heyy, could you write something like angela x fbi agent reader? (maybe even a criminal minds crossover or something 👀)
This is a fun idea! I haven’t watched Criminal Minds (which is ridiculous because I’d probably love it) so idk much about the specifics of the show but I could totally do FBI reader!
I did some research and watched some people talk about their own experiences with POTS, so I tried to write this as accurately as possible. Apologies if anything is incorrect!
Growing up you had always been fairly healthy. You’d never had to go to the hospital, or get referred to a specialist for a chronic illness, and never had a sickness that rest, hydration, and maybe an antibiotic couldn’t cure.
So when you started feeling sick your senior year of college, you didn’t really know what was going on. You were exhausted, but so was every other college senior. The dizziness, anxiety, headaches, and racing heart could all be blamed on the stress of finishing your degree and finding a job.
You push through the symptoms, managing to graduate with honors as well as secure a job. It may not be the job of your dreams but it pays the bills and provides health insurance. Shortly after those benefits kick in you find a general practitioner and make an appointment for an annual physical.
At this visit you explain how you’ve been feeling. And while your doctor doesn't brush you off, she also concludes that your symptoms are likely due to stress during this busy life change.
For the next year you just try to live with the symptoms. At one point you start drinking coffee to help with the exhaustion. Only to find that you were still exhausted, but now your anxiety and heart rate had gone way up.
You tell your doctor this at your next check up. She agrees to do a more in depth set of labs, as well as a few other tests. But still, she doesn’t find anything clearly wrong.
Again you try to convince yourself that maybe this is good news. That maybe it really is all in your head and nothing is actually wrong. It works for a couple more months, but soon things take a turn and you can no longer ignore this.
The first time it happens you don’t fully pass out. You stand up and suddenly feel your heart begin to race. Black spots cloud your vision and you sit back down. It takes a few minutes and many deep breaths for you to feel normal.
These dizzy spells keep happening, until soon you start to actually faint after standing up. It doesn’t happen all the time, but it’s frequent enough that there’s clearly something wrong. Your doctor agrees and orders more tests and finally you get the official POTS diagnosis.
You’re not sure if the timing is great or terrible. You’re about to switch jobs, so while it’s good that you got answers before changing insurance, you’re also nervous to start as a cast member at Smosh with this condition.
Luckily, having a diagnosis means understanding what’s going on and learning what your triggers are. With that knowledge you can make some lifestyle adjustments. You don’t feel perfect, but your condition is managed enough that you’re able to work. Your bosses are understanding as well, willing to offer accommodations when needed.
Despite your worries, things actually start off really well. You fit in with the rest of the cast, able to keep up with the comedy on screen while forming friendships with them off screen. But there's one person in particular that you grow closest to.
It starts on a shoot day. It’s long, it's hot, and you can feel a flare up brewing. Finally you get a break, and after grabbing a cold water, you retreat to a rarely used break room. Once there you settle on the couch, closing your eyes, slowly sipping water, and willing your body to behave.
You’re alone for a few minutes but then Damien enters, clearly surprised to see someone already in the room.
“Sorry!” He starts. “I was just looking for somewhere quiet, but I can go.”
“You don’t have to go. We can be quiet together,” you offer.
“Works for me,” he replies as he sits on the other end of the couch. You notice the way he sinks into the cushion and figure he’s as mentally overwhelmed as you are physically.
As promised the two of you sit in silence until it’s time to head back for the final shoot of the day. But even after taking time to rest and hydrate, your body still betrays you. Damien stands, and you move to do the same, but the change in elevation sets your heart off once more.
Black dots blur your vision, dizziness hits you full force, and your knees buckle beneath you. Damien’s hands reach for you, and he helps you sit back down.
“I’m okay,” you say quickly, not wanting to make a scene.
“Oh, for sure, yea I also look like I’m going to pass out when I’m okay,” Damien replies. You appreciate the way he’s still trying to keep things light even though he’s clearly worried about you.
When you’ve settled and caught your breath you say, “Stood up too fast and my stupid hearth thought I was dying. But really I’m okay now.”
He’s still worried, as shown by him standing right next to you as you try getting up again. This time goes better than the last, and you manage to remain upright. You walk together back to set, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by you that Damien is walking at a slow pace, ensuring that you’ll take it easy as well.
From that day on you and Damien often spend breaks together. Sometimes you both sit quietly, but most days you pass the time talking to one another. You open up to him about what it’s like living with POTS, and you listen as he explains the different ways being autistic affects his life.
After a couple months of seeing you and Damien hang out around the office, it doesn’t surprise the rest of the cast and the crew when you tell them you’ve started dating. In fact when you do announce the news, money and snacks are exchanged between your coworkers. Clearly there were some friendly bets on when you’d get together.
One of the best things about being with Damien is how caring and supportive he is. You can’t lie, when you first got your diagnosis you’d been worried about how it could affect future relationships. You have a chronic illness, one that has the potential to place a burden not only on you, but on your partner as well.
With Damien though, you never feel like a burden. In fact, having him by your side helps you navigate this condition. He’s helped you learn some of your triggers, and has found ways to try and avoid them.
And even when it isn’t avoidable he’s still right by your side. He’s never upset if you have to cancel a date due to exhaustion, never rushes you when you’re trying to remember something through the brain fog, and most importantly, is always there to catch you when your world goes dark.
Waking up after these episodes is always disorienting but now with Damien you wake up with his comforting touch. His face is the first thing you see and his soft and calming voice is the first thing you hear once the ringing goes away.
He also ensures that you’re given space while recovering. By this time everyone at Smosh knows about your POTS and how to help you, but they also know that you’re most comfortable with Damien. Like the day you’re filming a games video while Damien is with Shayne and Arasha for a Reddit Stories.
Amanda is the first to notice that something is wrong. She can see the way you’re trying to stay focused, can hear the change in your voice like you’re not getting enough air.
Angela picks up on it next, shifting closer just in case. They don’t do anything else, not yet, knowing you never want to interrupt filming unless you really need to.
You make it through the whole video without incident but when it’s over you don’t make a move to get up. In fact you sit very still, almost like you’ve shut down. Or like you’re scared to move. You start listing to the side, leaning against Angela while Amanda grabs you a water.
Spencer meanwhile heads to the other set. He catches Damien's eye and your boyfriend immediately knows why he’s there. They wrap up the current story and pause the shoot.
“What’s wrong? Is she okay?” Damien asks as he stands up.
“She’s okay,” Spencer reassures. “Just kind of out of it. Angela and Amanda are with her but we knew she’d want you.”
The moment Damien walks into the room he can tell things have escalated since Spencer left. You’re on the floor, clearly helped there by Angela and Amanda, the latter running a soothing hand through your hair. She moves back when she sees Damien, giving him the space to be the one closest to you. He sees the way you’re already starting to come back online, and he commends the others for the way they made you comfortable and raised your legs to help you recover.
Damien is so focused on you that he hadn’t noticed Shayne following him to the set. But a moment later the other man places down a Gatorade and your favorite salty snack. Damien finds himself very grateful to have such a supportive best friend.
When you fully come to, it’s once again Damien who you see first. The others have all moved to give you privacy, but you feel comforted knowing that your friends are nearby. You can tell they’re just waiting to see if you’re alright. They’re not judging you or finding you annoying for disrupting their day. They’re not there to get gossip about you, but rather to help however they can.
As soon as you’re feeling up to it Damien helps you off of the floor and into a chair. He encourages you to eat the snack and drink the Gatorade, and soon you’re feeling much better.
“Are you done filming?” You ask him.
“Not yet,” he answers. “We paused when Spencer came to get me.”
“You should go finish. I’ll be fine.”
When he makes no move to do as he’s told, Amanda says, “Don’t worry, I’ll hang with her. I’m tall and strong, I can catch her if she goes down again.”
Angela adds, “I’m neither of those things but I could totally dive under her and break her fall if needed.”
Everyone laughs at that, and with the mood successfully lightened the others head back to set.
All things considered you’ve done a good job at managing your condition and not letting it interfere with your work. At least, that’s true for the most part.
There are times, however, that it gets more difficult.
Filming Smosh Summer Games is a struggle. The heat, the physical activity, and the completely packed schedule are a recipe for disaster, yet you’re able to push through. Somehow you get through filming without incident.
But as soon as it’s over and you let yourself relax, everything comes crashing down. The flare up you experience is one of the worst you’ve ever had. It lasts days, and you hate that you’re barely able to do anything. The timing isn’t the worst considering the cast had been given some time off, but still, you had been hoping to do something fun with Damien during that time.
Of course when you try to apologize to Damien for this he quickly shuts that down. “Hey, don’t be sorry,” he says. “First of all, this isn’t your fault. And more importantly, I’m enjoying spending time with you. Honestly I think I was burnt out too, so laying low together is kind of perfect to me.”
His words are reassuring, and you settle back into his side on the couch, letting him choose the next movie to watch.
This activity helps with the body aches and fatigue, but soon you’re asking him to turn the movie off. The lights and noises aren’t good for the migraine you feel brewing. And still Damien doesn’t complain, but rather jumps into action. He turns off the TV, grabs medicine and water, and places your favorite ice pack on your head.
When you’re both settled once more you turn to Damien and say, “I love you.” It’s not the first time you’ve said it, but his face still lights up like it has every time you do.
“I love you too,” he replies before leaning in to peck your lips. He follows that with a kiss to your forehead, then one on your neck, right at your pulse point. It’s something he’s been doing recently, both because he knows you like it and also so he can make a joke about the way he gets your heart racing.
As you sit there in comfortable silence you can’t help but think how lucky you are. Because while POTS might be a part of your life, so is Damien. And with him by your side, you know you can get through anything.
[reqs are OPEN!] angela centered blog, including in my writing! will be picky about requests for other cast members. also taking reqs/writing for grace chasity & lex foster.
♥️ req rules ↓
i’m a really busy person, please do not rush requests and be kind! sapphic blog, men avert thine eyes. nsfw welcome and encouraged. no r*pe, intense gore, raceplay, piss/shit/vomit, age play (ddlg umbrella) or intense bdsm. (if you think some of those are crazy, they’re on this list because i’ve gotten a request for it at least once over the many years of me writing on tumblr and i’d rather be safe than sorry.) i will fill requests at my own leisure and interest because this is mostly a self indulgent blog. i reserve the right to ignore, block or be mean to anyone who breaks my rules or disrespects me <3
i dance! very into southern gothic, kpop stan for 8 years, baby drag queen/thing, met suzie toot x6 (and counting, that’s my diva oat) , currently pursuing a BA in acting, big st*ner lmao (i’m starting to collect novelty glass pieces :3)
I would love an Angela x fem reader where reader is in the smosh cast and is having mic pack issues or a malfunction in smth they are wearing and Angela offers to help and it sparks smth between them (aka romance)
mic check
angela giarratana x gn!reader
warnings: nothinggg?, gn!reader only because no pronouns are used, really obvious/forward flirting, sexual & romantic tension, heavy touching, flustered ang, chanse feature, scissoring mentioned, reader is referred to as a princess once but not as a nickname, moreso that they are imitating the mannerisms of one.
note: hiiii first thing of my own im actually posting. ty for the req even though i didnt have any examples of my writing up for u 😭♥️ pls enjoy, sorry if this is a little more heated than what u had in mind, im just a freak <3
“ah, shit,”
you grumble, reaching behind yourself when you feel you mic pack catch on your distressed sweater. you pull on the fabric only for the pack to come with it, entangled in yarn and strings. you hold it with one hand to keep the expensive equipment from hitting the floor, trying to use your other hand to detangle it only to realize it’s engulfed. it’s become part of your sweater.
you look up and see most of the crew are either getting set or running around the stage. you’d ask somebody for help, but you find no one to ask. you look around, still anxiously trying to detangle the equipment from yourself with quick fingers but you’re doing it blind with your hands literally behind yourself back. you don’r get very far before somebody comes to your rescue.
“need help?”
angela approaches from your side, looking at the annoyed and distressed look on your face, arms crossed as she watches your fingers desperately claw around the mic pack.
you turn to her and nod, dramatically dropping your head to sulk. she giggles. she places her hand on your hip where your jeans sit and slides it across your lower back as she situates herself behind you. you wonder if she can feel the goosebumps that she leaves behind. she does.
she grabs your hands behind your back and gently swats at your wrists, telling you to let go.
“now why’d you do all this?” she asks, tapping on the sliver of your exposed lower back with her pointer finger. you can hear the smirk in her voice and roll your eyes.
“it wasn’t on purpose, obviously,” you reply, putting your hands on your hips.
you can feel her working better than you can see her. after a couple seconds of fiddling with it, you feel the tension in your sweater begin to loosen. she takes one hand and rests it just above your waistline on your back, finally untangling the wires with her free hand.
“you’re free!”
“oh thank god,”
“here, i’ll clip it back on, just-“
you go to lift your shirt up in the back for her, but you find she has a different plan. she grabs your wrist and pins it to your side with a quiet “i got it.” with her free hand, she starts at the bottom hem of the sweater and pushes it up your back, balling it up in a fist and holding it in the middle of your back before releasing your hand. you try and fail to hold in the surprised squeak
she tugs on the waistband of your jeans to create a small opening where she can easily clip the equipment back onto you with little resistance. she lets your sweater fall and pats the mic pack and your hip.
when you turn around to face her she wears the most ridiculous smug expression on her face. you’ve seen it before, across the table during a games videos and every time she gets proven right during a squabble with chanse. she’s overly pleased with herself.
“thanks, i thought i was going to break that thing trying to get unstuck,”
“you poor thing,” she tilts her head, stepping closer to you, closing the already small distance between you. the inner corners of her eyebrows are tilted upward in an exaggerated pitying expression.
she’s really good at this game. she always has been, pushing a button and walking away before she can watch the explosion. but you’re also good at this game, and you’re nothing if not competitive. or is it that you just like fucking with her as much as she does you? for hr purposes, you’ll stick with the former.
you look down between you for a second, contemplating, before snaking a finger into one of her front belt loops and yanking her closer. she yelps out of surprise and her expression wavers for the first time since she walked up to you.
“what’s your problem?” you ask lowly, though a smile graces your features. her eyes dart around your face, trying to avoid looking at your mouth even though she keeps getting caught there. she smiles a little, pointing a finger and pressing it into your chest.
“i don’t think i have one,”
you hum and scan her from bottom to top. it makes her nervous and she squirms a little, wriggling against your grip on her jeans. you let it go with a flick before stepping back once.
“i should probably lose the sweater, yeah?”
“i- what-“ she stammers, a hand flat against her front where you’d just been holding her.
“just so it doesn’t get caught again. i’d hate for it to happen while we’re rolling,”
you hold eye contact as you slowly peel the sweater off, leaving only a small, cropped, fitted tank top. angela tries and fails to avert her eyes from your chest hugged tightly by the fabric and your bare collar bones. you laugh, draping it over one arm and stepping back into her space. this time she takes one step back to match you, flustered now.
“that’s not fair,”
“what’s not fair, honey?”
“you just look like that. what am i supposed to do?”
“oh you can just stare like you always do. you’re great at it,”
she is great at it. you’re always catching her staring at you when she thinks you aren’t paying attention, from behind the camera while you’re on set or across the table when everyone’s at lunch. she knows you know. that’s why she keeps doing it.
she scoffs through a growing grin, stepping back toward you and closing the gap between you once more.
“you’re the worst,”
“because i got stuck in my mic pack?”
“because we’re at work and you’re making me feel crazy,”
“more than you usually do?”
“ha. ha.”
you open your mouth to say something else when somebody calls for cast to get set. you both turn your heads to see the commotion and shuffling as everyone gets ready.
“you’re lucky,” she says, biting on her tongue, looking you up and down this time. you don’t get nervous, though.
“i really am. my hero,” you pout, dramatically placing a hand flat on her chest and using the other to fan yourself like a distressed princess, leaning into her.
she grabs both your hands and holds them between you.
“go get set,” she scolds, laughing now and trying to gently push you backwards towards set.
“bite me,”
“i bet you wish i would,”
you hum and turn around as she releases you from her grip.
“thanks, ang,”
“you’re welcome,”
“come find me after the shoot?”
she scoffs. “is this a trap of some kind?”
“if you want it to be!”
and with that, she watches you disappear between the boom mics and monitors and headphones. she’s about to go find somewhere to sit when chanse appears next to her.
“i feel like i just watched softcore porn,”
she shoves him in the shoulder, earning a laugh from them both.
“you saw that?”
“i see everything in this place,”
“that was a perfectly respectable interaction,”
“sure, if you’re about to scissor,”
“chanse.”
“what! i want it for both of you! just not on the url couch, please,”
Give us some comfort fic!!! I love Spencer cuddling or just the idea of him comforting readerrrr
The Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
pairing: Spencer Agnew x fem!reader
summary: Today nothing seems to be going your way and all you want (and need) is your boyfriend to comfort you
warnings: kinda suggestive kissing but like not really lol
word count: 1.5k
a/n: sometimes hot girls have shit days unfortunately and I hope you enjoy this anon!!
divider: @/saradika-graphics
You know today isn't going to be in your favor when you realize you never got your good morning kiss from Spencer. Or maybe you did get your kiss but you never realized you did. Either way, in your mind you never got your kiss, which means today's just not going to go in your favor.
He had to go in earlier which means it was just you and Cleo getting ready together. Just some fun girl time.
Except it's not because when she was walking towards the bathroom, she decided to walk in front of you, causing you to narrowly avoid tripping over her and subsequently end up ramming your foot and shin against one of the bedposts.
"Fuck!" You double over, one hand holding onto the bed while the other goes to your foot. "Cleo! What the hell?"
She simply blinks at you before padding away, heading off to the living room and leaving you to suffer all on your own. The pain in your foot will go away soon enough but your shin's another story. You managed to cut yourself on the bedpost. How? You have no idea and you don't want to dwell on it, limping to the bathroom to bandage it up and get on with the rest of your morning routine.
Now dressed and no longer limping due to Cleo's attempt on your life, you make your way to the kitchen, where your boyfriend's cat — because right now she's his cat, not your cat — is already waiting at her bowl.
"I thought we were having a girly morning Cleo?" You lament and you open a can of her food, dishing out half the tin and saving the other half for after work. All you get in return is a slow blink. "Yeah, yeah, fuck me I guess," you mumbles to yourself as you set the bowl down.
It's when you’re getting back up — you choose to ignore the cracking of your knees — that you glance over at the oven, a flurry of curses spewing out of your lips when you realize you’re somehow ten minutes late.
"Shit! How am I late— oh fuck me!" It hits you why you’re late. You never did hear your alarm go off, you just woke up on your own. Good thing your internal clock is good enough to wake you up at a reasonable time but you’re still late.
You don't bother with breakfast, grabbing a random cereal bar as you rush through the apartment to grab your bag and laptop, haphazardly shoving on the first pair of shoes you see before you’re out the door.
At least Cleo's having a good morning.
You, oh so naively, thought that you’d be saved by no traffic. Oh how wrong you were.
No, it seems like you were cursed with the worst possible LA traffic possible. So instead of being only a little late to the office, you’re now almost an hour late. An hour. A fucking hour.
At least you got to eat your stupid cereal bar while you were in traffic.
By the time you make it to the office, you just throw your bag onto your chair, your laptop in your arms as you rush to a Bit City brainstorming meeting you’re embarrassingly late for.
"Sorry, LA traffic got my ass," you huff as you find a seat. Courtney throws you an understanding smile but you just want to curl up and hibernate to pretend this never happened. At least you can get work done and be productive.
But apparently you can't even do that today either.
For some reason every idea you’ve thrown out is, for lack of a better word, total shit. It's probably the lingering stress and embarrassment from the carnage of this morning but you can't for the life of you suggest any good ideas. Instead you spend most of the meeting, after giving up on sharing terrible ideas, just listening to everyone else's ideas, glumly nodding along here and there.
Free from the meeting — and after apologizing once again for being so late — you make your way back to your desk, where you immediately slump onto your seat. Your head makes a quiet thump against your desk but you don't move, your eyes closed as your hair pools around you. You stay there for a few minutes before you show any sign of life again, waking your computer up to edit some videos.
Maybe you’ll be productive this way, making up for the fact you were so late this morning.
You work through lunch because one, you didn't pack a lunch today, and two, you didn't particularly enjoy what was being offered today either. So it's just you, some chips you keep at your desk, and your trusty water bottle against the word right now.
The day goes on, fully locked in on your editing. It's when you’re on your last video of the day, ready to head home and pretend today ever happened that your day just gets worse.
You click the save button when the screen freezes.
And then—
It crashes.
You can only stare back at your screen. It's all you can do, really.
You let out a sigh before simply reaching out to put your computer to sleep, already delegating this to be a tomorrow problem. You just want to go home.
So you get up, pack up, and mutely head to your car.
Getting home you’re really not surprised when there's an 'out of order' paper stuck on the elevator. You just sigh — there's been a lot of those today — and drag yourself up the stairs. At one point you wondered how acceptable it would be to just claim home on the stairs between the second and third floor but the prospect of rotting in bed's greater to your weary soul.
You open the door, fully intending on just dropping everything and just sitting on the floor when you hear the tv playing and you change your course of action.
You still drop your things, haphazardly placing your bag by the shoe rack and shoving your shoes in their right place before shuffling into the living room.
"Hey honey, I was thinking we could order for din— ough."
You drop onto Spencer, who's laying on the couch, scrolling through his phone. You’re sure there's a restaurant pulled up but you don't really care. Not right now at least.
You just make a sound and bury your face against his neck, trying to burrow your way to comfort to just forget today even happened. At least he immediately understands and you hear him toss his phone onto the coffee table before his arms wrap around you.
"Bad day, huh?" One of his hands settles on the back of your head, gentle pets with the other settles on your lower back, to keep you pressed up against him.
You don't know why but your eyes immediately water, your arms tightening where they're wrapped around him. You sniffle, all weepy and exhausted as you let out a mumble that sort of sounds like a defeated yeah.
You know you’re being dramatic, sometimes bad days just happen, but they still suck.
"Oh sweetheart," Spencer quietly murmurs, bringing out that voice he uses when you’re either sick or in need of comforting. Your head shifts, following his body as he sits up just enough to prop himself against the armrest of the couch.
His head dips down, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. Then to your temple. Which shifts to the corner of your eyes, kissing away any tears that did manage to escape. To your cheeks, both of them. The corners of your lips. Before finally settling on your lips, a kiss that lingers and gets you to respond, kissing him back. It's a slow kiss, a languid motion from the two of you but it's just what you needed after the day you’ve had.
"Your fault," you mumble, barely pulling your lips away from his.
"My fault? How?" He doesn't part from the kiss either, still trading kisses as he rubs your back, his hand slipping beneath your shirt.
"Forgot my kiss this morning," you quietly whine, gripping the front of his shirt before relaxing. "Ruined my entire day."
He huffs a laugh against your lips and you can feel his smile against your pout. "I'm sorry honey, I'll make sure to kiss you extra good tomorrow to make up for fucking up your day."
"You better," you mutter, finally pulling away from the kiss. But you don't stay far, rubbing your face against his beard to feel the comforting burn against your soft skin. Blaming him for the shit day you’ve had only to immediately cuddle up to him like you can’t stay away from him, yeah sounds like you.
"I'll order our go-to Thai and after dinner we can just go to bed." Spencer offers, his hand briefly slipping beneath the waistband of your pants before going back to rub your back. "How does that sound?"
You don't even have to think about it, nodding against the side of his head as you press a litany of kisses against the cheek closest to you. "Sounds perfect."
You can survive any bad day, as long as this is what waits for you. Your favorite person who knows exactly what you need to feel better. You’ll be okay, as long as you’ve got Spencer right here with you.
