vaginalvr

[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.

[vaginalvr]

okay okay so how about this:

you wake up in the middle of the night because you're too restless and you don't want to wake up spencer, who's sleeping beside you after a long shift at work, so you decide to pleasure yourself back to sleep. your tossing and turning rouses spencer and he wakes up to find you with your fingers inside you, trying your best to stay still and not make a noise so you don't disturb him (completely oblivious to the fact that he's already wide awake) and he's both really turned on and upset that you didn't wake him up - and then he fingers you and eats you out until you're all tired out.

content warning: Soft Dom!Spencer, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, emotional intimacy, post-shift care, sleepy smut.

a/n: YESSSSSSSSSS i mean yeah its okay lol

word count ~ 1.3k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The clock read 2:46 a.m.

You laid still beside him, your eyes wide open in the dark, watching the faint orange glow of a passing car flicker across the ceiling. Spencer's slow, even breathing was warm on your shoulder. He was dead asleep—finally. After coming home from a grueling case and barely getting through a quick shower before collapsing face-first into bed, he’d barely stirred all night.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t settle. You had tried. You shifted beneath the covers, your skin already warm and a little damp with arousal, a dull, pulsing ache between your legs making it impossible to relax. You didn’t know what sparked it exactly—maybe it was the smell of him on the sheets, or the way his hand had rested low on your stomach for the first hour after he’d fallen asleep. Maybe it was the memory of how his voice had sounded over the phone earlier in the week, low and tired and tender, saying he missed you.

Either way, it wasn’t going away. You bit your lip and turned onto your back, trying to breathe through it, but the friction of your thighs shifting against each other only made it worse.

You peeked at him again—his chest rising and falling in that slow, rhythmic way, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, his curls slightly damp from sleep.

You didn’t want to wake him. He needed this. He worked so hard.

So… you'd just take care of it yourself.

Silently, you slipped one hand down under the covers, the cotton of your sleep shorts already clinging between your thighs. You dragged them down just enough to get your fingers where you needed them, carefully and slowly, trying not to jostle the mattress. Your other hand clutched the blanket up over your chest, shielding yourself even though you were fairly sure Spencer wouldn’t wake.

Your fingers slid over slick skin, already wet from how long you’d been teasing yourself just by breathing next to him.

You circled your clit slowly, barely touching it at first. Then deeper, further down, slipping two fingers into your pussy with a soft, wet sound muffled by the sheets. Your breath caught in your throat.

God, it felt good. Just enough. Just quiet enough.

You closed your eyes and moved your hips as subtly as you could manage, chasing the little bursts of pleasure that sparked up with every slow pump. The slow ache that had been gnawing at you all night finally eased.

You were so wrapped up in trying to be quiet—trying not to move too much, not to breathe too loud—you didn’t notice the way Spencer’s breathing had shifted beside you.

Didn’t notice the way his lashes fluttered.

Didn’t notice the way his eyes blinked open and locked on you.

Didn’t notice the look he gave you—equal parts amused, irritated, and completely, utterly turned on.

He watched in silence for a few seconds, caught somewhere between surprise and arousal, his cock twitching in his boxers at the sound of your wet fingers working between your legs.

You bit your lip, arching the tiniest bit, your face scrunching up in bliss. Spencer let out a quiet exhale—barely a breath—but it was enough.

Your eyes snapped open.

You turned your head and saw him watching you, his pupils wide and dark, lips parted, a slow flush spreading over his chest.

“Spence,” you gasped, freezing, fingers still buried inside yourself.

His voice was a slow rasp. “You really weren’t gonna wake me?”

“I… I didn’t want to bother you,” you whispered. “You were so tired, and—”

His hand reached out under the blanket, catching your wrist gently but firmly, stilling your movement.

“You think I’d be upset to wake up to this?” he asked, brow lifting. “Sweetheart, I’ve had dreams that started worse than this.”

Your cheeks burned, embarrassment and arousal battling for space in your chest.

“I just… I didn’t want to be selfish.”

Spencer sat up slowly, leaning over you, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. “Baby, you touching yourself beside me and trying not to wake me up is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.”

His hand slid down to cup your thigh, pushing it open gently. You whimpered as the cool air met the slick heat between your legs.

“I’m really glad you didn’t finish yet,” he murmured, eyes darkening. “Now I get to make you come the way you deserve.”

He dipped beneath the blanket, his mouth pressing a soft, warm kiss to your bare hip as he peeled your shorts down the rest of the way. Then another kiss, just above your mound. Your heart thudded in your chest, your breath shaky as you looked down and met his gaze.

“Let me take care of it,” he whispered, and lowered his head.

His tongue found you slowly, licking through your folds with long, slow strokes. You gasped and grabbed at the pillow behind your head, your fingers curling around the edge as he sucked your clit into his mouth and gave it a gentle flick.

“God—Spence—”

“Shh,” he hummed, lips brushing your skin. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

You giggled breathlessly before moaning as he slipped two fingers inside you again, replacing yours with longer, more practiced strokes. He crooked them just right, just the way he knew made you tremble.

He worked you with his fingers and mouth, his tongue moving in slow circles while his fingers curled deep, slow and deliberate, stretching you open just enough to keep you needy and teetering.

Your thighs began to shake.

“Fuck, baby,” you whimpered. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered against you, voice reverent, like he was memorizing the feel of you all over again.

Your orgasm hit hard and slow, like waves rolling over your skin, your stomach tightening as you arched off the bed. Spencer didn’t stop—he kept licking through it, pressing soft, grounding kisses to your clit while his fingers slowed only slightly, drawing every last tremor from your body.

You collapsed into the pillows, gasping, your heart racing.

But he didn’t stop.

“Spence—Spence—” you breathed, voice shaking, hands flying down to grab at his curls. “Too much—”

He looked up at you, his mouth and chin slick, eyes hazy with adoration and lust.

“I told you,” he said with a soft smile, “you should’ve woken me.”

Then he ducked down again, sucking your clit into his mouth until your back arched again. His fingers pumped harder, deeper, curling right against your sweet spot. You cried out, thighs trembling against the sheets.

“You gonna come for me again?” he asked, voice low and raw. “You gonna soak my fingers, sweetheart?”

You nodded frantically, your whole body tense.

“Use me,” he whispered, his voice the kind of gentle command that undid you every time. “Come for me, baby.”

You came again with a broken moan, thighs clenching around his head, your slick dripping down his wrist as your pussy fluttered around his fingers. He groaned at the sight of you unraveling, licking through it, not letting you go until you were gasping and pushing weakly at his head.

When he finally pulled back, he kissed the inside of your thigh, then your stomach, then up to your chest as he crawled back up to settle beside you.

Your skin was buzzing. You could barely breathe.

He tucked a hand beneath your chin and kissed you, soft and slow, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

When he pulled away, he looked at you with sleepy affection. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “I think I forgot how to walk.”

He smiled and pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he reached to tug the blanket back over both of you.

“Next time,” he murmured into your hair, “if you need anything—anything—you wake me. Got it?”

You nodded, burying your face in his chest. “Okay. Promise.”

He sighed softly, already half-asleep again, one hand sliding low on your back.

“…unless you want me to wake you up like that sometime,” you whispered into the quiet.

Spencer chuckled, deep and sleepy. “Anytime, sweetheart. I’ll leave the door open for you.”

[vaginalvr]

I love your work sm, could you do soft dom!spence talking you through your first time, maybe after he overhears you telling one of the girls at work (no established relationship)?? 🫶🫶

content warning: First time (reader), oral sex (f receiving), soft dom!Spencer, praise kink, virginity loss, protected sex, aftercare, emotional intimacy, Spencer being the sweetest, reader slightly nervous, but full consent and communication throughout

a/n: sexy virgin!

word count ~ 2k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The BAU bullpen was a constant hum of motion—fingers clicking across keyboards, the low murmur of voices, the occasional ding of the elevator. But in a tucked-away corner, you’d thought you were safe.

You weren’t expecting Spencer Reid to overhear anything.

“I just…” you said, leaning in closer to JJ, who looked at you over the rim of her coffee mug, “I feel like I missed some important milestone. I’m not waiting for marriage or anything, I just haven’t…found someone I trusted.”

JJ had smiled kindly, sympathetic. “There’s no timeline. You know that, right?”

You nodded, but it didn’t quiet the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “I just don’t want it to be with someone who’ll treat it like a joke. I want it to mean something. Even if it’s just…gentle. Safe.”

Spencer hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He’d turned the corner to grab a file from the printer and stopped dead in his tracks when he heard your voice—soft and unguarded. His heart had stuttered at the word “trusted.” It echoed somewhere deep in his chest.

He ducked away before you saw him.

He thought about your words for the rest of the day. And the next.

And two weeks later, when he found you working late and alone in the conference room, he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Hey,” Spencer said gently, rapping his knuckles on the doorframe. “You okay?”

You looked up, startled, then smiled. “Yeah. Just finishing some paperwork.”

He stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind him. “Mind if I sit?”

Your brows rose, but you nodded. “Sure.”

Spencer didn’t open his file. He just sat there, fingers curling and uncurling, clearly working through something.

“I… I wasn’t trying to listen in,” he started. “But I overheard something. A few weeks ago.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

He licked his lips, nervous. “You were talking to JJ. About…not having had your first time yet.”

Your face burned, body going rigid. “Oh.”

“I didn’t mean to hear,” he rushed, holding up a hand. “But I did. And I’ve been thinking about it. About you.”

You weren’t sure what stunned you more—being overheard or the fact that Spencer Reid, the beautiful, brilliant, soft-spoken man you’d been nursing a quiet crush on for months, had been thinking about you.

Your voice came out small. “What have you been thinking?”

He leaned forward, eyes flicking down to your lips before returning to your gaze. “That you deserve someone who sees how important that trust is. Someone who’ll go slow. Make you feel safe. Desired. Cared for.”

A shaky breath left your chest. “Spencer…”

“I’d never pressure you,” he said quickly. “But if you wanted it to be me, I’d be honored.”

You stared at him, mind reeling, body tense with heat and something like hope. “…You’d want that?”

“I want you,” he said, soft but firm. “And I’d take such good care of you. You’d never have to doubt how much you mean.”

His apartment was warm, dimly lit by a single lamp. You were standing in his bedroom, his hand cradling your cheek.

“You can still say no,” he whispered, searching your eyes. “At any moment.”

You nodded. “I know. But I want this. I want you.”

He kissed you like a promise—slow, tender, lips brushing yours like silk. You melted into him, nerves softening under the weight of his gentleness.

“Let me undress you?” he asked, voice barely above a breath.

You nodded.

Spencer moved with reverence, sliding your shirt off your shoulders, trailing kisses down the newly exposed skin. His fingers trembled slightly, even as his voice stayed steady. “So beautiful. Every inch of you.”

Your pants followed, and soon you were standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing your hair back. “You’re doing so good.”

He kissed your shoulder, your collarbone, down the center of your chest. “Do you want to keep these on for now?” he asked, fingers ghosting over your bra.

“No,” you whispered. “You can take them off.”

His fingers were slow, careful, unclasping your bra and sliding your panties down your thighs. You gasped when the air hit your skin, and he wrapped his arms around you, letting you rest your cheek against his chest.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured. “You don’t have to do anything. Let me make you feel good.”

He guided you to the bed, laying you down against the pillows like you were something precious.

“I’m going to kiss you here,” he said, trailing his fingers down your stomach, “and here,” to your hips, “and here,” pressing a reverent kiss to your inner thigh.

You let out a small sound, your hips shifting.

“May I taste you, sweetheart?” he asked, settling between your thighs. “You’ll tell me if you need me to stop?”

“Yes, please, Spence—”

And then his mouth was on you.

His tongue was slow, skilled, gentle. He hummed soft praises against your skin. “You taste like heaven. You’re so wet already. That’s it, baby, just let go for me.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, thighs shaking. “Spencer—I—”

“Let it happen,” he coaxed. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

You came with a cry, your entire body trembling, and Spencer didn’t move until you were panting beneath him, thighs twitching.

He pressed kisses up your body, holding you against him. “Still okay?”

You nodded, breathless. “More than okay.”

“Are you sure you want to keep going? We don’t have to do anything else.”

“I want you inside me,” you whispered. “I want you to be my first.”

Spencer groaned softly, kissing your jaw. “Then I’ll make it good for you. So, so good.”

He reached for a condom, rolling it on slowly while you watched, heart fluttering. When he moved over you, he paused again. “Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop.”

“I trust you,” you said, touching his cheek. “Please.”

He slid in slowly, so slowly you felt every inch. It stung at first—just a little—and he stilled immediately.

“Deep breaths,” he murmured. “You’re doing amazing. Just relax for me.”

You breathed in through your nose, out through your mouth. He whispered sweet nothings, praised your bravery, told you how tight and perfect you were.

After a moment, your body relaxed, and the stretch turned to warmth, fullness.

“You can move now,” you whispered.

His hips moved gently, careful not to push too deep, watching every flicker of sensation on your face.

“God, you feel incredible,” he moaned. “So soft. You’re taking me so well.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist as your body adjusted, soft moans falling from your lips.

He kissed you like he couldn’t help it, like he was addicted to the way you tasted, the way you sighed into his mouth.

Each thrust was gentle, every movement deliberate.

“Just like that,” you breathed. “Feels so good.”

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ll always take care of you.”

You came again with him deep inside you, clinging to his shoulders. He followed moments later, groaning into your neck as he buried himself in you one last time.

After, he cleaned you gently, helped you into one of his shirts, then held you close under the covers.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered against your hair. “Thank you for trusting me.”

You smiled sleepily against his chest. “You made it easy.”

[vaginalvr]

Hi love!!

I was wondering if you were able to a breeding!kink Spencer. Like say reader had their first baby 2yrs ago and Spencer wants another and reader wants another cause they both miss the part at the beginning when they’re a newborn and watching them go from crawling to walking and stuff like that. Basically, reader goes in to check on their little girl and she’s asleep then Spencer comes home from work and sees you watching her. He then fucks reader up against the hallway wall and then after he finishes inside her, their little one starts crying and Spencer tells reader to go put her legs up and he’ll take care of the little one.

Sorry I know that was a lot but I saw that you like specific things with requests so wanted to throw some ideas in there lol. Thank you!!

content warning: Breeding kink, wall sex, creampie, established relationship, parenthood, praise, soft dom!Spencer, emotional intimacy, slight overstimulation.

a/n: this almosttttttt makes me want kids!!!

word count ~ 1.3k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You barely had time to close the bedroom door behind you before Spencer caught your wrist.

"Where are you going?" he asked, voice low and edged with something darker than usual.

You blinked up at him. “Just putting the laundry in the hamper.”

Spencer’s gaze flicked down your body, the thin cotton of your sleep shirt clinging to your curves. He stepped into your space, his grip tightening on your wrist, and the soft exhale from his nose told you everything.

“You can't walk around like that,” he murmured. “Not when you look like… this.”

You smirked, but your breath caught as he backed you up against the hallway wall. He pressed a hand beside your head, his other already sliding beneath your shirt. His fingers dragged over your stomach, tracing the faint stretch marks left by the child you’d had two years ago—his daughter.

Spencer’s touch slowed there.

“You looked so beautiful when you were pregnant,” he whispered, voice husky now, heat rising with every word. “So full. So mine.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know his pupils were blown wide. That familiar, obsessive desire—the one that came out in rare flashes—was glowing behind his eyes.

“Spencer,” you warned, already breathless.

He pressed his lips to your neck, teeth grazing your pulse. “You still want another.”

Your breath hitched. “Maybe.”

“You said maybe last time,” he muttered against your skin. “And then you let me come inside you for a week straight.”

Your knees wobbled. “We were ovulating.”

He huffed a laugh, dark and knowing. “Exactly.”

He kissed you hard then, hand sliding up to cup your breast, rolling your nipple between long fingers through the thin fabric. His other hand yanked your panties down with practiced ease.

He wasn’t being gentle, not tonight.

“You think I didn’t see the way you looked when our daughter was holding that baby at JJ’s party?” he growled. “You were glowing.”

“Spencer—” you gasped, but it turned into a whimper when he ground his hips into yours. You could already feel the thick bulge straining in his sweatpants.

He shoved your leg up, holding it around his hip as he reached down to free himself. No teasing. No prep. Just raw, desperate hunger.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thump as he pushed inside you in one smooth thrust.

You cried out, hand slapping against the wall for balance. Spencer grunted, forehead falling against yours, his breath ragged.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect.”

You whimpered into his mouth as he set a punishing pace, thrusting deep, his body pinning yours against the wall like you weighed nothing. The sheer force of it—the tension, the heat, the sound of skin on skin—made your head spin.

His grip on your thigh was bruising. His free hand slipped between your bodies, rubbing tight circles over your clit, like he couldn’t stand to have you anywhere but completely undone beneath him.

“You want it again, don’t you?” he rasped. “Want me to fill you up, fuck another baby into you.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned deep in his chest.

“I’ll do it,” he growled. “I’ll make you mine all over again.”

“Spencer—fuck—don’t stop,” you begged.

“You’re gonna take it,” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “Every drop.”

Your orgasm hit you like a wave crashing through your chest, legs shaking, a moan caught in your throat as he kept going, pounding into you harder, faster.

Then Spencer’s breath hitched, and he slammed into you with a strangled moan, burying himself deep as his hips jerked and stilled. You felt the hot flood of him inside you, and it sent a second tremor through your body.

He stayed there, panting, his hand still on your thigh, still buried inside you.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, the hallway filled only with your uneven breaths and the faint creak of the floorboards under your shifting weight.

Spencer kissed you softly now, nothing like the way he’d fucked you. His hand slid down to your belly, palm flat.

“I hope it takes,” he whispered.

You smiled, dazed. “You’re insane.”

“I just know what I want,” he murmured. “And it’s you. Full of me. Again.”

[vaginalvr]

reader sucking early seasons spencer during a library date and hes trying his best to stay quiet but hes just whimpering between the aisles

content warning: Public semi-risky oral, reader giving, Spencer being so quiet but so not, early-season stuttering, whimpers, and desperate gratitude.

a/n: give me a breathy desperate man NOW jk i already have one

word count ~ 2k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The library was quiet enough to hear the tick of the wall clock and the soft whirr of the central air. Rows and rows of tall, dust-scented shelves towered around you like watchful sentinels, muffling footsteps and muffling voices—and it was perfect.

You had never seen Spencer quite so at home.

He walked the aisles like they were familiar streets. Fingers trailing the faded spines, soft smiles blooming whenever he stumbled across something interesting. You followed behind him with a fond, amused gaze, watching his eyes light up like he was in a candy store.

“Did you know,” he said, pulling a volume halfway from the shelf before pushing it gently back, “that Carnegie funded over 2,500 libraries worldwide? Most were built with specific architectural guidelines—large windows, symmetrical layout, community meeting spaces—he believed the aesthetic was part of the intellectual experience.”

“I believe it,” you murmured, stepping close behind him. “Feels sacred in here.”

Spencer smiled, glancing down at you. “It is to me.”

You tugged gently on his sleeve, steering him into a narrower, dimmer section of the stacks. The library was nearly empty at this hour—midday, midweek, and the summer sun outside seemed to have lured everyone else away.

Spencer looked back at you with a little curious tilt of his head.

“What’re you doing?” he asked softly, though he followed you without hesitation.

“Finding a little privacy,” you said, pretending to study the shelf beside you. “You’ve been so patient, talking about books for an hour…”

Spencer blinked. “I—I like talking about books.”

“I know,” you said, turning to face him fully. “I like watching you do it.”

He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. You took a slow step closer, backing him up until his back brushed the shelf. The spines trembled lightly behind his shoulders.

“You’re really pretty when you talk,” you said, fingers ghosting up the center of his button-down. “But I think you’d be even prettier quiet.”

His breath hitched.

“W-What do you mean?”

You smiled.

And then you sank to your knees.

His eyes widened.

“Wha—what are you—oh—God—wait—”

“Shh,” you murmured, fingers already toying with the waistband of his slacks. “You can keep talking after. For now, let me.”

“W-we’re in a library,” he hissed, glancing wildly over your shoulder toward the aisle entrance.

“I know,” you said, popping the button and dragging his zipper down slow. “So you’ll have to be very, very quiet for me, won’t you, Dr. Reid?”

He whimpered.

He actually whimpered.

It was so soft, so desperate, it made heat bloom between your thighs. His hand grabbed the edge of the shelf behind him like he needed something to cling to.

You reached into his boxers and drew him out slowly, his cock already half-hard from the tension of your teasing. He was flushed and twitching, the head sensitive even before your tongue had touched it.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

“No swearing in the library,” you teased. “Tsk, tsk.”

You kissed the tip.

He gasped and slapped a hand over his mouth immediately.

“Oh my God,” he mumbled behind it, voice barely audible.

You laughed softly and took him into your mouth fully.

It was dizzying how fast his knees buckled. He grabbed for a shelf bracket with one hand, his other still clamped over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut as if that would help him survive it.

You worked him slowly at first, letting your tongue drag along the underside of his shaft, tasting the salt of him, the nervousness, the need. He was already trembling.

You moaned low around him, and he choked on his own breath.

“Mm—uh—please—” he whispered.

“Please what?” you pulled back to murmur, stroking him slow with one hand, watching how his thighs quivered.

“I—I don’t know, I just—oh God—”

You took him back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, and Spencer's hips jerked forward despite himself. He immediately blushed, wide eyes panicked like he’d crossed a line.

But you moaned in approval and wrapped your hands around his hips, encouraging him to do it again.

And he did. Carefully. Slowly. Like he was still shocked this was even happening.

“F-fuck,” he whimpered against his knuckles.

You bobbed your head, deeper now, and his knees buckled. You let him fuck your mouth, slow and sweet, muffled by the scent of old paper and the cool, sterile quiet of a library. Every breathy sound he made felt like a sin.

His soft, high-pitched whimpers were barely audible, but you caught every one.

The way he whispered your name. The way he stammered, “I—I’m not gonna last, I c-can’t—God, you feel so good—” The way he pleaded, in that wrecked, frantic tone that only Spencer ever used, “Please don’t stop, please—”

You pulled off him once more and pumped him slowly, loving the way his eyes fluttered as he tried not to moan. “You’re being so good for me,” you whispered. “But you’re shaking, baby.”

He nodded helplessly, sweat beading at his temple.

“Think you can stay quiet for me just a little longer?”

“I—I’ll try—”

“That’s my boy.”

You took him back in, deep and warm, until the tip of him hit the back of your throat. He squeaked. There was no other word for it.

And then he snapped.

His hand flew to your hair, his hips stuttered forward, and his mouth dropped open in a silent moan.

You kept going. Faster now. Wet, messy, filthy sounds filling the tight little aisle. You could hear the faint creak of a cart being pushed somewhere at the far end of the library—but it only added to the rush.

Spencer came with a strangled, gasping breath, biting into the sleeve of his own cardigan. His whole body went taut, then shuddered violently as he spilled into your mouth, whimpering like he was falling apart.

You swallowed everything he gave you. Held him through every twitch.

When he sagged back against the shelf, boneless and blinking, you licked your lips and looked up at him.

“Still want to tell me about Carnegie?” you whispered.

Spencer looked down at you, completely dazed.

“...I can’t feel my legs.”

You grinned and stood slowly, smoothing down his shirt and helping him tuck himself back in.

“You were so good, Spence.”

“I was loud,” he murmured, cheeks redder than the hardbound volumes beside him.

“Barely,” you said. “No one heard.”

He still looked scandalized.

You kissed his flushed cheek and patted his ass gently as he stood shakily. “You’ll recover.”

He nodded, eyes glassy.

You linked your fingers with his and started walking him back out of the stacks.

“…Wanna go back to my place?” you asked, casual.

Spencer looked at you like you’d just offered to solve every equation in the world.

“Please,” he said, voice still hoarse.

[vaginalvr]

400 Follower Celebration!

While I’ve never had much experience in writing series, i’d love to start with a celebration 💖

Unfortunately, i cannot decide which idea to pick. And so, my lovely followers, you will!

[vaginalvr]

400 Follower Celebration!

While I’ve never had much experience in writing series, i’d love to start with a celebration 💖

Unfortunately, i cannot decide which idea to pick. And so, my lovely followers, you will!

[vaginalvr]

Ok Spencer and Reader playing chess, and the reader keeps loosing until she distracts him with some skin and teasing, causing him to loose it and drag her home

content warning: Explicit sexual content (18+), Oral sex (f!receiving) ,Semi-public teasing (BAU lounge setting) ,Power dynamics/flirty manipulation (Reader teasing Spencer to gain control) ,Consensual manhandling (Spencer dragging Reader home), Light dom/sub tones (Spencer taking control once teased)

a/n: GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE

word count ~ 1.3k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You hated losing. Especially to Spencer Reid. He wasn’t smug about it, of course. No, he was all sweet smiles and shy glances over the chessboard, his long fingers tapping pieces like he was born with a bishop in his hand. And you? You were getting trounced. Again.

“This is your fourth loss tonight,” Spencer murmured, barely hiding the amused tilt of his mouth as he moved his queen. “I thought you said you were good at this.”

“I am good at this,” you huffed, leaning back in your seat with a pout. “You’re just... better.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours. “You want to call it a night?”

Oh no. Not yet. If you were going to lose again, you were going to lose on your terms.

You leaned forward slowly, resting your elbows on the edge of the table, your forearms pushing your chest just enough to get his attention. His gaze dipped for half a second—half a second too long—and that’s when you knew.

Game on.

You made your next move, completely reckless, sacrificing a knight. He arched a brow.

“You okay?” Spencer asked cautiously.

“Mhmm.” You stretched your arms over your head, your hoodie riding up to reveal a sliver of bare skin just above your waistband. You caught him looking—his mouth parted slightly, like he was about to say something and forgot how.

He blinked and refocused on the board.

You kicked off one shoe under the table, then the other, and slowly dragged your foot up his calf. He tensed instantly.

“Y/N…”

“Yes?” you asked innocently, twirling a pawn between your fingers before setting it down in a ridiculous position.

“You just—what are you doing?”

“Playing. Are you distracted?”

He adjusted his tie like it was suddenly too tight. “You’re being unfair.”

“And you’re being cocky,” you said with a wicked grin. “Time someone knocked you down a peg.”

Your foot slid further up his leg. His hand faltered as he reached for a piece, missing it. A rare fumble.

You leaned in again, tugging the zipper of your hoodie down just a few inches—not even halfway, just enough to tease. Just enough to show the delicate dip of your cleavage beneath the lace edge of your bralette.

“I think,” you purred, “I might be winning this round.”

He stared at you, chest rising slowly as his mind warred between the game and the blush rising on his neck. You made one final move—a dumb one, sacrificing your queen.

Spencer stared at the board for two seconds. Then back at you.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, standing up so fast his chair scraped the floor.

You squealed when he grabbed your wrist and yanked you up from your seat, dragging you toward the door of the BAU lounge.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m done losing.”

“Spence,” you teased, stumbling after him. “Are you flustered?”

“I’m going to make sure you really lose control. Preferably somewhere with a bed.”

You didn’t even make it all the way into his apartment before he had you pinned against the door.

His hands were on your waist, his mouth on your neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin as he mumbled something incoherent about how unfair you were, how you “cheated,” how he “let” you win the second you leaned forward and gave him that look.

You laughed breathlessly. “So you do like this bralette.”

Spencer growled—a sound you rarely heard from him—as he tugged the zipper of your hoodie down all the way and shoved it off your shoulders.

“Off. Now.”

You complied, letting it fall to the floor, your bralette and bare stomach now fully exposed to his dark, hungry eyes.

He bent down, his lips brushing the curve of your breast over the lace. “You have no idea what you started.”

“I have an idea,” you gasped as his tongue flicked over your nipple through the fabric, then pushed the bralette up to mouth at your skin, soft then rough, then soft again.

Your hands found his hair, tugging as he kissed lower, past your belly, his fingers slipping past the waistband of your leggings.

“You played dirty,” he murmured, lips just above your core. “So I’m going to be thorough.”

You nearly sobbed when he knelt completely, dragging your leggings and panties down in one slow movement. His hands gripped your thighs, pushing them apart.

Then he looked up at you, wicked and patient.

“Checkmate.”

And with that, Spencer Reid buried his mouth between your legs.

You arched back against the door, one leg thrown over his shoulder, your fingers tangled in his hair as he devoured you like he was memorizing every reaction. His tongue was precise, his fingers firm, and when he slipped two inside you, curling them just so—

“Sp-Spencer!” you cried, thighs trembling.

“You wanted to distract me,” he said between strokes of his tongue. “Now it’s my turn.”

You came hard, gasping his name, nearly sliding down the door if he hadn’t caught you.

But he didn’t stop there.

He stood, kissed you dizzy, and carried you to the bedroom, laying you down before unbuckling his belt with one hand.

“You’re not getting out of this with just one orgasm,” he growled.

“Promise?” you whispered.

The look he gave you was pure, hot vengeance—and adoration.

“Sweetheart, I’m going to ruin you.”

Let’s just say... he did. Several times. And for once, you didn’t mind losing. Not when it meant getting absolutely destroyed by a very, very determined Spencer Reid.

[vaginalvr]

hey so wtf

THANK U GUYS ILY ❤️❤️❤️❤️

are you interested in a 400 follower celebration?

ok thanks love ya bye

[vaginalvr]

Ahhh I literally love you!

Would you be open to doing a fic where Spencer takes reader out for dinner and she thinks it is to ask her to be his girlfriend and he like yeah dummy I thought we already were dating and she is upset so he makes it up to her

I don’t mind wether it is fluff or smut - whatever you think would be best ❤️❤️❤️

content warning: fluff, miscommunication, light angst, smut (soft dom!Spencer, fingering, praise, protected PIV)

a/n: i made it end in fluff bc im a slut :)

word count ~ 4.6k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You sat across from Spencer, your heart fluttering in your chest as you tried to keep your composure.

The restaurant he’d picked was dimly lit and intimate, tucked away from the bustle of the city—clearly chosen with care. He looked unfairly beautiful in his soft gray sweater and blazer, his hair tousled just enough that it seemed effortless, and he kept smiling at you over his glass of wine.

This had to be it. He had to be asking you to be his girlfriend tonight.

You’d been seeing each other for months. Movie nights that turned into sleepovers, holding hands during long walks, forehead kisses that lingered. The way he called you “sweetheart” sometimes without realizing, the way he touched your back when you passed him in the kitchen, the way he looked at you like you were a miracle.

But he’d never said the words “Will you be my girlfriend?” Not out loud. Not yet.

So when he invited you to this place and told you to dress nice, you got excited. You did your hair, wore your favorite dress, even spritzed the perfume he once murmured smelled like something “dangerously addictive.”

Now he was swirling his wine and telling you about a paper he was reviewing on behavioral mimicry and romantic attraction, completely unaware of how hard your heart was thudding.

You nodded, your smile polite but tight. Waiting. Waiting.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You cut into his tangent and asked gently, “Spencer, is there… is there something specific you wanted to talk about tonight?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

Your breath caught. “Just… you said you made a reservation. It felt kind of… special.”

His eyes softened instantly. “It is special. I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

A little hopeful light sparked in your chest. You swallowed and gave him the smallest nudge. “Like a date?”

Spencer tilted his head, confused. “Well… yeah?”

“Like, a real date?” you asked, your voice quieter now, suddenly feeling like you were skating on thin ice.

Spencer frowned, setting his wine glass down. “Wait—did you not think this was a real date?”

“I…” You looked down at your plate. “I wasn’t sure. I mean, we’ve been doing all this stuff together, but we’ve never actually said what this is.”

He blinked again, then leaned forward. “Wait, you didn’t think we were already dating?”

You looked up at him with wide eyes. “No. You never asked me.”

He looked completely shocked. “I didn’t—” he stopped himself and ran a hand through his hair, visibly flustered. “I thought we were. I thought that’s what we’ve been doing. I call you my girl in my head all the time. Everyone at work thinks you’re my girlfriend. My mom knows about you.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Spencer, you never actually asked. We never talked about it. You’ve never called me your girlfriend. I wasn’t trying to pressure you, but I—I just thought maybe you’d want to make it official.”

His face fell. “Oh, sweetheart.”

You flinched at the pet name this time.

“I thought it was obvious,” he said softly, reaching across the table to take your hand. “But you’re right. I should’ve asked. That was stupid of me.”

“It just…” you hesitated, your voice cracking. “It made me feel like I was imagining it all.”

His thumb rubbed slow circles over your hand. “No, no. Never. I’ve been yours this whole time, Y/N. I just assumed I had you too.”

You gave him a wobbly smile, trying not to let the tears in your eyes fall in the middle of this very public setting. “So you do want me to be your girlfriend?”

“I want you to be mine in every way you’ll let me,” he said softly. “Officially, if it makes you feel safe. I’ll say it a hundred times if that’s what you need.”

You nodded. “Okay. I want that too.”

He grinned, boyish and relieved. “You’re my girlfriend now.”

You smiled for real this time. “And you’re my boyfriend.”

Spencer looked around like he wanted to shout it to the restaurant.

You didn’t even make it through dessert. Spencer flagged the waiter down, paid the bill with a generous tip, and held your hand all the way to the car. You drove in silence, the tension electric between you, his thumb brushing slow and reverent strokes over your knuckles like he couldn’t bear not to be touching you.

By the time the door to your apartment clicked shut behind you, Spencer had you up against the wall.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t mine,” he murmured, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. “I thought I was showing you.”

“You were,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Just not in a way I could be sure of.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, pulling back to look at you, his brown eyes dark and earnest. “Let me show you how serious I am about you.”

You nodded, breathless. “Show me.”

Spencer kissed you like a vow, soft and slow and deep. His hands slid up your sides and then down, cupping your thighs. “Jump,” he whispered against your mouth.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and jumped, and he carried you to your bedroom with ease, laying you down gently on the bed like you were something precious.

“Take your dress off for me,” he said, voice husky.

You slid the zipper down slowly, watching him watch you. He looked reverent, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

When the fabric fell away, you were left in matching black lace underneath. His breath hitched.

“You wore that for me?”

You nodded. “I wanted to look good. For my date.”

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, climbing over you. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You do,” you whispered, touching his jaw. “I want you, Spencer. All of you.”

He kissed you again and again as he undressed slowly, reverently. He kissed down your neck, between your breasts, over your stomach. When he reached your panties, he hooked his fingers under the lace and looked up at you.

“Can I taste you?”

You whimpered. “Please.”

He tugged them down slowly and settled between your thighs like he belonged there. His tongue was gentle, teasing, flicking over your clit before dipping down, learning what made you gasp, what made your thighs tremble.

When he slipped one long finger into you, then two, curling just right, you moaned his name like a prayer.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, watching your face. “I could do this all night.”

You arched into him. “I need you inside me, Spencer.”

He kissed his way back up, licking your lips before reaching into the drawer for a condom. “I want to make love to you,” he said. “Not just fuck you. I want you to feel everything I’ve been holding back.”

Your heart ached with how much you wanted him.

He slid the condom on, then pushed into you slowly, watching your face, whispering your name like it was sacred.

The stretch made you gasp, but he paused, letting you adjust. “You feel so good,” he murmured, pressing kisses to your temple, your jaw. “So perfect.”

When you wrapped your legs around him and pulled him closer, he began to move, slow and deep, his forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “You’ve always been mine.”

You clung to him, overwhelmed with the feeling of being loved so thoroughly.

“Say it again,” you begged.

“You’re mine, sweetheart. My girlfriend. My everything.”

You moaned, the heat building fast now. “Spencer, I’m gonna—”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, rolling his hips just right. “Come for me.”

You shattered under him, crying out his name, and he followed moments later, groaning into your neck as he buried himself deep one last time.

Later, when he was curled around you under the sheets, your face tucked into his chest and your body still buzzing, he kissed the top of your head and murmured:

“I’ll never let you wonder again. You’re mine. I’m yours. Officially.”

You smiled against his skin. “Good. Took you long enough.”