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lcriedlastnight · 5 months ago

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coming home after a shitty day and napping with lando is all a girl needs. you both wake up at midnight rambling, barely even awake, then go straight back to sleep again cause god what i would DO to be wrapped up in his arms all cosy and warm mmfghds

ugh so true anon! i need me some of this pls. also i might've gotten carried away with this one teehee, she was only supposed to be a baby blurb!

tw: fem!reader, swears maybe, lmk if you want me to add anything.

w/c: 1.3k

this day was seriously one from hell, you were sure of it. throught no fault of his own, lando had made you late for work this morning. you were too busy admiring his sleeping face to realise that an hour had passed and you were not even out of bed yet. you had rushed around trying to get ready. your makeup was not sitting right on your face, so it took you twice as long to get ready because you had to take it off and start again.

then last night, when you had put your uniform into the dryer, you did not even notice that the machine was not even plugged in, so your clothes were still wet and you had no time to dry them. lando had told you not to go to work in wet clothes or you would end up with a cold but you had snapped at him, asking what he thought you should do seeing as you were already running late and had no other options.

lando knew about how stressed being late made you, he knew it made you freak out, even though you would be fine, so he offered to run your hairdryer over them to see if he could make it any better seeing as you told him you had no time to plug the actual dryer in. lando forced you to quickly eat some breakfast, so you do that then brush your teeth. by the time you pull your uniform on, it was still wet but it was a little bit better. you kiss lando goodbye and rush out the door.

you had called the cafe you worked in while you were driving there, explaining that you were on your way and how sorry you were for running late. you made up some bullshit excuse that your car would not start and they had believed it. the first good thing to happen today.

once you had actually gotten to work the place was swarming with people, you had never, ever seen it like this before. it was so difficult trying to force your way through the crowd to even get inside.

you saw your coworker and had asked what was going on and she just shrugged. the rush had lasted three hours. you and all the staff were rushed off your feet the whole time, and then for an hour afterwards because the place was a dump and it was a five man job to clean it up.

the one thing that you usually looked forward to on the days you were working and lando was with you was having lunch together, but of course today that hadn't gone to plan either. because of the rush you had completely missed your usual break time by hours and that had made you miss your usual meeting with your boyfriend. today was one of those days where you felt like you needed it the most too. you had taken a sneaky ten minutes to cry in the stockroom. whoever was watching the cameras then would have had a great laugh.

lando also usually brought your lunch to you so you never brought food with you to work when lando was at home so that caused you to have to go down the street and buy food, which you hated because it rubbed in the fact that you were not sitting with you boyfriend, laughing about something funny he had seen on instagram right now.

an hour before your shift had ended you had ended up with a hole in your trousers. you were so embarrassed because the sound of the fabric ripping apart was so loud you were sure they could hear it down the street. you had asked your manager if you could new ones but she had told you the new uniform shipment was not due for another three weeks, so you had to go the next three weeks with ripped trousers. 'this day cannot get any worse' you had thought to yourself. it did.

once your shift had finally ended, you jumped into your car and did not look back. turns out you had left your phone in your locker so you had to turn back.

walking through the doors of your shared flat with lando had felt like literal heaven. it was fleeting as seconds later, you heard laughs and shouts coming from lando's gaming room. he was busy. the only thing you wanted after your shift from hell was to come home in lay in lando's arms. you felt bad interrupting him and you did not even know if he was streaming or not so you left him to it. you peel your clothes off and jump in for the quickest shower you had probably ever been in.

you had no motivation to made dinner for yourself so you treat yourself to the leftovers from whatever lando had made himself and collapse onto the couch.

"hi honey! you're home?" lando asks. you did not know when he had came through but you mumble your reply into the couch pillow anyways. it does not take a genius to work out you were upset and lando being lando, well he did what he knew best. he saunters over and crawls up behind you, arms pulling you into his chest. it takes a little shuffling to make it work but once you were both comfortable and content wrapped in each others arms, you let out a content sigh.

"bad day, pretty?" lando mumbles into your neck, pressing light, innocent kisses in his wake. you groan as his words remind you about your nightmare of a day.

"just kept getting worse." you pout, reflecting on the worst parts of your day. lando coos against your skin, it tickles and brings a smile to your once moody face.

"my poor girl, you're so brave." lando jokes. "i think someone needs a little nap, hm?" lando suggests. usually you would protest, who goes for a nap at seven thirty at night but you knew that this time, there was not a bone in your body that was saying no. in lieu of answering you just move yourself so that lando's chin was resting on your head, and you were hiding in his chest. "just for a little bit." you mumble. lando hums then you are asleep minutes later.

when you come to it is dark in the living room. you had not slept for a little while, like what you had told lando. it seems that he had also fallen asleep. you barely feel like you have woken up, but you know you have because of the discomfort of the two of you falling asleep on the couch.

"lan, wake up." you grumble with a less than gentle tap to his cheek.

"lan, we need to go to bed." you try again.

"m'already in bed. go back to sleep." lando mutters as he tries to shush you by pulling your head back into his chest. your next words are muffled by lando's hoodie. you fight a little against the hand on the back of your head, keeping it where lando wants it, trying to get him to move to the bed.

lando groans, one hand moving to sling over the back of the couch to grab the throw cover you keep there. he then, in one quick move your half asleep brain cannot even begin to compute, he pulls you on top of him and wraps the fluffy cover over the top of you.

"there, y'comfy now so jus' go t'sleep please, baby." lando pleads, bringing a hand to move under your pyjama top to run across the plain of your back. you keen at his soft, warm touch.

"kay." lando grins and tangles his legs with yours, wanting to be as close to you as he possibly could be.

"don't bitch tomorrow when you have a sore back." you warn him, words slurred with the sleep that was seconds away.

lando huffs. "worth it."

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sailorholly · 9 months ago

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Between Us Pt. 3

Summary: You and Spencer had a casual relationship. A misunderstanding ruins it all.

Pairing: Spencer Reid × F. BAU Reader

Warnings: Friends with benefits. Pregnancy.

See my Masterlist Here

Part Two

The stomach bug you had caught was so strange. You would be perfectly fine, eating whatever you wanted for hours. Then a certain smell would hit you like a ton of bricks, sending you running to the nearest bathroom or trash can.

It had been two weeks and you were still puking your guts up randomly. You made an appointment with your doctor at the end of the week to make sure nothing was seriously wrong with you.

You and the team had to fly out to Colorado for a case. You were so exhausted, you could barely keep your eyes open on the trip there. Penelope texted you for the fiftieth time today checking on you. You insisted you were fine, you just couldn’t get rid of whatever illness you had.

Spencer and Ashley sat across from you, her hands playing with his unruly curls like you used to. When he looked at you, concern written all over his face after you puked in the bathroom, she grabbed his face, pressing a kiss to his lips. That act alone made your stomach turn. Thankfully, Hotch cleared his throat, shooting them a warning glance.

When you finally landed, you were alone with Spencer. Hotch paired you up often because you worked well together. “Are you okay? I’ve been worried about you. You vomited six times yesterday. You’re having trouble holding down anything but crackers and ginger ale. You took a nap on the way here. You’ve never done that.”

“I’m fine, Spencer. Don’t worry about me. You should be worrying about your little girlfriend getting you in trouble for PDA.” He scrunches up his nose. “Are you jealous?” You laugh at that. “No, I’m not. I feel like death, and I don’t want to argue with you. I just don’t want to see you sucking face right in front of me when I’m nauseous anyways. I want to solve this case so I can go home and lay down.” He tried not to bother you with frivolous questions the rest of the day.

The next morning, you felt great. Your skin was glowing, you took time to style your hair and do your makeup. When you walked in the local police station to start work, everyone complimented you. Everyone except for Ashley, who rolled her eyes and seemed annoyed that you didn’t have your hair in a rat’s nest pooled on top of your head with dark circles under your eyes.

You ate all three meals with the team without needing to vomit. You couldn’t believe it was finally over. You decided to call your doctor first thing in the morning to cancel your appointment.

Your joy was short lived, when the next morning you felt awful again. Luckily, you hadn’t called your doctor yet. The day went by quickly. Rossi came up with the information you needed to find the unsub. You slept the whole way home.

You check into the doctor’s office filling out form after form. When the nurse calls you back, she gives you a cup and sends you into the bathroom. You wait in the small room for the doctor. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest while you wait for her to come in.

When she finally arrives, she checks your vitals, writing them down on your chart. “How long do I have?” You ask, only kind of joking. She smiles, placing her stethoscope around her neck. “You’re not dying. You’re pregnant! Congratulations! According to the information you gave us, it looks like you’re about six weeks. We will schedule an ultra sound for another time to give you a more accurate prediction.”

You start to tune her out as she continues speaking. Pregnant? How could this happen? You and Spencer were always so careful except… Your mind flashes with memories of that night. How his feverish hands were all over you. How he couldn’t wait to have you so he took you against the wall. How beautiful he thought you looked with his cum dripping out of you. Now those actions had consequences. How were you going to tell him?

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@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @loz-3 @megharat-barnes-reid @kats72 @mochie85 @cakesandtom @spenciesprincess @kimm4710 @tmilover1993 @nomajdetective @cynbx @comboboo @134340ona @wannabewolf @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @freegardenbanananeck @lover-of-books-and-tea @maybe-not-this @drewsandsebastianswife @lamentis-10 @lizzyk137 @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @rosylnsworld @amortencjja @ah-blossom

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #between us

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eddiazx · 2 months ago

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buck to the rescue - evan buckley x reader

You’ve had a day from hell.

Things went wrong at work, your car didn’t start right away, you were stuck in traffic for hours, you didn’t eat a proper meal, and to add insult to injury, it started pouring rain during your three minute walk from your parking space to the apartment that you share with Buck. Needless to say, you were desperately craving a cuddle and a nap.

As you enter the loft, wet hair and clothes sticking to your skin, you see Buck standing a few feet away, a soft, sympathetic smile on his face, holding a pair of clean clothes and a towel. He knew today had been difficult for you, if the slew of texts he received throughout the day were anything to go by.

"Go take a shower. I’ll heat something up for you to eat in the meantime."

You don’t know how long you stayed in the bathroom, but your fingers were prunes and the mirrors were foggy by the end of it. You put on Buck’s t-shirt and a pair of underwear before making your way back to the kitchen, where Buck has a piece of lasagna, a side salad, and a glass of wine waiting for you.

You smile at him gratefully, and dive in. Buck, knowing that you didn’t want to talk about your day, or at least not right away, recounts the funny calls he had earlier today.

When your stomach is full and your cheeks are sore from laughing at Buck's stories, you move to get up and wash your plate. Buck beats you to the punch though, and shoos you away.

“I do want you to go upstairs and lie down though. Let me give you a massage.” he says.

Your eyes well up appreciatively, overcome by just how much love Buck gives openly. You pull his face down to give him a lingering kiss before murmuring, "Thank you. I love you."

“I love you too. Now up you go!” Buck turns you towards the stairs and gives you a playful pat on the butt. You chuckle, making your climb up. At the top of the stairs, you see that Buck had candles lit, a towel lain on the bed, and a variety of massage oils ready on the nightstand. You shake your head fondly at his thoughtfulness, and shed your two pieces of clothing before lying face down on the bed.

You don't have to wait long. You feel Buck behind you, and he starts by kissing you all along your spine, before you hear the click open of the massage oil. Buck rubs his palms to warm the oil and starts to rub circles on your neck. His hands travel down to your shoulders, pressing firmly to get out the knots you didn't even know you had. He continues to map his way around your arms, back, legs, and even your butt, where you're pretty sure he lingered longer than necessary, but you were definitely not complaining.

"God, Buck. Have you ever considered a career change?" You ask from your lax position, the words muffled with your face against the pillow.

Buck chuckles, before he gets up and walks to the bathroom, presumably to wash the oil away from his hands.

When Buck returns, you haven't moved a single muscle. He puts a knee on the bed and hovers slightly over you, placing a featherlight kiss behind your ear. "Can I touch you?" he questions.

You turn your body to lie down on your back and look up at him, confused. "You've been touching me this whole time, baby."

"No, I mean here." Buck clarifies, his fingers ghosting down the space below your lower belly.

Your face warms, and you nod vigorously. Buck takes this as a cue and ducks down to disappear between your legs for the next hour.

Your bad day definitely took a turn for the better.

#evan buckley fic #911 x reader #911 x you #911 imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley smut #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley x you #evan buckley x y/n #evan buckley fluff #buck x reader

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harrysmimi · 2 years ago

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Cuddly Mood

Synopsis: One where Harry comes home from work to his girl being clingy. He ain't complaining.

More of my work

Harry had told his girl to not wait for him for dinner as he would be late, and that she should to go to bed. Basically not wait up for him as he got work.

He was working late at night on some new music. Not essentially planning to write a whole new album just yet, he just wanted to het these new out and into production and see how things go from there for him and his new future projects.

YN understood where he came from. She's an artist too after all. She sometimes want to spend all day and night, in her studio painting and work on this one piece of art which would not budge off her head until it was out. She's had those days and Harry's always been respectful and supportive of her.

But she wanted to be selfish today and hold him back and cuddle him all day. Well, she could barely bring herself to do that because he was so excited about this new song he had in his mind. Or melody? Or a rhythm? Or a beat? She doesn't quite know how music works.

This afternoon Harry got ready to leave for studio after he'd returned from gym, all showered up and dressed up. He wore a pair black washed jeans a simple white tshirt, which she likes to steal from him some times. He took a hoodie with him incase he's cold, which he always is at the studio.

He's been going to gym religiously now, so he's been more muscley and big, he's still his shy self which makes him like her giant human cuddle bear. Especially with his instincts of him wanting to hold her and make her feel safe. Oh boy, did that make her all mushy!

She just wanted cling on him all day and take a big fat nap. But she had to let him go for few hours.

But she still deserves his undivided attention, especially when he's back from a long tour and will be going back very soon.

She's a night owl, Harry knows it. So when he came back home to her place, he found her dusting her furniture around. She's like her cat, who likes to zoom around at three in the morning.

And it was three in the morning when he came back!

"Hi, angel!" He chirps as he locked the door behind him. "What are you doing up so late baby?" Dropping his stuff on the sofa he walked upto her, snaking his arms around her tummy he pulled her close to him, placing a chaste of kisses on her neck and back of her head. She melted in his embrace.

Exactly what she craved all day!

"I'm not sleepy." She mumbled.

"You need to fix that sleep schedule of yours, angel, it's not healthy." He expressed his concerns, "no coffee for you after three in the afternoon!"

"Hey!" She whined.

"Yes!" He argued back. "You wanna go to bed now?"

"Yeah," she agreed.

Harry was changing out of his clothes. He took off his hoodie and shirt, and got rid of his pants.

On rare nights his boxers and basketball shorts stayed on and today was one of them. His girl doesn't mind, there is nothing she haven't seen. He doesn't feel insecure around her anymore and does she, which is amazing!

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I have your hoodie?" She asked.

"Yeah, which one do you want baby?" He asked, changing into a different pair of boxers.

"The one you wore today?"

"Aren't you going to be hot, angel?" He enquired, because it was getting warmer and he doesn't want her to layer up.

"No, I'll just wear that and nothing underneath." She explained.

"You sure about that?" He asked, just to be sure.

"Mhmm."

"Alright strip down!" Harry smirked cheekily. He was all done dressing half decent, he took two strads towards where she was stood in the bathroom, applying her moisturiser.

Her sleep shirt caught onto her earrings as she was taking it off. "Ouch!"

"Be careful there!" He stepped in and carefully untangled the shirt from her earring. "You okay?"

"Yeah!" She nodded. Harry smiled and carefully pulled the neckhole of his hoodie (which is now both of theirs to share!) over her head, before his hands travelled behind her back to unhook her bra. He slipped his off but not before taking the opportunity to have a quick feel of her breasts, run his hands over her delicious tummy rolls towards her hips. "Stop it tickles!"

"Yeah?" He teased her, tickling her more under her breasts.

"Stop!" She laughed holding onto his wrists tightly. He stopped and helped her put her arms through the sleeves.

"My favourite!" He commented on her wearing her "cute set" of underwear, which were a pair of pastel green granny panties with french fries on them.

They're adorable okay!

"Stop tickling me, I've missed you enough all day!" She pouted feeling his hands wander down to her bum, trying his best to tickle her.

He gasped, "I need to make up for it, don't I?" With that he threw her over his shoulder as he brought her back out to their room and carefully placed her on their shared bed. "Why didn't you call me then if you missed me so much?"

"I did not felt like wanting to disturb you while you worked." She explained as he peppered her face with sloppy and wet kisses.

"You can never disturb me!" He exclaimed quietly, "could have worked on that song later. Next time just tell me, okay? I'd prefer to spend time with you!"

"Mhmm! I will." She agreed, "now kiss me?"

"Gladly!" With that he placed his mouth on hers, giving her a tender kiss. "I've missed you too today! Wrote a song about you and us."

"You did?" She was so surprised even though he tells her when a song is inspired by her. It still manages to surprise her, thinking she can be a muse to someone's art when it's always been the other way around for her. He always finds new things about to sing in his songs.

Where as he's always been muse of her art!

"Yeah, wrote about how much I love you, and how I wanna be with you for as long as you want me!"

"I want you forever!"

"Forever, yeah?" He rested his forehead on hers.

The next few minutes he spent talking about the song and loving on her until she fell asleep, snuggled close to his bare chest.

He'd never enjoyed being a big spoon in his life!

......................................................................

Tag list:

@vrittivsanghavi @buckymydarlingangel @sweetwritingfanficfriend @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @sleutherclaw @melllinaa @michellekstyles @sunshinemoonsposts @marialikescherries @japanchrry @onlyangelrain @supersanelyromantic @tenaciousperfectionunknown @haarrrys @originalsoulcollector @harrysgirl-1d @lomlhstyles @im-an-overthinker @moonys-star @blackbookwhore @tenaciousperfectionunknown @stilesissaved @allthelovehes @novalunosising @sunshinemoonsposts @harryssky1 @dear-mylove @sofia-faustina

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writing-mlm · 3 months ago

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Hii I just found your blog actually and I love your stories,and uh,per say if I were to request a spencer reid x m reader where reader is a famous author and composer and whenever the team meets him it's pure chaos,just fluff in general actually. you don't have to do this if you don't want to of course! - Moony (shh it's a nickname that stuck)

Don't Spoil the Ending

Summary: Meeting your boyfriend's friends is a natural step but what isn't is them harassing you because you keep killing their favorite characters Pairing: Spencer Reid x Male reader W.C: 3k a/n: PLEASE I KNOW THIS TOOK ACTUAL YEARS IM SORRY oh and the walking dead spoilers ig

Whenever Spencer had one of his spells, whether that be his migraines or moments where the world just feels too much. Too heavy, too big, too scary, he went to your house. Your house, his escape from everything. A quaint home he could see himself moving into.

A lovely one-bedroom, two-story home tucked into a hidden part of the city. There’s a small garden in the back, hardly filled with vegetables and mainly flowers. The front lawn, when he had first seen it, was mowed down to the dirt and replaced with various native plants. It didn’t take long for it to get to its current state, a lovely amalgamation of plants and wildlife that thrived in the almost cottage-looking home.

He eyed the official state-provided Certified Wildlife Habitat sign that hung just in front of the property and let his messenger bag slump from his shoulder. There was no need to keep up appearances, not when you open the door and wait for him with a cup in hand. His mug. His mug you’d gotten him from the flea market on your first date and had remained in your house since the tenth date where he had to rush out for a case and never picked it back up.

“Should I cancel with your team?” You ask, voice soft as he takes the mug and nearly inhales the tea. He looks at you, confused and you know then and there the headache is bad. “Your team is supposed to come over for dinner today.” Blinking, he sets the mug down on the shoe rack and kicks his shoes off.

“No,” He sighs, his internal debate lasting nearly two whole minutes. “A nap and the rest of the tea should be fine.” It wouldn’t, you both know that but the dinner has been rescheduled twice already. Once due to the flu that was making its rounds through the entire team and another because you had an emergency to attend to.

“Okay,” You hum, locking the door. He eyes each of the three locks and finds your hand. “Do you want to hear a specific symphony?”

“Do you have anything new?” He asks, letting you guide him up the old wooden stairs to your bedroom.

“I do,” You nod. “I learned some music from Howl’s Moving Castle.”

“For inspiration for the DreamWorks movie?” Nodding, he sits with his back pressed to your headboard and the blankets pulled up to his belt.

“Remember to take off anything tight. So your belt, those socks, and such.” He smiles and nods, doing that as you leave the room and make your way down to the living room. Your piano is loud and sits at the perfect volume from your bedroom for his headaches. At night it’s amazing, the black-out curtains and the hidden glow-in-the-dark stickers around your room make him fall asleep in minutes.

He listens as the steps creak and gets to work on getting himself comfortable. He should get up within the next two hours and help you prepare dinner for the team. But he doubts you’d actually wake him up on time for that and wait until everything is done so he could rest for as long as possible.

Sipping the tea, he grabs his phone and sets a timer before placing it under the pillow. It’s silent but the vibrations will wake him up if you don’t. After doing that, he sets his things on the rocking chair and hears the starting notes of the music drifting up. He tries his best to focus on the music and not the notes themselves as he tucks himself into bed.

—

He was right.

He was absolutely right in that you wouldn’t wake him up. You even took away his phone when you went to check on him sometime later. He only woke up when he smelt the food coming from the oven and the loud ow you hissed when you bumped your forearm against the oven racks.

He doesn’t bother to fix himself as he stuffs his feet into his house slippers and begins his descent down to the kitchen.

“Aw, sorry, hun. I didn’t mean to wake you,” You call over your shoulder, hearing the banister creek under his hand.

“You should’ve,” He chided while wiping the sleep from his eyes. His migraine is gone, which is honestly surprising. It must’ve been a terrible headache, then. Especially considering he doesn’t medicate for them anymore. “I was supposed to help you. You didn’t even let me buy groceries.” He frowns, staring at the array of food you’d made.

“Please,” You dismiss, putting a damp cloth over your burnt forearm. “My brother came over while you slept and made half of it. New recipes for his restaurant.” Spencer looks at the fancy little labels on the trays; shawarma, broccoli cheddar potatoes, sun-dried tomato pasta, garlic bread, baked ziti, and lemon pepper chicken.

“Did you already make the dessert? I can help with that,” He offers, scanning the counters.

“You needed your rest, Spencer. Everything is already made and Derek said he’ll be here in ten. He’s picking up Penelope and Emily.” He stares at you and you stare back. “Fine. I haven’t finished cleaning the living room. Could you grab the extra chairs from the shed? Or grab the large tray from the cabinet and organize the brownie dip?”

“I got the brownie dip,” Heading out to the shed, you grab four foldable chairs and remind yourself to clean the dusty leather once you get back inside. You’d rearranged your entire living room and dining room for today. The couches, which used to be in a more closed position, were all shoved against the walls and the shelves you had were hidden away inside of your shed. Your coffee table, which Spencer vaguely remembered had different shapes, was out in its longest form and several coasters were scattered around. Not to mention plate mates stacked on the edge.

He’s glad you left the wall decorations up, although he thinks you could’ve done without the framed picture of you and him at your cousin's wedding where he has cake smashed on his face and your fingers are covered in white frosting. You still deny doing that.

“Like this?” He asks once you’re done cleaning the chairs. Peering over his shoulder, you rub along his hips and nod.

“Looks perfect. Have you tried it yet?” He shakes his head and you grab a graham cracker and put some of the dip on it. He takes it and tries it, aware of your gaze on him.

“It’s good.” He affirms and you nod, grabbing a strawberry and dipping it inside.

“My nan used to make it when we were kids. It’s super good, but she added rainbow sprinkles.” The doorbell rings and Spencer goes upstairs to get himself properly dressed while you go to the door.

“Hey, guys!” You greet them, their names popping into your head as you see them. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Your lawn is beautiful,” Penelope says as she hugs you, careful to not drop the dish she’s brought. You think it’s some type of finger food because it moves around. “How’d you get it like that?”

“Oh, thanks. It’s almost native plants. The bees and butterflies do most of the work.” Stepping aside, you greet Emily and Derek and check outside. There’s no one else so you close and lock the door. Just one lock so you don’t have to keep undoing it until everyone gets there.

“This is lovely,” Emily says, her eyes taking in your home. She eyes the support beams and then the vintage wallpaper. “Aw, look at Spencer!” She laughs, staring at the picture from the wedding just as he’s coming down the stairs. His arm snakes around your waist and you hold his hand, eyeing their shoes.

“Do you guys want some house slippers?” He asks for you and takes them to the closet where you keep them. You bought some new ones just for today. When they return the door rings again and this time Spencer gets the door while you set out the food. You’ve never really hosted before, so you awkwardly stand in the space between the dining room and living room until Spencer beckons you over.

“This is Hotch and Jack, you’ve met JJ, her husband Will, and their sons. Henry and Michael. He introduces and you shake hands with the men and wave at the boys.

“It’s good to see you again,” JJ says as she pulls you in for a hug. You’ve met her twice, once at the park accidentally and another while you both were hanging out with your sister and niece at the mall.

“Likewise, please sit. The food is done so feel free to serve yourself.”

She nods and she and Hotch set their food next to the rest of the food. She’d brought three bags of chips and Hotch had gotten ham and cheese sliders. Derek had made macaroni and cheese, Penelope brought over zucchini garlic bites, and Emily brought over two bottles of red wine.

“This is a lovely house,” Will says as the two of you stand awkwardly, watching the others talk to each other.

“Thank you. You have a lovely family,” He smiles over at them and nods.

“Are you and Spencer ever gonna…” He trails and you suck in a breath. Your home isn’t exactly big enough for kids, maybe just you and Spencer. It’s not even ideal for hosting, but you made it work.

“One day, maybe.” You answer, looking at him as he’s holding Henry. “We haven’t talked about that yet.” He nods and you get to leave when Rossi knocks on the door.

“Am I the last one?” He asks upon hearing the noise.

“They say the best is last, no?” He laughs and nods, presenting his famous pasta and you happily lead him to the food table. Some of the food is already gone and you see Spencer holding two plates. Making your way over to him, his eyes light up and he hands you one of the plates.

“I noticed some of it was going quickly,” He explains as you take the plate. It’s piled in neat forms, none of the food touching each other. “So, I made you what I thought you’d like.” Thanking him, you drag him to a seat and everyone settles down with their plates.

Turning the TV on, you put on a random show and tune the conversation going on around you.

“This is really good,” JJ says, pointing her fork at the broccoli cheese potatoes.

“Is it?” You ask and get an enthusiastic yes from Jack. “I’m allergic to broccoli so I’ve never actually tried it.”

“Aw man, you’re missing out.” Derek sighs, rubbing his stomach after he’d eaten three of them and you laugh, twirling the plastic fork around the Rossi pasta.

“(Y/n)’s brother owns a restaurant, he’s thinking of adding those to the menu.” Spencer explains and you nod, putting the fork down.

“It’s called Bun-Apple Tea. He’s thinking of adding those, the tomato pasta, and the baked ziti to his menu. I’m usually his test subject but he appreciates the wider audience.”

“Oh, he should add it.” Will says. He’s been busy feeding Michael bites of the garlic bread while also feeding himself the macaroni and cheese. “I took JJ there once, she loved it.” She nods and recounts the experience and your eyes widen.

“I worked that day!” You admit. “I was playing some music, were you the couple that had ordered the mushroom soup and the couple next to you tried to steal it?”

“Oh my god, yes!” She laughs. “You were playing the piano, right?” You nod and tell the story to the others.

“Spencer mentioned you’re a writer, too, right?” Hotch asks.

“I am,” Sheepishly, you look at Spencer. He smiles at you, not even sorry that he talks to his friends about you and your jobs. “I mainly write young adult fiction but I’ve started writing science fiction.” You elaborate.

“One of his books is getting a TV show.” Spencer easily boasts and everyone congratulates you. “He’s also going to be the lead composer for it.”

“That’s amazing.” Emily says. “What book is it?”

“It’s one of my series; The Walking Dead. It was also a comic book for a special edition my publisher did.” The conversations devolve until you get up for a second plate of food from the kitchen. Spencer follows you with a large grin and fixes himself some more juice.

“They like you,” He says and you look over at him. “I knew they would, of course.” He adds. “But this… wow. We should have a watch party for when the show comes out.”

“Maybe.”

—

“Ahh! My friend made this!” Penelope shouts as she shakes your shoulder. The first episode of The Walking Dead was set to air in just a couple of seconds and as Spencer predicted; it turned into a watch party.

It’s been nearly a year since the first time you’ve met them and you’ve been busy composing and having the final say over most of the show. Spencer sometimes tags along, giving his opinion on how certain things would look from a scientific standpoint. But there’s a lot of far-fetched imagination when it comes to zombies and what people could do.

You think he just likes learning from the design crew on how they do things. He does. But he also likes seeing your book come to life, remembering each detail, and having people fix them without you noticing.

Everything had come to fruition after several months of working and pitching ideas, not to mention filming and creating sets.

You’re all at JJ’s house, scattered amongst the floor with the boys upstairs asleep. You’d warned them it’s definitely not suitable for them just yet and they trusted that.

“This opening is good.” Derek says and you thank him. You want to tell him it was you and Bear McCreary who helped compose and Dominik Hauser who helped perform it with you but you don’t think he cares all that much.

Spencer lays his head on your shoulder and you wrap your arm around him, happily watching the show that you know is going to ruin them forever. You’re glad they haven’t read the books, because damn. You look at all these faces that don’t make it to the final chapter and wonder how mad they’re going to be when their favorite will inevitably die.

And boy, did they hate you.

By the end of season one they all but refused to tell you their favorite characters. Never mind the story has been written and you couldn’t change it. Penelope would send you voicemails crying whenever she watched an episode early, yelling at you for killing her favorite character or someone who definitely didn’t deserve it. You made it up to her by being able to let her meet the actors during Comic Con the same year.

Spencer, on the other hand, knows everything. They’ll pester him at work for spoilers and he’d just shrug.

“I don’t remember who died.” He tells Morgan one day.

“You remember what you ate for breakfast when you were ten. You know who dies this season! Who is it?” Derek demands, following Spencer out of the bullpen and into the elevator.

“I know,” Emily grins.

“How?” Derek asks, his gaze accusing Spencer of spilling the beans to her but not to him.

“It was a book first, genius,” She reminds him and shrugs. “I got tired of waiting and just read the book for this reason.” Stepping into the elevator Derek groans. He’s not going to read the book.

“How’d you like it?” Spencer asks and she groans, throwing her head back.

“It was so good! The deaths hurt like a bitch.” She explains and he laughs.

“His sister blocked him for a month for killing this one character.” He explains and she nods, that’s completely justified.

The elevator doors open and they spot you waiting at the front of the building, holding a cup of coffee and talking to JJ.

“Hey, sweetheart,” He kisses your forehead as your conversation comes to a natural stop.

“Sup,” Handing him the coffee, you greet the others. “I got your email Derek, and I’m not telling you.” You all walk outside and Derek pushes your head.

“I’ll just read the book.” He turns his nose up and you hum.

“This book took Spencer twenty minutes to read.”

“Damn. How long is the audiobook?”

“About thirty-six hours,” Spencer answers. “Thirty-five hours and fifty-two minutes long.”

“Oh, hell no. I’ll wait,”

“I couldn’t.” JJ sighs. “I finished the book last night.” He huffs and leaves the group, heading to his car. The others laugh and also split up leaving just you and Spencer.

“They’re not ready for Carl’s death.” He tells you, a hint of a smile on his face.

“You certainly weren’t,” You snicker, grabbing him by his wrist. “Now let’s hurry, I still need your opinion on suits for the award show.”

—

“You’re hurting my ears,” You tell Emily as she plays your piano in all the wrong ways. “My poor baby is being abused by you, I hope you know that. You monster.”

“What about me?” Penelope grins, playing your violin.

“You’re actually killing me. The two of you are going to become murderers at this rate.” She frowns and checks her fingers on the violin before playing one actual note. “That was good. But I can also see JJ about to pick up my trombone and that thing was my very first instrument so she should put it down.” Carefully, she sets it back in the case and Spencer comes down the stairs with Derek close behind.

“Oh, are we playing?” Derek asks and b-lines for the cello you have.

“They’re killing me,” You mumble to Spencer at the base of the stairs. Neither of you are hiding your expressions, not even when JJ joins Emily on the bench and they play horrid— horrid sounds.

“I’m about to spoil the Glenn death to get them to stop.” You whisper, staring at Penelope as she pressed too hard on the strings and winced.

“Don’t,” He gasps. “They’ll never recover.”

“Good. Neither will my ears after this torture!”

#x male reader #x reader #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #can you tell i rushed this

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theoxenfree · 3 months ago

Text

LUCID

sleep paralysis demon x reader | 3k | 18+

you've never known a true, good night of sleep in your entire life. when your doctor and best friend, dr. sujay patel, offers to vouch for you as the perfect candidate for a "last resort" sleep study and medication trial, you don't have high hopes. the first night of the trial, things go sideways very quickly.

warnings; technically somnophilia, dubcon, hair-pulling, restraint, some eerie/unsettling details, breech of patient-doctor boundaries, alcoholism, implied addiction/addictive personality, academic cheating, some culturally sensitive discussion, roughly proofread.

this is the first concept piece for my upcoming sleep paralysis demon x reader story!! to help me shape the story, pls answer feedback questions + reblog!!!

Children at your daycare liked to draw you fanciful pictures of the other lives they lived in their dreams during afternoon nap time. You were shown orange tabby cats with green eyes garbed in full-plates of knight’s armor, brandishing a fish sword against a foe to save the world. Most often, they dreamed of their families and drew bright, brave versions of themselves holding hands with a parent, a sibling, a bipedal family dog with an electric collar. A few of the children never smiled in their self-portraits.

The proportions of everything were always silly: gigantic tree trunks with tiny, green bundles sitting atop of them, three enormous fruits supported by brittle vines and growth in bushes, cats and dogs with ears as tall as their bodies, Mom with purple skin instead of brown, Big Sis looking particularly volatile with a theratrically large snarl. Despite this, the children beamed in pride whenever yesterday's drawings would come down off the wall to be replaced with the new.

For some of these kids, this was their own equivalent of having art hung on a refrigerator; to you, it evoked dull, thready jealousy because they were in possession so simple, so biologically normal to them and everyone else around them that to be incapable of the same thing was, surely, a major defect.

Sleep was already a treasure you were seldom allotted the pleasure of greedily surrendering to, but to dream sounded like a terrifying experience to you altogether. It took work; a stringent routine of warm showers (hot and scalding water was forbidden), with an array of chalky, dissolvable tabs and shower gels and shampoos and moisturizers and essential oil dehumidifiers and soy candles and hot tea and special pillow sleep spray you’d seen in an online ad while thumbing through socials.

It took pajamas that were loose, soft but not silky, it took a satin bonnet and a satin eye covering (the kind with pockets for your eyelashes to move), comforters soused in lavender spray meant to magically work out the tightness in your shoulders and calves without the need of paying for a masseuse’s bony elbow. It took purchasing a battery-operated alarm clock to wake yourself for work so you could shut off your phone and leave it plugged into the wall downstairs.

You'd nearly forgotten—you couldn't have sugar after half past six, you had to stagger your water consumption after that time as well because the urge to piss would keep you awake for hours after the fact. The television needed to be off once you finished putting away dishes after dinner.

If you were lucky, this would work and you'd sleep a total of two or three hours uninterrupted—never fully tipping over the edge of wakefulness into deep sleep, but enough to keep yourself going during the day, grocery shop, wrangle the small children, scrape at a bar, get dicked down into your mattress every now and then, and visit Sujay for your usual appointments.

“How do you feel about trying something different?” he always gestured to one of the modern-looking armchairs upholstered in teal polyester before bringing you a tea of some sort. Today was a floral white tea with a spoonful of honey. “Ah, my friend, I worry for you. We've done so many studies, we've tried so many different things. Does none of it help? At all?”

“Not really.” you admitted after a sip, singing your tongue once and placing aside the cup and saucer pair. “I don't know if I can keep doing this until the day I die, Sujay. What do you recommend next?”

Dr. Sujay Patel was your neurologist, an utterly brilliant man, and a close friend from your early university days. Despite the rest of your friend group falling apart, pulled in separate directions by the strings of fate and temptation of money, you'd managed to stay in contact with Sujay throughout grad school. There'd been an intermission, probably a period of two years, where you'd forgotten he even existed.

You were out making a disaster of your life on sleepless, drunken benders because you hoped enough alcohol would either knock you out or kill you. The normal distractions came with it: your entire family dynamic corroding and combusting, an ex getting too big for their britches, and a roommate suspiciously eager to rally behind that ex.

Sujay came back into the picture following a nasty incident of alcohol poisoning that left you bedridden in the hospital for a week. You had decided then, in that uncomfortable bed with their starchy, crunchy white sheets and the bathroom being too far away to simply get up and walk to, that you'd abstain from alcohol forevermore.

He'd seen you in a state of soul-weary disarray not long after you were discharged and had decided to take you on as a patient.

“Now, you have a choice here, just remember that.” Sujay sat adjacent to you in the exact chair you were in. He wasn't daunted by the heat from his tea and took some time with it, whether to savor the subtle notes of it or to consider his words, you weren't sure. “But, a colleague of mine at a… pharmaceutical company has been working to get an experimental sedative into some studies. Testing periods, I guess you could say.”

You're convinced by his dedication to his tea to pick up yours again. “Does it work?”

“As of now, one-hundred percent of those who have participated have reported high-efficacy, or at least have claimed it to be effective in some manner.” His mustache moved as he sipped. You drank as well. “I think you should submit to the study and if you're accepted into one of the control groups—commit to it. We're running out of options otherwise. I don't want you to start mixing up your own cocktail of things. All it takes is the wrong thing once, y'know?”

The chair groaned while you adjusted your weight in it. You sighed. “Would that once be such a bad thing, though? At least I could sleep.”

“I'm a doctor,” Sujay looked over his square-rimmed glasses at you, forehead wrinkles enormous, whites of his eyes showing more than the hazel of his irises. “Behave yourself.”

“Fine.” Mesmerized by the stray tea leaves that had managed to escape the metal ball steeper, you said, “tell me what I need to do.”

Sujay had sent you away that day with a whole host of follow-up appointments and a glowing review to his colleague in hopes of skipping the line as much as possible. Sometimes, it was beneficial to have friends in high places, especially when that means you get a call two days later for preliminary, formal interviews and an offer to participate in said study once clearances came through and your blood work came back as desired.

A month to the day when Sujay first mentioned the possibility of a magical cure all to your relentless insomnia, you were brought into a minimally furnished room—the standard, bland cookie cutter type that hadn't an ounce of personality—dotted from head-to-toe in stickers for neuromonitoring, heart rhythm, and whatever else they fancied, you supposed.

It was only after you had changed into your soft, but not too soft, pajamas and covered in wires that you were handed a tiny purple pill. The color of it was obviously a dissolvable casing and food coloring, but what amazed you was the fact a drug this small was meant to induce the best sleep of your life.

“Take the pill, drink at least four ounces of water, and lie supine.” The technologists outside your room, speaking into an intercom, elaborated afterward that they wanted you to stay on your back while you slept. You didn't bother to point out that you weren't stupid—just tired. “We understand that not everyone finds this position comfortable, but to receive adequate results and to measure your vitals at all times, we ask that you try your best.”

You weren't going to hassle them about this and did precisely as they instructed. Shoved the pill down the back of your throat, drank the bottled water, and tried to get comfortable on your back.

You closed your eyes.

A part of you wondered why you had assented to Sujay’s suggestion so easily, especially where everything else had failed. He was one hell of a friend, and had always been that way for you, but as a doctor, you wondered if two years of cheating through medical school, so as to not royally piss off his parents and be disowned for failing, was finally catching up with him somewhat.

You recalled being startled when he told you he hadn’t married yet and didn't intend to as some deep-rooted act of spite against his family and the traditions they had held over his head all his life. Traditions that had been weaponized against him, rather than supplement his life as an extension of his history, of the things he loved, of a chance to explore more of himself.

You had listened wordlessly the entire time he spoke about it, still sipping on his tea, the results from your latest brain scan clamped to a clipboard on his lap—

This wasn't working.

This was so stupid.

You opened your eyes and sat up in the stiff bed, carefully maneuvering your fingers around your orbital bone to force away the puffiness and exhaustion still lingering behind them. It was only as you rubbed your eyes that you noticed your face was empty of cold stickers and a thousand wires. You didn't hear distant blips in the machine measuring your heart rate, nor track the voices of anyone outside your door.

The room was still the same—the outdated, bulky dresser with claw feet, a few gray chairs you could buy on display in a window somewhere, a low oval table, a bedside table for your glass of water and a crisp, neatly folded change of clothes for the next day.

It was only unusual that you were bare of the technologist’s monitoring equipment and sitting amid an unfaltering, deep silence that amplified the sounds of your very existence. Your slow breaths with a quickening heartbeat, blood pumping in your ears, and the coarse rustle of bedsheets as you shifted around the mattress to bring some sense to what was going on.

Would the technologists have come into the room and removed everything from your body without waking you? More miraculously, without you rousing and throwing your hands on them for touching you first?

“Maybe the drug worked?” you had to consider the possibility, even though it still felt as far-fetched as the holistic medicine practitioners online telling you that an herbal cleansing juice could regenerate organs entirely. “Did I actually sleep? I don't remember dreaming, though. Aren't I supposed to dream?”

You looked to the one, single-paned window across the bedroom to spy how far along the morning had progressed, but found yourself sucking in and holding in a breath instead.

There, standing in your view of the outside, was the silhouette of a tall man. Everything about him was indistinguishable aside from the depth of darkness that made him up. Within the confines of the dim room, alight by a single lamp with an amber bulb that seemed to weaken by the second, this man stood apart from the shadows as something deeper, blacker, but corporeal.

He was every bit a part of the dark as much as he wasn't. And you couldn't tell if he was fading you or turned to look out the window at the parking lot two stories below.

“Hi—hello. Are—are you one of the techs?” you had finally let out that breath, now focusing on gauging the guy’s level of sociability, and by extension, his friendliness and the likelihood of him lunging at you. “I, uh, just would've really appreciated it if someone had woken me up before taking off the stickers.”

You were able to see out the window from the gaps around his body, taking note that it was still dark. Very dark. Beyond that, nothing else was discernible from where you sat and what he blocked.

The study wouldn't have finished yet.

Those techs would've taken precaution to wake you up if something had happened.

“Am I asleep?” you asked the wordlese man. “Am I dreaming now? Are you a dream? Is that what it's like?

You never imagined that there could be so much lucidity within a dream, a level of consciousness so similar to a state of wakefulness. When you thought about moving, you could perfectly flex your fingers, curl your toes into the high-pile carpet underfoot, touch the airy fabric covering your body and feel it touching you in turn.

How normal was this really, though? No one had ever told you about dreams like this. Theirs were always fragmented and discombobulated, just like the kids in daycare who drew pictures of pig astronauts and flame extinguishing spatulas. You knew of a rare few in the population capable of controlling their dreams, steering the outcome in the direction they pleased, but even those people were overrode by their own brains.

This was something completely different.

You became especially convinced of this when you thought the stifled air suddenly shifted with a light breeze, a soft whoosh in your ear. A chill erupted over you, making your skin burst with goose flesh, your brain chasing a shiver down your spine as if cold fingers stroked you all the way down the length of it. Those same fingers stayed low, hovering across your lower back before pushing into you, arching you down onto the mattress.

That freedom you thought you had only moments ago was gone, stolen by this invisible hand on your body that was rounding to you and reaching for your chest. Until now, you thought this had simply been a part of the dream—something you had believed to be in control in when the reality was much different—but, as the buttons on your sleep shirt unfastened before your eyes, the thin layers opening you to the cold, inky air, you weren't sure what to think, to do.

Another hand joined the first with long, heavy fingers to knead at your body and take your pants off of your hips until you were fully exposed to the darkness and the thing still dwelling within the room. It hadn't moved an inch since you'd noticed it a while ago; it never became any clearer, any more defined in the clothes or wore, and trying to look upon its face only filled you with puzzlement and dread.

The large hands were so cold despite all their movement on your hot skin, all of the work they did to start riling you up and making you moan. One of them groped your chest, felt your throat, squeezed your jaw as though to force your gaze at one point in particular (the ceiling), pushed apart your lips to dip into your mouth and wet its fingers on your tongue.

You did so as it was the only thing you could do freely right now.

Those fingers, covered in your spit, caressed you between your legs, stroking you in motions neither gentle or harsh. The muscles in your thighs flinched, stomach tightening, your throat vibrating to produce a moan smothered by the second hand circling your throat, gripping firmly enough where you could breathe, but just barely.

The thing couldn’t stop your thoughts, as much as it seemed to try, so it took to interrupting them—distracting you but squeezing your neck, yanking your head back into the pillow by your hair, adjusting itself to thrust multiple fingers into your body, burying them to the knuckle.

You tried to win this war of willpower by thinking about Sujay and his mustache and his stupid glasses. They were green, sometimes blue; seldom did he like the tortoiseshell look.

The thing lunged at your neck again, this time taking you underside the jaw and forced your head back into the pillow while it fucked you deeper on three fingers.

You wanted to make a sound; a moan, a scream, a torturous whimper or pleasure for the way your body was rocked on the bed, creaking with the weight of a pair combined and not just how it appeared. Your nostrils flared, heart rate at an uneasy high, breaths stuck in the column of your throat behind the hand holding it.

The pressure continued to stack higher and higher, building to such a point where you knew you were about to lose it, unravel, praying that this thing would grant you the kindness of fucking you out of your orgasm.

Your abdomen was wound tight, your groin ached terribly, and your thighs started to shake. Behind your eyes, the kaleidoscopic wheels of color intermingled with the darkness and it all slowly burned to white.

And then—

“Good morning!” you were being shaken awake by one of the technologists, a middle-aged woman with blue eyeliner. she didn't expect for you to jolt upright, stick straight, and launch the covers off of your body. “Oh—hey, honey, you alright? We’re done until tonight. How do you feel?”

You were slow to respond to her, occupied by the morning light filtering in through the window across the bedroom. She gave you some time to gather your bearings and took her time removing the stickers and wires from your skin, suggesting you spend some time really scrubbing in the shower later to get off all the adhesive.

“How about now, honey?” she pulled the last sticker and wire combination off of your shoulder. “You with us?”

You didn't know how to answer that, especially not with how damp you felt inside your thighs.

a/n; thank you for reading and choosing to help me shape the story further!! this is all inspired by the fact that I have frequent bouts of sleep paralysis myself and on three consecutive occasions, after taking some questionable drops from an ex-friend, I saw something. I want to make this very clear that this story is intended to be pretty extreme psychological horror. anyway, here are the questions

sujay will be a major supporting character in the story, so what would you be interested in seeing more: 1) sujay and mc further blurring that boundary and possibly becoming a pair, but their "relationship" becomes thwarted by SPD 2) sujay, possibly, ends up with more yandere tendencies as the story progresses and with the development of the plot, could result in a terrible ending for him—but interesting 3) sujay and mc are inherently a toxic duo, but he tries his best to support mc (platonically or one-sided romantically) as they spiral out of control?

in terms of SPD's appearance, what idea do you like better: 1) him, eventually, having a definitive, solid form and features across the span of the story 2) he remains like a "black silhouette" with the invisible hands, but he has the sort of voice that's lulls and lures and manipulates 3) he takes on features that mc (you) find attractive, but they're all wrong and progressively becomes more monstrous 4) he has a physical appearance that's "all wrong", but you can never figure why or what he actually looks like despite SEEING him. if you want to choose multiple, you need to get VERY specific.

I intend for this story to be incredibly dark in terms of sexual content bc SPD is a demon/monster. he is not good. he is not loving. when you think of "dark" for smut, what would you want to see??

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