vaginalvr

[vaginalvr]

How was your vacation?❤️

it was soooooooooooooo good!!

I went to paris for a big milestone moment with my family, unfortunately i got wayyyyyyyy behind on my requests. whoopsie!

[vaginalvr]

Hii, I have a fic idea that stuck in my head for a while,so here I am. What about postprison!spencer×nonbau!reader (age gape or no as you wish) where they’ve been dating for a little while,but she doesn’t know about this prison situation and then somehow she finds out about it and his all nervous about it and worry that she’ll stop loving him, but reader reassures him and telling that it doesn’t change anything and only thing she feels bad about that such awesome person as Spencer gone through it,and after this conversation they had the most sweet and hot and amazing sex.BUT when he wake ups in the morning she’s not in the bed and nowhere around apartments so he start to think that actually it all was a lie and he did scare her off, but the truth is that she just wake up early to get his favorite bakery from his favorite place and then returns back to him and he’s just be like “you don’t leave me 🥹” and reader be like “ofc no, I told you I’m not going anywhere “ and then just sweet moment with them.

I hope you it’s comfortable for you to write about, but it’s okay if not,thank u anyway! And also English not my native language so sorry for mistakes!

content warning: Explicit but tender PIV sex, Oral references (non-graphic), Emotional vulnerability during sex (crying, apologizing), Consensual but intense physical closeness (bruising grip)

a/n: this took forever so i apoligize, i had to keep stopping to cry, enjoy!

word count ~ 1.4k

You had always loved mornings with Spencer. He wasn’t the easiest sleeper—nightmares, insomnia, or just that ceaseless mind of his—but on the nights he did rest well, you’d wake to his face so calm, softened, as though whatever weight he carried had been left somewhere you couldn’t see.

Tonight, though, sleep felt impossible for either of you.

It had started with an argument—not between you and him, exactly, but with the world. You had been watching something on the news, some trial coverage, and you’d muttered how horrible it was to imagine being wrongfully imprisoned.

You hadn’t known.

Spencer had gone quiet in that still, terrified way that made your heart sink. He wouldn’t look at you. When you asked him what was wrong, his voice cracked as he admitted it.

Prison.

He tried to explain, but his hands shook.

The nightmares you’d soothed before made too much sense.

“I didn’t want to tell you.” His voice sounded almost childishly small. “I thought if you knew... you wouldn’t want me.”

Your own heart hurt so badly it felt like a physical wound. You wanted to scream at the universe for ever doing that to him.

Instead you crawled into his lap on the couch, ignoring his flinch at first, forcing your palms to stay gentle as they framed his face.

“Spencer,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

His eyes were glassy, but he obeyed.

“I don’t care that you were in prison. I care that you went through that.”

He blinked, tears falling.

“I’m sorry you had to survive that. I hate that you were alone.”

You kissed him before he could say anything else, holding onto him so tightly he trembled.

His breath hitched when you shifted in his lap.

“Don’t you dare think I’m going anywhere.”

He swallowed, eyes wet and wide. “You... you mean that?”

“Spencer. I love you. All of you. Even the parts that hurt.”

Your thumbs caught his tears. His mouth found yours again with desperate, uneven heat, his hands tangling in your hair.

That was when you felt the change—like something in him broke open.

He let you guide him to the bedroom, let you push him gently onto the mattress, watching you with feverish, disbelieving eyes as you straddled his hips.

You tugged his shirt over his head and pressed kisses to every inch of pale skin, your lips lingering on old scars, on the places where tattoos or brands of the system had faded but never fully disappeared.

His breath stuttered when you unbuttoned your blouse.

“Please,” he rasped.

You smiled, slow and aching. “I’m here.”

His hands were trembling when he ran them over your bare back, pulling you flush against him, his cock hard and twitching between you. You ground against him slowly, making him gasp, shiver, cling.

When you finally guided him inside you, it was careful at first, deliberate.

But he didn’t stay careful.

He let go.

His fingers bruised your hips. His breath came in hot, desperate moans against your throat. He kept apologizing, and you kept silencing him with your mouth, your body rocking against his.

When he came, he sobbed.

You held him through it.

After, you let him roll you over so he could bury his face against your chest, his breathing harsh but calming.

He whispered, broken and quiet, that he loved you.

You kissed the crown of his hair and told him you loved him too.

Eventually, finally, you both slept.

You woke before dawn.

You lay there a long moment, watching the tiny crease between his brows, even relaxed as he was. You ran a fingertip over his cheekbone. He looked so peaceful.

And you thought about what you could do.

He’d mentioned once—offhand, in one of those encyclopedic rambles you adored—that there was this bakery he loved as a kid, that he hadn’t had it in years. You realized you knew the place. It wasn’t too far.

You pressed a final kiss to his forehead, slipped from the bed as quietly as you could, and dressed in the half-light.

He didn’t stir.

You smiled.

Spencer woke to an empty bed.

The cold sheets.

The apartment silent.

His chest caved in with dread so visceral he thought he might throw up.

She left.

Of course she left.

Last night had been too much. He’d dumped all of it on her, sobbed in her arms, fucked her like he was starved. And she’d said she wouldn’t go, but people said things in the moment.

They didn’t mean it.

Not once they saw.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, fingers twisting in his hair.

He felt so stupid.

So sure he’d ruined everything.

He almost didn’t hear the key in the lock.

He flinched at the sound, then froze, listening.

“Spencer?”

Your voice, soft, uncertain.

He surged off the bed, tripping over his own feet, heart slamming.

You were standing in the doorway, bags in both hands.

You blinked at him, confused.

“Hey. Good morning? Sorry—I tried to be quiet so you could sleep...”

He stared at you.

And then, helplessly, his voice cracked.

“You didn’t leave?”

Your face fell in instant, horrified understanding. You dropped the bags on the counter and rushed to him.

“Oh my god. Oh, baby. No. No. Come here.”

You pulled him in, arms wrapping around his waist.

“I told you I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered fiercely against his shoulder.

He trembled under your hands.

“You were gone—”

“I went to get you your favorite pastry. Look.” You pulled back just enough to fumble the bag open, showing the warm, flaky thing he’d once mentioned missing so much.

His vision blurred.

You watched him, so worried.

“Spencer,” you said softly, firmly. “I love you. I want you. All of you.”

He buried his face against your neck, inhaling you like air.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he choked out.

“You won’t,” you promised. “Not ever.”

He held you so tightly it hurt.

You eventually coaxed him to sit on the bed with you, feeding him bits of the pastry, kissing sugar from his lips, hands tangling in his hair.

He smiled for you then, raw but real.

And you smiled back.

In the pale morning light, you pressed your forehead to his and whispered:

“I’m here. Always.”

His eyes shone with tears.

He exhaled, long and shaking, and let you hold him.

Because for the first time in far too long, he let himself believe you.

[vaginalvr]

Omg hi I love your work!

I was the one with the unsub sugar daddy Spencer request and I know you said you’re feeling like you’re running out of things to write so I’ll try and make this super specific

Maybe reader meets dom!spencer at a bar and they have crazy good sex but then the next day she realises he is her new professor and he is like refusing to acknowledge her so wears really slutty clothes but it’s not working so then she decided to give up and go out on a date with this player on campus and her friend has a conversation with her about it whilst she is packing up from Spencer’s class about how the guy just wants to hit it and she’s like yeah maybe I want that too and then Spencer overhears and is SUPER jealous as he is still in the room and so then he intercepts her on the way to the date/party and they get together?

And also she wears like really nice underwear and he gets super jealous like about how she is wearing those for him?

No worries if you don’t like it or it takes a long time! I know you’re on vacation and I hope you’re enjoying it!

content warning: This story contains explicit sexual content, themes of dominance and submission, and mature language. It involves consensual adult relationships with power dynamics and jealousy. Reader discretion is advised.

a/n: this one it creepy and i love oh god its all on the screen

word count ~ 1.2k

You didn’t expect to find him at the dimly lit bar on campus. The one professor everyone whispered about—Dr. Spencer Reid. Usually, you kept your head down in class, but tonight you wanted something different. Something thrilling.

He sat alone, swirling his drink with that intense, unreadable gaze. When your eyes met, something twisted deep inside you. Without thinking, you walked over. His voice was low, deliberate.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

You smirked, sliding onto the stool beside him. “Maybe I’m exactly where I want to be.”

That night, the chemistry exploded between you like a wildfire. He was so unlike the quiet academic you imagined—confident, commanding, his hands tracing patterns of heat along your skin that left you trembling. Clothes came off with reckless urgency, and his lips claimed you, over and over, in ways that erased everything else.

When you woke the next morning, the sun filtering through the window painted his features in sharp relief. For a moment, you forgot where you were—until your phone buzzed with the campus alert.

First class back, and you walk into the lecture hall. The last person you expect is there at the podium, meticulously arranging his notes. Spencer Reid.

He doesn’t look at you.

Not once.

You try to catch his eye, flash a teasing smile, but he’s all business. Cold. Professional. You wear the tightest, most revealing outfit you own the next day. Short skirt, sheer top, the lacy red underwear just for him—though you know he can’t see it under your clothes.

Still, nothing.

You give up. If he’s not going to acknowledge what happened, you’ll find someone who will.

That night, you dress up again—this time for Marcus, the charming player everyone warns you about. He’s waiting at the bar when you arrive, easy grin, the kind that says no strings attached. You laugh, flirt, and for a moment, it feels good to be desired.

Back in the classroom, your best friend watches you pack up after Spencer’s lecture. Her eyes are sharp, concerned.

“Are you really going to do this? Marcus? You know what he wants.”

You shrug, voice soft but honest.

“Maybe I want that too.”

Spencer’s head snaps up. He’s been in the room, listening.

When you walk out later, he’s there—blocking the hall. His eyes darken with something raw, possessive.

“You think I don’t want you like that?” he says quietly.

Your heart races.

“Then prove it.”

He pulls you close, voice low and fierce.

“You’re mine.”

The hallway feels too narrow, the air thick with everything left unsaid between you. Spencer’s hands grip your waist like he’s claiming you—something deeper than possession, more like a need you never saw coming. You breathe in his scent, sharp and intoxicating, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Why didn’t you say anything in class?” you ask, voice low. “Why the cold shoulder?”

His jaw tightens, and his eyes burn into yours. “Because I’m not... used to wanting something this badly.”

You laugh softly, fingers tracing the outline of his tie. “Guess that makes two of us.”

Without warning, he bends down, pressing his lips against the delicate skin at your throat. His teeth graze lightly, and you feel the heat pool in your stomach, spreading like wildfire. You’ve never seen this side of Spencer—so commanding, so sure.

“You wore that lingerie for me,” he murmurs, voice rough with jealousy. “The red lace. I want to see everything.”

You step back, biting your lip, daring him. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He pulls you into his apartment just off campus—the one place where rules don’t apply, where he can let go. The door barely shuts behind you before his hands are everywhere, peeling off your clothes with hungry urgency. You arch into him, every touch sending sparks through your nerves.

Spencer’s kisses are dark and demanding, his hands exploring like he’s memorizing every inch of you. When he finally slides inside you, it’s slow, intense—like he’s savoring every moment, every gasp, every shudder.

“Say my name,” he orders, voice rough as he moves with a relentless rhythm.

You comply, breathless and trembling.

“Spencer.”

He tightens his grip on your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, and the world falls away until there’s only the two of you—entwined, raw, burning with something fierce and undeniable.

Afterward, tangled in sheets and sweat, his fingers trace lazy circles on your skin.

“I don’t want you to go to that party tonight,” he says softly.

You look up at him, heart racing, and realize you don’t want to go either.

Because maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of something neither of you saw coming.

He pulls you down onto the bed, hands sliding under your blouse to brush against the soft skin of your ribs. His touch is deliberate, like he’s memorizing every inch of you, every shiver you can’t hide. You arch into him instinctively, breath catching when his fingers trail lower, teasing the delicate lace of your underwear.

“Wearing these for me,” he growls, voice thick with jealousy. “You want me to know just how much.”

You bite your lip, the heat rising between you. “Maybe I do.”

His lips find yours again, harder this time, demanding. You respond in kind, matching his need, matching the intensity in his eyes.

His hands move with practiced confidence, sliding your underwear aside before he presses inside you slow and deep, every movement sending sparks through your body. You gasp against his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders as he sets a steady, powerful rhythm.

“I want to hear you,” he murmurs against your skin. “Say my name.”

“Spencer,” you whisper, voice trembling.

He tightens his hold, the friction and heat building until you’re both lost in the moment, tangled in passion and desire that feels as raw and fierce as the first time you met.

When you finally come down from the edge, he holds you close, fingers stroking your hair, his breath steadying against your forehead.

“You’re mine,” he says softly. “No one else.”

You smile, heart pounding. “I’m yours.”

And just like that, everything changes.

[vaginalvr]

HELLO!!! I LOVE your writing and was wondering if you could please write a dom!spencer who is just a pleasure dom but in the worst way and overstimulates the reader when he thinks some guy is trying to flirt with her at the bar?

No pressure I love whatever you write and I hope your holiday is good!!

content warning: Explicit sexual content, consensual BDSM and Dominant/submissive dynamics, overstimulation, verbal dominance, possessive behavior, public setting sexual activity (bar), power exchange, teasing, sensory play, age gap relationship (implied).

a/n: omg thank u mlllllllllllll this is basically just porn no plot sryyyyyy

word count ~ 2k

room but mostly focused on Spencer standing just a few feet away. His presence was magnetic, but tonight there was something different in his gaze—sharp, protective, possessive.

You caught the way he noticed the guy leaning a little too close, flashing you a smile that was too practiced, too easy. Spencer’s jaw tightened just a bit, that familiar quiet intensity building behind his eyes. Without a word, he slid closer, the heat radiating off him unmistakable.

“I don’t like the way he’s looking at you,” Spencer murmured, voice low but firm. You swallowed, feeling the mix of his concern and something darker—an urge to claim you right then and there.

His hand found yours, fingers curling around your wrist, pulling you gently but decisively toward a quieter corner of the bar. You didn’t protest. The tension between you was electric, every inch of you attuned to the way Spencer’s gaze darkened, the slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

He leaned in close, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m going to make sure he knows you’re mine. And you’re going to feel exactly how much.”

Before you could answer, his hand slid under the hem of your skirt, fingers tracing slow, teasing circles over the bare skin of your thigh. Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of his touch spread through you like wildfire.

Spencer’s lips ghosted over your ear, his breath hot and steady. “You like that, don’t you? Want me to show you just how much.”

His fingers moved with deliberate patience, stroking, teasing, but never quite enough to let you fully catch your breath. You were burning, burning with need and frustration, desperate for release but also trapped under his delicious torment.

The guy from before glanced your way again, clearly confused by the quiet storm unfolding in the corner. Spencer caught it, chuckled softly, and pressed a kiss to your jaw before trailing down your neck.

“You’re too sensitive for him to handle,” Spencer said, voice thick with promise. “But I’m going to take care of you right here, right now.”

His hands and mouth moved in perfect harmony, overwhelming every nerve ending with touches and kisses that left you trembling and gasping. Pleasure rolled over you in relentless waves—too much, just enough, always pushing the edge.

You tried to speak, to tell him to stop or slow down, but your voice caught in your throat. You were at his mercy, utterly and deliciously exposed.

Spencer’s fingers slipped lower, exploring with slow, maddening precision, making you arch into him even as your senses spun out of control.

“You belong to me,” he whispered, eyes burning into yours. “And tonight, you’re going to learn exactly how that feels.”

The world narrowed until there was only him, only this—the overwhelming, endless pleasure that left you breathless and aching for more.

You were barely able to steady your breath, Spencer’s touch both exquisite and merciless, trailing down your thigh in slow, deliberate circles that had your nerves fraying in the best possible way. The bar’s ambient noise faded into nothing as his fingers explored, teasing and stroking in a rhythm designed to unnerve and excite all at once.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Spencer murmured close to your ear, his warm breath sending goosebumps across your skin. His lips brushed against your earlobe, then down the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

Your fingers clenched the edge of the booth, trying to ground yourself, but Spencer had other plans. His hand slipped higher, fingertips grazing the edge of your underwear, slow and deliberate, testing your limits with each movement.

“You don’t get to forget who you belong to,” he said softly, voice thick with desire and possession. “Not here. Not anywhere.”

Your eyes fluttered open just in time to meet his gaze—dark, intense, completely focused on you. There was no question who was in charge, and the clarity of that knowledge sent a shudder through you.

The guy who’d been watching you earlier tried to approach again, but Spencer’s grip tightened, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together. His low voice cut through the noise of the bar. “I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you.”

The man hesitated, clearly unnerved by the quiet, dangerous energy Spencer radiated, and backed away, disappearing into the crowd. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

Spencer’s hand returned to your thigh, his touch more demanding now. The teasing had stopped—he was claiming you, marking this moment with his control and attention.

He leaned in and kissed you again, slow and deep, his tongue tracing the outline of your mouth as if memorizing every inch. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel his dominance and affection all at once.

“Do you want more?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You nodded, breathless. The thought of stopping was impossible. You were caught in the storm of his pleasure and power, and you didn’t want it to end.

Spencer shifted, adjusting his position so his body pressed against yours, his hard length evident beneath his trousers. His hands didn’t stop moving, sliding beneath your skirt to explore, touch, and tease until you were trembling under his every stroke.

“You feel so good for me,” he said, voice a seductive whisper. “I’m going to take care of you right here, right now. No one else gets to.”

His mouth moved to your collarbone, teeth grazing softly as his hands explored with relentless hunger. The sensation was overwhelming—too much and just enough all at once.

You moaned, the sound lost in the music and chatter around you, but Spencer caught it, his lips curling into a satisfied smile.

“Louder,” he commanded gently, voice dripping with dominance. “Let them hear how much you belong to me.”

Your breath hitched, and you obeyed, feeling the delicious sting of exposure and ownership. Spencer’s hands moved faster now, fingers teasing you in ways that made your knees weak and your heart race.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, eyes never leaving yours. “Only mine.”

Every nerve ending sang as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, his skillful fingers and heated mouth driving you wild. You were trembling, gasping, overwhelmed by the pleasure he was lavishing on you.

“Come for me,” he urged, voice low and commanding. “Show me how much you want this.”

Your body betrayed you, folding into the wave of release that crashed over you with fierce intensity. Spencer held you steady, grounding you even as your senses spiraled, his hands gentle yet unyielding.

When you finally came back to yourself, your skin flushed and your breath ragged, Spencer’s lips were on yours again, kissing away every shaky breath, every trace of vulnerability with a tenderness that made your heart soar.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, pulling you close. “And I’m not letting anyone take you from me.”

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, comforted and consumed all at once.

The night stretched on, but in that moment, nothing else mattered except the way Spencer made you feel—desired, protected, overwhelmed in the best possible way.

Spencer’s hands never stopped moving, never lost their purpose. His fingers danced over your skin with expert precision, teasing and kneading every sensitive spot until you were gasping for air and desperate for release. The heat building between your legs was a wildfire, and Spencer was the only one with the power to control it.

His lips traced a line from your jaw down to your collarbone, biting gently before sucking on the tender skin. You could feel his breath hitch as he tasted you, his hunger matching your own. The bar around you faded further, the noise reduced to a distant murmur, irrelevant in the face of what he was doing to you.

“You’re so sensitive,” he whispered, voice low and possessive, “and I love that about you. You’re mine, and I’m going to make sure you feel it every single second.”

His fingers slipped beneath your panties with slow, deliberate intent, circling and stroking your slickness. The sensation was maddening, waves of pleasure crashing through you as your body tensed, begging for more. Spencer’s mouth followed his hands, kissing and sucking along your inner thigh, marking you as his in a way no one else could.

“Look at me,” he demanded, voice rough with need. You obeyed immediately, eyes locked on his dark, intense gaze. “Tell me how much you want me.”

“I want you,” you breathed, voice trembling. “Please, Spencer. I need you.”

His smile was a promise and a warning. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Spencer’s hand tightened on your hip, pulling you flush against him. His other hand found the waistband of his pants, undoing the button with quick fingers. You watched him, breathless, as he revealed himself—hard, swollen, ready.

Without hesitation, he pressed himself against you, the heat and weight grounding you even as your body begged for more. His lips found yours again, claiming you in a fierce, hungry kiss as he began to move, slow and relentless.

The sensation was overwhelming, every inch of you alive with pleasure and need. Spencer’s hands roamed freely, gripping, teasing, holding you in place as he drove deeper and deeper, each movement a delicious torment that left you gasping and trembling.

“You belong to me,” he growled, voice thick with dominance. “And I’m going to make sure you know it.”

You cried out his name, the sound raw and desperate as the waves of pleasure built higher and higher until they crashed over you in a shattering release. Spencer held you tight through it all, grounding you, claiming you.

When you finally came down from the high, his mouth was on yours again, gentle and possessive. His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, soothing the trembles that wracked your body.

“You’re mine,” he repeated softly, “and no one is going to take you away.”

You smiled against his mouth, overwhelmed and utterly content. Tonight, Spencer had shown you exactly what it meant to be his—completely, utterly, and without reservation.

The night deepened, but you were wrapped in his arms, safe in the knowledge that Spencer Reid, brilliant, dominant, and utterly devoted, was yours.

[vaginalvr]

Hello! I love your writing and was wondering if you could please do a Dom!Spencer who is the readers professor and he catches her cheating and gives her a punishment and they lowkey have a big age gap but they both fuck with that and it’s lowkey kinky?

No worries if not!

content warning: Consensual BDSM elements, Dominant/submissive dynamics, Age gap relationship, Power exchange, Explicit sexual content, Teacher/student relationship (fictional), Light kink, Verbal dominance, Consensual non-consent undertones.

a/n: i loveeeeeeeeee professor spencer can it do tricks what who said that

word count ~ 1.3k

The classroom was nearly empty when you slipped inside, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows through the tall windows. You should have been studying, but your mind was elsewhere—entwined with thoughts of Spencer. Professor Reid. The man who had quietly ruled your academic world for months now, all brilliant intellect and quiet authority.

You had made a mistake. Not the kind you could fix with a simple apology or a turned page in your textbook. You had been caught cheating, and today was your reckoning.

Spencer stood by his desk, arms crossed, eyes cool and calculating. He looked different than you’d imagined when you pictured punishment—older, more commanding than the awkward, brilliant professor who stammered over his words during lectures. This version of him was deliberate, controlled, and utterly magnetic.

You swallowed hard as he gestured for you to come closer. Every step you took toward him felt like a surrender.

“I thought you knew better,” he said, voice low, almost a whisper, but it held a weight that pressed down on your chest. “This kind of dishonesty… it deserves a consequence.”

Your heart hammered—not just from fear, but from something darker and more electric that stirred in your core. The way he looked at you, his gaze stripping you bare, made it impossible to focus on anything but the heat pooling between your thighs.

“You’ll need to earn back my trust,” he continued, stepping so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. “And I’m going to make sure you understand exactly what that means.”

There was no hesitation in his tone. This was more than discipline. It was a challenge, a command. And you were already craving the taste of submission.

Spencer’s hand slid under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “Age doesn’t matter,” he murmured, voice thick with something unreadable but heavy. “Not when I have you exactly where I want you.”

Your breath hitched. The intellectual, stammering professor was gone, replaced by someone far more dangerous and deliciously dominant.

He pushed you gently against the desk, fingers tangling in your hair as he leaned in, mouth capturing yours with a possessive hunger that left no room for doubt. You melted against him, the line between punishment and pleasure blurring with every touch.

His hands were everywhere—exploring, claiming. His control absolute, his dominance intoxicating. You had no desire to resist.

“You’ll do exactly as I say,” he whispered against your skin as he pushed you down, the low hum of his voice wrapping around you like a velvet rope. “And you’ll learn that sometimes, being caught is just the beginning.”

The age gap, the forbidden nature of your roles, the sharp edge of control—it all fed the fire between you. You didn’t want to be innocent anymore. You wanted to be his, completely and utterly.

Your hands trembled slightly as Spencer’s grip tightened in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to expose the sensitive curve of your neck. His lips brushed against your skin, slow and deliberate, sending shivers down your spine.

“Look at me,” he commanded softly, and you obeyed without hesitation, meeting his intense gaze. There was a fire there now, a sharp edge beneath the usual warmth you adored in him. That fire promised control, and you wanted to surrender.

His fingers traced a slow path down your spine, slipping under the hem of your blouse with expert precision. The thrill of his touch was electric, the boundary between student and professor disappearing in the heat of the moment.

“You cheated on my test,” Spencer said, voice low but unwavering. “That breaks the rules. But here, now… I’m going to teach you how to make it right.”

You swallowed, heart pounding not from guilt but anticipation. His hands moved lower, slipping beneath your skirt. You gasped softly as his fingers found your bare skin, teasing, stroking. You felt utterly exposed and deliciously vulnerable beneath his touch.

“Beg for it,” he said, a low growl beneath his words that sent a thrill coursing through you.

“Please, Spencer,” you whispered, voice thick. “Punish me. Teach me.”

The sharpness in his eyes softened for a moment, a flash of something deeper. Then he took control again, lifting you onto the desk, spreading your legs wide.

“I want you to understand what obedience means,” he murmured as his mouth descended on you—hungry, demanding, relentless. His hands gripped your hips, steadying you as he explored, claimed every inch of you with that slow, deliberate dominance that left you trembling and gasping for more.

The age gap didn’t matter. The professor/student roles didn’t matter. Nothing did except the way he made you feel—owned, desired, utterly consumed.

“You belong to me now,” he said between kisses, his voice thick with promise and power.

And you did. Completely.

His mouth left a trail of fire along your collarbone, teeth grazing softly before he bit down just enough to make you gasp. Your back arched instinctively, desperate for more of that sharp edge he wielded so expertly. Spencer’s hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing, and you wrapped your arms around his neck without hesitation.

“You’ve been very naughty,” he murmured, voice thick with possession as he pressed you flush against him. His breath was hot against your ear, his words seeping into your skin like a drug. “But you’re going to learn that punishment can be... pleasurable.”

His fingers found the waistband of your panties, dragging them down slowly, savoring every second of your exposed skin. You shivered beneath his touch, your body already on fire for him.

Spencer’s lips moved lower, trailing kisses down your stomach, each one deliberate and teasing. When he finally dipped lower, his tongue flicking over your most sensitive spot, you clenched around nothing, a sharp moan tearing free. He smiled against your skin, savoring the sound like a reward.

“You’ll be quiet,” he said, voice firm but low, “or there will be other ways to remind you who’s in charge.”

You nodded eagerly, needing that control, craving it like air. The age difference, the professor and student labels—it all dissolved in the heat of his dominance, leaving only this raw, charged connection.

Spencer’s fingers slid inside you with precision, slow and demanding, making you writhe beneath him. “You’re mine,” he whispered against your skin, “and you’re going to prove it.”

Every touch, every word, every kiss burned into you, marking you in a way no lecture ever could. You weren’t just a student anymore—you were his.

and control. His voice was low, rough, an anchor pulling you deeper into this world where only he held the power.

“You’re going to learn exactly what it means to submit,” he said, his fingers curling inside you with slow, deliberate strokes that made your breath hitch. “And you’re going to love every second of it.”

Your body trembled as he moved, teasing and taking, making you gasp against the quiet hum of the empty classroom. The age difference didn’t matter. The roles didn’t matter. All that mattered was the fire he lit inside you, the hunger you both shared—wild, unspoken, undeniable.

His lips found yours again, demanding and fierce, and you clung to him, needing every bit of this domination, every sharp word and tender touch. You were his to teach, to own, and you welcomed the delicious punishment with open arms.

“Say it,” Spencer whispered between kisses, “tell me you belong to me.”

With a shuddered breath, you gave him exactly what he wanted. “I belong to you.”

And in that moment, beneath the fading light and his unwavering gaze, you knew there was no going back.

Your whispered confession hung in the air, raw and electrifying. Spencer’s eyes darkened further, a slow, satisfied smile curving his lips. He leaned in, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down your neck, biting just enough to leave a mark—both as a warning and a promise.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, voice husky, “and I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

His hands tightened on your hips, lifting you higher onto the desk, and the pressure of his body against yours was intoxicating. The knowledge that he could hold this power over you, the way he controlled every inch of your body and mind, sent a delicious shiver through you.

Spencer’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin before slipping under your blouse again, fingers finding your heated flesh and kneading it with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. He was meticulous, never rushing, savoring every moment, every gasp, every shudder.

“You cheated,” he murmured, voice rough with desire. “Now you’ll learn what that costs. Every part of you will remember.”

His mouth captured yours in a fierce kiss, his tongue pressing insistently as his hands roamed, exploring the places only he was allowed. You responded in kind, arching into him, desperate for more.

He paused briefly, eyes locked on yours, the intensity in his gaze making your breath catch. “You’ll take what I give you. You’ll ask when you want more. You’ll be patient and obedient.”

“Yes,” you breathed, already craving the next command, the next touch.

Spencer smiled darkly, a predator and a professor, a master and a lover. “Good. Now, let me show you exactly what it means to be mine.”

[vaginalvr]

fast - learning boy, nsfw

Summary: You teach Spencer how to give head...

content warning: Descriptive sexual tension, heavy making out, explicit consent discussion, one partner teaching the other about oral sex

a/n: the first in the inexperienced!spencer series!, enjoy :)

word count ~ 1.2k

Spencer was fidgeting so much at dinner that you’d given up trying to keep the conversation casual.

He was brilliant at everything else. Casework. Chess. Quoting obscure research. Remembering the names of every victim and unsub you’d ever tracked together. But personal things? He got shy. And sex? He’d grown bolder with you, sure—but there were still frontiers he hadn’t crossed.

Tonight you watched him shift in his chair, push his food around his plate, and bite his lip so hard it went white.

You finally set down your fork.

“Spencer,” you said softly. “Talk to me.”

He blinked. “I am talking.”

“You’re brooding. There’s a difference.”

He swallowed. His voice dropped. “It’s…personal.”

“Everything about us is personal,” you reminded him, covering his hand with yours. “Try me.”

He went even redder, then whispered so low you barely heard:

“I don’t know how to…do that. You know. On you. I’ve read about it. I know what it is—I’m not an idiot. But I don’t want to mess it up.”

You blinked. Then smiled so big your face hurt.

He winced. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not! Spencer.” You squeezed his fingers. “I’m delighted. You want to learn?”

He looked down. “I want to be good for you. You deserve that.”

Your heart melted.

You shifted forward so your knees brushed under the table. “I can teach you.”

His eyes darted up, wide and almost fearful. “You’d…be okay with that?”

“Spencer,” you murmured, leaning closer. “Nothing would make me happier.”

He looked like he might pass out.

By the time you got home, his nerves had returned with a vengeance.

He hovered by your bedroom door, twisting his fingers. “You sure?” he asked for the fifth time.

You stepped up, pressing your palms to his chest. He was so warm, heart thudding like a trapped rabbit.

“Positive,” you whispered, tipping your head up for a kiss.

He responded shyly, mouth tentative, until you sighed into him and he relaxed, pulling you closer.

You nudged him gently to sit on the bed. He obeyed, palms braced on his thighs, looking up at you like you were a puzzle he was desperate to solve.

“First lesson,” you said, brushing your fingers through his hair, “is don’t overthink.”

He gave a strangled laugh. “Literally impossible.”

“Then listen to me.” You pushed your fingers into his hair more firmly, tilting his head back. His breath caught.

“Second lesson,” you continued, voice husky, “is pay attention. To me. Not the textbooks in your head.”

He nodded dumbly.

You smiled and kissed him again, slower this time. He relaxed further, his hands settling on your waist. When you nipped his lower lip, he gasped.

“You like that?” you teased.

He blushed. “I…yes.”

“Good. Because you’re going to watch me, listen to me, learn me. Understand?”

“Y-yeah.” His voice cracked.

You took his hand and guided it between your thighs over your clothes. His fingers trembled.

“Warm,” he murmured. “You’re warm.”

“Good. Feel my heartbeat?”

He nodded, wide-eyed.

“That’s for you,” you whispered. “Because I want this.”

He swallowed hard, lashes fluttering. “I want it too. I want you.”

You smiled and kissed him fiercely, pushing him back slightly on the bed. When you pulled away, you let his hand drift higher along your body.

“Touch me like that. Gentle. Curious. Don’t rush.”

He obeyed, fascinated. You could see the profiler in him analyzing your reactions—where you gasped, where your breath caught.

“Good,” you praised, voice thick. “Just like that.”

He shivered. “God. Your voice.”

You smiled, breathless. “My voice?”

“It—it’s helping,” he admitted. “You telling me what you want.”

“Want me to keep going?”

He nodded so hard you laughed.

When you finally unbuttoned your jeans and guided his hand beneath, he made a tiny sound in the back of his throat.

“Oh,” he whispered. “You’re…”

“Wet,” you supplied, nipping at his ear. “Because of you.”

He groaned.

You pressed his fingers more firmly, coaching him with gentle words. He was clumsy at first, but so attentive it made your chest ache.

“Slower,” you whispered.

“Like this?”

“Mm. Better. More pressure. Don’t be afraid.”

You felt him swallow hard. “I’m…nervous.”

“I know. I love that about you,” you confessed.

He let out a broken laugh, exhaling against your throat. “You’re evil.”

You smiled wickedly. “And you like it.”

He kissed you then, more sure, until you had to break away for air.

Finally you shifted back, pushing him gently down so he was kneeling on the floor between your legs, looking up.

You cupped his face. “Ready for the advanced class?”

He groaned. “God. Yes.”

Your heart was pounding like a drum.

You held his hair gently. “Watch me. Listen to me. Don’t stop unless I say.”

“Okay,” he rasped, breath coming fast.

You could see how hard he was breathing, how eager he was to learn.

You told him exactly what you wanted, voice shaking with heat. His eyes stayed locked on yours the whole time, wide and worshipful. He asked questions, his voice wrecked with nerves and want, and you answered in low, shaking whispers.

You praised him every time he did something right. Your fingers twisted in his hair. At one point he mumbled something against you that made you laugh breathlessly and tug him closer.

“Spencer. God. Just like that.”

He made a desperate, ruined noise at how you said his name.

And when your voice finally broke, when you gasped his name in a wrecked whisper, he shuddered like he was the one coming apart.

You tugged him up to kiss you, messy and hot and grateful.

“Did I…do okay?” he asked, voice hoarse, eyes shining.

You let out a broken laugh. “You did perfect. Best student I’ve ever had.”

He buried his face in your neck, still breathing hard.

You held him close, fingers stroking through his hair, your whole body thrumming with warmth and promise.

The rest of the night lay open before you, full of lessons you were both eager to learn.

[vaginalvr]

Hello🤍

I read your Sugar Daddy! Hotch and loved it, there aren't many fics about him as a sugar daddy.🥲

I wanted to ask if I could write something where Hotch and the reader have sex on the floor, you know like if she surprised him with a strong one in front of the fireplace in some nice lingerie and yes silk robe and him just took she it there on the floor in front of the fireplace 🫣

Also if I could leave kisses on his spine that would be great my boyfriend does that and it's so hot lmao🙂‍↕️🫶🏻

Write this only if you are comfortable, if you can't ignore it, I send you lots of love. 🫂

ps.English is not my first language so I'm sorry if this is misspelled. 🥲

content warning: Established relationship, intimate sexual content, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (monogamous), praise, emotional intimacy, kisses down the spine

a/n: mine does that too its delicoussssssssssss this is so cute and romantic i love it so much

word count ~ 1k

The fire crackled in the quiet, shadows dancing against the walls like slow-moving waves. Aaron sat at the edge of the couch, legs apart, head tilted slightly down as he loosened his tie with practiced fingers. His white shirt stretched across his shoulders, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the last remnants of his day still clinging to him.

You waited until he looked up before stepping into the light.

Silk slipped against your skin as you walked toward him, the soft hem brushing the top of your thighs. You didn’t say a word. Just let him see.

When the robe loosened and dropped to the floor, he inhaled like you’d stolen the air from the room.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

His body moved with purpose, rising from the couch and closing the distance between you. One hand found your waist while the other curled around your neck, tilting your face toward his. His eyes searched yours, intense and reverent, before he kissed you — slow and sure, like he’d waited all week for this moment.

Your breath hitched as he backed you toward the fireplace. The flames pulsed behind you, heat licking your skin. He sank to his knees before you, pulling you gently down with him onto the plush rug.

"You’re incredible," he murmured, fingertips tracing along your ribs, slipping under the black lace you wore for him. "You always are."

Your lips brushed his jaw as he spoke, your voice soft in his ear.

"I wanted to surprise you. Thought maybe you'd like me like this. Thought maybe we needed something… quiet. Real."

He looked at you like you were a miracle.

"I always want you like this. Especially like this."

His hands slid beneath the delicate lingerie, pushing it down your hips. His touch was steady but slow, as though every inch of you deserved to be unwrapped like something sacred.

When his mouth found you, you moaned before you could stop it. The heat of the fire blended with the heat of his tongue, your fingers gripping his shoulders as his name escaped your lips.

He didn’t rush. He never did. He knew your body too well. He knew what made your breath catch and your legs tremble. He gave you everything and then some, until you pulled at his hair and whispered that you couldn’t take another second without him inside you.

You undressed him slowly, hands working the buttons of his shirt, revealing the strong lines of his chest, the tension in his shoulders, the muscles along his back. When his shirt finally fell to the floor, you sat up just enough to kiss between his shoulder blades. Soft, warm, lingering kisses, each one lower than the last. You heard the sound he made — a quiet, barely-there groan like he was trying to keep it buried.

When he finally moved over you, he kissed you like he needed it to live.

"Are you sure?" he asked, even now, always careful, always reverent.

You reached for him, guiding him to you. Your voice was breathless, but certain.

"I’m sure."

When he pressed into you, your bodies met like they were meant to. Every thrust was deep and deliberate, a rhythm built on intimacy, not haste. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your legs around his waist, every part of you wrapped around him.

He whispered your name between kisses. He told you how good you felt. How beautiful you looked. How you drove him insane in the best way.

When you came, he held you through it, hand between your legs, voice at your ear, coaxing you higher until the tremor took you completely.

He followed you a few moments later, his body shuddering against yours, breath unsteady, hands clutching at your skin like he never wanted to let go.

He didn’t pull away right away. He stayed inside you, forehead pressed to yours, one hand caressing your jaw while the other rested at the curve of your hip.

You reached up again and kissed the space just beneath his shoulder, then lower, and lower again, until your lips found the base of his spine. He sighed your name, his voice low and raw.

"You’re unreal," he whispered. "And mine."

The fire cracked again, the sound soft and grounding.

You smiled, tugging him down beside you, limbs tangled, skin still flushed.

"Next time," you said into his chest, "I’m lighting the fire before you even walk through the door."

His hand slid into your hair, his voice filled with quiet satisfaction.

"Then I won’t bother making it to the couch."

[vaginalvr]

part two of massage therapist spencer ?

content warning: PIV sex, oral sex, fingering, masturbation

a/n: I THOUGHT YOU'D NEVER ASK!

this feels vaguely pornagraphic, thank god

word count ~ 1.3k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You hadn’t stopped thinking about him.

It wasn’t just the way Spencer had touched you, though that alone had replayed in your mind with aching clarity. It was the way he had looked at you while doing it. Focused. Attentive. Like your body was a language he had waited his entire life to learn. Like your pleasure was more important than his own.

You hadn’t planned to book another session, but your fingers hovered over the appointment page for days until impulse overrode common sense. Now, standing once again at the receptionist’s desk, your heart thundered beneath your ribs.

“He’s ready for you,” she said, her voice bright. “Room three.”

Room three. Your skin prickled as you walked down the hallway, the door already familiar.

Inside, the lights were dimmed, the air soft with lavender and cedarwood. Spencer stood by the massage table, arranging folded towels with precision. He looked up when you entered, and that same quiet warmth spread across his face. Something deeper than recognition. A kind of quiet relief.

“You came back,” he said.

You let the door click shut behind you. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

He hesitated, smiling with a kind of nervous pride. “I hoped. But I didn’t want to assume. Not after last time.”

You stepped closer, heat already blooming low in your belly. “I didn’t come for a massage this time. I came for you.”

His expression flickered from surprised to hungry in the space of a breath. He nodded once, slow and reverent, like he was receiving permission he hadn’t dared to ask for.

“Then let me take care of you again,” he said.

This time you undressed without instruction, letting each piece of clothing fall with casual intention. He watched in silence, his gaze reverent as you climbed onto the table and stretched out on your back, unabashedly bare. No sheet. No hesitation.

“Face up?” he asked, approaching slowly, his voice softer now.

“I want to see you,” you replied.

His hands started at your ankles, warm and slick with oil, moving upward with deliberate care. He massaged your calves with long strokes, his thumbs circling just behind your knees before gliding up the curves of your thighs. You parted your legs without prompting, and he paused only for a second, eyes flicking to your face for permission.

You nodded.

His hands traveled higher, sliding over your hips, your belly, pausing to knead the soft flesh with slow, grounding pressure. When his palms cupped your breasts, your breath hitched. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, teasing until they pebbled beneath his touch. You arched into him, already aching.

Then his mouth followed.

He kissed between your breasts, then lower, dragging his tongue down your stomach. When he settled between your legs and looked up at you, his eyes were dark and heavy with heat.

“May I?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said, the word catching in your throat.

He leaned in and licked a long, deliberate stripe up your center, groaning softly against your skin. His mouth was warm and slow, tongue flicking and circling your clit with maddening precision. You gasped, hips jerking against him, but he held you steady with hands splayed on your thighs, spreading you open even further.

“You taste incredible,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and reverent. “I could stay right here.”

He added two fingers, sliding them into you with the same care he gave every movement. He curled them just right, his mouth never leaving your clit, and the orgasm hit hard, pulsing through your body like heat lightning. You cried out, gripping the edge of the table, your vision blurring with pleasure.

He only stopped when your legs trembled. Then he rose slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes still locked on yours.

“I need to be inside you,” he said, voice rough, chest rising and falling.

You pulled him down by the front of his scrubs. “Then what are you waiting for?”

This time, he undressed in front of you. He peeled the black scrubs from his lean frame, revealing pale skin, toned muscle, and the hard, aching length of him standing proud between his hips. He rolled the condom on with shaking hands, then pressed forward, lining himself up before sliding into you with a groan that made your toes curl.

You exhaled sharply, your legs wrapping around him as he began to move. Each thrust was slow, deep, unhurried. He fucked you like he had all the time in the world. Like this wasn’t just about lust, but about learning every part of you.

His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again, working it in tandem with his rhythm. His other arm curled beneath your back, lifting you closer, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that was messy and consuming.

“God,” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “You feel so good. You’re perfect.”

You held his face between your hands, your eyes locked on his. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He kept going until you were moaning into his mouth, your climax rolling through you again, even stronger than the last. You clenched around him, and he cursed, hips stuttering.

“I’m close,” he gasped. “I can’t—”

“Come,” you whispered. “I want to feel it.”

He buried himself deep one last time and came with a shudder, groaning your name like a prayer. His body collapsed against yours, trembling and warm, and the two of you lay there tangled, breathing hard in the quiet.

Minutes passed. Maybe more. Eventually he lifted his head, brushing damp hair from your forehead with a touch so gentle it made your chest ache.

“Are you still feeling a little tense?” he asked with a crooked smile.

You laughed breathlessly. “I think you ruined me for every other therapist.”

He kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then your lips. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”

He reached for a towel and helped clean you with quiet care. Then he leaned close again, lips brushing your ear.

“Next time,” he murmured, “I want to make you come just from my hands.”

[vaginalvr]

ok so the reader is in LOVE with spencer and everyone knows it but spencer rejects her in the harshest way possible but later gets jealous and realises his feelings when he sees reader with another guy. it can end with smut ( wink, wink 😉 ).

content warning: Oral sex (f. receiving), vaginal sex, light roughness (wall/table sex, harder thrusting), explicit language and descriptions.

a/n: i really tried to branch out with my writing style to make it a little, idek intellectually challanging to read???? also did you notice that my intro isn't colorful anymore? lmk

word count ~ 1.4k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The worst part wasn’t that Spencer Reid rejected you.

It was how he did it.

You stood in the BAU breakroom with your heart clutched in your throat, your hands trembling slightly as you offered him the carefully folded note you’d debated giving him for weeks. It wasn’t a dramatic confession—just a quiet, simple truth written on paper because the words stuck in your throat every time you looked into those kind, analytical eyes.

He read it in three seconds flat. Blinked once. Then said, without even looking up, “You shouldn’t waste your time on people who don’t feel the same.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The words crushed you like glass underfoot—cold, sharp, and cutting deeper with every breath you tried to take.

You didn’t cry. Not then.

But the next morning, you came in smiling like it hadn’t happened. Like you hadn’t spent the entire night replaying his words until they etched themselves into your bones. You were fine. You kept telling yourself that until it started to feel almost believable.

Almost.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the team to notice.

Morgan softened around you. JJ gave you too many meaningful looks. Penelope pulled you into her office for long, rambling pep talks about self-worth and soulmates.

Even Hotch said your name more gently than usual.

But Spencer? He acted like nothing had changed. And that somehow made everything worse.

So, you moved on.

Or pretended to.

The guy from counter-terrorism—Eli—was easy on the eyes, charming in that cocky, I-bet-he’s-great-in-bed way. You let him flirt with you in the hallway. You laughed a little too loudly at his jokes. And one Friday after work, you let him take you out for drinks.

You didn’t expect Spencer to care.

You certainly didn’t expect him to glare across the bar like he wanted to kill Eli with his mind.

But that’s exactly what happened.

It was a BAU outing, and you were perched at the bar, Eli’s hand casually resting on your lower back as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear. You laughed—because you were trying, trying to feel anything but the ache Spencer had left behind—and when you turned to look at him, Spencer was staring at you with eyes that had gone dark and unreadable.

He was furious.

You blinked, startled, but he looked away as quickly as he’d looked at you. You pretended not to notice when he left early.

He didn’t speak to you for days.

You thought maybe you’d finally crossed some invisible line. That whatever bridge remained between you had burned to ash.

Then, on a late Thursday night, you found yourself working alone in the briefing room, flipping through profiles in a haze of exhaustion. The lights were dim, your coffee had gone cold, and your legs ached from sitting in the same position for hours.

You didn’t even hear the door open.

“Why him?” Spencer’s voice broke the quiet like a crack of thunder.

You looked up, startled. He stood in the doorway, his hair slightly disheveled, his tie loose, his chest rising and falling too quickly for someone who supposedly didn’t care.

“Why him, of all people?” he repeated, stepping closer.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Spencer’s jaw clenched. “Eli. The guy from counter-terrorism. You let him touch you like you don’t know who’s watching.”

Your breath caught.

Something flickered in his eyes. Anger. Possession. Regret.

“You said I shouldn’t waste my time,” you said flatly, heart thudding. “I listened.”

“That was a mistake.”

You froze.

Spencer took another step forward, voice low and raw. “I thought I was protecting you. From me. From what it would mean if I said yes. But then I saw him touching you and—” He exhaled sharply. “And I wanted to rip his fucking hand off.”

The silence that followed was like a string pulled taut between you.

“I’m in love with you,” you said quietly, not flinching this time. “Even after what you said. I’m still in love with you.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Not when he crossed the room in three long strides, not when he cupped your face with trembling hands, not when he kissed you like he was drowning in everything he’d tried to deny.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was desperate.

You gasped into his mouth as he backed you against the wall, lips fierce and unforgiving, hands sliding down your body with shaking restraint.

“You don’t get to do this,” you whispered, but even as you said it, you were tugging at his shirt, your voice breaking. “You don’t get to break me and then decide you want me.”

“I know,” he breathed against your jaw. “I know. I’m sorry. Let me—please—let me make it right.”

His mouth trailed to your throat, then lower, unbuttoning your blouse with fevered urgency. You weren’t even sure how your skirt ended up bunched around your hips, or when he dropped to his knees in front of you, his breath hot against the inside of your thigh.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, reverent, almost pained. “You always have been.”

Then his mouth was on you, and all thoughts of heartbreak scattered like dust.

You braced against the wall, fingers tangled in his hair, hips twitching forward as his tongue circled your clit with maddening precision. You cried out his name—once, twice—until he groaned against you and slid two fingers inside, curling them just right.

“Spencer,” you whimpered. “I’m gonna—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t want to. He worked you through it, licking and stroking until your legs were shaking and your mind was blank with pleasure.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was already standing, already unbuckling his belt with a heat in his gaze that made your breath catch.

“I need you,” he said, voice rough. “Tell me I can have you.”

You nodded, dazed, and he spun you around, bending you over the conference table like he couldn’t wait another second.

When he slid inside, you both gasped—his hands gripping your hips, your cheek pressed to the cool wood, the stretch of him grounding you in the best way.

“You feel—fuck—so good,” he groaned, thrusting deep.

You arched into him, pushing back. “Harder.”

He obeyed, fucking you with growing intensity, the sounds of skin meeting skin filling the dark room. One hand wrapped around your waist, the other slid between your thighs to circle your clit again. It was too much. It was perfect.

You came again with a broken moan, and he followed seconds later, spilling inside you with a harsh gasp, his body collapsing over yours.

For a long moment, you just breathed.

Then, softly, his lips brushed your shoulder.

“I love you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I’ve always loved you.”

You turned your head, met his eyes. “You’re damn lucky I still want to hear that.”

A small, rueful smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.”

[vaginalvr]

Hi! I love your work! It’s soooooo gooood!!!! Like I want to crawl inside of them and just live there lol.

Would you be able to do a Spencer x reader x Hotch one with like double penetration and some like m/m action?

content warning: extremely explicit sexual content, 18+ only, includes double penetration (reader receiving), m/m action (kissing, touching), and dominant/submissive dynamics with trust and affection throughout.

a/n: i spent so long on this its disgusting and i love it its 5 am here god this is what i do with my life now

word count ~ 6k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

It was supposed to be one last drink.

The case was over, the unsub was in custody, and for once, no one had died. The three of you ended up back at Hotch’s apartment — his invitation, casual and unexpected, drawing you and Spencer like moths to a flame. Maybe you all just weren’t ready to say goodnight yet. Maybe something else had been simmering under the surface for too long.

You sat on Hotch’s couch with Spencer beside you, legs tucked beneath you, your fingertips brushing his as you passed him your empty glass. The warm flush on your skin had little to do with the whiskey and more to do with the way Hotch was watching you.

And Spencer.

Both of you.

With heat.

With want.

With decision.

When Aaron finally crossed the room and pulled you to your feet, there was no pretense. His fingers curled under your jaw, lifting your gaze to his. “Say stop,” he murmured, “if you want to stop this.”

You didn’t.

Neither did Spencer.

You’d never felt more naked than you did fully undressed under both of their eyes.

Hotch stood behind you, firm and steady, his hands tracing reverent lines down your body. In front of you, Spencer looked wrecked already — his curls mussed, his shirt gone, his belt unbuckled and hanging open. His eyes darted from your chest to your lips to Aaron’s possessive grip on your hips.

“You’re stunning,” Spencer breathed, and Aaron’s hand moved lower in approval, pressing you back against his chest.

“She’s more than that,” Hotch said lowly, his breath ghosting over your ear. “She’s ours tonight.”

Spencer swallowed, visibly shivering.

Hotch kissed your neck, slow and claiming. “Get on your knees for us, sweetheart. Show Spencer how good you are.”

You sank to the floor, between them both.

They took their time.

Spencer fumbled slightly at first — always so brilliant, always so eager — but once his cock was in your mouth and your lips were wrapped around him, he forgot to be nervous. He forgot everything but the way your tongue swirled, the way your eyes met his, the way Aaron stood behind you murmuring filth in your ear.

“Look how much he loves it,” Hotch whispered. “How hard he gets when you moan around him.”

Spencer’s hips bucked involuntarily and you held him in your mouth, letting him fuck your throat gently, your fingers curled around his thighs. Hotch’s hand cradled the back of your head, guiding the rhythm, watching both of you fall apart a little more.

By the time Hotch tugged you up, Spencer was trembling — not from orgasm, not yet, but from restraint.

“She needs both of us,” Hotch said firmly. “Come on. Bed.”

You laid out on Aaron’s mattress, spread for them, every nerve ending on fire.

Spencer knelt between your legs, his fingers moving carefully through your folds, slow and attentive, while Hotch prepared himself behind you. The slick sounds, the low sounds of both their breath, the heat curling deep in your belly — it was overwhelming.

“Is this okay?” Spencer asked, always asking, always gentle.

You cupped his cheek. “I want you. Both of you.”

Hotch’s voice was rough. “She’s ready.”

And then you were surrounded.

Spencer lined himself up and pressed inside first — slow, stretching you, filling you with a gasp. He leaned down to kiss you, and it was sweet, shaky, like he couldn’t believe he was inside you.

Hotch didn’t wait long.

The extra stretch of his cock behind you was more than full — it was mind-blowing. Hotch took it slow, carefully, giving you time to adjust as he eased inside alongside Spencer, groaning low in your ear when he bottomed out.

Double penetration — you’d fantasized about it, but nothing prepared you for the sensation. You were completely filled, tight and trembling, with both of them pressed inside you, holding still while you clutched at Spencer’s arms, trying to breathe through the overwhelming fullness.

“You’re perfect,” Hotch growled. “So tight like this. Taking us both.”

Spencer kissed you, panting. “God, you feel… incredible.”

They started to move.

Not too fast, not at first — a slow, deliberate rhythm as they moved in sync, careful not to overwhelm you. Spencer fucked forward while Hotch thrust deeper behind you, and the friction, the stretch, the heat had you gasping their names, clawing at the sheets, shaking apart.

Aaron’s hand slid around your throat, just resting there. “Good girl. Look at Spencer while we fuck you. Let him see how pretty you are like this.”

You moaned — loud, uninhibited.

Spencer leaned down to kiss you again, needier now, his tongue sliding into your mouth as you whined into it. You felt Aaron’s chest at your back, his breath ragged, and then — his voice low and deliberate —

“Kiss him again.”

You obeyed.

And then something electric happened — Spencer whimpered into your mouth as Aaron reached forward and curled his fingers into Spencer’s hair, pulling him close. And before either of you could fully register it, Aaron was kissing Spencer too.

It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t delicate.

Hotch kissed him like he owned him.

Spencer moaned into it, his cock throbbing inside you, and the low sound Aaron made in response had you clenching hard around them both.

“That’s it,” Hotch muttered darkly. “You both belong to me tonight.”

It became a blur after that.

They moved faster, deeper — fucking you harder, praising you, touching you everywhere. Spencer’s hand found your clit, rubbing firm little circles that had your legs shaking. Hotch gripped your hips, thrusting deep, his voice low and filthy in your ear.

“You were made for this, sweetheart. Made for us.”

“Please,” you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for anymore.

“Let go,” Spencer urged, voice cracking. “Come for us. Please, I want to feel—”

You shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you with a violent, shaking cry, your body clenching down so hard on both of them that Spencer nearly lost it.

“Oh god—” he choked, “Hotch, I’m—”

“Go ahead,” Aaron said. “Come inside her.”

Spencer gasped as he came, pulsing deep, his face buried in your neck. Hotch held both of you through it, still moving behind you, still thick and hard and aching for release.

When Spencer collapsed beside you, spent and panting, Hotch pulled you up and over into his lap, never pulling out. He adjusted your hips until he was buried deep again — this time alone — and you moaned at the soreness and fullness, your body already so wrecked.

But you wanted more.

You rode him as he gripped your hips, thrusting up hard into you, chasing his own high. Spencer leaned in, kissing your shoulder, murmuring sweet praise into your ear — how good you were, how beautiful, how perfect.

Then he kissed Aaron.

It was slower this time. Aaron’s hand slid up to cradle Spencer’s jaw, and Spencer moaned into the kiss while Hotch finally came inside you with a low groan, gripping you tight, thrusting deep as he emptied himself.

You collapsed between them, boneless and overwhelmed.

Aftercare came like a wave.

Hotch cleaned you up gently, wrapping you in one of his softest shirts, placing you between them on the bed. Spencer spooned you from behind, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder while Hotch held your hand and rubbed circles into your palm.

No words were needed.

Just soft breathing. Gentle touches. The warmth of being held by two people who had you — completely — and who you had in return.

As you drifted to sleep between them, you felt Spencer murmur something against your skin.

“…hope this wasn’t just one night.”

Aaron answered before you could.

“It won’t be.”

[vaginalvr]

Can you please write a college au where derek is hosting a party and Spencer and reader have sex in the bathroom or bedroom i dont know. But like can it be season 3 spencer

content warning: Smut (18+), unprotected sex (wrap it up IRL), semi-public sex, party atmosphere, semi-awkward first time vibes, soft dom-ish Spencer energy, mutual pining

a/n: delicous

word count ~ 1.1k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

It’s already too loud when you step into Derek Morgan’s place.

The music pulses through the floor, bodies are packed shoulder to shoulder, and there’s a keg already half-empty in the kitchen. You maneuver through the crush of people toward the living room, tugging down the hem of your dress, already regretting wearing heels.

“Hey, pretty girl!” Derek calls over the music, grinning like the host he is—half-drunk and completely in his element. “Looking for someone?”

You shoot him a grin and shout back, “You know damn well I am!”

He winks. “Upstairs bathroom. But be gentle with him.”

You roll your eyes and push past him, heart skipping at the implication—because yeah, you were looking for someone. Spencer Reid. Your lab partner, quiz-bowl rival, statistics tutor, secret late-night texting buddy—and maybe the most painfully oblivious man alive.

He’d said he might show up. “Maybe just for a little while,” he’d mumbled that afternoon, half-buried in a book and already twitching from caffeine. “Just to see what it’s like.”

You weren’t sure he’d actually do it.

But apparently, here he is.

You push up the stairs two at a time, ignoring the couple making out on the landing. You find the bathroom door cracked open, the light on, and—you peek in—

Spencer.

He’s leaning against the sink, head tipped back against the mirror, dark curls falling across his forehead. He’s flushed, slightly sweaty in his button-down (the top two buttons undone, collar rumpled), and holding a red solo cup like it might bite him.

He looks nervous. Way too nervous to be drunk.

You knock lightly on the open door.

His eyes snap open, wide and surprised—then warm when he sees you. “Oh. You came.”

“Derek said you were hiding in here.”

“I wasn’t hiding.” He makes a face. “I just—it was too loud. Too many people. Someone spilled tequila on my foot.”

You laugh and step inside, gently shutting the door behind you.

He blinks at you. “Are you… staying in here with me?”

“Well, it’s quieter,” you murmur. “And you’re here. So yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence. Tension.

You step a little closer, eyes dragging over the way he’s leaning against the counter, the visible pulse in his throat, the slightly parted lips.

And then, soft: “You look good tonight, Spencer.”

His cheeks flame. “I—uh—thanks. You look… stunning. Gorgeous. Um. That color’s really flattering. The dress. It’s—”

You cut him off by stepping right into his space, placing your hands on either side of the sink, boxing him in. “Spencer?”

He swallows thickly. “Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you now?”

A sharp breath. “Please.”

And then it’s heat and teeth and tongue, your lips pressed hard to his as he lets out a low, surprised sound. His hand comes up to cradle your face, thumb swiping your cheekbone, and he kisses you back like he’s been waiting forever.

Because maybe he has.

You moan softly into his mouth, and that’s when he grabs your waist and lifts you—awkwardly, but strong enough—to sit on the bathroom counter. You spread your legs, pulling him in between them, and feel the hard press of him through his slacks.

“Fuck,” you whisper against his lips. “You’re—Spencer, are you hard for me already?”

He groans, forehead pressing to yours. “I’ve been hard for you. All semester.”

You whimper at that, fingers fisting in his shirt. “Then take it out. I want you.”

He hesitates—just a second. “Are you sure? I mean, here? We’re in a—”

“Bathroom, yeah.” You lean in and bite his earlobe. “No one’s coming in. I locked the door. Come on, genius. Thought you were supposed to be smart.”

That does it.

Spencer crashes his lips back onto yours, hands trembling as he fumbles with your underwear—dragging it down your thighs with a breathless curse.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers, almost in awe, fingers brushing between your folds as he teases you open. “God, is this all for me?”

“All for you,” you pant, bucking into his hand. “Fuck, Spencer, please—don’t tease me, I need you in me.”

He’s flushed all the way down his neck as he opens his pants, cock springing free—and you stare, eyes going wide.

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “You’ve been hiding that in those corduroys?”

He flushes darker. “Should I—do you want me to use a condom? I have one. I think. Probably. Somewhere in my wallet—”

You shake your head. “I’m clean. On the pill. Just—please, Spencer. Now.”

He nods, eyes glassy, cock twitching in his hand. He lines himself up, rubs the tip through your slick folds once, twice—and then he sinks in.

Both of you moan at the same time.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasps, gripping your hips, jaw clenched. “You’re so tight—so warm—I don’t think I’m gonna last—”

“You better,” you hiss, wrapping your legs around his waist. “You owe me so much more than two minutes after all the teasing—”

But you’re cut off by a particularly deep thrust, and you bite down hard on your lip to keep from moaning too loud.

He’s thick, long, and desperate. The way he holds you—gripping your hips like he’ll float away without them—is almost reverent. You tilt your hips, and the angle has him hitting just right, again and again.

“Spencer,” you whine, clawing at his shirt, “You feel so good, baby, so deep—don’t stop, please—”

“I won’t,” he chokes, fucking into you faster now. “You feel like heaven, oh god—I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you—”

“Fuck, I’m close,” you pant. “You’re gonna make me—Spencer—don’t stop—”

He slides a hand between you, thumb circling your clit with expert pressure, and that’s it. You arch off the counter with a cry, legs tightening around his hips as you come hard, pulsing around him.

Your orgasm triggers his.

He buries himself deep, holding you tight, mouth open against your shoulder as he spills into you with a low, drawn-out groan.

For a moment, the only sound is your combined breathing.

You both tremble through the aftershocks, Spencer’s forehead resting on your shoulder, your fingers threading through his curls.

Finally, he lifts his head. His eyes are blown-wide, face pink, and his lips are kiss-bruised.

“...So,” you say, still catching your breath. “That happened.”

He huffs a laugh. “It did.”

“Was it everything you fantasized about while grading my stats quizzes?”

He groans and hides his face in your neck. “Oh my god.”

You grin wickedly. “You totally did, didn’t you?”

“I’m never going to be able to look at chi-square the same way again.”

There’s a bang on the door.

“Hey!” Derek’s voice filters through, amused. “If you two nerds are gonna fuck in my bathroom, at least try to be quiet!”

You snort. Spencer groans again, mortified.

“Next time,” you whisper, brushing his curls back, “bedroom?”

He smiles sheepishly. “Yeah. Next time.”

[vaginalvr]

hi theree

I was thinking about one fic w Reid where he and Reader are they're in his house (and drunk) and reader starts to tease him a lot because Reid is very shy around reader and he says "I'm just someone's friend, someone's coworker, someone's son." and reader says to him, "And you want to be someone's dad?" and what starts as a provocation that leads to Reid being sub ends with Reid being quite needy and rude. Sorry if it's too specific and thanks for reading 🤭

content warning: Alcohol use, teasing/flirting, dom/sub dynamics (Reader dom, Spencer sub/bratty), oral sex (m!receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, light degradation (name-calling, slut), praise kink, slight identity angst, needy!Reid, semi-public risk (window), degradation/praise mix

a/n: this is disgusting do u like it plz say yes bye

word count ~ 2.5k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Spencer’s apartment is too warm, too cluttered, and too full of half-drunk wine glasses, but you’re too tipsy to care. He’s sitting stiffly on the couch next to you, fingers white-knuckling the stem of his wineglass, as if letting go would make the room tip sideways.

You’re not much better off. You’re laughing too easily, letting your knees brush his when you shift, and you know it—how he squirms every time you lean in too close, how his gaze lingers on your mouth but darts away just as quickly.

“You really don’t drink much, do you?” you ask, swirling your glass lazily.

“I do. Occasionally. It’s just... rarely socially,” he says, blinking hard, trying to focus. “I’m better at sober parties.”

You snort. “Spencer, this isn’t a party. It’s me, in your house, with wine and takeout and one of those documentaries you love that I pretend to understand.”

He looks like he wants to argue but doesn’t, because you’re not wrong.

There’s a lull—quiet but charged. Spencer takes a long sip. His lips are wet and trembling, and your eyes linger.

He notices.

“What?” he asks softly.

“You’re so tense,” you murmur, tipping your head toward his shoulder. “You know you don’t have to be, right?”

“I’m not tense,” he lies, cheeks flushing pink.

You press your thigh against his. “You act like you’re about to run away every time I look at you for more than three seconds.”

“That’s—” he starts, flustered. “That’s not true.”

You grin. “Oh, baby. It so is.”

He swallows hard. You lean closer. He still doesn’t move.

“I think you’re scared of me,” you whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Or maybe you’re just scared of what you want from me.”

His eyes flutter shut for a second. You can practically hear the gears grinding in that big beautiful brain of his. Calculating, rationalizing, denying.

And then he sighs, broken and small.

“I’m just... someone’s friend. Someone’s coworker. Someone’s son.”

The words are so pitiful, so cracked with self-loathing, you stop teasing for just a second. There it is—what he really believes. That he’s an extra in everyone’s story. A background character, even in his own life.

You don’t let the silence linger.

You tip your head, just enough to look him square in the eye, and murmur, “And you want to be someone’s dad?”

His whole body stiffens. The wineglass clinks slightly as his grip wavers. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. He looks wrecked.

“What—what does that mean?” he asks hoarsely.

You give a slow, dangerous smile. “You want to be inside me and fill me up like it’s your job. You want to pin me down and fuck me stupid and make me beg you for more. You want to come so deep it drips down my thighs. That’s what it means.”

Spencer makes a sound—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. His legs clench together. His hand twitches.

You reach over, pluck the wineglass from his hand, and set it down on the table. Then you climb onto his lap.

“You’re not just someone’s son,” you murmur against his lips. “You’re mine. If I want you.”

You grind down, just enough to feel the strain in his jeans.

And god, he’s already hard.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I can,” you say sweetly. “Because I know what it does to you.”

His hands hover, shaking, near your hips. You let him sit there, trembling, aching for permission.

“Touch me,” you order, and his hands fly to your thighs.

“Good boy.”

The words hit him like a truck. His breath catches, and he bucks his hips without thinking.

“Oh, Spence,” you coo. “You like that?”

“Please,” he breathes, desperate.

You rock your hips once, grinding your clothed core against his bulge. He shudders.

“I bet you’ve thought about this,” you say, dragging your nails down his chest. “Me on top of you. Calling you names. Making you beg.”

“Y-Yes,” he admits, red-faced.

“Calling you my little slut?”

“God,” he gasps. “Please don’t stop.”

You lean in and kiss him, slow and filthy, tongue teasing the corner of his mouth until he opens up and lets you in. He moans—soft and sweet at first, then deeper, hungrier.

But he doesn’t stay soft.

No, Spencer gets rude.

His hands, once tentative, start to grip tighter. His mouth gets messier, teeth scraping your lip like he’s starved. He grinds up harder, more deliberate.

“Need to be inside you,” he mutters, almost angrily. “Now.”

“Oh, so needy,” you purr, shifting off his lap to unbutton your jeans. “You always get this bratty when someone gives you what you want?”

“I want more,” he growls. “Want all of you. Want to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

“Spencer,” you chide, but your voice wavers, because fuck—that switch in him is devastating.

He yanks his jeans open and fists his cock out in seconds—long, flushed, already dripping. You don’t waste time. You straddle him again, bare now, and take him in one slow slide that has both of you gasping.

“Oh god,” he cries. “You feel so—fuck.”

You roll your hips, letting him hit every spot he never thought he’d get to.

“I always knew you’d be tight,” he pants, thrusting up. “Knew you’d take me so good. Always teasing. Always looking at me like you wanted to sit on my cock during meetings.”

“And you’d just sit there and twitch,” you whisper, riding him faster. “Too scared to do anything. Just someone’s friend.”

“Not anymore,” he snarls. “Not your friend. Your fucktoy.”

You moan at that. Because he means it.

He’s bouncing you on his cock like he owns you now, filthy and feral, dragging bruises into your hips and biting your shoulder.

“God, I love you like this,” you gasp.

“Then let me come inside you,” he begs. “Let me make a mess of you.”

You shove your hand between your legs and rub fast circles, chasing your own high.

“I’m close,” you whimper.

“Come on my cock. Be a good girl and come for me.”

That does it. You clench hard around him, crying out his name as your orgasm hits. And Spencer loses it. He groans, cock pulsing deep inside you as he fills you up just like he promised.

After, you’re a tangle of limbs, still straddling him, both of you sweaty and shaking and breathless.

Spencer laughs—giddy and raw.

“I said I’m just someone’s son,” he mutters.

“And now?” you ask, brushing sweaty curls off his forehead.

“Now,” he smirks, voice rough, “I’m someone’s problem.”

[vaginalvr]

Hi Lovelies!

The results are in, our 400 follower celebration series is….. Teaching Inexperienced!Spencer!

I’m thinking a five part series, each chapter posting on sunday. (I’ve never written a series before but i have undiagnosed ocd and a dream so what could go wrong)

Once again, thank you guys for all the support, you make a random girls day more often than you think 🥹

also, requests are closed for now :(

a girl has got some writing to do!!!

[vaginalvr]

perv early season spencer

content warning: Voyeurism, masturbation (female and male), reader catches Spencer watching, inexperienced!Spencer, shy but needy sex, praise kink, very slight power exchange, fingering, protected p-in-v sex, some fluff post-smut.

a/n: YESSSSSSSSSS RAHHHHHHHHHHH

word count ~ 1.1k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

It starts with a creak.

You freeze, hand still tucked between your thighs, the air suddenly sharp with tension. The BAU's hotel rooms have paper-thin walls, but this—this isn’t the usual ambient hallway noise. It’s subtle, cautious. Almost… too cautious.

And you know what that means.

A soft shuffle.

Someone’s just outside your room. Not passing by. Lingering.

You exhale slowly and push off the bed, letting the hem of your shirt fall back down over your thighs. Padding over on bare feet, you press your ear to the door.

You don’t expect to hear it.

Breathing.

Shaky. Quiet. Controlled.

You unlock the door and yank it open before you can lose your nerve.

Spencer Reid nearly falls in.

His eyes go wide. He stammers. “I—I—I—”

“You want to explain why you’re standing outside my door at midnight, looking like you just got caught jacking off in the library?”

His cheeks flush crimson. His mouth opens and closes. There’s a wet spot on his slacks.

Oh.

Oh.

You swallow hard. Your skin prickles.

“I heard something,” he says quickly. “A noise. I thought maybe you were—hurt.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So you leaned close to the door and listened?”

“I wasn’t—! I mean I didn’t know it was—!” He runs a hand through his hair, clearly panicking. “It’s not like I was trying to eavesdrop. But I… I didn’t want to interrupt if you were—”

You step forward. He steps back automatically, and you shut the door behind you, standing with your arms crossed.

“Finish that sentence, Dr. Reid.”

He swallows thickly. “Touching yourself.”

You blink. Bold.

“…Were you?” he asks after a pause, voice soft and almost reverent.

You tilt your head. “You tell me.”

His throat works, Adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes keep flitting over your face—your lips, your chest, your thighs. His hands twitch at his sides, and his posture is tense like he’s fighting something primal.

And then your eyes drop to the bulge in his pants.

That tells you everything.

“So you liked listening?” you ask, stepping in close.

He nods once. Hesitant. And desperate.

“Do you always lurk around hotel doors hoping to catch your female coworkers masturbating?” You tease him, but your voice is thick with heat.

He groans, quietly, almost like it hurts. “No. Just you.”

Your stomach flips. You reach out and slide a finger down the buttons of his shirt.

“Spencer.”

His name in your mouth makes him tremble.

“I was thinking about you.”

His eyes flick up to yours so fast you think you might’ve broken him.

“I—I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he blurts. “I swear I wasn’t—God, I know it’s creepy—”

“Spencer.”

He quiets immediately.

“Do you want to come inside?”

He breathes in like he’s been underwater.

You reach for the door handle behind you and open it again. “Or would you rather jerk off in the hallway some more?”

That gets him moving.

Fast.

The moment the door shuts behind him, he’s on you—nervous hands hovering, eyes darting, and finally you just grab his wrists and put them on your waist. He exhales like you’ve blessed him.

“Have you ever done this before?” you murmur, dragging your fingers up his chest.

He shakes his head. “Not—not all the way.”

You can’t help the throb that pulses between your thighs. “That’s okay. I’ll show you.”

His fingers dig into your hips. “I think about you all the time,” he whispers, like a confession. “I dream about you. About this.”

You kiss him.

His mouth is unsure, a little clumsy, but eager. God, he’s eager. His lips part and he makes this tiny noise when you bite down gently on his bottom lip.

You press your body to his. He groans into the kiss. You feel his hard cock straining through his pants, and you reach down to palm it.

He jolts.

“Sensitive?”

He nods frantically.

“Take off your pants, Spencer.”

He obeys like it’s instinct. Fumbling but fast. He kicks them off and stands there in his boxers, flushed and wide-eyed.

You press him down onto the bed and climb into his lap.

“Oh my God,” he breathes.

You lift your oversized t-shirt and toss it away. His jaw drops.

“You’re not real,” he whispers, hands ghosting up your thighs. “You can’t be.”

You grab his hands and bring them to your chest. “Touch me, Spence.”

He does. Tentatively at first, then more confidently, palming your breasts and running his thumbs over your nipples. You grind against him through your panties and his boxers, and he moans into your neck.

“Please,” he whispers. “Let me make you feel good.”

“Lie back,” you tell him.

He obeys again, and you climb off him just long enough to straddle his thighs and pull his boxers down.

You stare.

His cock is long, flushed, and already leaking.

“Jesus, Spencer.”

He whimpers a little. “I’ve thought about you riding me so many times…”

“Good. Because I’m going to.”

You reach down to your panties, soaked and sticky, and slide them off. His eyes never leave your cunt. He looks absolutely wrecked already.

But not yet.

You wrap your hand around his cock and stroke him slowly. His hips buck up into your hand.

“Sensitive,” you remind him.

“I can’t help it,” he gasps. “You’re so—warm—and wet and—fuck—”

You climb on top of him and guide him to your entrance.

When you sink down on his cock, he shouts.

“Holy shit—I’m sorry—fuck, you feel so good—”

You’re barely moving and he’s already trembling beneath you, clinging to your hips like a man drowning.

“Does that feel good, baby?”

“Yes,” he groans. “Oh my God, yes.”

You ride him slowly, letting him adjust. He’s already leaking, throbbing deep inside you. His eyes are rolling back, and he keeps mumbling things like perfect and dreaming and please don’t stop.

You lean down and kiss his throat.

“I want to see you come, Spencer.”

He grips your hips tighter. “I’m close already,” he whines. “It’s too good, I—I can’t—”

“Give it to me,” you whisper in his ear. “Come inside me. Fill me up.”

That’s all it takes.

His whole body jerks beneath you as he spills inside you, moaning your name like it’s a prayer, clutching at your waist like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

You slow your hips, letting him ride it out.

He’s gasping. Panting. Absolutely ruined.

And then his fingers dip between your thighs.

“Wait—let me—can I—” he stammers, “I want to make you come too—”

You smile and grind down on his cock, still hard enough to keep going.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you whisper. “We’re just getting started.”

[vaginalvr]

can u pls do an enemies to lovers with Spencer were he goes from calling her beloathed to calling her beloved (pls let it be smut and make him be a dom 😝)

content warning: enemies to lovers, dom!Spencer Reid, spanking, rough sex, dirty talk, hate sex turned love sex, hair pulling, praise kink, degradation kink, orgasm control, soft aftercare.

a/n: IM TALKIN BOUT INITTTTTTTTT

word count ~ 1.4k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You don’t know when the petty bickering between you and Dr. Spencer Reid turned into a full-on war.

It probably started the day you joined the BAU. He was condescending—brilliant, sure—but arrogant and short-tempered with you from day one. And you gave it right back. Mocking his facts. Smirking at his statistics. Calling him “Dr. Know-It-All” with a sickeningly sweet tone that made his eye twitch.

And in return?

“Good morning, beloathed,” he’d greet you with a tight-lipped smile.

You wanted to slap that smug mouth.

Or maybe you just wanted to kiss it.

—

The tension between you and Spencer was unbearable. The entire team noticed. You argued over files. You’d fight in the car about case theories. You even had a shouting match outside a crime scene that ended with Hotch physically stepping between you.

But the moment it shifted from hatred to something else?

That happened in a hotel hallway in Miami.

—

“Stop looking at my file,” Spencer hissed under his breath as you both sat on the floor outside the last unsub’s apartment. “You're too slow, anyway.”

You scoffed. “Just because I don’t read three thousand words a minute doesn’t mean I need your assistance, Doctor.”

He leaned in, smirking. “No, but it’s cute that you think you’re contributing.”

Your nostrils flared. “You’re such a smug, overgrown high school debate kid.”

He leaned closer. “And you’re a brat who wants someone to put her in her place.”

Your eyes locked.

The air sizzled.

You didn’t realize how close your faces were until he was whispering into your mouth.

“Bet you’d like it if I did.”

You didn't speak.

Neither did he.

The moment passed… until the case wrapped, and you found yourself walking back to the hotel, your heart still pounding.

He followed you down the hallway.

Neither of you said a word.

And then he grabbed your wrist and shoved you against your door.

—

“Spencer—”

“Shut up.”

His mouth crashed into yours. Hard, fast, rough. His hands tangled in your hair. His thigh slid between your legs. You gasped, and he took advantage, licking into your mouth like he owned it.

You were still fully clothed. Still standing in the hallway. But it was already the hottest thing you’d ever experienced.

“I fucking hate you,” you breathed against his lips.

“Yeah?” he growled, hand curling around your jaw. “Let’s see if you still hate me when I’m making you beg.”

—

Your hotel room.

You barely made it inside before Spencer slammed the door behind him and shoved you against it.

He kissed you again, all tongue and teeth and heat. His hands yanked your shirt over your head, tossed your bra aside.

“I knew you’d be like this underneath all that attitude,” he rasped, cupping your tits, thumbs flicking your nipples. “So fucking needy.”

“I hate you,” you whimpered, even as you arched into him.

He grinned. “Say it again. Louder. So I can fuck it out of you.”

You moaned as he dropped to his knees.

And he ate you out like a man starving.

One arm wrapped around your thigh, the other pressed to your stomach to pin you to the door. His mouth buried in your pussy, tongue licking deep and flat and wide, nose nudging your clit just right—

“Sp-Spencer—”

“Be quiet,” he said sharply, lips glistening. “I’m not done yet.”

Two fingers pushed into you, curling perfectly. You cried out, one hand slapping against the door, the other tangling in his hair.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, “you’re so good—”

He chuckled darkly, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“That’s Dr. Reid to you.”

—

Later, in bed.

He fucked you like he had a point to prove.

Like every stroke was a lesson. Every thrust was punishment. Every smack of his hips against your ass was a war won.

“You think you’re smarter than me?” he growled into your neck as he took you from behind, one hand gripping your hair. “Huh?”

“N-no,” you gasped, drooling into the sheets.

“Exactly. Say it.”

“You’re smarter—fuck—you’re so much smarter—”

He slapped your ass hard enough to make you cry out.

“Say you need me.”

“I need you, Spencer, please—!”

“Say you want me.”

“I want you.”

He slowed, hips grinding deep. His hand moved from your hair to your clit, circling gently.

“Say you’re mine.”

You sobbed.

“I’m yours.”

And just like that, the rhythm returned, faster, rougher, unforgiving.

You came with his name on your lips, and he spilled inside you a second later with a groan that vibrated down your spine.

—

After.

You laid curled into his chest, still panting, skin slick with sweat.

Spencer kissed your forehead.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured.

“What? That I’m a brat?”

He smirked.

“No. That you’re mine.”

Your cheeks flushed.

You looked up at him. “Still gonna call me beloathed in the office?”

He chuckled, hand running up your bare thigh.

“Only if I can call you beloved in bed.”

—

The next morning.

You arrived at the BAU with a limp, a new appreciation for genius-level dominance, and a very smug Dr. Spencer Reid holding your coffee.

“Good morning, beloved,” he purred as he handed it to you, and winked.

Hotch just sighed.

“I don’t want to know.”

[vaginalvr]

Okay I don’t know if you’d be up to writing this, and I totally get if you wouldn’t want to so please don’t feel presssured to at all!

I just See a lot of smut for Spencer with more rough sex, and I have chronic pain so sometimes it’s hard to Picture that. I was wondering if you could write some smut for a reader with chronic pain, and Spencer being mindful of that. Just some gentle smut please I cannot be getting thrown about💔 anyway thank you❤️❤️

content warning: Soft dom!Spencer, chronic pain, gentle sex, praise, emotional intimacy, mindful partner behavior, lots of lube, oral (f receiving), aftercare

a/n: this is me after writing 10 requests in one day💔 rip my eyes it 3 am

word count ~ 1k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You didn’t realize how long you’d been zoning out until Spencer’s soft voice pulled you back.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You blinked and found him watching you from the other end of the couch, his legs tucked under him, a worn copy of Crime and Punishment resting in his lap. He looked at you over the top of his glasses, brows pinched in quiet concern. It wasn’t an unusual question—Spencer asked you that often. Not in a performative way. Not like some people who asked and didn’t really want to hear the answer. He meant it.

“Just sore,” you admitted softly, shifting a little under the blanket. “Flare’s been creeping in since this morning.”

Spencer set the book down right away, scooting a little closer without overwhelming your space. “Do you want anything? Heat pack? Tea? Massage?”

Your lips twitched in a soft smile. “You.”

He stilled for a second, his eyes softening as his hand found yours under the blanket. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I miss you.” Your voice cracked a little at the end.

Spencer’s gaze dropped to your joined hands, his thumb brushing slowly across your knuckles. “You never have to miss me. I’m yours. However you need me.”

He kissed your fingers first, then your wrist, before shifting onto his knees, only when he saw you nod in permission.

“You’ll tell me if something hurts,” he murmured, kneeling between your legs on the couch as you leaned back, the cushions soft behind you. “Even if it’s just a little uncomfortable, I want to know. Promise?”

You nodded. “Promise.”

“I’ll go slow,” he said, brushing his knuckles down the side of your cheek, then lower—across your collarbone, over your shirt, resting right where your ribs met your stomach. “Can I take this off?”

You lifted your arms carefully, and he helped you out of it like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever done. There was no fumbling, no rush—just those gentle fingers and those big, brown eyes drinking you in like you were art.

When he kissed you, it was deep and sweet and unhurried. The kind of kiss that said I love you, not just I want you. His hands stayed planted on your sides, barely moving, just warm and steady pressure grounding you in the soft hush of the room.

He kissed down your neck, pausing every few inches to check in. “Still okay?” he whispered against your pulse.

“Yes, Spence,” you sighed, relaxing into the cushions as he undid your bra next, helping you lay back without straining. You were so used to guarding your body—against jolts, against pain, against people who didn’t get it. But Spencer… Spencer treated you like something valuable, not fragile.

His mouth traveled lower, kissing over your sternum, then the curve of your breast, then lower, kneeling off the couch now as he helped slide your pajama bottoms down—slowly, carefully, until you were bare and soft and stretched out in front of him.

He kissed the inside of your knee.

“I love your body,” he whispered like a secret. “All of it. The parts that ache, the parts that don’t. All of it is yours, and I love every inch.”

Your eyes welled with emotion before he even touched you. He pressed a kiss to your hip bone, and then reached into the drawer beside the couch for the bottle of lube you both kept there now—because he was thoughtful like that.

“I’m going to use a lot,” he said gently, his voice practically a whisper, like you were something holy. “I want it to feel good, not just bearable.”

He kissed your inner thigh as he warmed the lube in his hands, and when his fingers finally touched you, they were slick and slow and so careful. He worked in soft circles, not going deep, not adding pressure—just moving like he had all the time in the world and nowhere else to be.

When his mouth joined in, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped you.

“Too much?” he asked instantly, pulling back.

“No,” you breathed. “Not even close.”

He made you come with his mouth and fingers, slow and melting, your thighs shaking just a little, your fingers curled tight in his curls. But even when you came, he didn’t pull away. He just kept kissing, licking, easing you through it like a wave, whispering soft praises against your skin.

“You’re amazing. So perfect. So good for me.”

When he finally came back up, he kissed your temple and let you rest a minute, stroking your side with the backs of his fingers.

“Still want more?”

You smiled sleepily. “I always want more of you.”

He helped you roll slightly onto your side, arranging pillows under your hip and between your knees. You were spooned in the softest way, your back against his chest, one of his arms tucked under your head while the other trailed down your stomach, careful not to jostle your spine or shift your hips too much.

“Tell me if I need to adjust,” he murmured, nuzzling the back of your neck as you felt his cock press against the crease of your ass. He was hard—so hard—but still holding back, waiting for the go-ahead.

“I’m ready,” you whispered, already slick and stretched from earlier. “Please.”

He guided himself in slowly, steadily, inch by inch, stopping when you inhaled a little too sharply, waiting until you nodded. And then he was fully seated inside you, both of you breathing into the warmth, the closeness.

“Good?” he asked softly, kissing the top of your shoulder.

You nodded. “So good.”

He moved in the tiniest thrusts—gentle, rhythmic, shallow—nothing jarring, just his body against yours, slow and safe and grounding. You could hear how wet you were with every shift of his hips, his breath coming in soft, uneven huffs against your neck.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmured, holding your hand with the one not guiding your hip. “You’re doing so well.”

It wasn’t hard or fast. It didn’t need to be.

It was deep. Intimate. A joining of something far more sacred than bodies.

You came again like that—quiet and overwhelmed, just from the way he held you, the way he filled you, the way he loved you. He came not long after, whispering your name into the space behind your ear, holding you like a prayer.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away. He helped you stay where you were, tucked against his chest, wrapped in blankets, his hand stroking softly over your belly, then your thigh, then your arm.

“Did I hurt you at all?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head, a little choked up. “You made me feel… like a person. Not a problem.”

Spencer held you tighter at that, kissing your temple again. “You are never a problem. You’re everything.”

And in the hush that followed, you finally let yourself drift—safe in his arms, your pain soothed not just by touch, but by love.

[vaginalvr]

hii I found your blog recently and I love it so much! It’s the first time I make a request so I hope I’m doing it right. Sooo I was thinking about Post Prison Reid x Wife reader.

The idea is like the trend on the TikTok where the bridesmaids give him some random spicy Polaroid of reader during the party after the ceremony and it’s end with him showing her what the Polaroid did to him once they go back home.

That’s the idea but feel free to change it or ignore it if you don’t like. xxx 🩷

content warning: Post-prison Spencer, wedding night, spicy Polaroid trend, oral (m!receiving), mirror sex, soft dom Reid, possessiveness, praise kink, established relationship, teasing

a/n: HELLO! this is so adorable i love it sm!!!

word count ~ 1.3k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The reception is a beautiful blur.

The champagne flows, the music is warm and honey-thick, and your cheeks ache from smiling so much—but you wouldn’t trade a second of it.

You’re Spencer Reid’s wife.

Wife.

Not fiancée. Not girlfriend. Not the woman who spent 18 terrifying months holding his hand through prison visitations and counting the days until he could finally come home. You’re his now. Completely. And tonight, everyone knows it.

“Mrs. Reid,” Penelope giggles, slurring a little as she flings an arm around your shoulders, tugging you close on the outdoor patio.

You grin. “You have no idea how good that sounds.”

“Oh, we know.” JJ appears with a devilish smile and a stack of white envelopes tied together with gold ribbon.

“Wait—what’s this?” you ask, reaching for them as JJ’s eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Something special. Just a little something from your bridesmaids. We thought Spencer could use a reminder of what’s waiting for him after tonight.”

You raise an eyebrow, heart thumping. The ribbon unties with a flick of your fingers.

The first envelope contains a Polaroid: you on the edge of the bed in white lace, legs spread slightly, garter strap snapped taut against your thigh. Another shows you from behind, peeking over your shoulder in that barely-there silk robe, your ass round and soft beneath it. The third—oh, God—is you, lips parted around a finger, eyes closed, that same white lingerie just slightly damp between your thighs.

“Jesus,” you whisper.

Emily leans in. “We helped you take them, remember?”

“I didn’t think we were actually giving them to him,” you say breathlessly, fanning yourself.

“Oh, we did.” Penelope winks. “Morgan made the handoff.”

You swallow.

Across the lawn, Spencer looks up from his conversation with Rossi, a Polaroid clenched in his long fingers.

His eyes find yours.

And darken.

There’s no mistaking the sharp inhale of his chest or the way his jaw tightens, his knuckles whitening around the edge of that photo like he might break it in two. He looks at you like a man starved. Like he’s been polite all damn day and has finally—finally—been reminded of what’s his.

You shiver under the weight of that gaze.

And then he crooks one finger.

Back home.

You barely make it through the front door before he’s on you.

Spencer slams it shut with one hand, the other already bunching up the silky layers of your dress.

“You—” he growls, “—have no idea what you’ve done.”

You gasp as he presses you into the door, mouth hot and desperate against your neck. “S-Spencer, the photos—”

“Do you know how hard it was to sit through that reception with my cock already leaking in my pants?”

His voice is hoarse, a little broken. Hungry. You clutch at his lapels as he ruts into you slowly through his dress slacks.

“You were so good,” you whisper, “so patient—”

“I’m done being patient.” He nips your earlobe, one hand fumbling beneath your dress until he finds the garter. He snaps it with a growl. “You wore this for me?”

You nod, gasping when he slides a hand between your thighs.

You’re wet. You have been since the moment you saw that look in his eyes across the lawn.

“Oh, baby…” Spencer moans, pulling back to look down at you. “Did showing me those pictures turn you on?”

Your eyes flutter. “I imagined what you’d do.”

“And now you’re going to find out.”

In the bedroom.

He doesn’t let you undress.

Instead, he bends you over the edge of the bed, hikes your dress high, and pulls the lace of your panties to the side. His mouth is on you in seconds—devouring, hungry, unrelenting.

“Oh—fuck—Spence,” you whimper, grinding back into his face, his nose buried in your ass, his tongue licking deep and possessive like he wants to brand you from the inside.

He pulls back with a wet, filthy sound. “You taste like mine,” he groans, lips shining. “You always do.”

Then he flips you over, shoving his slacks down just far enough to free his aching cock. It slaps against his stomach—thick, flushed, leaking. Your breath catches.

That same Polaroid is still in his hand.

He holds it up beside your face as he settles between your thighs.

“You looked so sweet in this,” he murmurs. “But you’re sweeter like this. Laid out for me. Ready to take all of me.”

“Show me,” you beg.

His expression darkens. “Oh, I will.”

He slides in slow—inch by inch—eyes locked on yours as your walls stretch around him. You moan long and loud, head falling back as he bottoms out.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” he rasps.

You’re too far gone to answer. All you can do is clutch at his shirt and wrap your legs around his waist as he begins to move, deliberate and deep, grinding into that perfect spot over and over again.

Each thrust is a statement. A reminder. You’re his. You always have been.

And tonight, you’re his wife.

Mirror, mirror.

Later, when your dress is finally off and your legs are weak, Spencer pulls you to the floor-length mirror beside the bed. You’re naked but for the garter belt, his hand firm on your jaw as he makes you look.

“See how beautiful you are?” he says softly, his cock pressing against the small of your back.

You whimper as he bends you slightly forward, one hand on your hip, the other fisting his cock. “I couldn’t stop staring at the Polaroids,” he murmurs, stroking himself. “But this? This is what they didn’t see.”

You watch in the mirror, transfixed, as he slides into you again from behind—slow and reverent. You both gasp.

“You look so good taking me like this,” he growls, wrapping a hand around your throat lightly. “Eyes glazed, mouth open—fuck—taking all of me. Like you were made for it.”

“Spencer—” You moan his name like a prayer, your body burning, trembling under the weight of his praise.

“That’s right. Say my name. Let them all hear who made you come tonight.”

His hand slips between your thighs, rubbing quick, desperate circles until you’re unraveling, coming hard with your eyes locked on the image of him owning you in the mirror.

He follows with a hoarse cry, spilling deep inside you as his hips stutter and his lips find your shoulder, moaning your name like it’s salvation.

Afterglow.

Later, tangled in sheets and slick with sweat, he kisses your wedding ring.

“I wanted to marry you the day I got out,” he whispers. “I didn’t want to waste a second more.”

You cup his face gently. “You didn’t. You’re mine now. And I’m yours.”

He smiles—sleepy, soft, sated.

But even as his eyes drift closed, you spot the Polaroid tucked into the nightstand.

And the look he gives you as he slides his hand between your thighs again?

It says he’s far from done.