cheesemoth

[cheesemoth]

Imagine reader being in a relationship with Spencer Reid for a few years, everything is good, he’s sweet, kind, affectionate, just the perfect boyfriend. Until JJ confesses that she’s had feeling for him all along, he suddenly gets cold, doesn’t speak or touch her, doesn’t even sleep in the same bed anymore. After months of putting up with it reader finally had enough and confronts him, either they talk it out or she’ll leave him.

Spencer only says he’s confused about his feelings for JJ and reader, doesn’t know what he wants which is why he’s acting the way he is. She finally has enough and tells him their relationship is over, she calls Hotch to tell him she won’t be coming into work for a while and is taking her vacation days to visit her family in her home country.

Everyone is confused and worried as to why she left and why she doesn’t answer their texts and calls, everyone except one person on the team… who is looking down in shame and guilt whenever her name drops.

[cheesemoth]

Everyone always says that Spencer Reid is submissive and whiney, and I get that! I do! And I agree. However, I also think he is the biggest brat ever. You tell him to do something and he'll straight up tell you no, just to see what you'll do, he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms and everything. Like have you seen season one and two Spence when he's not actually interacting with anyone??? BRAT.

[cheesemoth]

I feel like we need a group for us softdom Spencer truthers - come on that boy is such a sassy little bitch who like to practically inhale the person he’s kissing, he wouldn’t utter the word mommy

Alright baby, take a drink because this is going to be LONG.

Because I don't think that soft dom Spencer is that much out of character. Honestly, I find it more accurate than some of the sub! Spencer I saw. Spencer is a worshipper, he's sub in that way but he is dom in the way he handles things. I'm not sure this is clear so let me explain-

Mentally Spencer is a sub, physically he's a dom.

Let's talk about early seasons Spencer first. Because that Spencer was not confident nor experienced enough to dom. He was supposed to be a chronically virgin. BUT, but, but- listen- have you seen the way he kissed that girl in the pool in season 1? Lyla? I think? Anyway, Amber Heard. The way he kisses Amber Heard in that pool SCREAMS dom. I think he always had that dog in him you know? He was just not expressing it. But oh boy-

The more we go through the seasons the more he becomes confident and cocky. Remember that episode in season 3 with the kid shooting the people from his school? Where he disrespected Hotch's orders and just sent everybody to fuck themselves? Or the "This is calm, and it's doctor". See what I'm talking about? He becomes sassy and cocky and he let his little "dom side" out.

But that being said Spencer is not violent or whatever and even "soft dom" is a bit too harsh for him. It's "really really really soft soft dom Spencer". It's dom Spencer in the bedroom who puts his whole heart into the deed, hm?

NONETHELESS, Spencer is a hot mess, he whimpers and cries, he's needy and putty in your hands. Soft dom Spencer is a worshipper. He wouldn't utter the word "mommy" no- But he would ask for your praises. Dude, he has such a praise kink. I think it's more the type to ask if he's making you feel good, if you love him, if you love what he's doing, etc. And boy he learns fast on that field so YES.

And it gets worse after prison. Post-prison Reid is even more "soft dom", it grows. He becomes more clingy, more firm in his touches, his hands are always on you, he's always needing reassurance, always needing you to listen to what he says to you because he is an anxious little bean. He will do nasty things to you while worshipping just to hear you tell him he did good. After prison he's rougher in his touches, he becomes more manhandling. But it's still Spencer so it's not that much violent but.

Soft dom Spencer is just a worship sub. He doesn't degrade or whatever. He just needs to be reassured by your obedience and he puts PASSION in rewarding you.

I think he's heavy on foreplay and stuff, even more than in the deed itself. I mean, once again, THE KISSES PEOPLE THE KISSES. The way he fucking kissed Cat against that door? I swear to God OPJFGHIOEZK. I am SPIRALLING.

Am I going too far again? Yeah probably.

Sorry for the rambling lmao.

[cheesemoth]

Im gonna be flamed for saying this but im down for Child Y/N to die. Give me the angst. WE’RE GOING DIFFICULT MODE HERE. Let the despair slowly sink in that Dogday is losing his kid. Let Poppy realize that their only chance of winning. Of freedom. Of home, is gone. I want dogday to beg for Poppy and Kissy’s help and let’s be honest, What can they even do? Nothing.

Feeling extra quirky this hour mb

Broken Halos

WARNING: death, slight gore

Mommy dropped you.

It wasn’t on purpose, she hadn’t meant to loosen her grip enough for you wiggle out. She hadn’t expected you to try and wiggle out, not when you were strung up together in the rafters. But you were so determined, and the moment you saw Dogday on the catwalk below, you jerked.

You fell.

And Dogday didn’t catch you.

He could see it in your eyes, the moment they met his. He could see your smile, the bright flash of determined hope. You didn’t hesitate to free yourself from Mommy’s arms, reaching for him, for a hug, safe and protected.

But you miscalculated. You thought too highly of him, and Dogday couldn’t make it to you in time. He tried so hard, pushed himself to you as fast as he could, but you slipped out of his hands.

You fell, your fingers brushing his, and disappeared into the darkness below.

And a crack was the final noise you made.

Mommy was too stunned to do much else. This wasn’t her plan, and this outcome was extremely unexpected. She backed away from Dogday hung over the railing of the catwalk, still reaching towards where you once were, and disappeared into the vents.

Dogday didn’t notice. He nearly tipped over the edge of the railing himself when two fuzzy mittens grabbed him. Kissy hauled him back, and Poppy was screaming at him. What happened? What was that noise? Where was Mommy? Where were you?

“Hurt!” Dogday barked out, mind speeding faster than his body could keep up. He backtracked, towards the stairs, towards the ground floor, where you were no doubt lying. You were hurt! You needed him! “They’re hurt! We have to go!”

He took a few bumps, a few bruises as he tumbled down the metal steps onto the concrete floor. The stage, where you must've fell, was hidden by heavy curtains full of holes and mold. He threw them aside, while Poppy called that she and Kissy would try to find the lights.

Dogday stumbled through the dark, calling your name, screaming for you. He tried to sniff around, tried to catch your scent, but the smell of decay and dust clogged his nose. So he dragged himself across the rotten wood and cried for you.

"Please." He choked out.

A strange zapping noise filled the air, and suddenly the stage was dunked in dimmed fluorescents.

Dogday blinked.

You laid there before him, curled up, not moving. Blood surrounded you in a small pool, following the dips and crevices of the wood. You leg was at an awkward angle, your head too, all of your body jerked and twisted in unnatural ways.

"Little angel. . ." Dogday breathed, slowly lowering down to nudge at your shoulder. He carefully turned you onto your back, and pressed his nose against your cheek. "Wake up."

You didn't smack his head away, giggling about the cold press of his nose.

"Sweetheart." Dogday tried again. He lowered his head to rest on your chest. "Wake up. It's time to go."

Your chest was still, silent.

"POPPY!" Dogday howled across the auditorium. Kissy burst through the curtains, Poppy clinging to her shoulder, and froze at the sight of you. He heard Poppy gasp, a hand over her mouth. "HELP THEM! THEY NEED HELP!"

The pair just stood there. Poppy was the only one to move, her shoulders sinking down, her expression blanking into a tired resign.

Dogday felt heat burn through his veins. "What are you doing? Help them! Help me!" He picked you up, cradling you to his chest. "They need help! We need a nurse office! We need-"

"They're dead, Dogday." Poppy said, the waver in her voice betraying the blank look on her face. "They're. . . it's over."

Dogday clutched you closer, hiding your head in his shoulder. "No! No. . . No, no, no, they're not! They're just hurt! They need us, Poppy, they need help! I need to help them!" He gasped for air that wouldn't come. You were cold, so cold, so he curled around you to keep you warm. "I. . . My little angel. . . needs me. . ."

Silence rang out, heavy and pregnant with a realization Dogday fought. He didn't want to acknowledge it, not when you were still here, curled up in his arms, asleep but in pain. He needed to get you medicine, bandages, a place to rest. Then you'd be up again, smiling at him, letting hug you and protect you. . .

Protect you. Yeah, right. Dogday couldn't even catch you when you needed him the most. But that was okay, because he'd make it up to you. Yeah, he'd nurse you back to health, then he'd get you out of this horrible place. He'd find somewhere for you to live, somewhere quiet and nice, and he'd. . . and he'd love you like he should've when he was still human.

And maybe you'd love him too. Call him "Dad" again, come to him for nightmares, or show him the books you like. Show him who you came to be in his absence, show him you missed him just as sorely as he missed you.

You laid in his arms, face peaceful and soft. Dogday held you, and felt it wash over him. Felt the pain, the hatred, the anger, the grief, all seep into his body in a slow drip, until he felt ready to burst into flames. He ignored it. He had to.

"I'm right here, little angel." He assured you, breathless. "I'm not going anywhere. Never again."

And when the hand reached down, spindly fingers in quiet offering, Dogday didn't leave. He held tight to you, and wherever you went, he followed.

Until the end of it all.

#reblog #poppy playtime #child reader

[cheesemoth]

how is jj spencer’s best friend? she actively ignores him - doesn’t really care about his special interests etc etc

i can’t be the only one to just not see it, right?

don’t get me wrong i love jj but i wouldn’t mind seeing a few more fics where reader puts jj in her place (especially after her confession)

[cheesemoth]

actually my third request but I can’t stop thinking about Spencer since I’m watching criminal minds for the like fifth time…

What about fem!reader teaching Spencer how to do a cunnilingus and he is a really good learner so r cum for the seconde time. (idk if it make sense)

babes. ily. let's get into this (im sorry this is so vague im sleepy)

spencer reid would of course have the best intentions the first time he goes down on you, he just, doesn't really know what he's doing. so before he can even get much done, before his chin is wet, he pulls back again and asks for help.

you of course offer advice, pointing out where your clit is, how to stimulate it, what he should do and when and with how much pressure. he takes mental notes quickly, memorizing exactly what you like.

spencer makes you cum in just a few minutes after your first lesson. he's moaning into your pussy, face soaked and lips raw, fingers pressing against the soft meat of your inner thighs. he loves the feeling of your hands in his hair, tugging as his soft curls, his hips secretly grinding into the mattress and he listens to your praise. it's like he's drunk between your legs, clueless just 10 minutes ago, but now he's eating you out like it's the only thing he knows how to do.

he wouldn't stop for a while. wouldn't stop until you're whining and softly pushing him away, he was too busy memorizing how you reacted to every small change of how his tongue pressed against you and counting every time you came to realize that, maybe it was too much.

spencer used the notes he took again and again, relishing in the feeling of you cumming on his tongue when he finally perfected the technique you taught him.

[cheesemoth]

Revelations and Reverence

PAIRING: Spencer Reid x Reader

WARNINGS: Kidnapping, Torture, Drugs, S2 E15

SYNOPSIS: Season 2, Episode 15 where Tobias kidnaps Spencer, but this time she's get taken with him. "Inject me instead, I need it. Tobias, hey, don't do this. Please." His voice breaks at the end. Infections and overdoses and addiction and diseases, he doesn't want any of that for her, not her. Anyone but her.

PART 2 (Coming soon)

NOTE: I am NOT taking requests at the moment.

"Wake up!" A voice whispers, urgency lacing the normal honeyed tone she's used to being addressed with. "Come on, open your eyes."

Swallowing back a groan, inklings of the waking world come back to her slowly, bit by bit.

"...What?" She croaks out, throat dry and voice cracked. Blinking the haze out of her eyes, she registers the ache in her bones, the throbbing at the back of her head, wrinkling her nose at the scent of rotting wood and hay.

"Oh thank God." The voice says again, and this time she manages to lift her head up from being slumped over. It takes much more effort than it should but it ultimately works out in her favour, because the sight of Spencer sitting in front of her in a rickety chair chases away any lingering sluggishness.

"What the hell..." She whispers, sitting up straighter, alarmed when she finds her hands cuffed to the chair behind her. "What the hell?" She repeats louder, trying to turn to see behind her. "Spencer?"

"I'm here." He confirms quickly. Her boyfriend's never really been able to hide his cards from her, so she has no trouble picking up the edge of panic in his voice. "He took my gun, I'm not armed. Took yours too."

"Who?" She demands, attempting to struggle out of the cuffs. It does nothing but bite into her skin. "Are you alright?" Turning her gaze on him, her eyes widen at the blood trickling down the side of his face. She's certain she's in no better condition, but it scares her nonetheless.

"I've been better." He cocks his head quizzically. " Tobias? You...you remember don't you? We split up and-"

"Son of a bitch!" She cuts him off as it comes back. The field of yellow stalks. Her running after Spencer when he wasn't answering his radio. Finding his sprawled on the ground. The blow to the back of her head. "Did you see where they took us?" She asks. Looking around, there's nothing much to indicate their location. Some sort of cabin, the only window being too far to get a proper look through.

It was a terrible idea to split up. What had she been thinking, agreeing to a plan that was usually suggested by stupid teens in B-list horror movies? Spencer was a genius, but this really wasn't his brightest moment.

It'd been their bout of luck, being sent to interview someone who turned out to be a biblical murderer in the ass of nowhere.

"I woke up a few seconds ago." Spencer responds, taking her in. There's a furrow in his brow, something she's usually move to smooth over with her thumb in a better situation. "I shouldn't have suggested we split up." He mutters, half to himself. "With the proper precautions-"

"No, we're not doing that." She says. "What's done is done, alright? The others will find us. Hotch will find us and we'll put this son of a bitch away."

Spencer swallows, eyes flickering from her face to the floor. He opens his mouth to speak, pauses, before continuing in a quieter voice. "Hotch doesn't know Tobias is the unsub." He says.

"JJ will tell him." The chair creaks at the attempts to get loose. "She was checking out the barn, she'll know something's wrong."

Spencer doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't really have time to respond before a draft makes them both shiver, the door suddenly pushed open.

Imposing is the word she'd describe him with. It's an aura that'd make a lesser man shrink into himself, cold eyes hardened by life in a way that might seem cruel lest he not pass it on to others. Firewood in hand, Tobias narrows his eyes at the both

"What are you starin' at?" He grunts.

They exchange a glance, and photographs of the crime scenes this man had been responsible for flash through her mind like a film. The blood and gore, the victims...Would they end up the same? Would they have to make their teammates takes swabs of their blood and cover their bodies with sheets. Fear creeps into her heart, the helplessness taking it's hold and solidifying into something that has her breath hitching.

"You're not Raphael." Spencer's voice brings her back to the present.

Grounding. He was always so grounding, and although she can tell he's nervous, just as scared as she is his eyes are anything to go by, he still manages to anchor her to the present. His comment brings a ration part of her mind back, forcing her to think logically.

In facts rather than fears.

"Do I look like Raphael?" Tobias says, before moving to toss the wood near the burner.

"Thank you for burning those." Spencer continues cautiously, "Keeping us safe." It's a dangerous game, this back and forth.

"Don't try to trick me."

"He's not." She chimes in, ignoring the way Spencer's gaze snaps to hers pleadingly. He wants to tell her to be quiet, to not draw attention to herself, to let him take the brunt of whatever might happen next but she refuses to look at him. "It's...it's cold outside. We're not tricking you, we'd never do that." She tries to keep her voice mellow and calm, being calm was important in this situation. Most unsubs had a short fuse and the wrong tone could flip a switch that might make this hell for them-

"You're a liar." A shiver runs down her spine at the harsh declaration. From the corner of her eye she can see Spencer sitting up straighter, worried eyes looking between the two.

"I'm not a liar." She refutes weakly.

"Lying's a sin."

Panicked eyes cross with Spencer's as Tobias takes his belt off, moves with a purpose than makes her heart sink to stand in front of her.

"I'm not a liar!" She exclaims, stifling a cry when she's yanked out of her seat, cuffed hand brought out in front of her. He sits on a makeshift mattress in front of her, arms clasped in an iron grip.

"This'll be over quickly if you just confess your sins."

"We're not sinners." Spencer says shakily. "She didn't lie, I-"

"Quiet." Tobias cuts him off. "We're all sinners." The angry monotony in his voice scares her more than the way he pushes the sleeves of her bloodied shirt up to her elbows. Struggling is useless, neither of them have the strength for it, and even if they got away, who's to say they'd know where to go after?

It's evidently clear what Tobias is about to do when he brings the thick belt over her forearms. She squeezes her eyes shut, but before it can make an impact, Spencer interrupts, urgently reciting a verse from the bible.

"You know Leviticus." Tobias pauses.

"Every word of the bible." Spencer says, a note of desperation in his voice as he looks between them both. "I can recite it for you right now-"

"Even the devil knows how to read." Any hope is tampered down with the statement as the grip on her forearms tighten and her terror grows tenfold when those cruel eyes cut to her. "Can you recite it?"

"I..." She trails off, breathing picking up in a panic, because Spencer may have that eidetic memory of his, something she finds so endearing, but she's not anything close to Catholic.

Tobias narrows his eyes and her fate is sealed. He brings the belt down hard around her wrists, and she cries out at the sharp, hot band of pain. Her ears ring, and she can hear Spencer pleading in the background, something about devils and saints, but all she can focus on is the brand of pain brought down on her over and over again, blood trickling down from her arms into her pants.

"Confess." He grits out, unmoving even with the tears trickling down her face.

"I've nothing to confess." She croaks out, squeezing her eyes shut. She forces herself to focus on Spencer's voice as the onslaught continues.

Panic didn't suit him. She much prefers his honeyed voice in the mornings before they had to leave for work, or the sweet whispers in her ear each night before bed.

Her arms feel like they're on fire.

"I'm sorry." Spencer says once she lifts her head and blinks the black spots away from her vision. He looks...he looks wrecked, hair a mess, half bloody and worried, and all she wants is to sink into his arms into one of those hugs that made her feel untouchable. "I'm so sorry honey, I didn't- I shouldn't have provoked him, I should've-"

"It's...it's okay Spencer." She groans, swallowing back a small noise of pain as she tries to sit up. Nothing is going to get her to look down at her mangled arms right now, no, she'd rather leave that problem for the EMT's later. "Glad it was me-"

"No, it shouldn't have been!" He raises his voice slightly and it wakes her up more. They hold each other's gaze for a moment, remorse evident in his eyes, remorse that she doesn't for a second think belongs there, but that's always been Spencer, hasn't it? From the moment she met him, he was willing to take on the world for her, take her burdens and stack them on top of his own mountain with one of those smiles that made her feel like everything was alright.

God, what she wouldn't give to see that right now.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"-she doesn't want it. Stop. Please stop." Her brows furrow in her sleep as something tightens around her arm.

Shit, if she wasn't sure she had a concussion before, there was definitely no doubt now. Somewhere between her concussion and the lashings she'd welcomed the bliss of nothingness. Part of her wishes she could stay there when she starts to rouse.

Mumbling out something half-intelligible, a frown takes place on her face when she realises someone's touching her, manoeuvring her arm causing a flash of pain to travel down her nerves. The sound that leaves her has the perpetrator shushing her.

"It'll make it better, I promise. Don't tell him, though."

"Tobias, look at me, please don't do this. It's not- this isn't logical, she doesn't need it, I promise." The frantic note to Spencer's voice should make her pay attention, but between the fire in her arms and the throbbing that has her thoughts swimming it's too difficult of a battle to justify.

"Inject me." Spencer strains against his cuffs to no avail. There could be anything in those vials, anything going into her veins and the thousands of statistics and possibilities rush through his mind as he watch Tobias tower over her with a needle. "Inject me instead, I need it. Tobias, hey, don't do this. Please." His voice breaks at the end.

Infections and overdoses and addiction and diseases, he doesn't want any of that for her, not her. Anyone but her.

There's a pause.

A prick in the crook of her arm.

"It'll all be better soon." A puff of hot air and she slips back into the pull of the dark.

The last thing she hears is Spencer call out her name.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

PART 2 (Coming soon)

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(30/03/2024)

[cheesemoth]

I don't even know you anymore- s.reid

a/n: this is kind of short so sorry, also it is deeply sad because i clearly love hurting my own feelings :( intended for fem or male reader, so imagine what you like:)))))))))

summary: you anniversary should be a night between you and spencer, right?

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: general angst, cheating and breaking up

It was a cold night. You were supposed to see a show but as usual, ‘something came up’. You had been working with Dr. Spencer Walter Reid for 4 years, 5 months and 3 days. You had been dating Dr. Spencer Walter Reid for 3 years, and 4 hours. It was your anniversary. You walked up the stairs to your shared apartment, ready for a night of feeling sorry for yourself and eating a sad, lonely dinner. You had sent your tickets to see ‘The Mousetrap’ to Jj, she said Will and her would go instead since Spencer had ‘something to do’. You couldn’t help but feel dejected and unimportant. Why wouldn’t he tell you what he’s doing? Why didn’t he call you back? You tried to push those thoughts out of your head as you turned the key to your apartment and walked inside. Inside,you saw Spencer and you saw Jj. Jj and Spencer were kissing. Your boyfriend was kissing someone else. Your boyfriend was kissing the woman he had a crush on for years. 

Fuck.

“Am I interrupting something?” You said, bitterness punctuating every word. You dropped the groceries on the counter as they pulled apart, Jj looking nervous and Spencer looking… upset? Is that the right way to put it? Like a child that broke something after being told not to touch it. 

“It’s not what it looks like-” Jj started. 

“Yes, yes it is. You two were kissing, and I really don’t fucking care who kissed who, I just want you to get out of my house.”

Jj starts to gather her things and Spencer stands there, looking down. 

“That includes you Spencer,” You smiled sourly as he looked up and stared at you. “Maybe you two can catch a show? I already sent you the tickets for tonight. Have fun!” 

“Please-” Spencer started, tears in his eyes. 

“No. You made your fucking bed, lay in it.” He went to touch your arm, “Don’t touch me,” You spat out, he retracted his hand.

“Just, let him explain it, please,” Jj pleaded as she left your apartment. 

You walked back to the kitchen and started putting the groceries away. “So that was what you were busy doing? Didn’t realise you thought so little of me.” 

He touched your arm to stop your movements and you stared at him. He’s crying, like you’re the one who’s hurt him. “Please,” He begged. “Just listen to me.”

You scoffed but nodded, allowing him to continue. 

“She texted me saying she was in trouble… so I went to find her. She said she’d been mugged outside the club like a block away, so I went to find her. I know now that she hadn’t been but she just asked to come back here, and ‘calm down’ so I let her. We came inside, then she started saying all this weird stuff about how me and her were ‘meant to be’ or something. I shut her down immediately and she just kissed me and then…” 

“But you didn’t stop her from kissing you,” You sighed, allowing the hurt he’s caused to be shown. 

“What? She had just kissed me-”

“Spencer I’m not stupid, your hair is ruffled, so is your shirt, and you have her lipstick on your lips. Don’t try to lie to me about this. I’m a profiler, remember?”

He looked down, ashamed. Then he wiped his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“I am too.” 

He looked up, alarmed, his hands holding your waist in place so you couldn’t move. “What?”

“Spencer, I don’t trust you. I can’t. I don’t know who you are anymore.”

His face broke, a tear falling down his cheek. “Please, I’m begging you, I love you.”

“Spencer, get your hands off me,” You sighed. “Just let me go.”

“Please. I’m begging you-”

“Spencer! Enough, just stop!” You pushed his hands off of you. “Have you not done enough?!” 

“Please-” You moved past him and went to your bedroom, locking the door behind you. You lay in bed, thinking about how you’ll deal with this. You didn’t want to break up with Spencer. But you just couldn’t trust him anymore.

[cheesemoth]

Hey my lovely, could i equest a blurb where reader seeks one of spencer's hugs and he's all soft and mushy about it!! I just think he'd give really warm hugs and want one so bad!

shy!reader + post!prison Spencer have a hug

Spencer understands why you might find him intimidating. He did go to prison for a few weeks, and even if the idea of his being a potential felon didn’t scare you, there’s nothing wrong with being nervous around the unknown. You’ve had a few more weeks to get to know the others on the team. He tries not to take it personally that you’re closer with some of them than you are him. 

Plus, you’re awfully shy. 

Spencer’s been trying to communicate that he’s an idiot. He was shy, once, and he tends to be shy about things now, too, even if he’s taken to hiding that. He hides a lot, these days. 

But things aren’t hopeless with you. You’re inarguably his best work friend now that Morgan’s not around, taking the desk next to his —through coincidence or insistence, he has no idea. 

“What flavour do you have today?” he asks. 

You show him your bag. The convenience store outside of work has the strangest sweets from all sorts of places. You’ve been bringing in a different bag each day, and you always share. “Today is apricot and peach ‘millions’,” you tell him, shaking the bright pink bag like a rattle. 

Inside, the millions bounce against each other like miniscule polystyrene balls but with a heavier weight. 

“Awesome!” he says, holding out his hand. “Please?” 

You rip the corner and tip a generous helping of candies into his palm, doing the same in your own hand. “Ready?” you ask. 

“Three, two, one.” 

You both tip your heads back at the same time. Apricot and peach are similar flavours, and Spencer can’t tell the difference when they’re both in play. He can also taste apple juice and the sharp citric acid flavour they put in every candy. 

He can’t tell if you like them. He quite enjoys it, will happily eat the leftovers if you’re not interested, but your attention isn’t on the candy when he looks up. You’re staring straight at him. 

“What?” he asks, perturbed. 

“Nothing, just. Had a rough morning. Thanks for trying the candy with me.” 

He frowns. “I’m sorry. Let me know if there’s something I can do to make you feel better. I can make you a cup of hot chocolate?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Spencer’s sure that to an outsider, he and the team appear to travel to a hundred cities a month. In reality, cases aren’t as densely packed, especially with the government expanding their profiling teams, and the majority of Spencer’s day is spent answering emails and giving advice to agents, law enforcement, and his colleagues. He doesn’t see much of you (where you’re forced to work ViCAP calibration as newbies usually are, almost like a hazing) but he does take you that hot chocolate around lunch time. Just to make sure you have the option. 

It’s sometime past four PM when you appear again. 

“Hey,” he says, turning to you where you’re paused behind your desk chair, “you're finally done?” 

“Not yet. So many case files to transcribe, opinions to cross check, signatures and…” You wince. “It’s a lot. You already know.” 

“I don’t, actually. I only ever had to do ViCAP as punishment, and I was extremely well-behaved. For a while, anyway.” 

You hesitate with something heavy on the tip of your tongue. You’re like every profiler wherein your tells are self-identified and quelled, but you’re still so new, and Spencer’s an expert. You want to ask him for something, but you don’t think you’re allowed. If he presses the issue you’ll shut down, and if he offers you another cup of hot chocolate you’ll simply drink it without letting him in on the real secret. 

Spencer waits. 

“Spencer, you don’t have to say yes, just… You’re the nicest friend I have, and you always know what I need to hear. Um, I know you don’t like touching people and I wouldn’t ask you to if you don’t want to, but it’s been a really long time since someone hugged me, and…” Your voice gets quieter and quieter, until you’re whispering, and then fizzling out. 

“You want a hug?” he asks, surprised. 

“If that’s okay.” 

“I give really good hugs,” he warns, climbing from his chair immediately, arms opened, an unmissable invitation. “You’ll never get over it.” 

“Really?” 

He can’t believe you came to him specifically for a hug. He’s gonna lose his mind. Gentle, Spencer ushers you into his arms, head quick to duck down, his thumb on your shoulder. 

You could’ve asked anybody in the office for a hug. Penelope would have hugged your brains out. Emily, Unit Chief and secret sweetheart, would’ve taken you off of ViCAP and given you a loving pat on the back. But you didn’t ask Penelope or Emily, you asked him. 

“You don’t have to ask me first,” he says quietly. 

“You don’t like touching.” 

“That’s more to do with germs, and I’m not worried about yours,” he says. “Unless you’re about to tell me you have a headache.” 

“It’s like this pounding behind my eyes,” you say with a laugh. 

Spencer smiles, his mouth and nose to the side of your head. He gives you a good ten seconds of quiet, his palm warming your shoulder, before he murmurs, “Any better?” 

“You’re really warm,” you murmur back. 

Spencer resists the urge to squeeze you. “It's the oxytocin.”

“Or you’re just really, really warm.”

[cheesemoth]

not me asking for it https://www.tumblr.com/avis-writeshq/744966259884556288/if-someone-asks-for-it-ill-write-a-fic-based-on?source=share

pairing: s9!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff, established relationship, SMUT warnings: 18+ CONTENT; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !! oral fem receiving, spencer reid is a munch, hair pulling, fingering a/n: a promise is a promise !! based off of this post <3 i hope this lived up to expectations !! first time writing fem oral ha h a ha wc: 1.1k

Honestly, if there’s one person Spencer can blame for the situation he is currently in, he blames himself. After all, he should have known that a ‘gathering’ at Rossi’s house that was planned by Penelope would only call for a lot of teasing, a lot of ‘get to know each other!’ games (despite the fact that he has worked with this same team for more than seven years. What else is there to know?), and a lot of alcohol. He didn’t quite realise that these games would be of the drinking variety. Alas, here he is, sitting on one of Rossi’s incredibly expensive leather couches and cringing at the horrid taste of whiskey. 

The game they’re currently playing is an alcoholic’s rendition of ‘who is most likely to?’, involving a thick stack of cards with different topics while each member of the team took turns reading out. Whoever ended up with the most amount fingers pointed in their direction was forced to drink.

Spencer hates this game. He has drank from his cup a grand total of six times, and he is not getting any more used to the spicy-poison-equivalent in his hand. 

“Alright, this is a good one,” Derek announces with a manic snigger. “Who here is most likely to be a munch?”

There is no hesitation in anyone’s answers, and all six fingers point into Spencer’s direction. His jaw drops at the betrayal, his head spinning from the sheer amount of shots he had to take but also what the hell is a munch?

“I don’t even know what that means!” He insists. 

“Oh–” Penelope wears a half delighted half pitying expression at his words. “We really need to get you onto the internet more. Reddit is probably up your alley.”

“Even Rossi knows what it means,” Emily cackles, gesturing to Rossi who looks all too pleased. “Hotch was my second option though.”

Aaron shrugs, sipping at his drink. “Guilty.”

A chorus of laughs and shrieks erupt from the group, leaving Spencer even more confused. “What?”

“Don’t Google it,” JJ chimes in. “Seriously.”

Spencer nods, and although he knows that he should have taken the warning seriously, the curiosity was getting to him and he had no choice but to search it up as soon as he got home. He gets the usual answers– the etymology of the word, what it means in the Oxford Dictionary, the popularity of the word since the early 1800s, and he really doesn’t understand what the fuss is. Does the team think that he eats loudly? Or that he chews with his mouth open? His brows furrow at the unsightly thought. 

His interest soon shifts to a different a different link, namely The Urban Dictionary. He blinks, clicking on the link without much thought and– oh. He does not get much sleep that night.

*** 

Your relationship with Spencer isn’t a secret. At least, it was never supposed to be classified as such. He is simply an incredibly private person that even his closest friends don’t know that you exist. It simply never popped up in conversation– or so he says.

The relationship isn’t necessarily new either. It’s nearing the one year mark and you have gotten to the point where the two of you have been more ‘experimental’ when it comes to sex. He finds it embarrassing. You find it unsurprising that he would. You find it even more surprising when he breaks a kiss halfway to lower you onto his bed, your head falling to one of his very expensive memory foam pillows. 

“I want to try something,” he announces softly into your ear, squeezing gently at your waist and looping his fingers into his shorts. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, body hot with anticipation as he pulls down your shorts. It’s only when he brings his face between your thighs do you realise what he intends to do. “Spence, you don’t have to–”

“I want to,” he repeats softly, his fingers running up and down the lacy fabric at your slit. “If you want me to stop, you can tell me.”

You shake your head immediately at that, your hands moving to his grip his shoulders. “No, I don’t want you to stop but– but Spence, this is the first time you’ve done this. It’s okay–”

“Let me do this for you,” he says, his breath ghosting against the sensitive skin of your thighs. “I’ve done my research.”

“What–”

You’re silenced as soon as he presses his lips to your cunt, only separated by your pretty lacy underwear. He groans quietly at the taste of your slick seeping through the fabric, and his hands hold onto your thighs to keep them parted. It’s so good, so good, but it just isn’t enough. He pushes the fabric to the side, watching the way it clings and sticks to your skin. 

All it takes is one swipe of his tongue on your pretty clit for his brain to grow blank. The grip he has on your thighs grow firmer and his fingers dig in hard enough to leave little marks. His nose bumps against your clit while his tongue travels against your folds. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes against you, lapping at your dripping cunt. “Fuck, angel, you’re so beautiful.”

Then, he’s on you all over again. His lips wrap around your clit and he whines into you as he sucks at the bundle of nerves. Each one of his actions has your back lifting from the bed and your hands tugging at his curls, to which he responds with a quiet moan. Amidst the pleasure, your mind nags you to be gentle, and you loosen your grip despite it taking all of your self control.

“Do that again.” He says it as a demand, guiding your hands back into his hair. “Do it again, angel.”

His head is spinning and he craves for more of you, his tongue flattening against your clit over and over again. He brings his own fingers to brush against your entrance, coating them with your slick before slipping his middle finger inside. It’s only the first knuckle but it’s enough to have you squirming beneath him. He pushes further until it reaches all the way, and Spencer groans at the feeling of you tightening around him. He kisses your clit again at the same time he curls his finger inside you and it’s all too much. 

“Spence–”

You gush around his finger and he licks and laps at your pussy like he needs it to breathe. His finger curls open and closed inside you while you rock your hips against his face, your grip on his hair tightening as each second of your high passes. 

“So good,” Spencer moans, kissing your clit. “Taste so good. You can do one more, right, angel? Just one more, I promise.”

reblogs are always appreciated !!

tagging the people who commented on the original post: @mosaicbrokenherz @doigettokeepyou @goblinintheblog @cassioxpeiaxmgg @daddytenebra @lilliumrorum @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @lightreiding

#reblog #perfection #smut #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader

[cheesemoth]

Angel with a shotgun? WRONG.

"ANGEL" WITH A METAL BAT!!!

Inspired by @bumblehoneybee stories of child/teen!reader, me think I should make a chaotic child.

She's a menace to Playtime Co's toys :)

[cheesemoth]

Dancing in the Moonlight

Summary: Spencer gets creative in order to cheer up Reader

Request: could you please write about how sunshine!reader ends up having a bad day and grumpy spencer spends all day to no avail trying to cheer up the sunshine!reader. The thing that finally works is a little bit silly? 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Category: Comfort, Fluff

Content Warning: Reader has a bad day and is upset but it's not specified why, mentions crying

Word Count: 1k

Masterlist

Just like a sunbeam sneaking through black curtains you came into Spencer's life all those months ago. He would never forget the first time he felt the heat your presence radiated, warming even the darkest corner of his heart. After those long days of fighting evil, he craved nothing more than coming home to bask in your kindness. 

However, when he entered your apartment that night, Spencer immediately realized that something was different. Where he'd usually find excitement and joy, he only saw a fake smile on your face.

"What's wrong, my love?" 

Spencer found his place beside you on the couch, offering to pull you right into his arms. You hesitated, afraid that his touch might break loose the tears you so desperately tried to hold back. 

Instead of accepting his embrace, you just shook your head and answered, "I just had a bad day." 

Spencer knew that it must have been a truly terrible day for it to take away your smile. You were the most optimistic person he had ever met, always seeing the good in everything even when he couldn't. 

"I'm sorry to hear that. What can I do to make it better?" 

You just shrugged and leaned back on the couch, ready to simply wait until this day would be over. 

Spencer, however, decided to make it his mission to cheer you up. After giving it some thought, he realized that he had no idea how to do that, though. Usually your roles were reversed with you being the one to comfort him after a bad day. You were the one who – without fail – always managed to light up his life.

Now it was his turn to do the same for you. He just needed to figure out how. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" He offered. 

You shook your head while sinking back further into the couch. Spencer reached out his hand to brush over your fingertips. His touch was soothing, so you opened your palm to take his hand in yours. He moved closer to you until his shoulder touched yours. 

When you locked eyes with him you managed to flash him a timid smile, not as genuine as usual but less fake than before. 

"Hey," Spencer whispered.

"Hi," you breathed. 

His lips found yours in a brief and innocent kiss. It wasn't enough to make up for what happened today but you appreciated his attempt to light up your inner spark again. 

Spencer quickly noticed that his nearness alone wouldn't be enough to cheer you up. 

"Are you hungry?" He asked. "I could make you something to eat."

"I already had dinner earlier," you declined his offer. 

He got up from the couch to turn on the TV and put on your favorite show before disappearing in the kitchen for a few minutes. When he came back he handed you a mug with freshly brewed tea. 

"Thank you," you said while taking the beverage. "I really appreciate it."

It was true, you did appreciate his attempts to make your day better. It didn't work though. As he sat with you to watch the show while occasionally checking your facial features, he realized that, too. 

"You're still upset," he stated with a frown present on his face. 

"Sorry, I–"

"Don't apologize," he interrupted you. "It's not your fault. I just hate that I have no idea how to help you. You're always there for me and know exactly what to do or say and here I am… so…lost." 

"It's okay, Spencer. I'm sure it'll just pass. Tomorrow is a new day."

"No, don't you try to cheer me up!" He protested. "This is about you. I really want to make you feel better." 

You turned your head to look out the window. The sun had already set, all you could find was darkness on the other side of the glass. It almost felt like a metaphor for that day, as if all you could do was to wait for the next morning to let the rising sun warm your heart again. 

Spencer couldn't accept that, though, so he suggested, "We could go for a walk. Maybe the fresh air will help you clear your head."

It was worth a try. Chilly air met puffy cheeks when you stepped outside, Spencer’s hand immediately reaching out to intertwine his fingers with yours. Walking side by side, you followed his lead, unable to make a decision as to where to go yourself. Soon you stepped into a park together, noticing how a mild breeze created a rustling sound as it met leafy trees.

Tilting your head, your eyes wandered over the night sky. The moon was bright and big, almost looking unreal from your point of view. Although it was only borrowing its light from the sun, it still did its bet to illuminate your path. 

Very sudden and without a warning Spencer stopped his motions to step in front of you. He softly smiled at you when he said, "Dance with me."

Those were words you never thought you'd hear from him, so you asked in disbelief, "What?" 

He gently got ahold of your wrists to move them to his shoulders before he grabbed your waist. 

"Dance with me," he repeated. 

And so you did. 

At first you just swayed from side to side, not unlike all those kitschy prom scenes in teen movies. There was no music playing but that was alright, the sound of the wind was your beat while some sleepless bird sang the harmony. When Spencer made the first step, you simply followed his motions. 

It was clumsy and graceless but he didn't give up, not even when he almost fell over his own feet. The smile slowly forming on your face spurred him on to keep going despite his lack of skill. There was no holding back the laughter spilling from your lips each time your chests almost collided because you missed a step. 

However, after a few moments your body moved naturally with his, almost as if you had done that a million times before. Your smile grew bigger with each spin, making you slowly forget the sorrows of the day. And although the sunrise was still many hours away, just like that your inner light began shining again.  

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @gspenc @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @sebs-oxygen @happymangospot @cynbx @melifluorei-d @hotchandspencearedilfs @emiliaserpe @thenerdthatwrites @velvetthunder93 @cncoxlifeline @saturnstringz @missabsey @guacam011y @whoopdy-doo @hugyourlungs @reiderwriter @snapeknot @enamoradax @hales-17 @cham9ions @loaksulluyswife @ecneremili @xserenax-13 @grumpyy-bearr

[cheesemoth]

Thank all of you for these notes ! It makes me happy to know that you appreciate my writing 🥰

A WEDDING MADE OF STRAWS

Part 1 | Part 2

Fandom

Criminal Minds

Summary

Your relationship with Spencer, your husband, seems to be deteriorating after seven years together and four years of marriage. You've tried to talk to him about it, to find out if you've done something wrong, but all you get is an avoidance or the poor excuse "I don't have time". Finally, you've had enough.

Genre

Hurt/Open Ending

Pairing

Spencer Reid/Female Reader

Spencer isn't feeling well.

His head hurts, constantly, and lately, his job seems to weigh even more heavily on his shoulders. He knows it's partly due to his worry about schizophrenia, especially since the migraines he thought he had left behind are back.

He tries to distract himself, not to let his thoughts invade his daily life with you and his professional life, but it's a difficult fight. He so wants to talk to you about all this, but the idea of burdening you with his problems makes him wince. You're already worried enough for him, with all the time his job takes; he doesn't want to add to your worries.

So, naturally, Spencer turns to his best friend at work, JJ. She understands him better than anyone, without a word being said, and her presence is like a sanctuary in the face of his torments.

He is aware that this isn't fair to you, but he finds it unbearable to share what eats at him, to pollute your environment with his problems and anxiety.

"You should really talk to her, Spence," JJ says for the umpteenth time, after Spencer shared his discomfort that had intensified earlier, amplified by your disappointed tone after he announced he would spend the night at a friend's.

Spencer immediately shakes his head. "I can't —"

"I think your wife is wise enough to decide for herself," JJ retorts, a tad more sharply.

Spencer lowers his eyes, stung. Of course, he would never question your intelligence or your independence. He is also convinced that you do not grasp the full extent of what a possible diagnosis of schizophrenia could imply for him. What he would be imposing on you, if it were to develop. He bites his lip, sighing heavily as he runs his fingers through his hair.

Seeing the state Spencer is in, with his pronounced dark circles despite the comfort of the guest room bed, and his shoulders tense, JJ softens her tone.

"Just... think about it, okay? She loves you, otherwise you wouldn't be together."

Spencer finds nothing to reply and settles for a non-committal hum. These words don't reassure him as much as they should. That night, he doesn't find sleep easily, just like the previous nights.

...

...

It's been almost a week since Spencer hasn't returned to the apartment, to you. A case hit him particularly hard, and he hasn't been able to suppress these harmful emotions as he usually does.

He doesn't want you to see him like this. It's so pitiable. He wants to text you, even call you just to hear your voice, but he knows he would end up cracking, likely in tears, like a child seeking comfort from his mother.

Spencer is supposed to be strong, to be an exceptional husband for an exceptional wife; and lately, he feels incapable of being either. While keeping his distance is probably not the best solution, until he can get his life back in order and control his feelings, it will have to suffice.

You'll understand — you always do, in the end.

It was a mistake. A terrible mistake, because when he returns to the apartment, which smells of dust and exudes solitude, his heart sinks when his call remains unanswered and the silence persists.

"Honey?" His voice breaks terribly as he enters your bedroom to find the bed made, and your side of the bed devoid of your extra fluffy pillow and your small heavy, soft blanket. "Love, this isn't funny —"

Spencer's words die in his throat as he discovers the small pile of seemingly innocuous papers on the counter, topped with a simple pen. He knows what it is without even having to read, but that doesn't mean he accepts the situation immediately. He frowns, opening and closing his mouth as his trembling fingers touch the first page.

Spencer's eyes burn as an overwhelming emotion weaves through his bones.

"No," he murmurs, finally finding the courage to read the words inked on the page, his lower lip trembling and his breath hitching. "No, it's not supposed to be like this," Spencer articulates, shaking his head.

He fumbles feverishly in his pants pocket, and the only reason he manages to dial your number despite the tears blurring his vision is sheer habit. It's only when the dial tone sounds in his ear that he lets out a curse through clenched teeth and a deep sob shakes his entire body.

He tries again, and again, until...

Until his number is blocked, and that's when Spencer Reid fully realizes how much he's ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. All because he was afraid of his own mind.

...

...

JJ doesn't utter any reproachful words when Spencer shows up with his face marked by tears and his eyes reddened. He doesn't need to hear her thoughts to know she's thinking, "I told you so." And he can't even be mad about it.

"What do I do now?" Spencer asks miserably, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, his shoulders slumped. He doesn't want to divorce; he doesn't want to give up on the love of his life.

JJ doesn't know what to say, and Spencer doesn't even know what answer he's looking for. He has to pursue you, find you and hope he can explain himself, even if he doesn't deserve it, doesn't deserve your forgiveness for the way he's made you feel these past times.

Spencer surely chose the worst time to be selfish. But at this moment, he doesn't have the strength to care. All he wants is to belong to you again.

It takes several days for Spencer to find the courage to see you again. Of course, he knows where you are. He knows you by heart, after all.

...

...

When Spencer finally makes the decision to confront the situation, his heart is heavy but determined. The days apart have been excruciating, each moment filled with regret and longing. 

He's rehearsed what he wants to say a thousand times over, but now, standing at the threshold of possibly the most important conversation of his life, words seem to fail him.

The journey to you is a blur, his mind consumed with thoughts of how to mend what's been broken. He knows apologies are not enough, but they're a start. Spencer understands the magnitude of his mistake, the pain he's caused by shutting you out when he needed you the most. He's ready to open up, to share his fears and his struggles, hoping it's not too late to salvage the love you share.

As he arrives, his heart pounds with a mix of fear and hope. The anticipation of seeing you again, of possibly hearing your voice, fills him with a nervous energy he hasn't felt in a long time. Spencer knows the conversation ahead will be difficult, that there's a lot to work through, but he's committed to doing whatever it takes. He wants to prove that he can be the partner you deserve, that he can face his demons with you by his side.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer steps forward, ready to face whatever comes with honesty and love. He knows the path to reconciliation won't be easy, but he's hopeful. Hopeful that your shared history, the love and the memories you've built together, will be enough to overcome this challenge.

As he knocks on the door, waiting for an answer, Spencer rehearses his opening lines in his mind. "I'm sorry," will be his starting point, followed by the truth about his fears, his condition, and his deep-seated fear of burdening you.

But more than anything, he wants to convey his unwavering love for you, his desire to fight for your relationship, and his hope for a future together, despite the shadows that have crept into his life.

The door opens, and there you are.

#reblog

[cheesemoth]

Burdens

A wonderful idea sent to me by the lovely @shiorimia ! Thank you so much!

Warning: descriptions of blood and gore

It was a stupid mistake. A misstep, a wrong turn, confused directions and jumbled ideas of left and right. You went the wrong way, and instead of finding cover, you stumbled into an open clearing.

Your head swivels, scanning piles of broken concrete and drill bits, scattered toys and suspicious stains. Dogday, gripping your shoulders, clinging on for dear life, watches your six in return. There’s nothing but the way you returned, or a door you can see off in the dark distance. One you have no assurance is unlocked and will lead somewhere safe.

But you can’t go back, so might as well move and find another way out.

You take off towards the door, body heavy, lungs screaming for a rest. But there’s no time, not with the distant screech of claws on concrete. You force your leadened legs to move faster, teeth grit-

“Angel!”

Dogday’s shout comes too late. Your legs are knocked out from under you in a flash of purple. You hit the ground hard, pants tearing at the knees as you slide across the concrete, hands out to brace you. It’s like a memory, distant in your mind, of playgrounds and laughter turned tears from stinging wounds soothed by a soft voice and soft hands. But no such softness exists for you here.

Instead, your body is shocked by the sudden absence of weight upon your back. Reeling, you push yourself up, seeing a stunned Dogday lying a few feet away. He rubs his head, braced on one elbow, his eyes on you and the bloodied handprints you leave behind.

He doesn’t see the looming figure behind him, the white eyes focused on him, the clawed hand reaching through the darkness in a cloud of glinting red.

You don’t think, and throw your gas mask right into Catnap’s face. It smacks him dead on, and he reels back with a screech of shock and pain.

“Dogday!” You cry, scrambling towards him in a desperate attempt to prevent tragedy. “Duck!”

Such a good boy, Dogday drops at your command, letting you deal with the hissing, spitting Catnap that swipes at him. But he misses, too high to catch Dogday, especially when you throw yourself over him.

Dogday doesn’t quite know what happened. All he knows is that you’re over him, then you’re not. You’re knocked aside, hitting the ground once more in a heavy, concerning thud. But that’s not the sound that bothers Dogday; it’s the distinct sound of liquid splattering across the floor.

He turns, and there you lie. Three marks carve through your stomach, a perfect curve that ends in a spray of blood off your side, onto the floor, like a feathered wing of red. Dogday twists, pulling himself around, dragging himself to where you are.

Catnap hisses and spits at your fallen body.

Dogday gets closer and sees the twist of agony upon your face.

He turns around and lunges at Catnap.

It’s not a fair fight. Catnap has the red gas and sharp claws, but Dogday has a brick he grabbed off the ground and the element of surprise. He swings it down on Catnap’s shoulder, and the cat yowls at the deafening crack that sounds from the impact, skittering off towards the shadows from which he came with a deep limp. Dogday barks after him, rough and enraged and promising more hurt if he came back.

He backs up as he barks, under he bumps into you. Only then does he stop, moving to hover over you as he scans around for any more threats. His body sits tense, fur stood on end, a growl ready in his throat for whatever he might see.

But nothing comes, and the growl melts into a whimper. 

You’re bleeding. His angel, bleeding. Dogday whines loudly, but there’s no one around to help. Poppy and Kissy are somewhere safe, but you’re both out in the open. How is he going to get you somewhere safe? Where is somewhere safe?

Dogday lowers down closer to you. His nose is assaulted with the stench of iron, and he gags. He hates the smell, but bears it for now. He has to get you somewhere with bandages, scraps of fabric, anything to stem the wounds.

He looks towards the door you were running to before. It’s his best bet, and his only option at this point.

Dogday lowers down. It’s hard to maneuver you onto his back, hard to make you lie on your own wounds, balanced over his shoulder to keep you from falling as Dogday crawls towards the door. He moves as fast as he can, thankful for your insistence in making him eat, making him sleep, getting him healthy and strong enough to do this for you.

The door is unlocked, a small miracle. Dogday shoves his way into the dim back hall, growling at the tiny pairs of eyes that turn to the light. The mini critters back away from the big dog’s slow stalk down the hall. He bites at those who get too close, jaws snapping at limbs and tails, all while scanning signs and plaques.

There must be a medical room nearby. There has to be one.

With the blood soaking Dogday’s back, he knows he has to find it. A simple red cross, one he’s seen before. He’s taken kids there before, he was taken there by you, when you rescued him. You, who bandaged him and sewed shut his wounds despite your shaky hands and scared eyes, scared to hurt him more. You could never hurt him.

But right now, Dogday knows he’s hurting you.

He claws his way around the next corner, feeling your body gasp and heave against him. “Hang on, angel.” Dogday gasps, spotting hints of red in the dim shadows. “Almost there. . .”

His arms are starting to ache. His back cramps from the awkward angle it needs to keep you from falling. Dogday has felt worse pain. He tells himself this as he pushes himself forward, unwilling to stop. You saved him. Now he must save you. He has to, has to make up for being useless, a burden.

This is all his fault, after all. He should’ve stayed with Poppy and Kissy like you suggested, not demanded to follow you, to protect you. He couldn’t even manage it. And now you’re. . . you’re dying.

Dogday growls the thought away.

The red is a cross, one Dogday nearly cries to see. He snaps at the critters that try to block the way, batting aside those that don’t immediately retreat. The door is unlocked, nearly hanging off its hinges, but Dogday slams it back, sealed into the frame.

There’s a bed in the corner, too high to reach without legs. Dogday chooses the floor instead, easier to get to you. He rolls, letting you gently fall onto your back. 

“Angel.” Dogday whines, seeing the state of you. Everything is red. Horrible, horrible red.

He looks away, and crawls towards the drawers and cabinets. Their contents are picked through, but small bandages, expired disinfectants, rags and tape all remain. It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but it will have to work.

Dogday takes a slow breath, forces down his worries and emotions, and gets to work.

When you wake up, the world crawling back into your being, everything is sore. Your body loathes to move, but you paw your hands at the squishy fabric beneath you, bundling blankets in your fist to ground your body to this plane. Your head slowly cocks side to side, seeing the dark ceiling, the trash strewn about the floor, the door blocked with a pile of furniture.

And the muted orange arm that lays along your side, connected to the body that hovers just over yours. You stare up at Dogday, but he’s focused on the door, growling every time a soft scratching drags along the wood.

What happened? You remember Catnap lunging at Dogday, then. . . oh.

“Dogday?” You rasp, throat sore and dry.

The toy above you jolts, nearly falling over as he twists to look at you. His hand hovers, fingers ghosting your temple, your cheek, your chin. His noses along your throat, twisting your head this way and that like he expects to find a new injury. 

You feel his hand brush along your stomach. The inhale you try to take feels contained, stomach straining against a barrier. He bandaged you, it seems. You must be in a medical room, one he found and got you both to.

“Catnap?” You ask, too tired to fully form the question.

Luckily, Dogday understands. “I chased him off, angel. We’re safe.” You sigh, only to tense when Dogday growls again, louder than before. “You. . . You shouldn’t have done that.” He shakes his head at your confusion. “You could’ve been killed!”

You wince at his volume. “Dogday-”

“You are not expendable!” He snaps. You feel pinned by his gaze, heated and sharp and digging into your very skin. “Not like me! I cannot defeat the prototype, but you can. So you need to stop being stupid, and prioritize yourself!”

The silence is only broken by his heavy breathing. You can only blink up at him, not expecting such a heavy conversation (or more really, lecture) so soon after waking up. 

You reach up, touching his cheek. Dogday automatically reaches up with you, cradling your palm so you don’t have to strain.

“But. . .” You whisper, guilt stewing low in your split gut. “But he would’ve hurt you.”

A scoff escapes Dogday. He shakes his head, pressing his eyes into your palm as he growls and grumbles and cries. The tears won’t stop, not now that he knows you’re still alive, that he was able to save you after all. Especially not with how simple and kind you are, even in the face of death itself.

“You’re. . .” Dogday huffs, biting back a whimper. “You’re stupid to think I’m worth your life.”

You can only smile. “But you are. You’re worth everything.”

Dogday whines, loud and agonizing. He drops, collapsing finally into the arms you open for him. Your fingers comb through his fur, scratching the base of his ears, his neck, along his jaw, all places you know he likes. He can’t muster the energy to wag his tail, but he huddles close to you, to your whispers of promises, of assurances that you both will leave this hell, together.

Dogday listens, and swears to himself that you won’t ever get hurt again. He’ll work as hard as he must to make sure you never suffer like this again.

No more burdens. He’ll be a proper guard dog to you, or he’ll die trying. You deserve as much.

[cheesemoth]

Hello!! I really liked the smiling critter reader oneshot you made, thank you for making it!!

I was now wondering if you could do another smiling critter one(A cat, who's while thingy is ballet hehe) and DogDay finally seeing them again after the player saves him? (Idk why but the idea of the reader just starting to purr so fucking loudly the minute they see him just sends me-) and the reader starts crying because they weren't able to help him? Thank you!!!!!!

What Use Am I?

You were not made for violence. Your legs were strong, your body nimble, but you did not possess anything worthwhile in the fight for the factory. Catnap probably only let you be because of it, well aware you could do nothing during the Hour of Joy. And now, after so much disrepair and starvation, you were worse off.

Useless.

Useless claws, useless body. The former employee, the sole survivor, didn't ever say it, but you knew you dragged them down. You didn't argue when they suggested staying safe with Poppy and Kissy. You just did your best to provide help and comfort whenever they returned to rest, bearing new bumps and cuts to tend.

You wish you could purr for them when they jokingly asked. But ever since the hour struck, you couldn't muster the energy. Nothing felt worth purring for, not with your self loathing so deep and your situation so dim.

At least the savior took comfort in what little strawberry scent still clung to your fur. You curled around their body, a shield from what may come, and let them kneed your fur. You spoke in low voices, stories of what was, what had become, helping piece together the picture that showed what broke at the foundation that led to the crumbling of the entire house of cards.

And despite your pathetic efforts, the savior rewarded you with a face you never thought you'd see again.

Dogday was not okay. He was not in one piece, he was not uninjured, he was not untouched by the horrors that haunted this place. But he was alive, and you couldn't ask for more.

As he choked on your name, punching out of his chest in an exclamation of delirious relief, you dove to him.

And your purred for the first time in decades. Dogday grabbed at you with his arms, breathing in your scent, taking in your body pressed to his. You rubbed your head to him, rubbing strawberries into the mix of vanilla and blood and grime.

You didn't stop purring even as they patched up Dogday's wounds, didn't stop as the savior discussed their next plan of action, didn't stop until the ecstatic joy melted away into bitter regrets.

Dogday noticed immediately when your purrs faded. He twisted onto his side, looking to where your head rested upon your arms. He couldn't see your entire expression, but he could see the pinch of your brows, the tenseness in your shoulders.

He tentatively nudged your cheek. "Kitten?"

"I'm sorry I couldn't do anything." You whispered, hands clenching into fists as your eyes burned with the pressure of unshed tears. "I couldn't save any of them. Couldn't stop him. Couldn't save you."

Dogday pulled himself closer to you, lying down at your side. You refused to meet his worried gaze.

"Useless. . ." You muttered, only to feel Dogday grip your face, turning your head towards him.

"You're everything." Dogday said, pressing his nose to yours. "I thought you were dead. But then I saw you here, and it filled me with so much joy, so much hope."

"Dogday-" You whined, tail flicking around the two of you.

"You do more than you realize." Dogday rested his head over yours. "Don't ever doubt that. Not when I love you so much."

Your head tucked into his chest, a low purr buzzing through your body. Dogday pressed careful kisses into your fur, coaxing your purring louder and louder, until Poppy told you to get a room.

Dogday blew a raspberry. He never wanted to be without your purring again, and sassy dolls weren't going to ruin it for him.

[cheesemoth]

Despite it all

You’re afraid of them.

To say that DogDay was shocked at this revelation would be an understatement. You with your soft words and even softer smiles were afraid of them. He just couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that you were scared of them, of him. But you were and now that he knew it was impossible to ignore. DogDay doesn’t even comprehend how he hadn’t noticed it sooner. 

He could see the way you tensed if Kissy approached too fast. The subtle shift in your stance, like you were preparing to run when long pink limbs moved too close. He watched your gaze go glassy and wide whenever Kissy’s mouth opened. Your eyes honed in on the hint of jagged teeth and gnarled wire. But he saw how you swallowed it down. A smile would spread across your face as without hesitation your trembling hands would provide comfort to her.

DogDay wasn’t sure if you were actually afraid of Poppy. But you were weary of the tiny doll in the way you always tried to keep her in sight. At first he thought it was because you were worried about her. And you were. You were worried about all of them but it wasn’t just that. It was in the way your eyes would dull as you followed her. How your hands would ghost over old wounds. He swears there's a touch of resentment in your gaze but it is gone as soon as appears. So he is never sure and he definitely doesn’t want to believe it. 

And it is so easy not to believe when Poppy would run up to you and immediately you would lean down. The little doll's hands would reach for you and you would obliged her. But there was still something there. Maybe it was in the way you wouldn’t make eye-contact for too long. Never staring directly into those big inhumanly human eyes that only Poppy possessed.

Call him selfish, because he probably was but felt happy that you seemed the most at ease with him. You were his Angel and he didn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t be close to you. You didn’t watch him like you watched Poppy. You didn’t ready yourself to run if he moved too fast. He was over the moon when he realized that. And maybe that’s why it took him so long to notice. 

Again it had been obvious but you were so sweet that it was so easy to ignore. But he knows. He saw how you looked at Catnap when you had been hiding. Shoulders tensed with your flare gun at the ready. He saw how for a brief moment your gaze turned to him, how it trailed down his torso. At first he didn’t understand as he watched your eyes turn back and linger on the uneven lazy gait of the giant cat.

He understands now. While he desperately misses being able to walk, to be helpful in the ways he used to be. He thinks that, for now, he doesn’t want to be. If only so you wouldn’t have to worry. So you could be at least a little bit less afraid.

DogDay wonders why if you are afraid, if your every breath around them is filled with caution, then why do you treat them so gently? With everything you have gone through since coming back, why is your touch soft? Why do you let Kissy pick you up? Why do you let Poppy climb all over you? Why do you let him sleep so close when you are all too exhausted to keep going? He hasn’t asked you any of this, feels it would be rude. And maybe he is a little afraid you’d stop if he did. But he isn’t sure about that. Even if everything you do has a tinge of caution about it, you still do it. You still care for them, you don’t have to but you do. Dogday believes that despite everything you can’t help but be kind. You can’t help but be gentle and caring even in the wake of your own fear because that is simply who you are.

You’re their Angel after all.

[cheesemoth]

Spencer Reid is the kind of boyfriend who can't look at you when you're on your knees sucking him off. Head thrown back, eyes rolling and eyelids heavy, all he can do is moan and pant louder and louder as your mouth wraps around him.

His thighs tense on either side of your head, his toes curl and his hips thrust deep into your throat without even realizing it. With trembling fingertips, he delicately intertwines his hand at the back of your head, the praise muffled in his breath as he leads you into a faster, rougher rhythm. It stretches your jaw uncomfortably, but the feel of his heavy cock against your tongue, the fat head hitting the back of your throat, is enough to ignore it.

If he lowers his head to look at you, it's over. He knows it and you know it. And when Spencer does look at you, after a few teases from you, he comes right away. His hand forces your head until you choke on his cock, in an involuntary gesture, while he thrusts his hips forward and explodes, a myriad of apologies and praise woven together, overflowing from his mouth as his cum overflows from yours.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #smut #nsfw #blowjob #sub spencer reid