as you shift slightly to reach for your phone. He watches the way your fingers fly over the screen rapidly before placing the device back on the side table.

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth." Then you drop on him like a dead weight, limbs tangling in the most inconvenient ways until your head is tucked in the crook of his neck. "Also sent her an eggplant and water emoji.”

A crease forms between his brows. “What does that mean?”

You fail to keep in your laughter. “You don’t want to know.”

He’s fairly certain he does want to know. In fact, he’s starting to realize he wants to know everything about you now that you’ve given him the chance. Beyond the pull of bodies and the way they slot together so seamlessly, beyond the electricity of skin against skin.

Though he can’t deny his curiosity at one precise moment, the way you’d slightly gasped when his fingers accidentally brush around the base of your throat. He wouldn’t mind knowing what that meant for you, and, surprisingly, what that even implied for himself.

But as intriguing as that is, it’s not what lingers the most. It’s the subtleties he wants to unravel, the pieces of you he hadn’t even realized he’d been aching to explore.

Your wit, your thoughts, your mind—that lovely, intricate thing he’s admired for so long. Full of nuances and depths he hadn’t even realized he’d only been skimming the surface of. He’s sure there’s something far greater than even his endless mind could have imagined that ties to the beautiful shape of you.

And you’re so beautiful. He’s known that for years, but mere hours ago, he learned it in an entirely new language. Even when he understands seven different ways the world chooses to communicate and speaks four fluently, yours is his favorite.

Yours doesn’t need words or perfect pronunciation. It’s instinctive and warm, written in every sigh, every glance, every unspoken verse that linger in the subtle shift of your body. In every nuance of your taste.

God, your taste.

He knows you’re right, skin can’t be sweet. The dichotomy isn’t lost in him. Yet it doesn’t matter, because not even the crisp, effervescent bite of champagne compares to the warmth of you. Not even sugar, and he basically lives on sugar. In chocolate-sprinkled donuts that he grabs on the way to work, in the endless cups of coffee that fuel his day.

You’re something else entirely, beyond comprehension.

And if one night was enough to saccharine his senses with you, he can only imagine what forever could do.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid fanfiction #lou writes #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut

4K notes · View notes

little-jana · 7 months ago

Text

"Good Girl"

Pairing: postprison!Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: steamy, 18+, fluff, no smut

Warnings: kissing, Spencer calling reader a good girl

Words: 3.4k

Summary: Spencer giving Reader a lot of compliments and one of them makes her blush a lot.

Spencer had been different since prison. Not entirely in ways the team would notice—he still rattled off statistics, quoted obscure literature, and beat everyone at chess. But when you’d known someone as deeply as I knew Spencer, even subtle shifts felt monumental. He was sharper now, his edges honed by experiences no one should have endured. But when it was just the two of us, in those quiet, stolen moments, he softened.

That’s why I stayed by his side tonight instead of joining the team for drinks. Spencer had waved off the invitation, saying he needed a quiet night, and when I hesitated to leave him alone, he’d asked me to stay. It wasn’t much—a shared meal and a chess game in his small apartment—but to me, it felt like everything.

“I can’t tell if you’re planning your next move or plotting my demise,” Spencer said, leaning back in his chair as he watched me.

“I can do both,” I said lightly, though the truth was, I’d been staring at the board for so long because I had no idea what to do.

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m thinking,” I corrected.

“You’ve been ‘thinking’ for six minutes and thirty-two seconds.”

“Are you timing me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, but I glanced at the clock when you stopped moving your hand after your last turn.”

“Of course you did,” I muttered, my eyes flicking back to the board. “Not all of us have an IQ of 187, you know.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. The soft light from the lamp behind him highlighted the sharp planes of his face, and for a second, I forgot what we were talking about.

“You’re better than you think,” he said, his voice low.

“Better at chess, or better in general?” I quipped, trying to deflect the heat rising in my cheeks.

Spencer didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied me, his hazel eyes unblinking and intent.

“Both,” he said simply.

My heart skipped a beat, but I forced myself to focus. This was just Spencer being Spencer—kind and honest to a fault. It didn’t mean anything. Not really.

Finally, I made a move, sliding my bishop into place. I looked up at him triumphantly. “Your turn, genius.”

Spencer’s eyes flicked to the board, and he moved his queen with a casual grace that made my stomach sink. “Checkmate,” he said softly.

“What?” I leaned forward, scanning the board. He was right. Of course he was right.

“How?” I groaned, sitting back in my chair. “I was so careful!”

“That was a good game,” he said, his tone genuine. “You lasted longer than usual.”

I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“No, really,” he insisted. “Your defense has improved. That last move was smart.”

“Then how did I still lose?”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Because I’ve been playing chess since I was four, and you’ve only been playing for—”

“Three months,” I finished for him.

“Exactly,” he said, his smile widening. “But you’re learning fast. Good girl.”

The words hit me like a freight train. My cheeks burned, and I ducked my head, pretending to fiddle with the edge of the table.

“Something wrong?” Spencer asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“No,” I said quickly, my voice higher than usual. “I’m fine.”

“You’re blushing,” he observed, tilting his head.

“I’m not,” I lied, even though I could feel the heat spreading down my neck.

His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying,” I said weakly, avoiding his gaze.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his tone teasing now.

Desperate to change the subject, I stood and grabbed the empty takeout containers from the coffee table. “I’m going to clean this up.”

Spencer followed me into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as I tossed the containers into the trash. His presence was a tangible thing, and I could feel his eyes on me as I wiped down the counter.

“Good,” he said softly.

I turned to face him, confused. “Good what?”

“Good technique,” he said, nodding toward the counter.

My cheeks flamed again. “Are you just saying that to mess with me?”

“No,” he said, his expression softening. “I mean it. You’re good at a lot of things, but you never give yourself credit.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “I think you’re overestimating me,” I said quietly.

Spencer stepped closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “No, I’m not,” he said firmly. “You’re smart, capable, and one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. You’re… amazing.”

My breath caught in my throat. The sincerity in his voice, the intensity in his eyes—it was overwhelming.

“Spencer…” I trailed off, unsure of what to say.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against mine. The touch was so gentle, so careful, it made my chest ache. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

I shook my head slightly. “It’s not that… I just don’t see myself the way you do.”

His brows furrowed, and he tilted his head slightly. “You should. Because I’m not wrong.”

The silence between us stretched, thick with unspoken words. I felt like I was standing on the edge of something, and for once, I wasn’t afraid to fall.

“You’re doing it again,” he said softly.

“Doing what?”

“Doubting yourself,” he said, his voice laced with a quiet kind of sadness.

I opened my mouth to argue, but the look on his face stopped me.

“You’re a good girl,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You just don’t know it yet.”

My cheeks burned, and I looked down, unable to meet his gaze.

“Hey,” he said gently, tilting my chin up with his finger. “Don’t hide from me.”

“I’m not hiding,” I whispered, though the words felt hollow.

“Yes, you are,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And you don’t have to.”

Before I could overthink it, I stepped closer, closing the small distance between us. “Spencer…”

“Yes?”

I hesitated, my heart hammering in my chest. But then his eyes softened, and I knew. I knew he would catch me if I fell.

“I want to kiss you,” I said, my voice barely audible.

Spencer's lips curved into a small, surprised smile. “You do?”

I nodded, my cheeks flaming. “Is that… okay?”

His eyes softened, a mixture of surprise and something deeper—something that made my heart race. “It’s more than okay,” he said quietly.

I barely had time to process his words before his hand cupped my cheek, his fingers feather-light against my skin. He was so close now, his breath warm against my lips. For a moment, we just stood there, suspended in time.

And then he kissed me.

The world fell away.

It started soft, tentative—like he was afraid I’d disappear if he moved too quickly. His lips brushed against mine once, twice, each touch careful and reverent. It was everything I hadn’t dared to hope for: tender, consuming, perfect.

But then I leaned in, my fingers clutching at the front of his cardigan, and something shifted. The kiss deepened, and Spencer’s hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His other hand rested lightly on my waist, steadying me as my knees threatened to give out beneath me.

The softness gave way to something bolder, more urgent. His lips moved against mine with a fervor that left me breathless, and I couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped me. Spencer stilled for a fraction of a second, as if startled by the sound, but then his grip tightened ever so slightly, and I was lost all over again.

He tasted like peppermint tea and something uniquely Spencer, and I never wanted it to end.

When we finally pulled apart, I was dizzy, my head spinning in the best way possible. Spencer rested his forehead against mine, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

“That was…” He trailed off, his voice unsteady.

“Amazing,” I finished for him, my voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and intimate in the quiet of his apartment. “Yeah. Amazing.”

My cheeks flushed, but this time it wasn’t from embarrassment—it was from the way he was looking at me, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted, his voice low.

“Really?” I asked, my heart swelling at the thought.

He nodded, a small, shy smile playing at his lips. “But I didn’t think you felt the same way.”

“Spencer,” I said, shaking my head with a soft laugh. “How could I not? You’re… you.”

His brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to puzzle out my words. “I’m not always good at recognizing when people care about me,” he said quietly.

“Well, I care,” I said firmly, my hand still clutching the front of his cardigan. “A lot.”

He smiled then, a real, unguarded smile that made my chest ache in the best way. “I care about you too,” he said softly.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was thick with unspoken promises, the kind that didn’t need words to be understood.

Spencer’s hand slid from my waist to my hand, his fingers curling around mine. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

I looked away, flustered. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” he said, tugging me closer. “You’re smart, kind, and strong. And you’re a good girl.”

There it was again, the phrase that sent my heart into overdrive. My cheeks burned, and I bit my lip, trying to suppress the shy smile threatening to break free.

“You really like saying that, don’t you?” I teased, though my voice came out softer than I intended.

“Only because it’s true,” he said, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

The sincerity in his voice, the way he was looking at me—I couldn’t take it. I hid my face in his chest, my fingers curling into the fabric of his cardigan.

“You’re impossible,” I mumbled against him, though my tone lacked any real heat.

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he replied, his voice filled with gentle amusement.

I tilted my head up to look at him, narrowing my eyes in mock indignation. “You’re lucky I like you.”

His smile widened, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’m the lucky one.”

---

After we settled onto the couch, Spencer pulled a blanket over us, his arm draped around my shoulders as I rested my head against his chest. The quiet hum of the world outside seemed so far away, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Spencer?” I asked softly, my voice breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?”

“This is real, right?” I tilted my head to look up at him, my eyes searching his face for any hint of hesitation.

He glanced down at me, his brows furrowing slightly. “Of course it’s real. Why would you think it’s not?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my cheeks flushing. “It just feels… too good to be true.”

Spencer’s hand came up to cradle my face, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek. “It’s real,” he said firmly. “I’m real. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away, focusing instead on the warmth in his gaze. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he said softly, pressing another kiss to my forehead.

And in that moment, with his arms around me and his words echoing in my heart, I believed him.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #matthew gray gubler

2K notes · View notes

dragon-in-a-fez · 6 months ago

Text

I wanted a smart socket to control a table lamp remotely, but I didn't want to a) spend money or b) give 16 global megacorporations detailed information about my lighting habits, so I built this nonsense:

it does the job, and as any millennial can tell you, the transparent casing means it's automatically cool as fuck

#contraptions

537 notes · View notes

homehappydreams · 4 months ago

Text

Best Smart Table Lamp FOR LIVING ROOM [INSPIRING] LINK IN BIO

Elevate your living room with this stunning smart table lamp! Featuring adjustable brightness and color-changing capabilities, it's perfect for creating a cozy ambiance.

#smart table lamp #living room decor #smart lighting #home automation #voice control lamp #color changing lamp #adjustable brightness lamp #smart home devices #living room lighting ideas #smart decor #home decor inspiration #smart lighting solutions #smart home technology #innovative lighting #smart lamp for living room #smart lighting trends #home decor ideas #living room decor inspiration.

0 notes

duskandlux · 2 years ago

Text

Smart Table Lamps: A Perfect Blend of Style and Functionality

Welcome to Dusk and Lux, your premier destination for exquisite lighting solutions. we delve into the world of smart table lamps - a revolutionary fusion of style and functionality. Elevate your home decor while experiencing the convenience of modern technology with our stunning collection of smart table lamps.

Embracing Smart Technology in Lighting

In an era where technology permeates every aspect of our lives, why should lighting be left behind? Cordless Smart table lamps bring a new level of convenience and customization to your living spaces. With innovative features like voice control, mobile app integration, and adjustable brightness settings, our smart table lamps redefine how you interact with lighting.

Seamless Integration into Your Lifestyle

At Dusk and Lux, we believe that smart technology should seamlessly integrate into your lifestyle. Our smart table lamps are designed with user-friendliness in mind, allowing you to effortlessly control the lighting ambiance with a simple voice command or tap on your smartphone. Adjust the brightness to create the perfect atmosphere for every occasion, be it reading, working, or relaxation.

Uncompromising Style and Aesthetics

Who says cutting-edge technology can't be elegant? Our smart table lamps are crafted with meticulous attention to detail, combining sophisticated design with the latest smart features. With a range of chic and modern styles to choose from, these vintage table lamps effortlessly complement your existing decor, becoming a centerpiece in any room.

Energy Efficiency and Sustainability

Dusk and Lux are committed to sustainability. Our smart table lamps utilize energy-efficient LED technology, reducing your electricity consumption while providing a long-lasting lighting solution. Embrace eco-friendly lighting without compromising on the quality and brightness you desire.

The Future of Lighting is Here

As technology continues to evolve, the future of lighting is undoubtedly "smart." Experience the cutting edge of illumination with our smart table lamps, paving the way for a more convenient and connected lifestyle.

About us:

Transform your home into a haven of modernity and sophistication with Dusk and Lux's exceptional collection of smart table lamps. Embrace the future of lighting technology while elevating your living spaces with style and functionality. Visit our website today to explore the world of smart table lamps and discover the perfect lighting solution for your home.

Your One-Stop Shop for Exceptional Electrical Products that Combine Timeless Designs with High-Quality Craftsmanship.

Email: [email protected]

Website: https://duskandlux.com/

#smart table lamp #bedroom side table lamp #duskandlux #led light table lamp #touch table lamps #portable table lamp

0 notes

turn4service · 1 month ago

Text

Best Rechargeable LED Table Lamps for Restaurants – Turn4Service

Find contemporary, innovative rechargeable LED table lamps restaurant, events, and hospitality. Wireless, clever and chic. Turn4Service offers the most suitable table illumination and signaling devices to illuminate your establishment.

#Rechargeable table lamp #Rechargeable LED table light #Smart restaurant table light #Restaurant table lamp #Restaurant service light #Wireless event table lamp #Cordless LED lights for hospitality industry #Restaurant table signal light #Modern innovative rechargeable restaurant table lamps #Best rechargeable table lights for restaurants

1 note · View note

callme-holly · 4 months ago

Note

Can you please do Darrel Curtis x Wife reader, like they got married shortly before the Curtis parents death and it’s just the reader staying by Darrel throughout the grieving process and Bob’s murder and Pony and Johnny going on the lamb. And he’s like ‘why did you stay with me with all the stuff going on?’ And the reader is like ‘because I love you and I made a vow’?♥️♥️

𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 - 𝐃.𝐂

a/n: im done with exams which means im back to my usual schedule!!!

The glow from the lamp in the corner does very little to diminish the shadows looming in the corners of the room, making them all the more intimidating than usual. The silence that hangs over the house is unbearable, and everything feels as if it’s been tipped on its axis and forced to cope.

Nobody is themselves, especially not Darry; he’s been on his way to burning out for weeks, like a candle burning down to the last few centimetres of the wick, and now the flame has finally reached the bottom. He’s sat at the table, head in his hands, glaring down at the bills spread across the surface, but you can tell he's not taking in an ounce of what’s printed on the paper. There are dark shadows under his eyes, his skin is drawn and pale, and he looks so tired that it pains you.

“Darry,” you call out, voice cutting through the stillness in the kitchen. He doesn’t look up, simply shaking his head, brushing you and keeping his gaze downwards. “Darrel.” You try again, the finality in your tone more insistent this time, and he lifts his eyes slightly.

"Not right now, sweetheart." His voice sounds raw from lack of use, and your heart breaks just a bit for him. You push off of the doorframe where you were leaning, stepping towards him slowly and resting your hands on his shoulders, chin on top of his head. You don't miss the way he relaxes under you, his whole body slumping , an exhausted sigh leaving him.

"Take a break. I'll make us dinner," you offer, giving him a squeeze. He nods slowly, swallowing , and you finally see through the mask he's been wearing ever since the boys ran off, since Bob's face landed in the papers, "MURDERED," written in bold above. Beneath that stoic facade is a man, a kid, who's been through too much too fast, and it causes something in you to tighten.

A gentle sigh leaves you, and you move round to sit yourself in his lap, not saying anything when his arms wind around your middle immediately, clutching onto you as though there might be nothing left in this world for him to cling too tight too. Your fingers trail idly through his hair, stroking it lightly.

"They'll come back." Your voice is soft, calm, reassuring. "They're both smart boys. They wont be gone much longer." His only response is a nod against your chest. You know how difficult this has been for him; losing both parents, and now his little brother is something no one should ever have to go through. It's a miracle he isn't completely breaking apart by now.

"Soda called. He's staying with Steve tonight." You don't mention why; don't tell him that it's because he can't take the silence, the emptiness, much longer. He doesn't need to know.

"Okay," Darry whispers into your shirt before pulling back just enough to look up at you. There's something in his eyes, an almost apologetic look that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably, and your heart ache. You wish he'd just stop for a moment, lie down, sleep, rest... But asking him to do so would be futile. No amount of begging or pleading will change his mind, especially not now.

You lean forward and catch his lips in a gentle kiss, cupping the side of his face, thumb tracing along his jawline in a manner that's nothing but comforting. He lingers for a moment before pulling back, leaning his forehead against yours, letting out a long breath.

"I'm sorry," he mutters finally, squeezing his eyes shut. "You deserve more than this shit." You reach out and gently pull his head away, forcing his attention onto you instead of whatever he sees in his own mind.

"No. You have nothing to be sorry for," you begin, but he cuts you off sharply.

"No, hon.... I just, I don't get why you stay with me through all of this. It's just..." You watch his expression shift, becoming pensive, and your heart squeezes painfully, knowing exactly what's bothering him.

You run your fingers through his hair again, pulling his head down so that his face is tucked in your neck once more as you rock back and forth gently.

"I'm with you because I love you, Darrel Curtis. I made a promise, a vow, to stick by you through thick and thin, and I don't break my promises."

Darry only hums in response, but you know he heard you. You know from the way he takes your hand in his rougher one, fingers lacing together, wedding rings glinting in the dim lamplight. He squeezes softly; you're gonna be okay. Both of you.

#the outsiders x reader #darry curtis imagine #darry curtis headcanons #darry curtis x reader #darrel curtis x reader #dallas winston x reader #dally winston x reader #dallas winston imagine #steve randle x reader #johnny cade x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #soda curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #pony curtis x reader #two bit matthews x reader #two bit x reader #two bit mathews x reader

292 notes · View notes

lostinlovingrevery · 5 months ago

Text

Audacious

Logan Howlett X F! Reader

A/N: I'm ovulating and this came over me. I imagined 70s! DOFP Logan, or Worst! Wolverine but you could really picture any Logan honestly. I need a cigarette after writing this

Plot: You ghosted him, and he came back to take whats his.

Warnings: SMUT MDNI!, CNC/DUBCON (but like reader really enjoys the fight/chase), Logan gets a little dark and possessive, rough sex, Unprotected PiV, multiple creampies, bondage, reader passes out a couple times and Logan doesn't stop, mention of oral (f! recieving), Logan gets surprisingly soft and a lil embarrassed by himself at the end

Word Count: 3297

Your keys jingled as you pulled them out of your purse, sticking them into the lock of your apartment door. It’s been a long day, and you wanted nothing more but to go inside, take a hot bath, and relax for the next two days that you have off.

The moment you stepped inside, all the hairs on your body stood up. You felt a presence looming in your apartment. It was pitch black inside, your curtains were pulled shut, and all the lights were off. This wasn’t how you left the place this morning. There was a lingering scent of cigars, something extremely familiar. A sinking feeling of anxiety floated down your stomach, as you squinted, fumbling in the dark for the closet lamp. Your hand found the string of a lamp and pulled the switch.

“Welcome home.”

Logan was sitting in your chair as if he made himself at home in your apartment. He leaned back, legs spread, the seams of his snug jeans pulling tight over his muscular thighs, his belt buckle gleaming from the lamp light reflecting on it. His arms resting on the arms of the chair, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, a glass of whiskey in one hand, holding it lazily by the rim.

You yelped, dropping your bag and keys and covered your mouth in surprise, stumbling back.

“Logan!” You yelled, your hands falling to your side, fists clenched. “What are you- You can’t be coming in here without telling me!”

“I was just dropping by.” He says, swirling his drink in the glass, before bringing it up to his lips. The way he acted so casually made you nervous, your fight or flight instinct was kicking into gear. “Haven’t heard from you in awhile.”

You met Logan Howlett a few months ago. You immediately fell for his charms, his smart mouth, and his sinisterly good looks. You went on a few dates and thought you felt a connection. Logan on the other hand though, couldn’t seem to be farther away from connecting to you. He acted aloof and stoic, rarely would he really try to connect with you during dates and you began to question whether this would go anywhere. You always put in the effort to call, plan the dates, and make the conversations. When you brought it up, he shrugged you off and his casual and uncaring demeanor turned you off immediately.

So you dropped him.

You stopped calling, you stopped making the effort to see him. Honestly, you believed he wouldn’t notice by the way his mind always seemed to be somewhere else. Admittedly, your feelings were a bit hurt, you did really like Logan- you thought you saw something in him, that he would open up to you; but you refused to let a 3 month fling get to you. You hadn't even had sex yet, only having done oral on each other a few times.

It’d been a month since and you’ve begun to realize you made the right choice because he never reached out.

Until now.

“Well, you could have called.” You scoffed. “Not break into my apartment! How- How did you get in here?”

“Not important.” He clicks his tongue, moving to set his glass on the nearby table, atop a coaster. The clink of the glass made you flinch, as your stomach turned and you wondered about Logan's intentions because surely they weren’t innocent. Especially with the way his eyes were trailing down your body, staring at you like a predator looking at prey.

“You- You should leave Logan. I’ll- I’ll call you.” You say, forcing a smile, as you bring your shaky hands to your chest, stepping back to your door.

He smiled, stretching across his face, his head giving a little shake. “No you won’t.” he hums, tipping his chin up. With a sigh, he pushed himself up from the chair, and for a moment you felt relief as he walked towards you. His heavy footsteps weighed against the floor, a creak with each step as he stalked over to you. You moved to open the door for him, turning the knob and pulling it- but he slammed it shut, the press of his palm against the wood. His hand slid down and he turned the lock.

You looked up at him with wide eyes as you took a few steps back from him.

“You look scared darling.” He states, standing over you. He reached out, brushing some hair behind your ear. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You swallowed, your hands trembling, and your heart pounding. “Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to see my girl.”

Your face fell, and you shook your head in confusion. “What? No, no Logan, I'm not your girl.” You state firmly. “You acted like you could be any less interested in me whenever we went out together.”

He quirked a brow, a very faint twitch of his lips.

“I mean, I tried to bring it up to you but you brushed me off. I stopped calling a month ago, did you only just now notice?” You asked in disbelief, crossing your arms. Your nerves began to disappear, as an angry confidence began to take root. “How could you sit and call me your girl when you wouldn’t tell me if you wanted us to date? Then you show up to my apartment like you care or something?” You scoffed. You stared at him, brows creased angrily and lips turned downwards in a frown. All your frustrations came out, as you began to realize that Logan had gotten under your skin more than you cared to admit.

“You done?” He asks. You scowled.

“Logan. Leave. We are done.” You say, reaching to turn the lock and open the door. Before you knew it, his hand was on your neck as you were pushed into the wall, as his lips crashed onto yours in a messy and possessive kiss. You struggled against him, hands coming up to try to pull him off you, before you pushed at his chest, and twisted your head away. “Logan!”

“We’re done when I say we’re done.” He mutters against your lips, his breath fanning over your face and sending goosebumps through your body. You swallowed, your body trembling as you brought your hands up to his hand around your neck, gripping him gently to try to get him to loosen his grip.

“Lo, let- let me go.” You beg softly.

“You think I didn’t care darling?” He asks quietly in a low voice, tilting his head so his lips brush along your cheek. “That's why you stopped calling?”

A quiver of your lips, as you felt your eyes water, and you nodded. He let out a soft breath, almost like he was disappointed and he tuts.

“I care sweetheart.” He says softly. “I’m gonna show you that I really care.”

His lips pressed to yours, and you kissed him back- only for a moment. His hand loosened around your neck, moving to cup your jaw instead. The feeling of his lips against yours, desperate, romantic, needy. He licked your bottom lip, and you allowed him in. He licked into your mouth, against the back of your teeth, moving to press himself closer to you.

You took the chance and kneed him in the crotch.

“Shit!” He groaned falling back from you, you took the chance to shove him away, moving to run further into your apartment. You didn’t get far, Logan's recovery time from getting kneeled in the dick seemed remarkably fast. He grabbed your arm, pulling you against him. “That was cruel.” He says his tone was a bit more lighthearted, with a bit of humor behind it.

“You are a bastard!” You struggled to pull away from him, but he only chuckled. He moved down, kissing you again despite you fighting against him. It was pathetic, considering the man was much bigger, and much, much, stronger than you. You were merely a rabbit in the mouth of a wolf.

“Stop struggling.” He murmurs against your lips, capturing them once more in a heated kiss. For a moment, you fell into him, feeling your mind go fuzzy at the way his hands gripped your arms, keeping you close. His beard scratched at your face, and his scent was overwhelming you. The smell of men's cologne and his natural musk mixed together. “You can’t get away from me, pretty girl. Try as you might” He moans against your mouth.

His words spurred you on to fight again, as you struggled and shoved him away.

“No! No Logan!” You pant. “I don’t want this, and I don’t want you.”

The arousal that was soaking your panties said otherwise. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your veins were thrumming with adrenaline. You loved this, even if you acted otherwise. You wanted him to chase you, and you wanted him to take you, make you his girl. A few months of him not paying you much mind, of you chasing him. If he wants you, he’ll get you; but he has to work for it first. You wanted him to fuck you, and see how far he’ll go to claim you.

He sniffed, his nostrils flaring, and his eyes turned dark as he stalked towards you. “I don’t think that’s true sweetheart.” He says in a low voice. You swallowed, stepping back into the hallway that led to your bedroom. He was inches away from you. “You’re gonna play hard to get? That’s fine. We can play.” He says a small shrug.

His hands reached out to your blouse and a quick movement ripped it open. You gasped, your hands coming to cover your chest. “I always win though, and I’ll take what I want.”

You turned to run into the bedroom, but he was faster, grabbing you around the waist and slamming you onto the bed, the mattress creaking as you bounced on it a few times from the force. He stood over you, his hands reaching down and ripping your bra apart in one swift motion.

“Logan!” You gasped before his hands came and grabbed your wrists, pinning them to either side of your head. His mouth came down, taking a nipple between his lips, his tongue running over the bud, stimulating you. You felt heat rush through your body, another coat of arousal. His thigh pushed between your legs, as he grinded it against your core.

You whined, squirming and fighting underneath him as he attempted to work you over. He nipped at your peak bud, before growling in frustration at your constant squirming. He stood up, letting go of you and flipping you over onto your belly. You attempted to crawl away, but he kneeled on the bed, sitting his weight on you and keeping you pinned.

“Since you won’t stop squirming…” He mutters. You heard the clink of his belt. Your arms were pulled back behind you, and you felt the leather binding your elbows together. Once secure, he stood from the bed and flipped you back over onto your back.

He pushed your skirt roughly up your thighs, exposing your panties. He took a deep breath, his fingers brushing over the fabric that covered your cunt. “Fuck. Acting like you don’t want this like you don’t want me.” He shook his head. “You’re fucking soaked pretty girl.”

He ripped your panties off, sticking himself between your legs, pushing his jeans and boxers down his thighs, his hard cock popping out, tapping against his belly a few times.

“Normally I’d take my time but since you gotta act like a brat….” He mutters, hooking his arms around your legs, pulling you closer, “We’ll just have to skip to the good part.”

He aimed himself against your wet pussy, and in one quick thrust pushed himself inside you. You yelped from the intrusion, arching your back. He felt so damn good. His hard cock stretches you open perfectly. He let out a guttural groan, tipping his head back. “Fuuuck yeah-” He grinned sinfully, eyes shut as he let out a hard pant.

“You’re so fucking wet-” He moaned. His hands grabbed your hips, and he began pounding into your pussy, abusing it with each thrust. You turned your head to the side, gasping and panting as he continued to fill you to the brim over and over. The bed shook violently as he thrust into you, his fingers digging into your hips and pulling you down onto him.

You were powerless against him, forced to take what he was giving you. “You’re mine baby.” He grunted. “Ain’t no argument about it now.”

He leaned down over you, his throbbing cock deep inside you, his chest pushed into the back of your thighs as your legs came up to your chest. You turned your head away from him, and he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. He squeezed your cheeks, making your lips pucker as he leaned forward, kissing you, his tongue shoving into your mouth roughly. Your pussy tightened around him, causing him to chuckle warmly into your mouth. “Acting like you don’t fucking like this-” He grunted, thrusting harshly into you, eliciting a pained gasp from your lips. “Your pussy does, she’s fucking squeezing me tight. You love this, don’t you? Me taking what I want from you.”

You let out a moan, tipping your head back. You finally nodded and didn’t have to look at him to see that cocky grin on his face.

“Damn fucking straight.” He growls. “You’re gonna fucking take it all.” His thrusts became more frantic, rougher. He leaned down, biting your neck, as he slammed into you with a ferocity you never felt before. It was so much, he was too much, as you felt an explosive finish approaching quickly. “Fucking stupid, acting like I didn’t care about you. I’ve been fucking obsessed with you since day 1.” He groaned into your neck.

The admission made you snap. Your eyes rolled back as you let out a cry of his name. Your body shook, as your pussy squeezed and spasmed around him, so tight he could barely pull out. He grunted, slamming into you one more time, before moaning so loud you’re pretty sure the neighbors could hear, and you felt his cum fill you up.

A moment passed, and he sat up, pulling out of you. He flipped you over, onto your belly, pushing you further up the bed. He let you lay there, trembling with his cum leaking out of you, while he shed the rest of his clothes off, and then pulled off your skirt, leaving you in just your torn bra and blouse.

He kneeled back onto the bed clambering over you and grabbed your hips, bringing your ass into the air.

“You look good like this sweetheart.” He mumbled, his thumb brushing over your puffy pussy, before capturing the cum that was leaking inside you, pushing it back in. You whined, squirming under him, too sensitive to his touch.

“Logan…” You gasped.

“I’m not done with ya.” He says, adjusting the both of you, and you feel his tip slide back inside you, an embarrassing squelching noise in the room as he fills you up again.

“Ah!” You whimpered. How was he hard again already? “Lo-”

“I don’t think you get it darling. You’re mine. I’m gonna fuck that nonsense of me not caring out of you.”

“I believe you!” You gasped, as he harshly slammed into you, the bed slamming into the wall. You didn’t know if you could take him more. He felt so good, yet your nerves felt it was on fire. You didn’t want him to stop.

He chuckled, “You want me to stop?”

The silence was deafening. You squeezed your eyes shut, biting your lip as you prepared yourself.

“Good girl.” He purred. His hand grabbed your hair, tugging it back as he began pounding into you again. A chorus of whines escaped you as he fucked you with renewed vigor. His stamina was insane. Your pussy was on fire, the way he stretched you out, his hips slamming into your ass, and you were sure you would end up with bruises everywhere.

The rest of the night ended up a blur. Logan used you like a fucktoy, and you were fairly sure you passed out multiple times. The first time, you woke up on top of him, your head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around you as he fucked up into you. The second time, you woke to him eating you out, his tongue swirling over your swollen clit, sending shocks through your body. The third time, your wrists were tied together above your head to the frame of your bed. Your legs spread with Logan on top of you, hands on either side of your hips, as he thrusts into you slowly, almost romantically. He leaned down to pull a soft kiss from you.

Your body felt numb, yet the pleasure still enveloped you, as you felt the honey-sweet feeling pooling in your belly again.

“C'mon baby. One more for me.” He moaned, resting his body over yours, pressing soft kisses over your face. “I know you can do it.”

He brought his fingers between your sweat-soaked bodies. There were countless bite marks and hickeys that covered your body. His fingers found your clit and began rubbing it, his thrusts still slow and soft.

Within seconds, your legs were trembling, as your pussy tightened around him again, and he tipped his head back, his pace picking up as he felt you tighten and pulse around him. He fucked you through your orgasm once more, before finally finishing inside, a loud curse and moan of your name, as he panted, eyes shut tight as the last bit of his energy finally drained inside you. He collapsed on your chest, his arms still somewhat bracing himself up, keeping his full body weight off you.

He sighed, pushing himself out, and you heard a snikt!, as you watched in amazement and exhaustion as sharp metal claw-like appendages came out, and he carefully cut the cloth around your wrists, your arms falling limply above your head. He climbed off you, rolling to your side, and pulling you against him, your cheek against his chest. You didn’t bother to ask about the sharp knife-like pieces that just came out of his fists and then disappeared.

“You alright?” He asks softly, his hand massaging up and down your back. “Too much?”

“Mmm.” You barely mumbled, as your eyes grew heavy again. You were too tired for pillow talk now.

A small chuckle. “Y’know. I really do care about you. I just…Some things are going on in my life, things I’m a part of, that I haven’t told you about. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring you into that part of my life yet. I uh…Thought you’d be safer.”

You opened your eyes at his admission. His voice was soft, in a tone you hadn’t heard from him before.

“I honestly was relieved when you stopped calling. Cause I was constantly wondering if I was selfish being with you. I thought it’d be easier that you broke it off because I couldn’t bring myself to do it but then I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Missed you a lot and I guess I got a little…Possessive.”

“You think?”

Another scoff escaped him, and his hand came around your arm, his fingertips softly tracing up and down your arm. “Yeah well…When you recover, we should talk about some things.”

“Like the claws?” You asked.

“Yeah, like the claws...”

“We should talk about you breaking into my apartment too.”

“Uh…Yeah…” He says, a tone of embarrassment. “I’ll...Explain everything tomorrow.”

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fic #wolverine x reader #vans daydreams #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #wolverine x you #old man logan #worst wolverine #trilogy logan #origins logan #ovulation is hell

334 notes · View notes

daisiescomelate · 8 months ago

Text

Gush to the flesh

Prompt: Mephisto knocks into your window and you know it means bad news. You go to the alley behind your apartment complex and find a bleeding Syrus that’s on the verge of passing out. He still has the energy to flirt, though.

masterlist

You were brushing your teeth over the bathroom sink, already changed into your bedtime clothes and with your eyelids barely holding up. It had been a long day, a wanderer broke loose into a safe zone of the city. It had been dangerously smart and particularly fast, however you and your team of hunters had been able to subjugate it.

The clock over the dinner table marked past eleven at night. You yawned and rubbed your eye with your free hand. It wasn’t even that late for your usual bedtime, yet you barely could hold yourself in your feet.

You bent down and rinsed your teeth. When you straighten your back again and went to reach for the brush in your bathroom cabinet, a noise scared you to the point of making you jump on your feet.

Tuc, tuc.

Tuc, tuc. Tuc, tuc.

Tuc, tuc, tuc, tuc, tuc, tuc.

You look around bewildered. Then you moved to the living room area and following the noise you were able to spot its source.

Mephisto held itself mid air with the flapping of his wings while he also pecked into your window with urgency.

“Mephist–?” You blinked. Suddenly, your body changed into full alert. It wasn’t usual for Mephisto to do such a scandal. Usually it was quite, maybe annoying, but never like this. Its behavior was a clear alert for an emergency. And you knew exactly who that emergency related to.

You didn’t mind your looks, not even cared for clothes that would save you from the outside cold. You jumped into action, running out the door of your apartment without looking back, down the stairs, the lobby, then outside.

Mephisto appeared a second later, flying over your head.

“What happened?” You asked, momentarily forgetting that this mechanical bird couldn’t answer you.

Mephisto picked up the pace of its wings and flew upwards then forward.

It guided you towards a dark alley. You felt the wet gravel from the light storm from half an hour ago in your feet, it was only then that you realized that in a rush you had left the house barefoot.

You held yourself with one hand against the wall at the entrance of the alley. The fabric of your pajamas was so thin you could feel the whole strength of the autumn breeze in your skin underneath it.

The alley was a black void that sucked in all the light from the street lamps. The streets around you were relatively quiet, considering you lived close to the central street market of Lincoln.

Mephisto wasn't bothered. It flew into the darkness, its feathers disappearing as it merged with the shadows. You heard him before you could see him. Mephisto cried from inside the alley once again. In response, Sylus' voice rose from the further end of the space between your apartment complex and the next.

“Mhmm…”

It was more of a pained sound than actual speech and that made you more aware of the trouble he might find himself in. Sylus wasn't Sylus without a stupid arrogant remark or an entitled basic flirting line.

“Sylus?”, you whispered. No response. Fortunately, it had built a habit to take your hunter watch every time you step outside of your door, and you used it to illuminate the space of the alley.

“Sylus.” You said in an angry whisper. You didn’t want to alert the neighbours at this hour of the night, let alone scream the name of a wanted criminal so close to where anyone might hear it.

Under the haze of light you could see the dumpster you shared between both buildings and the trash bags that overflew it. On the other side of the narrow alley there was a pile of cardboard boxes wet by the rain. The floor reflected the light where the rain had gatter into small puddles of water and litter.

You hesitated to enter the alley with your bare feet, or that was until you heard the noise of complain again.

You saw a shadow moving at the very back of the alley behind the dumpster and your body stepped forward almost by instinct.

Sylus laid against the wall of the neighboring building with one hand against his waist. Under his palm and next to him there are traces of blood. It was hard to see exactly how the wound looked even under the light of your watch because of the mess of the ripped out clothes.

The pain he was going through was clear in his face. He kept his eyes closed and his frown parting his expression. Because he still moved and mouthed some words, you could be sure he hadn’t lost consciousness completely.

You kneel down next to him, lightly touching his hand over his wound to see if you could make him focus his eyes on you.

“Sylus.” You said for the third time, but this time softer.

His eyes opened a fraction before being blinded by the light again. Sylus moved his other hand upwards to shield his eyes from the brightness of it. You moved the light away. It took him a few seconds for his eyes to acclimate, but as soon as his pupils became accustomed to the dark, he laid his eyes on you.

“Hello, kitten.” You frowned.

“Is that everything you have to say, ‘hello, kitten’? Sylus, what happened to you?” You reached out for his wounds again and laid your hands over his to help him put pressure into the wound. He greeted his teeth at the pain that caused.

“I’m going to have to ask you to go easy on me, kitten. I was invited to a meeting with some unexpected guests and things didn’t go exactly as expected.”

You didn’t release the pressure on his wound, if anything you pressed harder, making him mutter some words under his breath. “You keep going around looking for trouble, you had this coming,” you scolded him even when your heart was full of worry.

“Believe me, kitten, I didn’t want this either.” He grabbed one of your wrists with his free hand and applied some light pressure over it, silently asking you to let go a little.

“Whatever,” you said, knowing that it was no time to go over this with him again since you had more important matters at hand, “let’s call Luke and Kieran so they can take you to a doctor.” A hospital wasn’t an option for clear reasons, but being who he was, Sylus must have had some professional underground doctor to seek out for emergencies. You pathed over your pajamas when you realized you hadn't brought your phone downstairs with you either.

“Let me go up for my phone at my apartment, I will be right back.” You said, ready to jump to your feet and into the building when Sylus stopped you with a tight grip over your hand.

“Don’t.” He said.

“What do you mean ‘don’t’, you’re bleeding out, Sylus.”

“Don’t call Luke and Kieran, they are busy at the moment.” He needed of a short pause to catch his breath. “You can take care of this kitten, that’s why I’m here.”

“You came here so I would take care of your wound?”

“It’s not–” a pause, “as serious as you think it is. Just a shallow cut.”

“Doesn’t sound shallow to me.” You snapped and your heart started raising faster when you realized the blood that was staining his fingers was now staining yours.

“It’s shallow enough.” Suddenly you realized he had reached upwards with his free hand, which he used to caress for one of your cheeks. His next words came in a whisper. “Please, kitten. Just this one time.” And maybe there was something about hearing Sylus of all people beg, but you had no energy to fight him back on this anymore.

You took a deep breath, “Okey,” you said as you let go of his wound, “then you’re going to have to help me a little bit. You’re too heavy for me to carry you.”

And your prediction wasn’t wrong. It took all you had to carry half of his weight as he laid over your side to take him inside the building. You could only pray for the security guard in front of the monitors somewhere inside the building to be fast asleep so no one would see you carrying a bleeding man into your apartment.

You used the button up shirt of your pajama to hold the bleeding, leaving you in your pajama pants and under shirt, but at least there wouldn’t be a trail of blood through the lobby and inside the elevator.

You exited the elevator on your floor and forced yourself to push forwards for just a little longer. For a moment your mind flashed the idea of getting to cross paths with Xavier on your way up given his strange patterns and sleeping schedule, yet the knot in your throat easily itself when you were able to get to your apartment door without being seen by anyone at the hall.

“Here we are,” you said between panting breaths, checking if Sylus was still conscious. You put on your password on your lock with some effort and as soon as you heard the signaled of it opening you pushed the door with your foot to make way.

You dropped Sylus over the couch near the entrance and you heard him drow in a sharp breath.

“Let me go for my first aid kit.” You said and promptly moved to the bathroom where all lights were still turned on and looked through your cabinet to find the small box with disinfectant and gauze inside.

You moved back to the living room area and saw Sylus straighten into a proper sitting position.

“Lay down!” You tried to scold him, but of course there was no point in doing so. Sylus ignored your demand, instead motioning to the zip of his jacket and pulling it down.

“It’s a mild incision,” he said, pulling away his leather jacket. There was a point for him to wear it, you realized, that had little to do with style and more with practicality. It was harder to knife someone if they were wearing a thick piece of leather over their skin.

“Let’s see what you call mild,” you accused and got in closer to the couch.

“I have survived worse injuries, love. This is nothing to worry about.” His voice was deep and raspy.

He moved his hands to the bottom edge of his shirt and pulled it upwards. At first you thought that he might simply pick his shirt up half the way so the wound could be visible, but then you saw him struggle to take his shirt all the way through his head.

What was left then was a sight to be seen, Sylus’ torso completely exposed with a gush to his side close to his abdomen. His chest fell quickly up and down and his legs were spread to the sides of the sofa while he tried to find a position that would bring out the least pain.

You had to shake your head out of your stupor, reminding yourself that the view wouldn’t last if he were to die.

Clearing your throat you moved closer and sat beside him on the sofa with the aid kit between the two of you.

“Let me see,” you said, your voice soft. Sylus took his hands away from his wound and you realized his definition of ‘mild’ was wildly different from your. The wound was an unclean cut of the flesh that probably would need stitches.

Fortunately, as Sylus had said, it was probably something you could handle –not that you wanted to. Being a hunter meant a fair amount of wounds that you eventually learned to take care of. The wound bled red, not black, which was a good sign. In any case, if you were to fucked it up, it could only be called his fault.

You stood for a soft cloth from the kitchen and came back. While you were cleaning the wound you could feel him flinch under your touch, even when his expression remained serine.

“So, I guess those unexpected guests were not so nice.” You said, pathing lightly over the cut waiting for it to stop bleeding. It was close to do so, but that didn’t make you any less nervous about the situation. Maybe the small talk was more for your own sake than his.

“I had a meeting with a colleague and someone seemed to let the police know of it. It seems we had a mole in our lines. It was something displeasing to find out about.”

“I can imagine.” You couldn’t think of someone that had enough guts to betray Sylus of all people, knowing all the power he held over his territory and the amount of people he had on his side. You guess it was only the actions of a fool.

You let the cloth over the small table to your side and turned to the other to get the disinfectant from the aid kit when you felt Sylus’ fingers over your cheek.

“Don’t worry, love.” Sylus said, this time right next to your ear with that voice that made you melt everytime you hear it, his thumb caressing the lobe of your ear. You raised your eyes to find him looking straight at you from above. “I’m safe now that I’m with you.”

You felt a pinching sensation over your heart at his words. How strange it was to hear those words come out of his mouth.

“You’d be in better hands if they were that of a doctor’s.”

“But I like to be nursed by you.” He said, running one of his hands from your wrist to your elbow back and forward, “You have a gift to calm me down.” He said, and for some reason, you believed his sincerity.

“C’mon,” he said, moving his fingers from your cheek to brush the edge of your lips, “don’t look so sad.” His voice had changed to a whisper and you realised you were both now a breath away from each other, “Those sad eyes do things to my heart, love.”

You stayed in place as if in a trance, lingering there for a second but then shook your head with discontent. You pressed into the wound with the rag on your fingers, making Sylus grown.

“Can you stop flirting for a second? You are dying.” Sylus let go of a painful laughter, graving into your wrist and moved his fingers up delicately around your wrist.

“I’m injured right now, you have to be more careful with me.”

“That’s what I’m saying. You’re unbelievable. You are bleeding over my sofa and you still act so nonchalant. It's like that time you got shot—” A passing thought made you stop along with your words. You narrowed your eyes and stared down at Sylus with a piercing look.

Sylus seemed to know exactly what you were thinking and all you got as a response was a sly smirk and another exaggerated painful growned.

“Hurry up and treat me, love. I only have so much blood to lose.” He said with a smile.

“You bastard.” You said to him with venom in your voice, throwing the rag at his face. “Patch up by yourself!” You said standing from your place on the sofa and ready to go back to the bathroom to finish your night routine when two arms folded around your waist from behind.

Those arms pushed you backwards and you ended up falling over Sylus’ lap. You saw a shimmer of light from the corner of your eyes and you knew it to be Sylus’ evol taking care of the wound and making it disappear without trace. You bluntly hit the place when the wound must have been a few seconds before and made Sylus’ realise a blow of air.

“You're an idiot.” You said, and you heard the chuckle behind the shell of your year along with his hot breath at the back of your neck.

“I just wanted to be pampered, love. Yet you keep denying me the attention.”

You didn’t answer, annoyed at him for making you worried the way he did.

“You made me carry you all the way up the stairs.”

“And you did an excellent job.” He said, brushing his lips along the spot behind your ear. “As I said, it’s good to know I can depend on you.” You jumped slightly when you felt the edge of his teeth rasping against your skin in a light nibble.

“Sorry for worrying you, sweety.” He said with a kiss to your ear.

“Whatever.” You said, and fell deeper into his embrace.

#x reader #lads sylus #lads #love and deepspace #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #silly #🍰 short fic

560 notes · View notes